by Ava Drake
“I came to tell you the principal is going to be ready to leave soon.”
“In other words, Casanova has acquired a target and achieved lock-on?”
Christian grinned. “Exactly.”
Stone just shook his head in disgust.
They made their way toward the kitchen and outside to the valet parking area, where Tucker stood beside the SUV, arguing with the valets about how to move other vehicles to let them out. The car shuffle was just finishing up when Jack Lacey came staggering out of the kitchen with a giggling blonde bombshell draped all over him.
Christian swore under his breath while Tucker chuckled.
“What am I missing?” Stone asked.
“I bet Tucker he’d go for the Playboy bunny. His long-time mistress, Valerie, was Miss July about ten years ago. Wholesome sex kittens are his favorite flavor of female.”
“But?”
“He went for the porn star. And I’m out a hundred bucks to Travis.”
“Please, God, let her name not be Bambi Blowhard.”
Christian grinned and opened the front passenger door. “Do you want the middle or the window seat? Jack and his guest will want the back to themselves.”
The privacy panel was raised as he slid in next to Tucker. Christian climbed in deliciously, uncomfortably close to him and murmured across him to Tucker, “The package is secure.”
Stone looked back and forth between Tucker and Christian. “You do know that real security details don’t use that kind of language, right?”
The two men laughed. Christian remarked, “We wondered how long it would take you to complain.”
“Your boss’s smartassery is rubbing off on you.”
Christian threw him a horrified look. “Perish the thought.”
The drive back to the hotel took nearly a half hour in the still-atrocious midnight traffic. Stone abstained from the new bet between Tucker and Christian of whether or not Lacey would have had carnal knowledge of his companion before they got back to the hotel.
Whether the pair had sex or not, the girl was more or less clothed and her hair and makeup reasonably intact when Tucker opened the SUV door beside the loading dock. Interestingly enough, Lacey asked cautiously from inside the vehicle, “No one can see us? No cameras?”
Now the guy showed caution? Stone scanned the entire loading area. Not a single camera was visible to his trained eye. He gave a thumbs-up to Tucker, who said, “We’re clear, sir.”
They moved inside to where Christian was already holding open a service elevator that was otherwise empty. The others stepped into the conveyance, and Stone moved to the front of the lift, using his body as a living wall. This was territory he knew. They arrived on the twenty-third floor, and he stepped out, clearing the hall. It was deserted.
Tucker hustled the senator and his giggling girlfriend down the hall to the luxury suite. They disappeared inside, leaving Christian and Stone standing alone in the silent hall.
“You got a minute?” Stone asked quietly. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah, sure. The children are tucked in bed. I’ve got all night.” His gaze snapped to Stone’s as he realized what he’d said, and suddenly electricity leaped between them.
Turned on and dreading what he had to tell Christian, Stone headed for his own suite at the far end of the long hallway. He stepped into the soothing elegance of his room, turned, and caught Christian exhaling a long, hard breath of what looked like relief.
“I know why I’m relieved to be away from your boss. But why are you?”
Christian flopped down on one end of the sofa and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. “He’s a nightmare. If only he weren’t so damned charismatic. He can talk a tiger into donating its stripes to him.”
“Why don’t shenanigans like tonight’s tank his career?” Stone asked curiously.
“Because I’m that good at covering his tracks.”
“Then why don’t you let him crash and burn?”
“Same reason you’ll take a bullet for him. It’s my job. My reputation is based on how well I take care of my employer.”
“Get another job.”
“Easier said than done.”
Stone shrugged. “You won’t know until you try.”
Christian answered starkly, “I can’t fail. I refuse to go home in disgrace.”
Ahh. Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Someone back home told you that you’d never make it in the big city?”
“Something like that.”
Stone sank down on the other end of the couch, half-turned to face Christian. Their knees were only inches apart. “Where’s home for you?”
“Rhode Island. Tiny, rich enclave outside of Providence.”
“Tiny, rich, and conservative?” he asked.
“Yup.”
That lone cynical syllable held a wealth of meaning. Antigay community. Fake acceptance that masked condescension. Sniggers behind his back. Stereotyping. Oh yes. He knew it well. “Hey. You could have grown up in the South like I did, where they didn’t bother to hide their contempt. When I got bigger than the bullies, stronger and meaner, they just attacked me in gangs.”
They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the difficult roads that had brought both of them to this place in their lives. Both successes by the standards of the outside world but still fighting their private internal wars. Both stuck working for an asshole because neither of them could afford to be picky, nor would either be afforded a millimeter of sympathy should they fail to be anything other than perfect.
At length Christian spoke heavily. “You said you needed to tell me something.”
“Right. I talked to Peregrine Cardiffe earlier. Wild Cards, Inc. is withdrawing from this job. The senator’s money will be refunded in full. But we cannot take responsibility for Jack Lacey’s life under the circumstances he’s forcing us to work in.”
Real pain crossed Christian’s face. But whether it was a personal sense of loss or simply misery at having to manage yet another fuckup by his boss, Stone couldn’t tell. He wasn’t a Zen master at reading people like Christian was. As the silence drew out, he finally muttered, “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what to say. I understand your company’s position. But I wish you would stay.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “I can’t do anything for Lacey. He won’t let me.”
“Not for him. For me.”
And there it was again, that intense attraction. The irresistible pull between them. Unlike the last time, when it had been all about lust and sizzle, tonight it was more. Deeper. They had a tiny patch of common ground now. Shared experiences in their past. Hell, he liked Christian. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything other than mild distaste for the fuck buddy of the moment.
“Look, Christian. I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you that I suck at relationships.”
“Yeah. I got that memo. But God help me, I don’t care. There’s something about you….”
He knew the wordless frustration Christian felt. He couldn’t explain it either. Something about the big, clean-cut man beside him called to something deep in his gut. They… fit.
He sighed in genuine regret. “I’m out of here tomorrow. I have to let Tucker know that Wild Cards is pulling out of the job, and I have to get a new assignment from the company. But then I’ll hit the road.”
“Then I guess we don’t have much time to waste.”
They moved forward at the same time. Christian reached for Stone’s tie while he reached for the remote that controlled the room’s various features. He turned off the lights, and darkness embraced them.
“But I like looking at you,” Christian protested.
“I like looking at you too. But you scare the hell out of me.”
“Ahh.” A pause. A low chuckle. “I think I like scaring the big bad bodyguard.”
“Come here, you.”
Christian plunged strong hands into Stone’s hair, dra
wing him forward into a hot, openmouthed kiss that actually made him groan aloud. Rare was the lover who could match his strength and force of personality. It was sexy as hell.
While Christian plundered his mouth, Stone reached for the buttons of that perfectly pressed and tailored dress shirt for the muscular torso he knew lay beneath. Ties slithered free and went flying. Buttons popped loose. They stood, never breaking the lock of their mouths, their tongues sparring as they tried to inhale each other. Belts slipped free and thudded to the carpet. Zippers buzzed down in the dark. Slacks and briefs peeled away.
And then nothing impeded his hands from roaming over Christian’s chiseled physique. His fingers painted a picture in his mind of planes and bulges, filling in details of musculature, prominent veins, cut muscles that had to have taken years to develop.
“Jesus. You’re built like a god,” he muttered against Christian’s mouth.
“Says the pot to the kettle.”
“I’m a scarred-up old warrior.”
“Stone, you are not old. And your scars are hot. Tell me how you got each one.”
“That would take all night.”
“Lucky for you, I happen to have all night.” Christian backed him up slowly, taking his time edging them both across the living room, into the bedroom, and over to the big, king-sized bed.
It felt so damned good to be on equal footing with this man. They were physically well matched, but they were mentally even better matched. Christian was no lightweight to be pushed around, and yet he was willing to share the whole alpha-male gig. And shockingly, so was he. For this man, he could let go of at least one of the reins of control.
The covers went flying, and a tangle of sheets bound them together as they stretched out side by side, exploring each other’s bodies in the dark. Christian was beautiful in the way of a Greek god. He was masculine as hell, but his perfection of form made Stone’s soul ache. Christian rose onto an elbow beside him, a bright shadow in the darkness of his world.
He traced the thin scar along Stone’s shoulder with one finger. “What’s this?”
“Shoulder surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff I got dragging a drug lord clear of a meth-lab explosion.”
“Why did you save him? Were you his bodyguard?”
Stone laughed. “No. I was his arresting officer.”
“Where is he now?”
“Rotting in the basement of a federal prison for life plus about a thousand years.”
“Nice.” Christian’s finger traveled down his chest. A short, thick scar about two inches long got stroked lightly next.
Stone didn’t wait for the question. “Knife wound. Kandahar, Afghanistan. Details are classified. But we couldn’t use guns because of the noise and ended up in hand-to-hand combat. And yes, we got our guy.”
They’d actually gotten a half-dozen guys that night. Couriers for a high-level group of terrorists who’d been attacking US military bases all over the country. It had been a good bust. A dirty knife had punctured his lung and put him out of action for weeks as medics pumped antibiotics into him to counter the infection he picked up. It had been one of his closer calls with death.
One by one, he catalogued his other scars for Christian, who grew steadily quieter. Enough so that Stone started to get worried. He asked, “Am I freaking you out?”
“No. A more accurate description would be humbled.”
“Why? Because I have a compulsion to prove how manly I am that borders on a death wish?”
A chuckle floated out of the dark. “Some shrink tell you that?”
“Uncle Sam’s finest.”
“The shrink obviously wasn’t gay.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I can think of a lot better way for you to prove how manly you are.”
“Oh yeah? I’m all ears.”
“God, I hope not. I don’t want to make love to a bunch of ears.”
Make love. Not fuck. Not have sex with. Make love. Something cracked open painfully in his chest.
“You want to be a real man? Make love to me, Stone Jackson.”
All of a sudden, at the age of thirty-five, with all the life experience and sexual experience he’d accumulated, he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next. He confessed reluctantly, “I’m not sure I know how.”
“Listen to your gut and go with the flow.”
That he could do. His belly muscles contracted as Christian traced a path with his mouth down his chest, across the acreage of his stomach, and lower. Oh God. Lower.
One advantage of a guy making love to another guy was that they knew exactly what felt the best. Christian knew when to squeeze hard and when to back off a little, when to lick suggestively and when to suck a golf ball through a garden hose. The man played his body like a musical instrument, making him groan, then shout, and then nearly sob with pleasure.
And all the while, that crack in his chest opened wider and wider, breaking apart everything he’d thought he was, shattering his illusions of strength, of control. Of self. In this man’s arms, he was so much more than he’d ever known he could be.
An urge to return the favor, to break down the walls of Christian’s self-control, rushed over him. And hey, the guy had said to listen to his gut and go with the flow. With a bunching of muscles, he rolled Christian onto his back and returned the favor, exploring his perfect physique, finding his ticklish spots, the weaknesses in his armor, inciting a riot, and reveling in the cries he wrung from Christian. He was merciless, spurred on by his own raw vulnerability to lay open his lover emotionally until they were both this exposed.
Back and forth they went, one driving the other over the edge and then surging up to return the favor. They were both fit, with stamina to spare. It took them hours to wear each other out, but neither was willing to concede the night until they’d wrung the other completely out both physically and emotionally.
Eventually, though, Stone arrived at a state of emptiness that was utter and complete. And he’d never felt so full before. His body felt plundered in every way possible, his soul shredded, his mind blown. He was wrecked.
And he was a new man.
Chapter Five
CHRISTIAN woke up slowly, groggy as hell. Which was odd. He hadn’t had anything to drink last night, but he felt hungover. Maybe not odd. He’d gotten drunk as hell on Stone Jackson. For the first time in his entire life, he felt well and truly made love to—body, heart, and mind. Stone had held nothing back.
The man had a gift for stripping away the layers of his mental self-defenses, laying him bare, and then devouring him whole. And yet he felt sated, as if Stone had given himself back in return. A fair trade. A soul for a soul.
Christ, it had been intense.
No wonder he felt so exhausted this morning, like he’d run a couple of Iron Man triathlons last night. It felt so damned good to just lie here, utterly relaxed, the cool air-conditioning blowing across his naked skin, his limbs tangled with Stone’s until he wasn’t sure where he ended and Stone began.
A cell phone rang, and Stone jolted awake.
“Relax. It’s mine,” Christian murmured. He rolled across Stone’s chest, pinning him down and enjoying the feel of chest hair against his stomach as he reached for the far nightstand. Stone was rousing slowly. Last night knocked him out too, huh? Awesome.
He put the device to his ear. “What’s up, Travis?”
The security man was as frantic as he’d ever heard him. “He’s gone.”
Christian lurched upright, and Stone stared up at him in gathering alarm. “What do you mean, gone?”
That brought Stone bolt upright beside him.
Tucker talked in a rush. “Gone. No sign of Jack or the girl. Suite’s empty. Poof. Disappeared.”
Stone must have heard the ex-Marine, for he snatched Christian’s phone out of his hand. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. We’ll be there in sixty seconds.”
Stone tossed the phone at him and snatched up his own c
ell phone, dialing with one hand as he yanked on underwear, khaki slacks, and a black polo shirt.
Horror, hot and pure, poured over and into Christian, filling his eyes and clogging his throat. He’d taken one lousy night off the job, and disaster had struck. He’d dared to steal a moment for himself, and fate was punishing him for it now. Son of a bitch.
“Martin, it’s Stone. Senator Lacey has disappeared. Did he talk with Peregrine? Did my yanking the protection trigger this? If so, I’ve got to help find the guy. Did he give Pere any idea where he might have gone? Or are we looking at a kidnapping?”
Sweet baby Jesus. Christian’s mind spun off into all sorts of hideous scenarios while he yanked on his own clothes. How in the hell was he going to explain this to the public? Congressional aide has wild sex with male security guard while senator is snatched out from under their noses. He’d never get a job in Washington again. Hell, he’d never be employable anywhere. This kind of shit ruined a person.
He glanced up in dismay at Stone. God, and he’d wrecked Stone’s career too. This was what the guy had been talking about when he said bodyguards had one failure in their entire career. Lose one principal on your watch, and you were finished. He got it now. He and Stone were both done.
Christian raced for the living room, shoving his feet into socks and shoes. The phone conversation with Martin—likely Martin Wylde, cofounder of Wild Cards—wound down.
Stone emerged from the bedroom. “My boss says Lacey was shockingly unconcerned at last night’s cancellation of the security contract. Bad news is he said nothing about leaving Miami. Good news is Wild Cards, Inc.’s Internet watchers have picked up no chatter to indicate that a kidnapper might have taken him.”
“You have watchers who would find something like that?”
“Oh hell, yes. We put a close watch on every client. Regular web, deep web, and dark web.”
“What’s the dark web?”
“The places the really bad actors hang out and not the wannabe posers.”
“I’m sorry about this—” he started.