All the Way to Shore Read online

  They managed to wrest the studs and cuff links from their shirts and get the rest of their clothes off. The moment they were naked, Jonah dropped to his knees with no preamble and took Marco into his mouth, hands gripping Marco’s ass.

  “Dio mio, amore! Ah, Jesus.” Marco had no resistance to Jonah’s wicked tongue working him over, especially not after being seduced by him all evening. He let out a low groan as Jonah sucked him all the way in, then twined his fingers in Jonah’s hair.

  The heat of Jonah’s mouth drove Marco into a crazy, writhing mess. It was all he could do not to grab Jonah’s head and use him like a piece of rough trade. His cock stiffened at the thought of it, and the tingling in his balls announced an embarrassingly quick release about to happen. “Wait! Jonah—”

  Jonah pulled off and rasped, “Come in my mouth,” then sank back down on Marco’s cock like a pro.

  Who was Marco to protest? With a fervent curse, he clutched Jonah’s sweaty hair, pumped into his hot, tight mouth once, twice—then let out a cry as his orgasm hit him, sweet and so excruciatingly intense his toes curled.

  “Ah fuck. Amore, what you do to me.”

  Jonah released him and rested his head against Marco’s thigh, looking up at him with damp eyes, his swollen lips parted. “I love you. So much.” He put his hand in Marco’s, who helped lever him to his feet. Marco felt the brush of Jonah’s hard cock as they embraced and was about to reach for it when Jonah stopped him with his next words, delivered with a scorching stare. “I want to fuck you.”

  Marco drew in a quick breath and his face grew warm. They hadn’t done that yet. In fact, Marco had only bottomed a few times before. But he wanted to do it now. He burned to do it, to open himself up to Jonah.

  “God, yes, carissimo. Fuck me till I can’t see straight.”

  Jonah laughed and took off Marco’s glasses. “There. You already can’t see straight. But how ’bout I give it to you till you scream?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  JONATHAN’S EYELIDS popped open, and he stifled a groan at the pain shooting through his temples from last night’s bender. Marco sprawled at his side, face slack and peaceful in sleep. His black curls lay tousled on the pillow, and Jonathan resisted the temptation to run his fingers through them. Their clothes littered the floor, strewn where they’d dropped them in their haste to get naked last night. The ocean rolled ceaselessly outside the window, slate gray in the morning light. Jonathan’s stomach felt queasy. He had no reason to be awake this early, not after making love to Marco all night, but now that he was, he knew there’d be no more sleep for him. Today was the day the fairy tale ended.

  He’d told Marco last night that they needed to talk today, that there was something he wanted to tell him. Marco hadn’t seemed surprised. He’d stroked Jonathan’s cheek and said something sweet that he couldn’t remember now, flustered as he’d been at bringing up the impending conversation.

  Marco—prince of sweetness. Something Jonathan would never have guessed a year ago as he’d squirmed under Marco’s relentless gaze. The glory of Marco’s brown-gold eyes had been hidden behind his scholarly glasses, and so had his essential kindness.

  A mournful dirge that Jonathan finally recognized as the Earth, Wind, & Fire song, “After the Love Has Gone,” was playing in his mind. Jonathan told himself to shut up. All wasn’t lost, at least not yet. Marco was compassionate, and maybe he’d be merciful. Maybe he’d understand Jonathan’s embarrassment—how much he’d wanted to be a different person in Marco’s eyes. He hoped Marco would also understand that Jonathan did love him, and would always be grateful to him for—

  Enough. Jonathan stirred restlessly and finally got out of bed. He needed coffee and an aspirin to get through the rest of this day. He was pulling on his clothes when Marco spoke.

  “Where are you going, amore? It’s so early.”

  He turned and considered Marco, all sleep-rumpled and beautiful, the warm skin and hard muscles Jonathan remembered pinning him down as Jonathan gave himself over in passionate surrender last night, Marco sliding into him and filling him up. That was after Jonathan had fucked Marco—opening him up, finding his sweet spot, and slowly but surely driving him wild. Jesus Christ, what a feeling, to reduce the magnificent Marco Pellegrini to begging for Jonathan’s cock.

  He wrenched his thoughts away from last night. It was already taking everything he had not to drop everything and get back under the covers. He could shelter in Marco’s strong arms and pretend he was safe from the monster called reality.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I’m going back to my room to shower.”

  “Oh. You sure you can’t stay? I thought we could shower together.” Marco smiled alluringly as he ran heated eyes over Jonathan’s torso.

  Heaven help me. He almost broke, but steeled himself against Marco’s near-irresistible charm. “That would be good, but… I need to get clothes, and… how about I meet you at the breakfast buffet? Then we can go onshore.”

  “And talk.”

  Jonathan died a little inside at Marco’s expectant expression. “Yes, and talk.” He finished buttoning his shirt and walked over to the bed. Marco sat up and held out his arms.

  One more hug, one more kiss. Jonathan could do this.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  THE SUN blinded Jonathan’s eyes as he and Marco walked off the gangplank and onto the dock at Key West holding hands, Anthony right behind them. That’s why Jonathan didn’t see him at first. But he could never mistake Father’s voice.

  “Jonathan? What the hell?”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” he heard Anthony breathe.

  Jonathan dropped Marco’s hand like a hot potato and stood frozen and caught.

  Marco didn’t seem to get what was going on. He frowned at Father who, now Jonathan could see him, was wearing an expression bordering on apoplectic. “Frederick? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Father tore his eyes away from Jonathan and said curtly to Marco, “We have a crisis, and I need you in Boston. It couldn’t wait.” No apology in Father’s tone, of course.

  “So you had to track me down on the cruise ship? Jesus. I sent you faxes. It should’ve been enough until I got back.”

  “Well, it wasn’t. Sorry to ruin your fun, but you have a business to run.”

  Marco stiffened, and his voice took on an edge. “Given I’m the only reason you still have a business at all, you might think about treating your prized employee with a little more respect.”

  As they bickered, Jonathan waited in misery for the other shoe to drop. Father wasted no time in dropping it like a bomb.

  “Respect? You should talk! What the hell are you doing with my son?”

  “Your son! I’m afraid you’re mistaken. This is Jonah—”

  “You think I don’t know my own son? Jonathan, I’m waiting for an explanation.”

  Anthony came alongside Jonathan, deathly pale but determined. “Uncle Frederick, no one has to explain anything to you. What Jonny does with his time is his own business. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re—”

  “Jonny.” Marco’s voice rasped like it was torn out of his throat. He swung around to stare at Jonathan, eyes narrowed. “Jonathan. Jonathan Vallen. You’re…. How the fuck didn’t I see it?”

  “M-Marco….” Whatever pathetic words Jonathan was about to say died in the face of the absolute devastation on Marco’s face, quickly covered by a hard mask.

  “Save it.” He took a step away from Jonathan as if he couldn’t bear to be near him.

  Father blustered on, oblivious to what was happening. “You don’t own Vallen Industries, Pellegrini, so if you think seducing my son is going to win you points, think again. Of all the disgusting, low-down—”

  “Frederick.” The steel in Marco’s low voice was deadly enough to stop even Father in his tracks. “Watch what you’re accusing me of. If you want any more of my expertise to get you out of your frigging crisis, you’ll stop right there.”

  Father huffed and glared at
Marco, then said gruffly, “Get your things. I’ve got a charter plane waiting at the airport.” He turned to Jonathan. “I don’t have time to deal with you now. I’m extremely disappointed.”

  Rage, white-hot and cleansing, flashed through Jonathan. Suddenly he didn’t give a flying fuck what Father thought. “When have you ever not been disappointed in me?” he snapped. “It’s my life, Father. You don’t have to be a part of it.” He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Marco walking away. “Marco! Wait!” He ran after him.

  Marco stopped and gave Jonathan a cold stare. “What?”

  “I… I….” All the pretty words Jonathan had prepared for his explanation speech vanished in the face of Marco’s chillingly remote expression. It was almost like Jonathan had ceased to exist. “I’m sorry.”

  “I see. I’m sorry too. Sorry you turned out to be a liar instead of who I thought—” Marco cut himself off and removed the ocean pendant. “Here. This is yours. Give it to the next guy you fool into lo—” Fury clouded Marco’s features as he held out the necklace with a jerky movement. When Jonathan didn’t take it, Marco dropped it on the ground and took the gangplank back to the ship in three long strides.

  Jonathan stared numbly after him, barely registering Anthony stooping to pick up the pendant while Father bitched at his cousin about being a bad influence.

  Then he felt a hand on his arm. “Go after him.” Anthony’s voice was urgent. “You still have time to explain. Don’t let him leave like this. Go!”

  Anthony pressed the pendant into his hand, and Jonathan ran up the gangplank, throat constricted, barely able to take a breath. How could he breathe, when Marco was his oxygen?

  JONATHAN VALLEN. Marco strode through the ship’s lobby like an automaton. Jonathan Vallen, Frederick’s son. Jonathan Vallen, that hopeless case that I had to replace so the company didn’t go under. Jonathan Vallen, who lied through his teeth to me this entire week.

  “Never again,” he muttered and headed for Melanie’s quarters.

  At his sharp rap, Melanie opened the door. “Marco!”

  “Hello, Melanie.” He pushed past her. “Excuse me. I need to talk to Sophia.”

  Sophia hobbled around the corner leaning on a cane. “Marco? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! What’s wrong?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. I will not lose it, he told himself sternly, even as the wounded boy inside wanted to collapse on his sister and cry out his pain. “Change in plan. Vallen showed up, and I need to go to Boston.”

  “What? Now? It couldn’t wait two days?” Sophia plopped down on an armchair with a frown. “I hate your boss.”

  “He gets me for one more month and I’m out of there for good. I’m giving him my thirty-day notice today.”

  “Good.” Sophia peered at him more closely. “You must be upset about having to leave Jonah, huh? I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Marco couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped, but then he clamped his mouth shut. He’d tell Sophia eventually. Right now wasn’t the time. “Are you going to be okay getting home? I’ll hire someone to assist you, if you need.”

  Melanie spoke up. “I’ll be happy to get her to the airport tomorrow, and we can ask for a wheelchair to get her on and off the plane.” She put a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “As long as there’s someone who can pick you up on the other end.”

  “Yes, my friend Katie is coming to pick me up.” Sophia held her hand out to Marco. “I’m sorry everything is ending in a muddle. I’ll call you when I get back to New York.”

  He took her hand and raised it to his lips. It was just as well they didn’t hug, because he was still perilously close to breaking down. “Ti voglio bene, sorellina.”

  “I wish all the best for you too, fratello mio.”

  The fog descended again as Marco walked rapidly to his stateroom. How could he? What kind of a fool does he think I am? Stupid, stupid fool. How could I believe all his lies? I knew something was off. I knew it!

  He rounded the corner and stopped short. Jonah—no, Jonathan—was slumped against the wall in front of his door. He straightened and turned an eager, wretched face to him as Marco came down the hall.

  “Marco. Please. I want to talk to you.”

  Marco produced his room key and inserted it, keeping his face stony. “Why even bother? I know who you are now. Was that what you were going to tell me today? Or some other lie?” Marco found it hard to concentrate with Jonah so near, smelling so maddeningly good. It took him two furious tries with the stupid key, but he finally swung the door open and stepped inside, Jonah following close behind him.

  Fuck. The sight of the unmade bed hit him in the face as memories of their lovemaking socked him in the gut. Jonah—so open and ardent—his head flung back as Marco sank deep inside him….

  Marco stared at the bed instead of him. “You knew who I was the whole time. You knew that I was working for your goddamned father. You and… Anthony, is it? You and Anthony made up a pack of lies. Why?” He knew he shouldn’t be giving the man who’d pretended to be Jonah a chance to explain, but a part of him had to know. He also knew he should be thinking of him as Jonathan.

  Jonathan’s voice came from close by. Although he still couldn’t look at him, Marco listened.

  “I’m so sorry I lied. I hate myself for it. I… I’ll try to explain. When Father brought you in to take over Vallen, I was a mess. Sad, out of shape, a loser who couldn’t do anything right. You were… well, you. Marco Pellegrini, superstar. I was humiliated by Father bringing you in, and you made it clear you thought I was hopeless.”

  Marco wanted to protest the harshness but it was true. He had thought Jonathan Vallen was hopeless—at least in terms of taking over the company. He focused back on what Jonathan was saying.

  “But at least your coming gave me a reason to get out of there. I did move to my mother’s cottage in Cape Cod, and I do have a dog named Cantata. That wasn’t a lie. Everything else—that I told you, that we talked about—was true. The only thing I lied about this whole week was my name.”

  “Okay.” If Marco wasn’t so upset, he’d be marveling at Jonathan Vallen’s complete transformation. Handsome, fascinating Jonah Rutledge was anything but a hopeless loser. “Go on.”

  “When we ran into each other on the cruise, I was so embarrassed, remembering all that, that I was happy you didn’t recognize me. Then Anthony made up the fake names, and I… I shouldn’t have gone along with it.”

  “Why did you?”

  “You were interested in me. Me, Jonathan Vallen! And you were gorgeous and so much nicer than I remembered. Then we started talking about music, and I just… I didn’t want it to end. It’s no excuse.”

  “Why not tell me?” Marco faced him. Jonah. Jonathan. Such a lovely, humble guy. Such a goddamned liar. “You didn’t think you were good enough as you are? Or was it that you didn’t trust me not to be the bastard you thought I was before?”

  Tears rose to Jonathan’s eyes. Stormy ocean blue. “Probably both, at first. But I found out right away that you’re not a bastard. The complete opposite, in fact. Then I felt terrible about lying and kept wanting to tell you, but….” He swallowed. “I fell for you so hard, and you were falling for me, only it wasn’t me, it was Jonah, and I… I knew when I told you who I really was, that would be the end of it.”

  “You’re right. It’s the end.” Marco watched Jonathan flinch, watched him steadily and spoke from some place far removed from either one’s pain. “Not because you’re Jonathan Vallen, but because you couldn’t trust me. Or yourself. And the next time I open myself up to love, it will be to someone who’ll give me their whole self, warts and all.” He turned away, not wanting to see the raw misery on Jonathan’s face any longer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to pack my things and go handle your father’s crisis.”

  “I’m so, so sorry, Marco. I should have trusted you. I should have trusted myself. I do love you.”

  There was a silence. Marco felt
frozen in place, waiting to see what Jonah—no, Jonathan—was going to do, wanting, wishing—what? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, because he heard a clink, then footsteps, then the sound of the door shutting.

  He turned slowly around. On the end table glinted the ocean pendant. He picked it up and closed his fist around it, intending to throw it in the trash. But instead, fool that he was, he pressed it against his lips, then dropped it into his suitcase.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  “JONNY. JONNY!”

  Jonathan didn’t move. He’d flung himself face-first onto his bed after leaving Marco, and he stayed buried in the tear-drenched pillow despite Anthony jostling his shoulder. “What?” he finally muttered. “Go away.”

  “What happened? I hung around on the dock and saw Marco leave with Uncle Frederick. Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

  “Nothing. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Oh, God! Jonny, I’m so, so fucking sorry. Fuck, I’m such an ass!”

  The tears in Anthony’s voice made Jonathan turn. Anthony paced back and forth, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. When he saw Jonathan’s face, he came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “It’s all my fault. Stupid fairy-tale shenanigans. When am I going to learn to stop playing around with people’s hearts?”

  “Um, aren’t you being a bit overdramatic?”

  Anthony gave him a small smile, but his eyes remained anxious. “Well, you know me. I’m a drama queen. How’re you doing?” He ruffled Jonathan’s hair.

  “Bad.”

  “I know.” Anthony gave his head a sympathetic pat. “Marco looked even worse when he left. You two poor babies. I hate Uncle Frederick.”

  “What does Father have to do with anything?”

  Anthony reared back, confused. “What do you mean? He’s the reason everything got screwed up! If it wasn’t for him, you and Marco would be in some café, talking everything out. Right?”