Page 2 of The Fortunate Son
“Dude wants in your pants,” Dylan said.
Ivan turned away from the sexy distraction to glare at his friend. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Me?” Dylan asked in disbelief. “What’s wrong with you? I could distract everyone so you could give your future friend a private tour and—” His words died at Ivan’s glare. “Just helping my buddy out. It’s beenmonthssince you went away for a weekend torecharge.”
“I’m well aware of how long it’s been. Maybe you should worry about yourself.” A light blush stole across Dylan’s cheeks, and Ivan studied his friend closer. The longer he stared, the pinker Dylan’s cheeks got. “Wait a minute.” He darted a glance toward Harry, who was blissfully unaware of his scrutiny. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
Dylan cleared his throat and darted a nervous glance in Harry’s direction. “I’m nottellingyou anything.”
“Which says everything I need to know.” Guys talked about their conquests until they met someone special. Then they clammed up and apparently blushed like a virgin at a strip club. He wouldn’t pry, even if he was dying to. Ivan placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and said, “I’m happy for you.” He couldn’t keep his smirk from spreading into a wolfish smile. “And now the nightly ode to Dylan makes sense.”
His friend’s face went from blushing pink to beet red, and he hastily excused himself to check on the grill. “Shut up,” he snarled when Ivan waggled his brows.
Dylan and Harry, huh?Finally.It had been more than a year in the making, and he couldn’t understand what had taken them so long. He watched his friend pass Harry and her parents and caught the way his hand brushed against the small of her back and how she leaned into his touch. The sigh that escaped Ivan’s lips sounded just as pitiful as the one Dylan had released earlier. That gave Ivan pause. Why had his friend sounded like a lovesick puppy? The answer came swiftly. Dylan wanted to tell the world Harry was his, but one of them—or maybe both—had decided it wasn’t the right time yet.
Ivan’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket before he could give the pair more thought. He retrieved it and saw the text was from Cash, requesting Ivan’s presence in his office. He groaned, then tapped out a quick response to let the boss know he was on his way. Ivan returned his phone to his pocket and headed toward the house. Apparently, the business with Agent Scott and his guest involved Ivan or at least the ranch. Cash looked surprised to see Nick and Rory, so this had to be something else. But what? Witness protection? Nah. That type of arrangement would’ve come from a US Marshal, and they wouldn’t stash a witness among convicted felons—reformed or not.
“Hey,” Dylan called out as Ivan passed by. “You get called in there?”
“Yeah. Cash didn’t say why.”
Dylan pursed his lips. “New guy?”
“Don’t think so. He didn’t mention anything about a new recruit to me earlier, and all the cabins are full.” Whatever was going on in Cash’s office spelled big trouble.
“Keep me posted,” Dylan said.
“Will do.”
Dread tightened Ivan’s body with each step he took closer to the house. He was wound like a coiled spring when he entered the grandiose foyer with the huge wrought iron chandelier hanging overhead. Familiar laughter echoed from down the hall, and Ivan headed toward the sound. Clearly, Cash wasn’t distressed about the subject of Nick’s visit. His office was on the other side of the home, so he had to navigate the long corridor that led to the rear of the house. He turned left once he reached the great room and kitchen area, then slammed to a stop. They had left Rory to his own devices in the kitchen, and he was rummaging through a bowl of fruit on the counter.
Rory leaned against the counter with the same lackadaisical negligence as he walked, like he didn’t have a care in the entire world. It felt like a weird thing to think. Was he now judging people by the way they walked and leaned against a counter? Irritation prickled Ivan’s skin and made the hair on his arms stand at attention. Yeah, that’s what he was going with. Irritation, not desire. Once again, Ivan’s feet seemingly moved of their own volition, leading him closer to the kitchen and not the hallway that would take him to Cash’s office.
Ivan had known Rory’s eyes were light, but he wasn’t prepared for the exact shade of blue. He couldn’t even put a name to the color. Icy didn’t seem right. That would be cold, and Rory’s irises burned with an intensity that stole his breath. Realistically, Ivan knew this man couldn’t see through him or read his mind, but Rory’s penetrating stare still made him want to wipe his thoughts clean and maybe squirm a little. Ivan Gallagher didn’t squirm for anyone, especially not the stranger who languidly brought an apple to his smirking lips. Rory had tousled hair that looked like he’d just gotten out of bed, but Ivan suspected it took a lot of effort to achieve the style. Ivan would bet Rory had some of the painter’s putty stuff Danielle had given him earlier. Rory’s beard looked trendy and soft unlike his fuller “chin bush” as Dylan called it. Ivan would also lay money that this guy took a lot of time and care to keep his beard looking that way. Probably used beard oil and shit. The dark bristles drew Ivan’s gaze to Rory’s lush mouth. There was so much he could do to and with those soft-looking pink lips. He watched, transfixed, as they parted to reveal pearly white teeth. Rory tore away a chunk of apple with a loud crunch.
Lips wet with juice moved slowly as Rory chewed, never taking his gaze away from Ivan’s. It felt like they communicated nothing and everything in their silent stare-down. What the hell was happening, and why had Ivan taken two more steps toward the man? The urge to palm Rory’s neck and lick the juice from his lips was enough to stop him in his tracks. Maybe his expression gave away his intentions because the minx before him made a big production of sticking the tip of his tongue out and swiping it over his lips. He was temptation personified; the snake in the Garden of Eden.
Ivan’s chest expanded and grew tight as his earlier thoughts returned. If they’d been at a bar, club, or even a sandwich shop, he would make the move that Rory’s daring gaze encouraged. This wasn’t any of those places, and Ivan didn’t have the luxury of bringing them both to the pinnacle of pleasure before walking away. This was his home and workplace, and he kept his business clean. That had been the primary reason he’d never told Finley how he’d felt about him. It was a damn good thing too because it would’ve gotten horribly messy.
“That bad, huh?” Rory asked. His voice was cultured and slow.
“The worst.”
Rory smiled as he lifted the apple to his lips again. He paused before taking a bite. “Gird your loins because you haven’t seen anything yet.”
The remark didn’t sound threatening; it was more like a carnal challenge Ivan didn’t want to resist. Cash appeared seemingly out of nowhere before he could take another step or utter a response.
“There you are.” Cash’s tone was too bright for Ivan’s liking, and he turned toward his boss. “I see you’ve met Rory.”
“No, we haven’t been introduced,” Ivan told him.
“Well, let me fix that,” Cash said, gesturing to the stranger in the kitchen. “Rory Snyder, this is my foreman, Ivan Gallagher.”
Turning around, it shocked Ivan to see Rory was standing immediately in front of him. He hadn’t known the guy could move so fast, but then again, he knew nothing about him.Except that he was trouble.He’d bet his next paycheck on it. Ivan extended his hand toward Rory because his good manners required him to reciprocate the gesture. Rory kept his apple in his left hand and wrapped the fingers of his right around Ivan’s. Electricity sparked between them, and Ivan would’ve recoiled if Rory hadn’t tightened his grip.
“Ivan,” Rory purred. “The perfect name for a conqueror.”
Ivan politely tried to free his hand to stop the heat from expanding beyond his arm. The last thing he needed was a raging hard-on in Cash’s kitchen. But Rory held firm, even sidled closer as he raked a salacious gaze over Ivan’s body.