Whistle Pass Read Online Free Page B

water-darkened denim over abdomen muscles so developed he could count each one.
    Compose, Gabriel. Compose. He’s just a man. Albeit one of the most exotic and enticing men you’ve ever seen, but, still, just a man. Get over it!
    Squinting, as if that would minimize the scene, he gingerly unbuttoned the metal button and unzipped the jeans. He grabbed handfuls of the cuffs and pulled. The jeans slid off, and Gabe’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?”
    The man’s left thigh under the boxers was nearly black. Streaks of red and purple wove through the swelling here and there. The damage wasn’t old. Gabe reached down and touched the injury. Harris growled, flung his arms across his chest, and shivered. The skin was fever hot. Gabe courteously turned his head, dragged the damp, discolored boxers off the man, and tossed the bedding over him in one fell swoop.
    Heading for the door, groans stopped him. “C-c-cold. Help. Help me. Please.”
    Gabe massaged his forehead. What more could he do?
    “H-h-help m-m-me.”
    Gabe turned. Harris was trembling so much the whole bed shook. He had to do something. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he crossed the room. With volumes of trepidation, he slipped off his shoes, then his vest, which he hung on the doorknob, pulled down the covers, and climbed in. He sidled up next to Harris and put his arms around him, stroking his wet hair. “We can’t make a habit of this, Mr. Harris. People will talk.” But the stirring in Gabe’s groin indicated Mr. Harris might be a most welcome habit.

Chapter 5

     
    C HARLIE kept his eyes closed as the hotel manager slid out of bed. He remained motionless, providing no hint he was aware the man tiptoed out of the room until the door latched. Then he kicked off the covers and rolled to the edge of the mattress.
    He sat, winced, and slugged down a mouthful of air. His thigh was on fire. He rolled his head over his neck. Cracks and snaps splintered tensed nerves. He turned. The pea coat hung as a reminder of the man who owed him nothing, but had provided Charlie more than the manager would ever know.
    Charlie’d nearly lost it out there in the street. A laugh spilled out of him. Nearly? A nutcase. That’s what you are. And yet, the manager had done for him what only one other man had ever done—worried about… cared about… him. Something writhed in his stomach and crawled upward. Charlie nipped it by bending and picking up his duffle. He opened it and dug around for the bottle of Bufferin. He unscrewed the cap and shook a couple into his mouth, then swallowed them dry.
    Time remained an unknown, but if the shade of black behind the curtains of the lone window meant anything, it was late. And with no word from Roger, he still had no idea what he was doing here. He dumped the contents of the duffle on the bed. A clean pair of boxers, socks, jeans, tee, and a flannel shirt, and he was ready to go. He slipped on his boots. At the pea coat, he ran a hand over the wool and smiled. The darn thing hadn’t felt so clean in a long time.
    He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains. The fire escape was near enough if it came to that. The problem was, he just wasn’t quite sure what that was. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t need to find out. But he did have some unfinished business.
    He closed the door behind him.
     
     
    G ABE hit every other step up the stairs to his apartment.
    How could he have fallen asleep? Once Harris’s trembling had stopped, he should have left. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed there, next to him, reveling in the pleasure of the man in his arms. Now he needed to hurry or he’d miss the train.
    He threw some clothes in a valise, then rearranged them to prevent wrinkles. Finished, he dialed the phone. MN 321.
    “Whistle Pass Cab.”
    “Carol—”
    “Gabe. I was starting to wonder if you’d call. I’ll send Clarence right over. Train’s due any minute now.”
    He bolted down the stairs. The sun yellow cab slid to a stop.