Too Damn Hot

Fuck, he's gorgeous. Concentrate, Travis. That's what Detective Travis Burkhardt was thinking, but it's not what he said to the young vineyard worker in the parking lot outside the Queen's Crown Winery in the plantation country Virginia eastern foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains. What he said was, "I just need to know where you were after 10:00 p.m. last night."

"Was that when Mr. Fouchet fell off the catwalk in the processing building?" the small, dark, achingly handsome Julio Cortez asked.

"It happened sometime after ten, yes, when a meeting broke up and he told someone he was staying to check the wine vats."

Fell or was pushed, Burkhardt thought. That wasn't clear yet, and until it was, he'd have to do as much checking as he could. The winemaker's skull had been crushed and more like from a blunt instrument than a two-flight fall onto concrete, the medical examiner thought in an initial check.

"I wasn't here last night. I didn't come to that meeting."

"Yes, well, we need to check on where everyone was. Where were you after 10:00 last night until just now?"

"I wasn't here before now. I don't want to get someone involved, though. Maybe I should talk to a lawyer first."

"You shouldn't need to talk to a lawyer to tell me where you were, Mr. Cortez."

"You can call me Julio," the young man said, giving Burkhardt a glorious—and Burkhardt thought, interested—smile that nearly made the detective melt into his shoes fighting just how much he'd like to jump this guy's bones. This dude is just too damn hot, he was thinking.

"Fine, but you'll have to tell me sooner or later. You were with someone, weren't you?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Was it with a woman or a man?" Burkhardt had already gotten the lowdown on this guy and men. Considering his own interests, it had been the most interesting information he'd heard that day, accentuated by having found that Julio was sex on a stick. There were others he'd already talked to who were happy to say that all of the men who even leaned bi here wanted to get into Julio's shorts—and that some of them had done so. More than one had offered that the victim, the winemaker, Fouchet, certainly had.

And one of the employees here had said there had been a dustup between Fouchet and his boyfriend, Franklin Stanfield, the owner of the Stanfield Inn. Stanfield probably wasn't wild that his boyfriend was humping Julio. The detective made a note to check out where Stanfield was the previous night and maybe how he felt about Fouchet not coming home last night. But the fact was that this Julio was sex on overdrive and lots guys wanted to cover him. Burkhardt himself wanted to get into Julio's shorts and he'd just met the young man. The sexy Cuban was some sort of man magnet. And he seemed to know it.

"I really can't say. Not without talking to a lawyer, I think. I'm not up on the laws here."

"You have a lawyer on attainer, do you?" Burkhardt asked.

"No, but I know where I can get one." I can get one easy enough from Mr. Conner, Julio was thinking. He's the county prosecutor here. He could make this all go away, but he, of course, won't want to be dragged into this. He's the county prosecutor. And he's married. And he's who I was with last night. When I'd gotten home from the winery, there's been a note from Don, the guy I was living with, the chef at the Stanfield Inn, saying he had been given time at a beach house in Nags Head by his boss and telling me to come down there today. I was off anyone's leash last evening, so I'd gone out to that roadhouse over on the Waynesboro side of the mountain. Mr. Conner had been there. He's not going to want to alibi me, though. And Don wasn't home to do it.

They both looked up as a vintage Rolls Royce convertible drove up and parked facing them. Old Man Gordon, the patriarch of a local FFV—First Families of Virginia—family who had recently moved into a cottage on 250, down the road from the ancestral Vermillion plantation. Vermillion was the showcase of the region and had been in the family since before the Revolution. The third of his four daughters had married a rock star and they'd wanted to move into the main house. And they had the money to make a good case that they could manage the upkeep on the estate.

Gordon sat in his car, his eyes boring into Julio. Burkhardt was about to go over and ask the old man what he was doing here—had he heard about the death and knew something to pass on? Was he the one Julio had been with the previous night? That wouldn't have surprised Burkhardt. He knew the old man was bent that way. There was speculation, though, on whether the old man could still get it up, with or without the help of pills. He guessed that didn't mean the man couldn't still manage some form of sexual pleasure with a looker like Julio, though. Burkhardt knew quite a bit about the gay community here. He dipped his toes in that himself, although he mainly went over to Richmond for his needs. A gay detective was at a disadvantage in the close-knit Central Virginia community.

But, shit, he'd really like to get his cock in this honey. Maybe he didn't want an alibi right now. Maybe he wanted an excuse to meet with Julio again—maybe over a couple of beers. Maybe in his bedroom. He was contemplating how to say this as Julio and Gordon played nice-nice with their eyes, but a cop saved him.

"The ME is finished with the prelim and would like to talk to you before they haul the body away," the cop, who had come out of the processing room, said as he walked up.

Burkhardt turned to Julio, "You can get that lawyer if you want. We can meet to get your alibi. Lawyer or no lawyer, you're going to need to provide that information. You OK about meeting off the books to discuss that?"

Julio gave him a look, realizing what the detective really meant—and not just that maybe he could provide the information off the records. The detective wouldn't be any more interested in bringing the county prosecutor into the case than Conner would be. The detective looked good to him, and if they hooked up maybe Burkhardt would help smooth over the alibi business. "Maybe I could do that," he answered.

The detective smiled and picked up the thread again. "I just want to rule everyone out right quick if this appears to be more than an accident. I can understand if the guy you were with was someone powerful who should be keeping it in his pants. We know what's what here in Gordonton, what past for a village on this stretch of route 250 winding up to the mountains to the west. Talk to a lawyer and see what he says about you meeting with me informally—over a beer or something—and slipping me a name. I can see what I can do about keeping it secret and giving you a pass. I've got to go see the medical examiner now. Think about it. I'll get in touch later. Don't leave town until this is over."

It was with a great relief that Julio saw the hunky detective turn and walk back into the processing building. He was one sexy, rough-looking dude. Julio wouldn't mind going under him. He wouldn't mind that one bit. He broke off from that thought, though, and his gaze went back to Chance Gordon, sitting behind the wheel of his elegant old Rolls. Gordon nodded to him, put the Rolls in reverse, and slowly drove out of the parking lot and onto the winding rural road at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains and back toward Route 250.

Julio walked over to a beat-up Ford 150 pickup that looked older than the 1960 Rolls Silver Cloud, but wasn't, got in, and followed Gordon out of the parking lot. As he drove, he took out his cellphone and put a call into the county prosecutor's office. The next call he made was to Don Fields to let him know Julio wouldn't be showing up in Nags Head anytime soon.

* * * *

Julio arrived at the cottage on 250 toward Charlottesville that Chance Gordon was moving into before Gordon arrived. Gordon had gone first to the small farm in a back corner of the Vermillion estate to pick up his nephew, Jack Turner. Jack and Julio had agreed to help Gordon assemble bookcases and get the old man's law books on shelves in the cottage. Gordon had named the place Last Stand, and that pretty much reflected where Gordon was in life now. He was suffering multiple old-age ailments at sixty-two and, with massive debts hanging over Vermillion and four daughters and no son to continue the Gordon line, he was giving up. The fabulously rich movie star, Grant Gillus, had come along to marry one of his daughters and bail the old man out financially, but that had come with the demand to have the big house and for Gordon to vacate.

Jack Turner was black—or appeared so in a strikingly handsome and fit version—but he also was Chance Gordon's nephew, Gordon's sister having been knocked up by one of the estate workers, who she subsequently married. They had been allotted a small farm at the back of the estate to hide out, and that's where Jack lived now. Everyone in the family had ignored them existed except Gordon, who, as a son of his own hadn't appeared, had increasingly treated Jack as that son. He still, however, kept the young man on the secret side of the family, and Jack was continually on edge with resentment of that while showing up to help Gordon whenever he was called. He both loved and resented his uncle. There was continuing apprehension of whether Jack would inherit his farm when Gordon died, although, sensing death approaching, Gordon had recently told him he would. There were increasing hints that Grant Gillus and his wife might dispute that.

Jack and Julio spent the late afternoon putting together bookcases and loading them with books in the study at Last Stand. The cottage was commodious and conveniently laid out, with one room flowing into the next with wide access between rooms and more than enough rooms for the old man's needs. The doorways and approaches were designed to accommodate wheelchair access, although it hadn't come to that in need for Gordon. It was more than adequate for an elderly widower, but it was a big step down from the main house at Vermillion.

The old man's long-time live-out housekeeper, Sadie, Jack's aunt on his father's side, who had transferred down from the big house to cover Gordon's needs, had made them a supper and laid it out on the table before she departed for the day, as the sun was going down.

The three ate dinner and then settled down in the half-unpacked living room to watch a baseball game on TV, drink beer, and relax. Jack dozed off in a recliner chair and Gordon started fooling around with Julio on a sofa facing the TV. His attention to Julio went more to the young man, loosening the sexy young man's already loose clothes even more, inserting hands, fondling, kissing until there was no attention left to give baseball.

The master bedroom was conveniently located off the living room, and the two found themselves on the bed, Julio now naked and Gordon mostly so. Gordon was not a fat man, had been hands-on on his estate to the point of having a fit body for a man his age, and he'd been quite a cocksman in his younger days—with both women and men. Julio was indulgent and ever randy. He got along just fine with the old man and he'd been accommodating to whatever Gordon wanted from him.

This evening Gordon wanted sex from him.

Julio lay on his back, in the older man's embrace, Gordon's left arm under the back of the younger man and his right hand exploring the young man's divine body. They kissed and Gordon played with Julio's nipples and let his hand slowly glide down the beautiful body, lacing his fingers through the young man's balls and squeezing and distending them, as Julio moaned for him. The fingers went lower, rimming Julio's hole and then working their way in, stretching and seeking and finding the prostate to worry as Julio's hips began to rock against the hand, and he gasped and whispered, "Yes, yes, yes," in between Gordon's kisses on his lips when the old man buried his face in Julio's throat and kissed and sucked there.

The hand went to encasing Julio's cock and Gordon slowly stroked him off—all the way to Julio's moaning release.

Julio's hand then came into play, fondling the old man and centering on Gordon's cock. The old man was built big, but it took a long time these days for him to achieve even a three-quarter's erection. If he knew in advance that he wanted to be in full erection, he had to resort to pills. He wanted that now and excused himself long enough to pop one. When he returned to the bed, Julio took the time to get him fully hard and then turned on his side away from Gordon, with his butt nestled into the old man's groin. He put the head of the shaft in place with a hand and jutted his buttocks back, impaling himself enough for the bulb to breach the sphincter.

Embracing the young Cuban closely and sighing and murmuring his gratitude, Gordon took over the fuck, sinking in the well-used young man's channel easily, stretching and exploring it. He set up a slow rhythm, which Julio matched in rocking his hips back and forward, and they managed a completion, a rare getting it off that Gordon was managing these days.

They sighed and murmured each other into sleep.

Jack hadn't been asleep all of that time. From time to time, he'd gotten up and come to the bedroom door to check on how they were doing—and what they were doing. He was happy that his uncle was able to get it off and he was envious of him doing so with the sexy young Cuban. That boy was damn hot.

A bit before 2:00 in the morning, Jack heard the shower going in the bathroom off the bedroom and in a few moments Julio came out, dressed.

"I have to work tomorrow," he said. "Mr. Gordon's dead to the world. You need a ride back to the farm?"

"That would be nice," Jack answered.

They rode back to the farm, but Julio didn't go immediately back to his own place—to Don Fields's place. Field was in Nags Head. Watching Julio giving it to Chance Gordon had made Jack horny. So, Julio spent the rest of the night at Jack's farm, on Jack's bed. He didn't get much sleep. Jack was a virile, vigorous black bull.

Julio had struggled with Jack to deny access, which is the game Jack wanted, but once he was skewered, he lay back, open and vulnerable, while the black stud's long, thick cock journeyed into the Cuban's core. He lay there then, docilely, as the victorious Jack rode him long, hard, and deep. The bed springs of Jack's bed squealed and the brass headboard rhythmically bounced off the bedroom wall, as the black stud held Julio down on the bed and pounded away on him, fucking the hell out of the sexy little Cuban who was just too damn hot not to totally fuck.

Julio cried out his pain-passion and the delight of getting it from a hung, fit, black stud.

Julio was getting it from a lot of the men here and about.

* * * *

"My goodness, what happened to you, Sir?"

Detective Burkhardt had been called into the county prosecutor's office the first thing in the morning. And in this region of Virginia, if you were called into the county prosecutor's office, you showed up. Burkhardt figured he knew why. What he'd found when he got to Gill Conner's office was a man with a gauze patch applied to the side of his head.

"Those damn kids driving around and popping off rounds at stop signs," Conner said. "I stopped at my mailbox on 250 yesterday afternoon and got grazed with a bullet. The doc said I was lucky it wasn't even a millimeter off where it went by."

"So, that's why the sheriff's office was emptied out when I got there just now."

"That, and I've heard there's been another death. No details on that yet, though. How about that Fouchet case? Ready to clear it as accidental death yet?"

"I haven't checked with the ME yet today, but something more can't be ruled out yet," Burkhardt answered. "The ME said there were signs of a struggle on the catwalk above where he landed. There were bruises and a skull fracture that don't work out with the fall yet. Is that why you called me in?"

"It's related, and I'd be just as happy to have this ruled accidental. We have more cases on our plate just now than we can handle. It's about an alibi for that Hispanic wine worker, Julio Cortez. I understand you've been pressing him for one. I have a client—another lawyer—who confirms the young man was with him. I think you can understand that it's a delicate matter and will take this as confirmation that Cortez was somewhere else and will close that line of inquiry."

Why you old coot, Burkhardt thought and had to turn away so the prosecutor didn't see him smile. His suspicion had been right. Julio had been with Gill Conner, who was married and was prominent here. Well, the detective hadn't been interested in pinning this on the sweet little piece anyway. "Yes, I understand, sir," is what he actually said. "I'm relieved to not have to track that one down."

Conner was about to say something else when his phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes, the detective is with me here," Conner said into the phone. "So, that's what this is about. Shit. Well, OK, I'll tell him. I'm sure he'll be right out there."

"The call is for me?" Burkhardt asked as Conner clicked off.

"It's for both of us. Chance Gordon's housekeeper, Sadie Jackson, found the old man dead in his bed this morning when she showed up to work."

"I'm not surprised," Burkhardt said. "With this move and all and his financial problems, I'm not surprised his ticker gave out."

"Apparently his ticker only gave out because someone shoved a knife in it," Conner answered. "I'm thinking you'll head right over to Last Stand. Turned out to be a good name for that place. Sadie told the cops that Jack Turner and Julio Cortez were with the old man last evening when she left."

"Fuck," Burkhardt said. Julio wasn't out of the woods yet, it seemed. But, on the other hand, it gave the detective another opportunity to get upside the sexy Cuban.

"I trust you know that Amanda and her new husband are making noises about doing Jack out of that farm he wants to inherit and time is getting short on the old man's will holding on deeding the property to him."

"Yeah, I think everyone around Gordonton is aware of that," Burkhardt answered.

"I sure as hell hope this has nothing to do with that. I like Jack Turner."

I'm betting you're more worried that it has something to do with Julio Cortez, the detective was thinking. But he knew how law enforcement worked in rural Virginia. He said nothing. He just got his tail moving toward Last Stand.

* * * *

Burkhardt found Julio at the Queen's Crown Winery, out in the vineyard, tending to the vines.

"I guess you know why I'm here. Guess you heard about Chance Gordon," Burkhardt said as he stood, facing the skittish young Cuban between rows of Chardanay grapes.

"Yes, I heard. That's bad. I liked the old man."

"And, as I understood it, he liked you just fine too."

"We got along," Julio said, giving the detective a hooded look.

"Way I heard it, he got it all from you. I'm told that you might be about the last person to have seen him alive. His housekeeper said you were at his house last night when she left."

"I wasn't the only one. I didn't do anything. I liked him and had no reason to do anything."

"You mean he was paying you for the sex."

Julio paused, but then just sighed and answered. "Yes. Mostly in kindness and dinners. But, yes, he slipped me some cash too. But I would have gone with him anyway. He was an interesting man—and in good condition for his age."

"He was a physical wreck and about to give up anyway, the way I heard it."

"He was able perform yesterday," Julio said, defensively.

"So, yesterday is the last time he had sex with you?"

"Yes."

"If he wanted to go out enjoying you a bit, that's fine with me. Jack Turner was there too, wasn't he?"