Remy McIntosh glanced up from the papers strewn across his desk to sneak a peek at the time. The display on his desk phone read 4:51, which meant he still had thirty-nine minutes before he could call it a day.
Thirty-nine minutes seemed like an eternity.
It didn’t help matters that this was his last day of work for the year. In thirty-nine minutes, he’d turn off his computer, switch off the light, and lock his office door, and not think about contracts or grants or plat maps or anythingwork-related for the next fourteen blessed days. He had saved up his vacation to take a full two weeks off at Christmas and New Year’s. He had plans—a long, leisurely holiday away from everything, and everyone, except Lane.
Just thinking of Lane Anders made Remy smile. A photo of his lover was propped against his monitor, right next to his son’s latest school picture. Braden McIntosh was eight years old, in the third grade, and the only good thing to come from Remy’s short-lived marriage. Braden didn’t know Lane, at least not yet, but Remy hoped to change that in the near future. He was thinking of maybe inviting Lane over the next time he had visitation with his son—for just a few hours, nothing major, but the thought of the two most important men in his life meeting made him nervous. He knew Lane would love Braden, but would his son be as open and accepting of his father’s male lover?
He didn’t know. But it wasn’t anything to worry about just yet; introductions between them were still something he hadn’t quite planned out. Not to the level of detail he had planned his Christmas break. Remy wanted to have every Idotted, every Tcrossed. Any meeting between Lane and Braden would be brief, preferably at Remy’s home, and not until after his son’s birthday in April. As that got closer, he’d work out the details.
Christmas, though…Remy’s next two weeks were firmly pinned down. He’d rented a cabin in the mountains, within sight of a manmade lake whose flat surface winked with sunlight all day long. Tall pine trees hemmed in the small, cozy cabin. There was a fireplace that faced a large, main room, a well-stocked kitchen complete with all the modern amenities, a bathroom that housed an actual claw-foot tub, and three bedrooms with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake. He’d seen photos online and fell in love with the place before he even picked up the phone to make reservations. There was electricity, and a generator, and not another cabin in sight. It appeared to be far from civilization, but within driving distance to a small cluster of shops where they could stock up on provisions when needed.
Remy had found the place in July, when he first began thinking about a holiday getaway for just the two of them. He knew Lane would love it. In his late thirties, Lane Anders wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, but he liked nature. He just didn’t like too muchnature. Tall, with a shock of thick, dark hair, Lane had pale blue eyes that seemed depthless and a quick smile he flashed frequently. Those were the first things Remy noticed about him. Those eyes, that hair, his grin.
* * * *
Lane was an architect, and when Remy’s urban planning firm had contracted with the City of Richmond to revitalize their downtown image, Anders and Associates was the low bidder on the design work.
The first time they met, Remy had looked into Lane’s pale eyes as they shook hands, and he could’ve sworn he felt something arc between them, something electric. It ran from the tips of his fingers straight down to his cock. It was two years ago, and he was newly divorced, and just beginning to revel in his newfound freedom. He had always known he liked men, but in his twenties he played on both sides of the fence, and when his girlfriend learned she was pregnant, he did the right thing. They married. And were miserable. Braden came along and they pretended things were fine, but they weren’t. Kate wanted out, and Remy couldn’t agree more.
But it was hard finding his groove again after six long years, and Remy doubted himself. He had been on the bar scene a time or two, but found that it wasn’t as fun as it had been when he was younger. He was no longer interested in drinking or getting drunk, in hanging out all night long, in shouting over loud music or hooking up with anonymous men in the back seat of his car. He wanted something more permanent. Something real.
Enter Lane.
Throughout their first meeting, Remy sat on one side of the table, Lane across from him. There were other associates present, and Remy spent most of the time gazing at the man who had elicited such a physical response from him. Lane had a long face, long hands, and long legs that stretched underneath the table. Remy had accidentally kicked one when he sat down. He couldn’t seem to look away from the architect, but all he got in return were darting glances and half-smiles. Talk focused on the contract, and after they had outlined what was expected from both firms, the meeting adjourned. Remy’s firm, JDM Planners, would take the lead role and deal directly with the city; Anders and Associates would work with them. As Remy followed the rest of his team, Lane walked them out. He held the door for the others, then stepped in front of Remy before the planner could follow.
