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“All over, really. But San Francisco, originally.”
“San Fran? Man, you’re a long way from home.”
“What can I say? I like the view up here.”
Artair was closer for that last comment, standing in the doorway about six feet away. He’d put on clothes—a blue flannel, unbuttoned and bare chested, and a pair of jeans. The denim was tight and loose at the same time, hugging his ass, but hanging a little at the waist, showing off the top of his fiery-red pubic hair.
That image made Luca suddenly aware of his own stance. Because he was kneeling on the floor with his ass facing Artair.
Oh, God. Not again.
“I swear this wasn’t deliberate,” said Luca, jumping to his feet.
“Of course not. It’s just how people in Seattle greet each other, yeah?”
“I’m serious! I was just . . .”
He stopped before finishing the sentence. Because saying: I was groping the moss, seemed much weirder than the other explanation.
Luca had expected the teasing to continue. Instead, Artair looked approvingly over the cabin interior—at the way the inside and the outside blended together so perfectly. “Beautiful, isn’t it.”
“Yeah, it really is,” said Luca, breathing in the shade. “I love the way the ferns are starting to grow in the windowsill. Not on the windowsill. In the windowsill.”
Artair chuckled. “It’s almost like nature is taking back its brothers. Wood and metal, returning to the earth.”
The old countertop was cool as Luca leaned against it. “Look at you getting all poetic. But what else should I expect from a musician.”
“What? Who told you? Are all the fire watches detectives now?”
“I saw your guitar case when you came to the tower. Remember?”
“Maybe? I was kinda distracted by other things.”
Luca grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry again about that. Probably not what you were expecting when you wandered into the tower?”
Artair leaned an arm against the wall, causing his shirt to open even farther, wool over soft fur and manly stock. He rested his free thumb into one of his empty belt loops, dragging down his jeans so far that the top of his shaft was showing. “Nah. It was better than I was expecting. You should do it again sometime.”
On paper, the stance was the height of horniness. In practice, however, it was so ridiculous that Luca didn’t swoon, he snort laughed.
Artair broke the hypersexual pose with laughter of his own. “Hey, that was a killer move! How dare you mock my flirting!”
“No, no, no. It was very effective. I’m sure it’d work fine on a lot of guys.”
“Just not you?”
Luca gave a soft little sigh. There wasn’t any accusation in Artair’s voice. The meaning of his question seemed a lot more simple: What’s the deal here, buddy?
It was a reasonable question to ask. Back in the tower, Luca had done a terrible job at hiding his attraction. Because in any other situation, he’d have leaned in for the kiss. Returned the wandering hands up those thick thighs. Slowly unbuttoned Artair’s shirt, running his tongue over nipples and chest, relishing as the man grunted under his attention.
But instead, Luca had told him to stop. Right when it looked like things were getting hot, Luca had called it off.
No wonder Artair was confused.
And yet, the answer wasn’t that simple.
As a rule, Luca tried to be as honest as possible. And he tried not to hide anything from the people who mattered.
But he’d also learned the hard way that you didn’t go around telling strangers that you were a sex columnist. And you especially didn’t tell insanely handsome men who obviously had the hots for you.
