I Spy a Dark Obsession sa-3

by Jo Davis

  Giddy with relief, he placed a call to Simon requesting shrimp marinara, and then closed his eyes. He wouldn’t have to face his big, lonely house without his best friend, at least not yet. The near miss brought home a startling truth: somehow, in the past few weeks, Bastian’s steady hand and unconditional friendship had become like the air Michael needed to breathe. Seeing the man’s sunny face each day, brightening his home, his life, had become some sort of critical axis on which his world revolved.

  And damned if that didn’t scare the shit out of him, more so than any bullet.

  A half hour later, Bastian pulled up to the security gate and typed in his personal access code. Each person authorized to come and go from Michael’s estate had his own code, and Michael’s head of security — who lived on the premises and patrolled the grounds — received a daily report of exactly when those codes were used. Every inch of the property was monitored by video, as well. However unlikely it might be for Dietz or anyone else to breach the estate, the attempt on Michael’s life had caused a definite lock-down on security.

  Michael let out a breath as the gate slowly shut behind them. “Home, sweet penitentiary.”

  “Only for now. Once I wipe the scum that is Robert Dietz from the earth, things can go back to normal.”

  “ ‘Normal’ is relative in our line of work, but yeah. When we catch him, we’ll be able to finally relax a little.”

  Bastian didn’t comment further on Dietz as he swung the sports car around to the side of the house and parked outside the four-car garage. Michael sensed a major brooding session coming on and headed it off with a suggestion as they got out and started for the house.

  “You’ve been working too hard. Play hooky with me and let’s have a beer or three by the pool, take a swim.”

  “God, you don’t know how tempting that is. But I’ve got reports, purchase orders to place on the new surveillance stuff, a briefing to prepare our agents who are searching for Dietz and more than a dozen other assholes on the FBI’s Most Wanted list—”

  “You’re going to be the one in danger of having a heart attack instead of me if you aren’t careful.” He unlocked the side door and they stepped inside, Bastian trailing him through the laundry room and into the spacious kitchen. “I’m the boss, and I’m ordering you to take the afternoon off.”

  “For totally selfish reasons.”

  “So? Works, doesn’t it?”

  “Fine, you win. You take any pain pills today?”

  “Nope, not a one. Bring it — I’m good.”

  Reaching into the fridge, his friend pulled out two bottles of beer and twisted off the tops, then handed a cold brew to Michael. “Two is your max,” he said in a firm tone. “You’re still recovering, and I’ll be damned if I put in all this effort getting your ass healed just to have you screw it up.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Bastian took a long draw on his beer, and Michael found himself transfixed by the sight of his lips wrapped around the opening, the strong column of his throat working. The way his position, leaning against the counter, stretched his dress shirt across his lean but nicely muscled chest. What the fuck am I doing?

  “Um, I’m going to change,” Michael said hoarsely, backing toward the nearest escape route.

  “Watcha gonna be?”

  In spite of himself, Michael gave a short laugh at the lame joke. “Funny. Meet you by the pool. Bring more beer.”

  Carrying his bottle with him, he practically jogged through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. Once there, he smacked the bottle down on the dresser, not bothering with a coaster to protect the smooth mahogany surface from a ring. Nothing mattered at the moment except tearing off his clothes before his body incinerated.

  Months of forced abstinence — that’s all it was. First because of Maggie’s murder and his ensuing grief, and then because he simply couldn’t imagine being unfaithful to her memory — though she’d be the first one to object to his self-imposed loneliness.

  God, he needed. So fucking bad.

  Naked, he stretched out on the bed and spread his legs, cupping his balls. They were full and heavy, ripe for someone’s touch. Rolling them between his fingers, he tried to picture Maggie crouched between his thighs, the way her hair had trailed over his lap and her eyes had danced with mischief as she worked him. But using the memory of a dead woman felt wrong somehow, even though she’d been his wife, and the mirage faded, leaving him bereft and alone with his own hand.

  He tried relaxing, letting his mind roam as his fingers skimmed his engorged erection. Ripples of delight skittered along his cock and he gripped it, pumping slowly from the leaking head to the base and up again. His bones melted and he became nothing but the heat lapping at his cock and balls as he stroked, increasing the pressure. Oh, so good.

  Another image formed, this time of its own volition. Not a memory, but a fantasy. A beautiful redhead between his knees, her mass of hair thrown over one shoulder. Katrina. Her breasts swayed as she bobbed up and down on his cock, tongue laving the sensitive underside of his dick. She deep-throated him, buried her nose in the curls at his groin, worked him with her throat. Sucked and licked, driving him out of his mind.

  “Oh yeah.” His hips thrust rhythmically, driving his cock into that hot, wet heaven. Again and again, delicious, driving him higher, until his balls tightened and he felt the warning tingle at the base of his spine.

  In the next instant, his release came and he shouted, fist pumping furiously as warm streaks hit his belly. His dream lover vanished and he released his softening cock, staring at the stripes of cum cooling on his torso. One corner of his mouth lifted in immense satisfaction.

  Hetero with a capital H. There was the evidence to prove it.

  Ignoring the slight pinch in his abdomen from the surgery that had saved his life, he pushed up and padded into the bathroom to clean up and pull on his swim trunks. The pool, beer, and the company of his best friend were all he needed to keep him content for now.

  But soon he’d have to do something about making that dream lover a reality, even if it couldn’t be Katrina.

  * * *

  Bastian stood frozen, fist raised to knock on Michael’s bedroom door, gaping at the sight that greeted him through the crack. He’d stopped by after changing in his own room to see if Michael was ready and ask about something regarding work. Damned if he knew what the question had been.

  Because the sight of the man he loved and lusted after above all others, splayed and jacking his cock, seared through his retinas, into his brain, and left him stupid. When rope after rope of cum streaked the man’s broad stomach and chest, he’d have given his soul to be there, lapping the salty-sweet cream from that smooth, taut skin.

  Lowering his hand, Bastian backed away from the door and turned, heart pounding and cock painfully at attention, fleeing as quickly and quietly as possible. He didn’t know what Michael would do if he knew Bastian had witnessed such a private moment, and he didn’t care to find out.

  Kick him out? Maybe not, considering how he’d practically begged Bastian to stay. But it would sure make things awkward between them. Friendship was all he had of Michael, and the thought of losing that made him sick.

  “Why did I have to fall for a man who’s so straight, his spine is made of titanium?” he muttered.

  And he knows how you feel about him. Why do you put up with this shit, letting him stomp your heart into the dirt under his polished shoes?

  “Because I’m an idiot.”

  In the kitchen, he stood for a few minutes, willing away his raging hard-on. And not a second too soon. After snagging two more beers from the fridge, he greeted Mrs. Beasley, who’d just come in, huffing and carrying three plastic grocery bags. The plump, gray-haired woman was flushed and breathless, as though she’d been hurrying to complete her errand and get back to her kitchen.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, stopping to
plant a kiss on her cheek. Taking two of the sacks from her, he placed them on the granite countertop.

  “Oh, you!” She blushed harder and swatted at him, setting the remaining bag, along with her purse, next to the other two. Digging inside one bag, she began pulling out fresh produce, and nodded toward the bottles. “Not letting Mr. Ross have too much of that, are you?”

  “No way,” he assured her. “This is his limit. Can’t say the same for me, though.”

  “Humph. The drink will put you in an early grave. Mark my words.” The woman kept at her task, putting away the groceries, movements brisk.

  “My grandfather drank a fifth of whiskey every week and died at age ninety-seven. He also ate biscuits and gravy for breakfast more often than not.”

  “He was likely a laborer, not an office man. Things were different then, when a man had to toil all day to make a wage. Kept a man’s body fit and his mind clean, and what little rest or nip of spirits he got was sorely earned.”

  Well, he could hardly refute that. “You’re right. He worked in a steel mill, dawn to dusk. Each generation of Chevalier men has definitely gotten softer since then.” He waved a bottle at the portly woman. “Are you worried about me, Mrs. Beasley?”

  She sniffed. “Of course not. And you’re not soft in the least, just a little slow.”

  He blinked at her. “What? How do you mean?”

  “You’ll figure it out sooner or later.” Facing him, she fisted her hands on ample hips. “Now, what do you boys want for dinner?”

  “Michael told Simon he wanted shrimp marinara, I think.” Slow? What the hell was she talking about?

  “I haven’t been around to get the message,” she said in annoyance. “Why that old geezer insists on being privy to every little thing, right down to my menu, is beyond me. It would be a lot simpler if Mr. Ross would phone me directly with his requests when he’s out.”

  Bastian shrugged. “You know Simon. He’s very old school that way.” Or something. Probably just liked to see the woman all riled up.

  “An old snoop is what he is,” she grumbled. “Always skulking around, getting into my business.” As she turned to the task of dinner, Bastian made his escape.

  Bastian didn’t see Simon, skulking or not, on the way to the pool, though, in truth, his attention was riveted on the lush surroundings. Michael’s home was designed to be an oasis, a tropical-themed sanctuary from the outside world, and the pool area was no exception. Built indoors as part of the house, the huge space was covered and surrounded by walls on three sides. The fourth wall, made entirely of bulletproof glass, faced the outdoor patio, complete with a large barbecue pit, tables, and loungers. A door leading to the patio was propped open if Michael entertained, but was normally kept closed and required anyone wishing to gain access to the pool from the outside to enter their code.

  In his opinion, no safety measure was too great when it came to Michael. The man was the head of a covert agency, was in close contact with the president, and as such was always a potential target.

  Bastian set the beers on a small table and waded into the water on the shallow end, relishing the cool wetness lapping at his overheated skin. He dunked his head and then floated on his back, trying to concentrate on the beauty of his surroundings rather than the memory of his friend pulling on his hard, reddened cock.

  Good thing the swim-up bar was only manned during parties, or Bastian would be sorely tempted to imbibe something with a lot more kick than beer. And he still might hunt down a tumbler of whiskey, despite the admonishment from Mrs. Beasley. Anything to help kill this insane longing for a man who’d rather cut off his prick than be with Bastian or any man.

  “Look out below!”

  At the shout, Bastian’s eyes popped open just in time to see Michael running full-out for the edge of the pool, straight to where Bastian was floating. “Hey, don’t even—”

  His friend leaped and let out a triumphant war whoop, tucking his knees up cannonball style. Bastian scrambled backward, but not fast enough to avoid being drenched when Michael hit the water with a big splash. He came up sputtering, while Michael laughed.

  “You shithead!”

  “I thought I was an asshole.”

  “That, too!”

  Swiping his face, he drank in the sight of Michael, dark hair dripping, beads of water making trails down his sculpted, lightly furred chest and abdomen. Two bronzed male nipples peaked immediately, no doubt due to the contrast of wetness and cool air. Three puckered bullet wounds — one too damned close to the man’s heart and the others on his side and stomach — didn’t detract from his perfection. Bastian tore his gaze from them with effort and covered his lapse with a counterattack.

  Cupping his hand, he swatted the water, dousing a smug-looking Michael right in the face — and the war was on.

  They battled like a couple of teenaged boys, yelling and chasing each other around the pool. Both grappling for the upper hand in an effort to be victorious in dishing out the most dunkings. Bastian couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such fun.

  Right up until Michael threw him face-first into the concrete edge of the pool.

  Pain exploded in his face and he struggled to his feet, draping an arm on the ledge and holding his mouth. “Ah, fuck.”

  “Jesus, I’m sorry! Shit! Are you okay?” Michael waded quickly to stand in front of him.

  “I think so.” Already, his lip was starting to throb. But a tentative check with his tongue reassured him there were no loose or broken teeth.

  “Move your hand and let me see.”

  He did, and Michael reached out, frowning. Gently he grasped Bastian’s chin and brushed a thumb over his puffy bottom lip. “It’s just a scrape, but I know it must hurt. I’m sorry. God, I’m an idiot.”

  At his touch, Bastian froze. Every cell in his body screamed out for more intimate contact, but he didn’t dare move, much less breathe. “Forget it.”

  “I should’ve paid more attention to what I was doing.” His voice softened. “You know I’d never hurt you for the world.”

  Michael’s eyes locked with his for several long moments, and Bastian couldn’t think. Because Michael still hadn’t dropped his hand, was still rubbing the pad of his thumb over Bastian’s lip. Because suddenly there was an unmistakable fire in Michael’s dark eyes as his friend’s gaze dropped to his mouth… and not in examination of his wound. Michael angled his body closer, throwing off enough heat to boil the water around them.

  The man appeared ready to devour Bastian whole.

  Please do it. Please, I’ve waited so long.

  “Sir? You have a phone call. I believe it’s important.”

  Michael jerked away as though he’d been electrocuted, and spun to face Simon. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And find some medicine to put on Bastian’s mouth. We had an accident.”

  “Right away.”

  Michael couldn’t leave the pool fast enough, and didn’t look back as he grabbed a towel from the shelf against the wall, quickly ran it over his body, and walked out. Bastian faced the distinguished old butler, struggling to mask his bitter disappointment at the interruption. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he saw a hint of sympathy in Simon’s usually placid expression. The look said that the butler hadn’t had any idea what he was interrupting until it was too late, and that he was sorry. The elderly gentleman had a big soft spot for both him and Michael.

  For a split second he considered asking Simon for his input on how to deal with Michael. The man had worked for Michael for years and wasn’t blind. But Simon was terribly proper and never ventured an opinion unless asked. And on this matter, probably not even then.

  “I don’t need any medicine, just a little ice for the swelling,” he said, proud of how he kept his voice steady.

  Simon nodded. “Do you wish to accompany me to the kitchen, or shall I bring it here?”

  “Here, please. I’d like to swim a
bit longer.” And sit in the hot tub. Maybe then he’d be able to warm the chill that had overtaken him with Michael’s abrupt departure.

  Simon left and Bastian sagged against the side of the pool, letting the misery seep in now that he was alone. You know I’d never hurt you for the world.

  “But you do, over and over,” he whispered. “And it’s my fault for letting you.”

  Somehow, he had to stop loving Michael. And he would.

  The day they lowered him into the ground.

  Two

  “Katrina, we’ve got a problem with this new pinhole camera.”

  Katrina Brandt looked up from the vast array of high-tech spy gadgets on her worktable to see Emma Foster striding into the room. The tall, stacked blonde worked down the hall and served as SHADO’s expert in the area of makeup artistry and disguise. Their agents depended on Emma to make them blend into the scenery while on assignment, and on Katrina and her team for reliable electronic-surveillance technology.

  A failure on either front was not only unacceptable, but potentially fatal.

  Katrina skirted the table and held out a hand. “Let me see.” The other woman released it into her palm and waited while she examined the tiny device. “Nothing appears to be bent or otherwise damaged. I’ll have to check it internally, run it through a video test feed, and let you know if it can be fixed.”

  “I figured as much.” Emma propped a hip on the edge of the table. “Whether it can or not, that thing cost a couple of our agents some vital evidence earlier today. They got their target’s confession on audio, but the video was shot. I had to call Michael and let him know.”

  She stifled a groan. “There goes my vacation I just managed to wheedle out of the man today. How long ago did you call him?”

  Emma checked her watch. “It’s going on eight, so… a few hours ago. If he hasn’t called or come by yet, you’re probably safe from his wrath until tomorrow.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  But she doubted that very much and knew Emma did, too. When it came to the agency, particularly to costly mistakes, their boss wasn’t one to let things slide. If he didn’t catch her here, he’d show up at her condo. The one place she’d always wanted to get the gorgeous man, and for something much more pleasurable than a stern reprimand.