Mann of My Dreams Book 3: Just the Thought of You

Chapter 1

Just the Thought of You

Copyright © 2016 Tinnean

All rights reserved

WARNING:

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000!

REMEMBER:

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.

PLEASE BE ADVISED:

This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It contains scenes of a s****l nature between two or more consenting men.

This is for Bob, because… Bob. It will always be for him.

This is also for Tk Paige. Her comment that Mother’s Day would be a good release day gave me the impetus to complete this novel sooner rather than later. (Even though Mother’s Day has passed.) Thank you, Tk!

But most of all, this is for Caleb, the inspiration for the Balm, for making my friend Tony so happy.

Acknowledgment: Many thanks to Gail Morse for the amazing amount of help she offers and for always being only a PM away.

Thanks also to Tisha, to Liz Bichmann, my wonderful editor, and to Jeff Adkins for the formatting and the consistently gratifying covers.

One final note: I’ve mentioned All My Children a number of times in this book. I’d like to take the opportunity to thank the cast of this soap opera for the joy they brought to my mom’s last months. This is for her and for them.

Blurb

With the death of Quinton Mann’s cousin, Mann Manor becomes his, and in spite of assurances that the Manor isn’t in bad shape, Quinn and his lover, Mark Vincent, discover otherwise when they arrive to inspect it. They find the floors have been torn up, some more recently than the last time his cousin had been here. Quinn agrees that their best option at this time is to have the house wired for security, and they take off for Savannah to pursue a lead into the accident that eventually resulted in the death of Quinn’s cousin.

Grey Rayne, an agent of Mark’s, is working on this until the floorboard gives way under her, and she’s injured. In extricating herself, she finds a letter and a map that might reveal the reasons behind the damage done to the Manor.

Will Quinn and Mark be able to get to the bottom of this? And what will happen if it comes out at the Company that Quinn is friends with the deadliest agent the WBIS has ever produced?

Chapter 1

SATURDAY MORNING MIGHT not have been the best day weather-wise—it was damp and overcast, with the hint of rain—but I was spending it with the two people I cared most about in the world—Quinton Mann and his mother, Portia.

And okay, so Gregor Novotny, Portia’s chef, chauffeur, and bodyguard, was coming along. I could put up with him for Portia’s sake.

The plan was to tour the house Quinn had inherited, but first we were going to Charmaine for brunch. I’d never been, but Quinn raved about the quality of the food, and Portia agreed with him.

She also mentioned how the wrought iron tables and chairs in the courtyard off the street looked so quaint, but because of the weather, they weren’t an option.

We entered the restaurant, where Quinn had made reservations—good thing, because even though it was Saturday, the place was already filling up.

“Okay,” I said as I set aside the cane I’d been using for the past few days and sat down beside Quinn.

I’d had to use a crutch after I took a bullet to the thigh a couple of weeks ago, but I was a fast healer—it often surprised people how fast my broken bones or bullet wounds mended. Although my leg did tend to ache at the most inconvenient times.

As for the carved ebony cane, it was more than it appeared to be. Romero, head of R&D at the WBIS, had supplied me with it. A twist to the handle, and it turned into a sword that was tipped with the venom of the species of fer-de-lance that lived on a small, abandoned island off the coast of Brazil. One of its names was Ilha da Queimada Grande, but it was also called Snake Island, due to the humongous number of reptiles that inhabited it.

I glanced at the waiter to find he was staring at Quinn as if Quinn was his last hope of heaven. If he started drooling… “What’s good?” I kept my tone cool, but I wanted to tear his head off and shove it up his ass.

The waiter proceeded to rattle off the specials while he handed us menus, but his gaze was fastened on Quinn and he never once took it off him.

***

“I’m not taking you back to Charmaine. Ever,” I snarled as I hobbled to the car. Novotny was driving, since Quinn’s Jag was too snug for four adults and my Dodge was in its garage at Aspen Reach. Besides, no one drove the Dodge but me.

“Mark, he’s harmless,” Quinn said patiently.

Yeah, well, we’d talk about that tonight.

“That waiter was coming on to you.” He’d brought my lover a Bloody Mary, which Quinn hadn’t ordered and which I’d taken from the waiter. What pissed me off was it wasn’t half-bad. “In front of me.”

“See? I told you.” Novotny had to butt in. “This is your fault.”

“Mine?” It was a good thing he hadn’t poked me, or I’d have knocked him down. “How do you figure that?”

“Before Quinn started hanging around with you, nobody made passes at him.”

“Which was very disheartening, Gregor.” Quinn’s expression was mournful. “I felt so… unloved.”

“Well, they were idiots,” I said. “And their loss is my gain.” And tonight I’d make him feel loved.

“Chris is a sweet boy,” Portia assured me, and I stared at her, at a loss. How could she— But then she continued, “He’s not right for Quinton, but I’m sure he’ll find someone someday.”

I blew out a relieved breath. It was still hard to believe a lady like Portia Mann would have no objections to a guy like me being involved with her son.

Quinn opened the back passenger door of the Town Car. Just as I was about to angle myself in, a strident female voice called out.

“Quinton!”

Quinn went very still. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He turned and said in his cool Ice Man voice, “Hello, Susan. How are you?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you. Mitchell and Barbara McVeigh told me about running into you after Christmas, and you were with a man.” She glared at Mark. “Is this the faggot you dumped me for? Were you gay all the time we were seeing each other? Do I need to have myself and my fiancé tested?”

“The correct term is bisexual, and you needn’t get tested on my account. We never had s*x, if you’ll recall.”

She turned an ugly shade of red and drew back her hand to slap him. Quinn, being a gentleman, would have allowed it.

On the other hand, I was no gentleman. I caught her wrist and closed my fingers around it. Her eyes widened, and she whimpered and tugged futilely.

“Mark.”

I let her go, and she stumbled backward and would have lost her balance, if Novotny hadn’t caught her. She jerked herself away, glared at him over her shoulder, then turned her glare on me.

Which didn’t faze me in the least.

“Listen to me, woman. Whether Quinn went with me or anyone else, you and he wouldn’t have worked out. You’ve got someone, so leave Quinn alone. And just remember this—I have friends all over town. If it gets back to me that you’re bad-mouthing him, I’ll come after you.”

“You’re—you’re threatening me? I’ll… I’ll report you to the authorities!”

“Y’know something? You’re boring me. Go away. Portia, do you want to sit in the back with me or in the front with Novotny?”

“In the front, Mark.”

Novotny bounded forward and opened the door for her. I was surprised he didn’t insist she sit in the backseat because it would have been safer.

Quinn was speaking to Susan Burkhart in such a quiet voice I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Quinn, get in the car, would you? We’ve got stuff to do.”

“Of course, Mark. Susan, I won’t say it was nice seeing you again, but I do wish you every happiness.”

She gave a breathless little shriek, and Quinn turned his back on her. She saw I was watching, and she changed her mind about whatever she’d planned to do. Instead, she bolted down the sidewalk.

First smart move she’d made since she’d accosted Quinn.

He waited until I settled myself in the backseat, then went around to the other side and got in.

“I’ll say one thing about having you around,” Novotny muttered as he shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine with an annoyed twist. “Things are never dull.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not.

Chapter 2

NOVOTNY PARKED THE Town Car in the long driveway of the house Quinn had inherited. “I want to check out the garage,” he said. “Portia, will you join me?”

“Of course.”

Novotny took an umbrella, and they headed along the driveway. It wasn’t long before they were out of sight around the far side of the huge, sprawling house. Six thousand square feet that consisted of three stories, six bedrooms, a loft, and six and a half baths. There were outbuildings in addition to the house, and it was all set on two and a half acres.

“Jesus, Quinn,” I growled as I got a good look at the condition of the house.

It was over a hundred years old, and frankly, it looked it. Shutters hung lopsidedly on rusted hinges, and windows were cracked or broken; shingles had fallen from the roof; trees encroached to within feet of its foundation; and ivy grew up the front walls, enclosing the porch like a shroud. The only thing that was new was the lock on the front door.

I braced my weight on the cane. “I thought your cousin said this place wasn’t in bad shape.”

“Possibly she’d become so used to its condition that it struck her that way.”

Possibly… but I wondered.

Heather Snow was the daughter of Nigel Mann’s half-brother, which made her Quinn’s cousin. After Addison Mann had kicked the bucket, she’d inherited the house that had belonged to a Mann from the time it had been built, shortly before the Spanish American War.

The house came to Quinn after Ms. Snow, the victim of a hit-and-run accident, passed away—something I’d have to look into because she was Quinn’s cousin and Quinn cared. And in addition, that “accident” sounded hinky.

Quinn looked from me to the steps that led up to the porch, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin. “Shall I carry you?”

That yanked me out of my sour mood, and I grinned back at him. “Over the threshold, you mean? Nice thought, but…” It might be 2003, but marriage wasn’t legal for same-s*x couples in this country, dammit. That was too maudlin, so I said, “I think it might be a little uncomfortable for you to carry me.” I was six foot three and weighed a buck ninety-five, whereas Quinn stood five ten and tipped the scales at about thirty pounds less.

“Are you questioning my ability to tote you up a few stairs and across a porch?”

“Never.”

“Good.” He took a step toward me, and I held my right hand out to prevent him from coming closer.

“Hold on, Superman. Let’s just put that thought on hold.”

“For the time being?” Quinn’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “All right, Lois. Let’s go—”

Novotny and Portia rejoined us. “The carriage house is in seriously bad shape, Quinn. The local kids must have made it their hangout. There are empty beer bottles and…” Color flooded his cheeks and he glanced sideways at Portia. He straightened his shoulders, ready to bite the bullet. “Used condoms were scattered all over the place.”

Portia squeezed his arm. “It’s all right, dear one. I’ve seen worse.”