Grave Peril

by Lynn Hagen

  The man who’d haunted his thoughts since early this evening and had left a hunger in Cannon that only Richie could fulfill. He walked with purpose down the length of the bar, keeping his sights locked on the human, his panther jerking close to the surface as he made his way to his prey.

  Cannon waited patiently for an opening at the counter. He leaned against the wall, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched Richie’s movements and imagined how it would feel having his cock buried deep in the guy’s ass.

  “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  Cannon looked to his right. A muscular guy in leather was raking his heated gaze over him. Cannon gave him a hard squint as his jaw tightened.

  “Ah, come on.” The guy moved closer. “Tell me you’re not interested in having some fun.” He tried to grip Cannon’s cock through his pants, but Cannon clamped his fingers around the man’s wrist.

  “If you want to keep that hand, back the fuck up and go harass someone else.” Cannon noticed a bouncer heading his way, but he didn’t need rescuing.

  Fuck. Was that Arturo? Jeez. That was the last person Cannon wanted to see. He was Braydon’s mate and was probably still just as pissed as Braydon was about the whole gun-held-on-his-mate scenario.

  Not wanting his night to turn sour, Cannon moved away from the wall and inserted himself into the crowd at the bar. He didn’t like being so close to everyone, packed like a sardine, but he dealt with it. Anything to keep a smooth flow to his night.

  “You!”

  Cannon looked up and saw Richie grinning widely at him. That sexy smile ignited Cannon’s blood. Cannon’s body sang with otherworldly, uncontrollable urges that made him want to shove everyone away and keep the human all to himself.

  He walked toward Cannon, those fucking hips moving seductively from side to side, his shirt riding up and showing off smooth, pale skin above his waistband when he reached for a bottle toward the top shelf.

  The things Cannon wanted to do to him.

  “Are you stalking me?” Richie handed the bottle to a muscular bartender then faced Cannon with a smile that made a beautiful sunrise pale in comparison.

  “And if I am?” Cannon rested one arm on the bar, his full focus on the guy who had his cock so hard it ached. “You scared, little bunny?”

  “Bunny?” Richie’s eyes sparkled as his grin grew and a pale blush spanned across his cheeks. “Why am I a bunny?”

  Cannon had no idea why he’d called Richie that, but somehow it fit. He had claws and canines, and Richie was compact and, in Cannon’s eyes, prey. “How about Foxy?” He winked. “All that red hair that sticks up in every direction like dancing fire on your head.”

  Richie pursed his lips. “I’m not sure if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”

  A growl rumbled in Cannon’s throat. “It’s definitely a compliment, Foxy.” He looked up and down the counter before settling his attention back on Richie. “It’s too damn crowded in here. Tell me what time you get off so we can actually hear each other.”

  Cannon heard just fine. He was a shifter with superior hearing, but he also wanted to get to know Richie better, maybe even take the guy back to his motel room for a fun time in bed.

  Fuck me sideways. Richie bit into his luscious bottom lip, and Cannon wanted to completely possess the guy. That sounded so wrong that Cannon took a step back, trying to reel in that intense feeling.

  His attraction to Richie was too damn intense. Add to the fact that his panther was going wild and it was starting to dawn on Cannon that he could possibly be looking at his mate.

  “I get off at three,” Richie said. “But I’m going home alone, handsome. You could give me your phone number and we could meet for coffee tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Cannon closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. His mate? He wanted to know for sure, but there were just too many goddamn people around him, and the scents and sounds were too distracting.

  “Give me your phone,” Richie said.

  Cannon opened his eyes and handed his phone over. Richie tapped on the screen for a moment or two then handed it back. “See you tomorrow.”

  Cannon didn’t care if Arturo was around. He headed right for the exit and out into the fresh air, breathing in deeply as he looked toward the night sky.

  Chapter Two

  Richie was so glad the night was over. He was exhausted, and everything on him hurt. He needed to invest in some sensible shoes, but every pair he’d ever looked at were ugly as fuck.

  He smiled at Arturo, one of the bouncers at the club, as he walked out the front door. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” he said. Arturo had taken Richie home one night when Richie had hurt himself on the job, because he was such a nice guy and a good friend.

  That was how Arturo had met Braydon. Braydon had been hiding in Richie’s closet because he’d gotten himself into a nasty mess. In the end, things had worked out for Braydon, including moving in with the sexy bouncer.

  Too bad Richie didn’t have a crisis and a hot guy to rescue him. Then he thought of Cannon. Somehow, Richie wasn’t sure, but he felt as if dealing with Cannon was like dancing around a minefield. The guy might be a detective, but he also looked like a bad boy, and Richie had had enough of them.

  They were fun to play with in the heat of the moment, but bad boys were never good for your heart, never stuck around for anything serious, and definitely weren’t the type to meet the parents.

  Cannon worked undercover, which meant he wouldn’t stick around. Richie would do well to remember that before pursuing anything. Which made him think of their coffee date. He should cancel that. Richie had a bad habit of falling for a guy too soon, too hard, and he didn’t want to nurse another wounded heart.

  “Oh my god,” he said to himself with a laugh as he walked to his car, which was parked on the side of the building. “You just met him and already you’re imagining falling in love and getting hurt.”

  “What was that?” Arturo appeared at the corner of the building, looking around the parking lot. The last bouncer to leave always made sure the employees made it to their cars safely.

  “I was talking shit to myself,” Richie called out.

  Arturo smiled. “Just as long as you don’t try and beat your own ass.” His smile turned into a chuckle. “Do I need to rescue you from yourself?”

  Yes, because my dumb ass is thinking of hooking up with that fine-ass detective. “No, I’m good. Tell Braydon I’ll meet him for lunch tomorrow.”

  “Night, Cosmo.” Arturo gave him a wave.

  That was the name Richie had gone by for the past five years, but he felt as if he was outgrowing it. He knew why, too. Richie had liked the way Cannon had said his real name, the way it had rolled off his tongue, the way Cannon had looked at him with pure heat in his eyes as he’d said it.

  “Night, Arturo.”

  He slipped into his car and pulled from the lot, heading toward his apartment. His AC wasn’t working, so Richie rolled his windows down, letting in the hot air. It was the middle of August, and the heat was oppressive. Richie wanted to drive naked, just to cool off.

  The weatherman on the TV had said they were in for a heatwave. Richie could attest that it had already arrived. He felt like he was drowning in his own sweat as he made his way home. Fanning himself didn’t help, and the windows down were a joke.

  When Richie made it home, he peeled himself out of his leather seat, his back and the back of his pants soaked with sweat.

  “This is ridiculous.” He wiped at his face as he let himself inside. Richie stopped and looked around. His place was dark, and sweltering. He ran to the air conditioner in his window and saw that it wasn’t working.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He slammed his fist on the side of the unit, but it sat there quietly. He’d been meaning to replace the dang thing for years, and now, in the middle of a heatwave, it had conked out.

  There was no way he could stay in his apartment. Not when it felt like it w
as over one hundred degrees in there. He went to his room and packed a bag, grabbing his iPad and anything else he might need before he drove to the local motel, Maple Inn.

  Richie was exhausted, hot and miserable, and just wanted a room so he could get some much-needed rest. Mike Cage, the owner—a tall, muscular guy with dark brown eyes and dark hair—was behind the counter. The sexy beast was seated on a chair, his nose in his phone until Richie walked in.

  Mike set his phone aside and stood. “Need a room, Cosmo?”

  “Please.” Richie yawned as he looked around. For a small-town motel, the place looked elegant. He hadn’t been here since the renovations, and wow. Whoever had done this was amazing.

  Mike gave him a keycard. “I’ll need your driver’s license and a credit card.”

  “But you know me.” Richie dug his wallet out, barely able to keep his eyes open.

  “I don’t even know your real name.” Mike gave him a sleepy grin as he took the license and stared at it. “I never would’ve pegged you for a Richard.”

  “Shhh.” Richie looked around as if someone else was at the counter at almost four in the morning. “And it’s Richie or Cosmo. No one calls me Richard.”

  Although he was named after his father, Richard sounded too stuffy and formal. Everything Richie was not.

  Mike gave a lazy chuckle. “Sure thing, Richie.”

  Great, now everyone in town was going to call him Richie. Then again, hadn’t he just decided that he was getting too old for Cosmo? Whatever. He was too tired to argue with himself about it. Right now Mike could call him anything he wanted just as long as Richie could get checked in and go to bed.

  “How many nights?”

  “Just one.” Richie wouldn’t be able to afford anything after that.

  “You’re lucky. We only have one room left. We’re booked.”

  A lot of people drove through Maple Grove, intending on using the town as a shortcut, but they usually stayed a day or two when they saw how quaint the town was.

  “The summer festival is two weeks away, so if you want to stay longer, let me know before you check out.”

  Damn. Richie had completely forgotten about the festival. It was one of his favorite things to do. There would be food galore to sample and games and even rides. Now he was excited, but not enough to pull him out of his exhaustion.

  “How’s Kester?” Richie strummed his fingers on the counter, waiting for Mike to put the information in his computer. The guy was typing with one finger like a Neanderthal, and Richie was ready to run around the counter and do the typing himself.

  “He’s good. Thanks for asking. What brings you here?” Mike finally handed Richie his ID and credit card back.

  “My window unit went out in my apartment. It’s too hot to sleep there.”

  With a nod, Mike gave Richie the receipt to sign. Richie stuffed his things back into his wallet and headed for the door. Mike sat back down and yawned.

  As soon as Richie got into his room, he cut the unit on, praying it didn’t take long to cool the room down. He flopped onto the bed, cursing that he’d had to spend money on a room.

  Richie could’ve asked if he could stay at Braydon’s, but he didn’t want to intrude. His brother had been with Arturo for a few months, and they were just getting their lives together after that mess with Mr. Davila and what he’d put Braydon through.

  Besides, Richie liked his privacy.

  He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the bed, staring at the digital clock on the nightstand, wishing for sleep.

  He blinked a few times then frowned. Why was there sun streaming into his room, and damn, it was freezing in here. Richie got up and looked past the curtain. Sure enough it was morning. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

  Until he looked at the clock on the nightstand. Shit. It was early afternoon. How had he slept that long? Richie usually got four or five hours of sleep, and then he was up. In the evening he caught a few more before work.

  He was still fully clothed, so he grabbed his keycard and wondered if the place had a vending machine. He was thirsty and starving, and some snacks would do until he made it into town.

  After putting his shoes on, he found the machines at the end of the building, inside a glassed-off room. The sun beat down on him, making Richie sweat as he looked over his choices. When he was done, he headed back to his room but didn’t make it.

  Richie stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Cannon parking his vehicle. Fuck. They were supposed to have coffee together. Richie had been too tired, and it had escaped him.

  Why was Cannon at the motel? Was he staying there or stalking Richie? Before he could decide what to do, Cannon looked right at him. His easy smile made Richie’s gut clench. The guy had on a white T-shirt that clung to his chest like second skin, and damn if he didn’t look drool-worthy in those sunglasses.

  Cannon cocked his head to the side as he headed Richie’s way. “You stood me up, handsome.”

  Richie crushed the bag of chips to his chest as his throat went bone-dry. How was he supposed to resist someone this good-looking? Braydon’s warning whispered through his mind, but Richie batted it away.

  He was hot for the guy—not talking about the humidity in the air—and damn if Cannon didn’t seem irresistible. The way he looked at Richie sometimes made Richie feel as if he would have to run from this predator.

  “I overslept.” It was too grueling to stay outside. Asking a stranger into his room was insane, but if they were going to continue talking, Richie needed to cool off.

  He just prayed he wasn’t making a mistake as he let himself and Cannon into his frigid room. Richie turned to close the door, and Cannon was right there, a wall of muscle and sin, and damn he needed to stop thinking that way. They were in a motel room, and Richie didn’t want Cannon to get the wrong idea.

  Or the right idea.

  Cannon looked down at Richie, and that sinful grin returned. He pushed his sunglasses to rest on his head as he folded his arms. “So what’re you doing here?”

  Richie went to his bed and dug through the bag he’d brought with him, looking for a change of clothes. Looking for some distance, too. Standing by Cannon was like standing on the edge of a volcano, hot and damn near explosive.

  “My window unit went out at my place, and it was too hot to sleep there.” He dug out some shorts and a T-shirt, along with a pair of underwear. Richie needed a shower. Even though the room was cold, he felt icky from all that heat and sleeping in yesterday’s clothes.

  He had his back to Cannon but still felt the man’s gaze on him. “So, are we going for that coffee now?”

  That deep, sultry voice was driving Richie insane. “I have to shower first.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “But…” Richie squinted. “I sometimes take a while to get ready.” And knowing Cannon would be in the next room while Richie was ass naked and wet was too damn tempting.

  Cannon had on boots, some jeans, and a shirt, which was covering what, no doubt, angels had hand carved, a beautiful sculpture of a body that Richie was dying to see.

  Without another word he hurried into the bathroom and closed the door, finally able to breathe.

  * * * *

  Cannon relaxed on the bed while he listened to the shower cut on. He still couldn’t believe that his mate was in the same motel as him. Talk about luck. But as much as Cannon wanted to claim what was his, he needed to know if Richie knew anything about his world.

  He still wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Cannon had a life that didn’t involve settling down in a small town. He’d been doing undercover work for as far back as he could remember and loved the thrill of it, loved taking down the bad guys.

  And, at times, loved acting like a bad guy. Not in a criminal sort of way. Cannon just loved asserting his dominance, talking shit to scum, and knocking a few people around. It was good for letting off steam when under that much pressure.

  And hopefully he could let off a little m
ore pressure with his mate, because it had been a minute since Cannon had gotten laid. Unfortunately Richie came out of the bathroom dressed. So much for hoping for some fun.

  Cannon was leaning back, resting on one elbow, one leg on the bed and the other resting over the side. He looked Richie up and down. His mate had on orange basketball shorts and a white T-shirt that covered way too much of his upper body.

  Too bad.

  “I think it’s too hot for coffee.” Richie pursed his lips. “How about ice cream? I need to stop at my place afterward to see if my AC will behave. If not, I’m doomed. I can’t afford to keep staying here. The prices are fair, but you’re looking at someone who lives on a budget.”

  Cannon started to offer his motel room if it came down to that, but he didn’t want Richie turning him down since they’d just met. He’d play things by ear.

  “I guess we can go get ice cream.” Cannon was actually starving. “Do you mind if we stop at the diner for breakfast? My treat.”

  Richie studied him. “Just as long as you don’t expect me to put out over some waffles and bacon. I won’t sleep with you for anything less than a steak dinner.” He grabbed Cannon’s arm and snorted with laughter. “I’m kidding!”

  Cannon wasn’t going to lie. He’d immediately started to wonder if there was a good steak joint in town. He gave his mate an easy smile and led him to the door.

  “Too bad. I was willing to wine and dine you.” He winked. “Your loss.” He let Richie go first so he could get a good look at his ass, but in those shorts, everything was hidden.

  “I might work at a hot gay club,” Richie said as they exited his room, “but don’t mistake me for easy. Besides, I’m risking a huge argument with my brother if Braydon sees us together.”

  Cannon couldn’t resist. He placed his hand on the small of Richie’s back. It was an innocent gesture, but the connection settled something in Cannon’s chest. “We can take my ride.” He didn’t want Richie using his own car to take off.