Dreaming in Color by Cameron Dane (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

he gathered another helping of tomato. “He never did come back. Probably did die in that storm. Beatrice passed in this house, in nineteen sixty-nine.”

A quick flicker darkened the blue in Marek's eyes, shifting them to midnight. “She lived a long time without him.”

“Yeah, she did. It gave the house a beautiful, if sad, legacy.”

Questions about Payton and Marek's obvious loss of his partner sat thick in Colin's throat, nearly choking him. The man had to have died; Marek's response to his name and the carving on the door spoke of a connection that would not have been severed any other way. Uncertainty wiggled inside Colin, looking for a place to take root. In his dreams, Colin only wanted to take that man's—Marek's—pain away and give him someone to cling to in the dark. In reality, sitting across from someone who had so clearly loved another man, Colin worried that even if his dreams were correct, and he was supposed to be here, would his role be playing second fiddle to a ghost? Curiosity, jealousy, and insecurity mingled inside Colin, churning his stomach. If only Marek would tell him something about Payton; if Colin could come at this new friendship from a place of knowledge, he knew he would be able to at least accept Payton, if not exactly embrace him.

“Can I—” Stop it. Don't even think about asking. Marek will kick you right out the door and never let you back in. Remember, he doesn't have the advantage of the dreams you've lived with all this time, so he is on shaky footing in this thing. “—get you something while I'm up? I need a glass of water.” Colin bit his cheek and stifled the burn to know more about Marek and his past. He stood and quickly pulled a tumbler from the cabinet, walked to the sink, averting his face while he regrouped.

“I'm good with what I have here.”

Colin kept his head down and his eyes off the window, looking only at the sink while he turned the knob on a water purifier attachment and filled his glass. “I'll just be a second.” Standing at the sink, Colin gulped down every drop of water and filled the glass again. His heart rate finally slowed to a natural rhythm, and he joined Marek at the table once more. “Okay, so, second set of owners. American couple. He was some rich fat cat dude with a whole lot of money, and the wife was number three, the realtor believes. I got all the information about the second couple from her, the one who sold you the house.” Colin remembered his pleasure yesterday at the thought of poking Marek with whatever he found; now, he worried the inside of his cheek to the point of drawing blood. “You probably don't think it was very cool of me to go searching for all this stuff behind your back.”

His plate empty, Marek leaned back in his chair. He remained silent for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, rolling his bottle of beer between his hands. “I believe you've had these dreams you say you have, so I can understand why you want some answers.”

Thank you, God. A torrent of relief rushed over Colin, stealing away a weight from his shoulders he hadn't even realized was there. “Anything I find out about you will come from you.” His hands trembled, and he swirled a chunk of bread in olive oil to cover it up. “I will not go searching secondary sources to get those questions answered. I promise you that.”

Marek dipped his head. “So you've said. Go ahead and tell me about the previous owners.”

“According to your realtor, the wife of the second couple was considerably younger than her husband, and she had him by the dick, so to speak. The realtor's father was the original handler for the house, and he trained his two daughters to take over his business one day. Which they did, much to their mother's dismay, who wanted either one or both of them to land a wealthy visitor to the islands.” Colin caught himself about to yammer on some more, stopped, and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, that was off track. We got to talking about other things while chatting about the history of the house.”

“You seem to have that way about you.”

Marek's comment nicked at Colin's confidence, and he frowned. “What way?”

“The way that gets people revealing private things about themselves as if they've known you forever.”

Colin sat up a little straighter, covering his reaction to the painful jab. “I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a searing judgment.”

“It's just a statement based on observation.” Marek lifted his attention from the table, and a hint of faraway softness crept into his stare and voice. “I can remember you being similar when we were teenagers.” He paused as soon as the words left his lips, shook his head, and Colin heard him growl the start of a curse. Abruptly, Marek stood and collected their empty plates. “Never mind. It doesn't mean anything. I shouldn't even have said it. Just finish your story.”

“Ah, okay.” As Marek rinsed off their dishes, Colin studied his rigid back and jerky hand movements. Thick lines of muscle moved under his sun-darkened skin, and his trunks sat low on his hips, teasing Colin into thinking he might get a glimpse of something more. God, I bet he has the tightest, most amazing, fuckable ass. Colin's cock stirred, responding to the direction of his thoughts. He remembered that last dream, where Marek offered himself to Colin for the taking. Colin swallowed a groan as he got to his feet, and he made it halfway to Marek with the full intention of slipping in behind him and pushing those swim trunks to the kitchen floor. A few nights away from his dreams, and Colin already missed the feel of Marek's hard body against his.

Colin reached out, saw his own fingers nearly graze the small of Marek's back,