Love in Xxchange: Rory's Last Chance

by Bailey Bradford

  Chance tossed his cell phone from hand to hand as he leant back in the chair at his desk.

  Trying to decide on the best way to handle the situation without lying to his lover was proving more difficult than he’d thought. Somehow, he didn’t think Rory would give his blessing for Chance to go to Montana and beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of Art.

  Truthfully, Chance knew that wouldn’t do anything more than stir up a new batch of trouble for Rory. Still, it’d feel damn good to slam his fist into Art’s face, though stopping before he killed the man might be beyond him once he started swinging.

  Of course, getting close to Art would be nearly impossible. It wasn’t like he’d agree to meet Chance in a dark alley. Although, if he could get someone to lead the jackass there…

  Chance drifted on that fantasy for a few minutes, imagining the impact of his knuckles on skin and muscle, the satisfying crunch of bone under his fist. Wouldn’t happen—Chance had no doubt Art would file charges, and Rory would be furious as well.

  The short break from reality did give him an idea about possibly arranging a meeting with Art. There were a few things that needed to be said—in person, so that Chance’s expression and voice could combine to emphasise his words. And now he had a viable plan.

  Chance caught the phone in his hand and scrolled down to the phone number of the person he hoped could help him out.

  Rory finished brushing Rama down then made sure the big bay had plenty of food and water. He’d just patted Rama’s flank when he heard tires crunching gravel and the rumble of a diesel engine. Curiosity piqued, Rory left the barn to see who the visitor was. His lips quirked when he spotted Max walking Bo up the steps to Chance’s door.

  Even from this far away, Rory could see the flirtatious expression on Bo’s face, and the interest on Max’s. However, once they reached the door, Max stopped and gestured for Bo to go inside. Bo gave Max a sultry look before slipping inside the house. Max tensed, then his entire body shuddered once Bo was out of sight.

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  Rory headed up to the house, wishing he were capable of muffling his steps, but with his size and the gravel, there wasn’t much of a chance of that happening. Still, when Max turned around, he seemed completely surprised to find Rory only a few feet away.

  “Didn’t you hear me coming?” Rory bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Max’s startled look was more than answer enough.

  “Guess my mind was off somewhere else,” Max answered, his entire face and neck flushing.

  “Looks like maybe it was in the gutter,” Rory teased, losing the battle not to laugh when Max’s blush darkened. The man looked absolutely mortified, and Rory decided to give the smaller man a break. “What’s Bo doing here today?”

  Max cleared his throat and shrugged. “Said something about helping Chance out with some problem in Montana. Dunno any more than that.”

  Rory’s smile vanished, his blood running cold as his stomach did a three-sixty. He knew with an unquestionable certainty exactly why Chance wanted to go to Montana. He even thought he knew why Chance wanted Bo’s help. There was no way that Art would come anywhere near Chance, or Rory, but Bo… Even if Art knew Bo, he would never see the little guy as a threat.

  The idea of Art being alone with Bo, though, had a bolt of fear ricocheting through Rory as he bolted past Max, intent on putting a stop to whatever plan Chance wanted to put into place before it ever got started. Rory didn’t believe for one minute that Art’s interests lay only in young men; anyone who he thought he could hurt would interest Art. And Rory’s fear that Art’s sadism wasn’t exclusively directed at men had him living in terror for his sister’s safety, but Annabelle insisted that Art hadn’t so much as given her the slightest hint he was interested in her.

  Rory hoped he never did.

  Chance’s office door was closed, and the low murmur of voices he could hear had the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. His knock wasn’t a request as he slung the door open with his other hand as soon as he smacked the cool wood. The guilty look on his lover’s face as he jerked back, putting some distance between him and Bo confirmed Rory’s suspicions. They’d been huddled together, Bo’s chair pulled up close to Chance’s, their heads tipped close to each other’s as they spoke.

  Rory wasn’t worried that there was anything sexual going on between the two men, so RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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  that wasn’t the reason his temper spiked up. It was the whole secrecy of their meeting, and the obvious exclusion of Rory that pissed him off.

  He stepped inside the office and quietly shut the door, never looking away from his lover’s guilty expression. Rory leant back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He’d be damned if he asked.

  “Maybe I should go,” Bo murmured. Neither man acknowledged his words, although Rory did step away from the door long enough to let the man beat a hasty retreat. Once Bo was gone, Rory resumed his position against the door, this time crossing his ankles as well as his arms as he waited.

  Chance gestured towards Bo’s vacated seat. “Why don’t you—”

  “I’m good,” Rory said. He didn’t trust himself not to throttle his lover just yet. And it was good for them both to let Chance squirm a bit. He needed to realise that Rory was a man, and capable of taking care of himself. He’d done it most of his life, and certainly ever since his father had disowned him.

  Chance nodded jerkily and cleared his throat. “Okay then.” He picked up a pen and began tapping it on the desk. Rory arched a brow at the nervous movement and felt a little of his temper recede. Seeing his lover in such a state of insecurity was actually kind of…sweet.

  Not that Rory was going to let him off the hook or anything.

  “I—” Chance snapped his mouth shut, his Adam’s Apple bobbing madly for a few seconds. He closed his eyes and groaned, dropping the pen to cover his face with his hands.

  Rory melted a little more, then gave up on being angry altogether. Both of them were new to this whole relationship thing, and he realised that, just maybe, the rush and overflow of new emotions might be something that neither of them were handling too well.

  “Hey,” Rory whispered as he knelt beside Chance. He reached for Chance’s hands, tugging slightly until the older man finally lowered them, grasping Rory’s hands almost painfully.

  “How bad have I fucked up?” Chance asked, his gaze skittering around the room before settling at some point over Rory’s shoulder.

  “Not too bad,” Rory reassured him. “If you were just concocting some crazy scheme to confront Art, and not planning a rendezvous with Bo—”

  “No!” Chance’s dark eyes were drilling into Rory’s now, his nervousness gone. “I wouldn’t—that’s not ever happening, not with Bo, or anyone else.”

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  Rory couldn’t keep the grin back. “I didn’t think so, which, considering that Bo told Max he was here to help you out with a ‘problem’ in Montana, made me think you might be planning something a little on the stupid side, like killing Art.” Rory tried to make it into a joke, but the brief flare of anger in Chance’s eyes told him he’d failed.

  “I would, if I didn’t think it’d make things worse for you.” The quiet words were all the more threatening for the softness with which they were spoken.

  Rory felt his lungs constrict, his heart beating double time. He figured it might just make him a little twisted that Chance’s need to avenge him made Rory feel warm and bubbly inside. Still, it couldn’t happen—nothing could, really.

  “Chance,” Rory said, freeing his hands to cup his lover’s firm jaw. The rasp of stubble against his palms threatened to derail his thoughts, but Rory forced himself to concentrate on what needed to be said. “You can’t do anything. You can’t confront Art, or my Dad. It will just ma
ke everything worse, and don’t forget about Annabelle.”

  Chance’s shoulders jerked as a tic kicked in under his left eye. “I didn’t forget about your sister, and I can’t forget what Art did to you, either. Someone needs to make sure that son of a bitch pays for hurting you, and ensure that he never does it to anyone else again, either.”

  Rory agreed that Art needed to be stopped, but Chance’s way of attempting to do so wasn’t going to work.

  “And what do you think Art would do if you did go out there and confront him?” Rory tightened his hold on Chance’s jaws, unaware that he did so until he felt his lover flinch. “I’m sorry,” Rory murmured as he stroked twin paths down Chance’s neck. “But you can’t contact Art. Think about it—if he’s hurt, and furious, who’s he got to take it out on? And he will take it out on someone, won’t he?”

  The colour leeched from Chance’s tanned skin in an instant. “Fuck. Fuck! I didn’t even think about that! I just… He hurt you, Rory, and I can’t forget that! It’s there and—”

  Rory leant forward and swallowed Chance’s words with a kiss that he’d meant to calm his lover. However, Chance’s heady moan flowed into Rory’s mouth, and his strong arms wrapped around Rory’s shoulders. Rory scooted over and slid his body between Chance’s spread legs, pressing in as close to the man as he could.

  He felt Chance’s need to protect in each sweep of his lover’s tongue, each nip and lick as Chance sought to take over the kiss. Rory let him, giving his lover everything he had, RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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  including his submission. Chance’s hard muscles trembled beneath his hands, and Rory groaned. Chance responded by sucking on Rory’s tongue, pulling it deeper into his mouth before releasing it and giving Rory license to play.

  And Rory did, finding every secret spot, every sweet recess in Chance’s mouth. Only after he felt he knew every intimate spot in his lover’s mouth did Rory separate their lips. He waited for his breath to regulate enough that he could speak, then Rory looked at Chance, loving the ruddy cheeks and the dark stubble, the heavy lidded eyes and the flaring of nostrils with each shaky exhalation. Rory just simply loved him.

  “Chance,” Rory rasped, his voice not quite as there as he’d thought. “Yes, Art hurt me, but don’t you see? You don’t need to kill him or even rip him a new one.”

  Chance closed his eyes, his lips tipping down as he shook his head. “I can’t just let it go.”

  Rory cupped the back of Chance’s head, pulling him forward until their foreheads rested together. He waited until Chance met his gaze, then smiled softly. “You aren’t letting it go, Chance. You don’t need to do anything to him because…” Rory’s eyes pricked and burned, but he blinked away the threatening moisture. “Don’t you see? You already did something better than that. You helped me heal.”

  Chance let himself get lost in Rory’s eyes for a long moment, let the love and desire he saw swirling in their depths comfort him. He was constantly amazed at his younger lover.

  Rory’s resilience and compassion, his quiet strength, and his ability to move past the traumatic events in his life—those things, and so many more, made Rory the exceptional man he was now.

  However, Chance couldn’t ignore the fact there was more than one reason Art needed to be stopped. The truth of that thought pulled him from the spell of his lover’s heated gaze.

  “He’ll do it again and again, until he’s caught,” Chance pointed out, stroking the firm, stubbled line of Rory’s jaw. “It might be the next person, or a dozen more after that before someone manages to put an end to Art’s sick games. Are you willing to let that happen, to let some other innocent young man become a victim?”

  Chance steeled himself against the hurt and shame in his lover’s expression as Rory’s RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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  gaze dropped to the floor. He knew the answer to that question as surely as Rory did.

  “No,” Rory whispered. “I… I didn’t think… I—“ A stuttering breath, then Rory looked up, the whites of his eyes now smattered with thin red vessels, moisture pooling and threatening to flow over to his cheeks. “I just want it to be over, to leave it in the past, you know? But you’re right. Art—“ Rory shuddered, blinking rapidly before swiping at his eyes.

  “He enjoys hurting people too much to just stop.”

  “Baby,” Chance rasped, unable to stand to see his lover in pain. “Come here.” Chance stood, tugging Rory up with him as he did. He guided the younger man over to the couch, then carefully sat, pulling Rory down with him. A minimal amount of wiggling had them sprawled together on the worn leather cushions. Chance held Rory tightly with one arm. His other hand was already fingering the soft blond curls that tickled his chin as Rory rested his head on Chance’s chest.

  “I thought once he had the ranch, maybe he’d quit.”

  Chance’s brow furrowed as he looked at his hand spearing through Rory’s hair. “I thought the ranch was going to your sister?”

  Rory’s snorted, washing Chance’s chest in warm air. “Yeah, no. Dad—Ian—would never leave the ranch to a woman, not even his own daughter.”

  “But—” Chance broke off, too confused to know just what he wanted to ask.

  “I know, if I step one foot back on the property, the ranch goes to Art,” Rory said, confirming part of the reason for Chance’s confusion. “But Ian won’t leave the ranch to Annabelle anyway. There’ll be a clause, either requiring her to be married, or pretty much leaving control to Art even if the ranch is, on the surface at least, left to Annabelle. There will be a hitch—there’s always a hitch. That won’t change with Ian’s death. He’ll still try to manipulate everybody even when he’s six feet under.”

  Chance thought that Ian was every bit a bastard that Art was, and every bit as evil, just in a different way. Or maybe it didn’t matter—a sadistic fuck was a sadistic fuck.

  “Maybe she could contest it,” he suggested. “Or you could.”

  Another snort, and Chance found himself tempted to tug at Rory’s silky hair. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Rory tipped his head back, meeting Chance’s gaze. “Trust me, the old man will definitely have his lawyers draw up the proverbial iron-clad will. His hatred and manipulation know no bounds.”

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  “Maybe he’s the one I should have a little chat with.” In his own way, Ian had hurt Rory every bit as bad as Art had—probably worse. Chance wouldn’t mind trying to teach the asshole some compassion. Or at least hearing him beg for some.

  Rory thumped Chance’s belly, not hard, just enough to get his attention. “There’s no point in banging your head against a brick wall, Chance. All that would do anyway is cause more trouble. Somehow or another, Ian would find a way to make it so.”

  Not if he never saw who kicked his ass. Chance saw the narrowing of Rory’s eyes and knew his lover was reading him too well.

  “So, what were you planning to do, send Bo to Art as bait?”

  Chance squirmed under that penetrating stare. He stopped petting Rory’s hair and buried his fingers in his own instead. “No, not…not exactly.”

  Rory continued to look at him, waiting patiently while Chance battled back the flush stinging at his cheeks. “I was gonna see if Bo would call and make an offer on some cattle, you know, arrange to meet up with Art to discuss prices first, then go see the stock.”

  “And was Bo ever going to be meeting with Art?” Rory’s lips compressed to a thin white line when Chance shook his head. “So what was the brilliant plan?”

  Chance flinched at the sarcastic bite in his lover’s words, but now that he’d been busted, even he had to admit it had been a stupid plan. Despite the potential for it being a satisfying one, if Art became confrontational like Chance suspected he would.

  “I just wanted to talk to him, and it wouldn’t have been
Bo meeting with that son of a bitch. It would have been me, waiting in the hotel room—”

  Rory pushed himself up on one arm and rolled his eyes. “And you really think Art would have showed up? That he wouldn’t have got suspicious?”

  Now Chance felt a flicker of anger. He scooted around until he was sitting . “It isn’t completely uncommon to conduct business in a nice hotel room. I would have thought of a reason for the meeting to take place there; that’s what I was going to discuss with Bo.

  He’s…creative, you could say.”

  “Oh, no doubt,” Rory agreed. “But it was still a stupid idea. Art would have walked away when he saw you, or, more likely, he’d have come into that room and taunted you until—”

  Chance only thought Rory’s narrowed eyes earlier was a glare—now he knew better.

  This was definitely an angry glare, Rory’s dark eyes snapping with temper as red streaked RORY’S LAST CHANCE

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  his high cheek bones. Chance had to fight against the impulse to apologise and create a bit more space between them.

  “That was your whole plan, wasn’t it?” Rory’s voice was rough and low, nearly vibrating with anger, and Chance found himself with a hard on in seconds. Not that he’d mention it, not right now, anyway. That blazingly pissed-off expression his lover was wearing made it clear there was only one subject being discussed right now.

  “Well, I admit that I knew Art might—”Chance began.

  “Might? Might?” Rory stood up and paced before turning back and pointing at Chance.

  “You knew damn good and well that Art would definitely go off when he saw you!”

  Chance didn’t bother denying it. “I knew there was a good chance, yes, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything about it unless Art became violent.”

  “Which he would,” Rory growled out.

  “Which he would,” Chance echoed. He caught one of Rory’s hands and pulled, halting his lover’s pacing. “Can you blame me, Rory? Really, do you blame me?”