by A. R. Barley
Fuck that. Diesel jumped down the last three stairs and landed solidly on the ground. With even terrain underneath him, he sped up. There was a grunt from behind. Jack’s breathing wasn’t coming quite as easy now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up.
He’d need better running shoes if he was going to take up running as a regular hobby. His sneakers rubbed awkwardly against the back of his heel. His breath was tightening.
He turned the last corner and the man was already gone. How the hell had that happened? He would have seen if someone had walked past the bottom of the stairs.
There had to be something he’d missed.
It took him a few seconds to find the open space between two lockers. The race was back on. Diesel darted through the gap and banged into a locker hard enough to leave a bruise. “Damn it.” He extended his stride as he followed the perp around the corner and then swore when he saw him going through the door into the locker rooms. He’d thought he had a handle on the firehouse’s layout, but somehow his prey managed to skate around corners without being seen.
Diesel skidded left and made a hard right. He could spot the back of a dark head now, but he wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup or identify him from the group picture in Jack’s office.
A door opened and daylight streamed inside. Muscles rippled under his white T-shirt. The man was cut, which wasn’t exactly unusual around the station house. Damn.
Diesel put on one last burst of speed, slamming out through the door, and—
He ran straight into a tall woman in a crisp navy blue suit. “Asshole.” She swept past him. The crowd was so damn thick. His head swept left, then right as he searched for his quarry. Nothing. He took another step forward, colliding hard with a sticky redheaded kid.
Diesel stumbled, hard. His feet came out from under him. Oh, shit! He was going to fall. He was going to crush the kid. He was going to—
“Easy.” Jack’s arm wrapped tight around his waist, yanking him back tight.
No one fell. No one got crushed. The kid said something that would have gotten Diesel spanked when he was in elementary school, and kept walking.
Diesel gasped angrily for air. “I’m so fucking sorry. I lost him. It was—” He gestured wildly. “One second he was there and then he was gone.”
“He knew the firehouse better than you.”
“Not hard.”
“Not easy either.” Jack’s grip tightened for half a second and then he must have realized that they were standing in front of their workplace. His arm dropped away and he took a quick step back. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find him. No matter how long it takes.”
And then the bells clanged.
Time to get back to work.
Chapter Twelve
After the chase through the firehouse, followed by an apartment fire that left two of his firefighters coughing awkwardly, Jack didn’t expect Diesel to stick around to continue their discussion from his office. The talking was good. The kissing was better. Hell. Diesel’s lips were amazing, plush and perfect. They’d been soft, pliant.
But it was more than just his lips.
It was the bold spark in his eyes when he’d leaned forward, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing.
Diesel wasn’t a wimp. He ran into burning buildings for a living. No one could do that if they were too afraid. That didn’t mean he was particularly bold when it came to his private life.
His ex must have done a number on him because apparently Diesel hadn’t so much as looked at another man since coming to New York.
Flirting with Jack must have had his palms sweating.
Kissing him over burgers and salad? That must have taken every ounce of courage he had. It was incredible, and it wasn’t likely to happen again.
When Diesel appeared next to him at the end of his shift, Jack almost pushed him back against the nearest flat surface and kissed all his worries away. Then he remembered they were still at work. Their shift was over, but they were still surrounded by coworkers, underlings. If they so much as stood too close together, word would get out. Someone would report him to the brass, and he’d have a departmental reprimand waiting in his in-box by the time the ferry pulled away from the dock.
Kissing was definitely out, unless he wanted to start applying for new jobs in his forties.
Instead, he gave Diesel a polite nod and led the way out onto the street. No one looked at them twice, even with Diesel’s hair gleaming and his thick hair pushed back like a rock star. His tanned skin practically glowed.
Neither of them said a word on their way to the subway. Did Diesel use public transportation often? Jack was prepared to swipe him through onto the platform, but when he looked back Diesel already had his own pass out. They took the train south all the way to the ferry.
The thump-thump-thump of the boat’s engines were well under way before Diesel finally opened his mouth. “Staten Island?”
“Uh-huh.” Jack probably should have asked him first. Just because they were avoiding their coworkers didn’t mean the entire isle of Manhattan was off-limits. They could have gone to the Woolf & Raven or headed uptown to get dinner at any one of a hundred restaurants to talk. Only, they’d been talking for days. He wanted to touch. “Your place was probably closer.”
Diesel made a face like he’d just tasted something nasty. “Staten Island is fine.”
“Your roommates are really that bad?”
“They play loud music all night, and I’m pretty sure one of them threw out my leftovers.”
“Music’s not so bad.”
The skin around the bottom of Diesel’s jaw tightened in a sullen expression. “Maybe if it were Springsteen.”
“You like the Boss?”
“I’m from New Jersey. It’s a requirement.” Diesel raked his fingers through his fluffy dark hair. The resulting look was devastating, until he pulled his hand the other way and tugged long locks down over his eyes. He sighed. “Sorry, I haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” Jack reached out and threaded his fingers through Diesel’s, dragging his hand in close. He held his breath for a few seconds and waited for objections. They might not be in the firehouse anymore, but the top deck of the Staten Island ferry wasn’t exactly a private place. All around them bored businessmen and women were squeezed onto low benches while children raced back and forth to the chagrin of their frazzled parents. If Diesel wasn’t comfortable being seen with another man, he might pull away.
Nothing happened. Good. He squeezed his fingers a little tighter, enjoying the intimacy of the motion. “If we’re going to do this—”
“Fuck, we’ve got to. At least then maybe I’ll stop dreaming about it.”
“Dreaming?” Jack scraped a thumb across Diesel’s knuckle. “Really?” He dropped his voice low enough that Diesel had to lean in close to hear him over the sound of the sound of water splashing against the boat’s sides. “You’ve been dreaming about me?”
“Every night since the restaurant.”
“And what am I doing in these dreams?”
No answer, but Diesel’s teeth scraped across his bottom lip and his next breath was ragged and audible.
Desperate.
Wanting.
Jack’s self-control snapped. He wasn’t waiting any longer. He reached up with his free hand, wrapping it around Diesel’s neck and closing the last inch of space between them. Diesel’s heartbeat galloped underneath his fingertips, but when Jack looked in his eyes he didn’t see any fear. Just the same wild spark that he’d felt in the office.
Sharp teeth scraped across Diesel’s lips. “Please,” he whimpered.
“Please, what?” Jack asked. “Please kiss me? Please stop?”
“Please don’t let this be a dream.”
Not a chance. Jack sla
mmed his mouth down hard to capture Diesel’s. He didn’t know what went on in the other man’s dreams—although he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find out—but this was different. This was real life and he wanted to consume him inch by inch until nothing remained but heat and want.
Jack savored each desperate moan. He nipped at Diesel’s bottom lip, demanding entrance. Diesel’s mouth opened immediately, without the slightest hint of resistance. He tasted like sunshine and sugar candies, the kind that melted on the tongue.
Freaking beautiful.
Whooo-hoooooooonk. The horn sounded overhead. It echoed out across the water and rebounded. Whoooooo.
A moment later the ferry slowed down. Jack braced himself against the change in momentum. The boat stopped. The change in motion made Diesel stumble awkwardly. Jack didn’t let him fall.
If he had his way he’d never let Diesel hit the ground again.
Jack swallowed hard, pushing down the protective impulse. That wasn’t how things worked. He wasn’t Diesel’s husband or boyfriend. They weren’t involved. He was Diesel’s boss and they didn’t have an ordinary job. If he couldn’t watch Diesel put himself at risk they were both finished.
He took a half step back. “Come on.”
They hustled to disembark with the rest of the crowd. Out on the streets most of them headed to waiting cars and public transit. Jack crossed the parking lot and made a hard right. Diesel was one step behind him. When they made it to the sidewalk, Jack slowed just enough to let Diesel catch up.
Diesel slowed down too.
Jack stopped and turned around. “This isn’t work. I don’t need someone to follow orders and cover my back. Do you understand?”
Dark eyes blinked in his direction. Diesel’s lips were slick and bruised from kisses. His cheeks were flushed and the color stained the skin on his neck. If Jack stripped him down, would that pretty pink color coat his chest?
Would it taste as sweet as it looked? Saliva filled his mouth. He reached out and put a hand on Diesel’s waist, tugging him up so they were standing side by side. “If you’re going to say ‘yes, boss’ while we’re making out, you can turn around and go back home. This time of day, you won’t have long to wait for the ferry.”
“After a kiss like that?” Diesel’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip like he could still taste their kiss. Sunshine and sugar candies. “Not a chance.”
Jack swallowed hard against the memory. Damn, he didn’t want Diesel to walk away, but that didn’t mean he was going to pressure him into doing anything that made him uncomfortable.
Heat brushed against his body as Diesel took a long step forward. For a moment his body swayed and then he took another step. Jack hurried to catch up.
Gravel crunched underneath his feet. Wind rustled through the leaves of a tree up ahead. Boughs bent under the strain. Three more blocks to go and Diesel wasn’t saying a word. The silence that had been so reassuring in the subway was like a steel wall in the daylight.
“You mind if I ask you a question?” Diesel finally said.
“Please.” Anything to cut the silence.
“Two ex-wives, and you’re not straight?”
It was probably something Jack should have expected. That didn’t mean he had a good answer. “There’ve been some guys in there too. I just didn’t marry them.”
“Uh-huh. What’s the longest you’ve ever been with someone?”
“My first wife. Five years and three months.”
“You’re a serial monogamist,” Diesel said. “Did you think you were going to grow old with any of them? Have a few kids—”
“Eric is plenty.”
“—adopt a couple of Irish Setters, get a pair of rocking chairs, and move someplace warm?”
It wasn’t a fantasy Jack had spent much time on, but then again he didn’t like Irish Setters. “Big red dogs aren’t my thing. I watched too much Clifford when Eric was little. I like spaniels.”
“Springers or Papillons?”
“Papillons aren’t spaniels.” Jack was pretty damn sure about that. “They’re yappy things, like Chihuahuas.”
“They’re the smallest breed of spaniel,” Diesel corrected. “Well, Papillons and Phalenes. They’re like the same thing, except Papillons have the big sticky-up ears like butterflies and Phalenes’ ears are folded over.”
It was such an odd thing to know. Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Let me guess, your mom was a dog breeder?”
“My mom hated dogs.” Diesel shrugged. “You just pick things up.”
“You pick things up.” Now Jack wanted to pick Diesel’s brain. Did he know about all breeds of dogs or just tiny spaniels? He should probably answer Diesel’s question first. “I saw a big spaniel once. It was thick, sturdy. You know what they’re called?”
“Clumber,” Diesel said.
“I always figured I’d get one of those eventually, but it never worked out. I’m not home enough.”
“You were married all those times. None of them could ever take care of a dog?”
“I guess I didn’t tell them.” In his mind the dog had always been his, a puppy he raised and trained himself. His dreams about his future had never really included another person. Then again, that was probably a good thing. Most dogs lived a hell of a lot longer than five years and three months. He squeezed Diesel’s hand. “You ever think about getting a dog?”
“There’s no room for a puppy in a shared apartment.”
“Guess you’ll just have to move.” Jack rattled his keys out of his pocket as they turned the last corner and started up the sidewalk to his place. The yard had plenty of space for a dog to run.
Using only one hand raised the difficulty level of unlocking the front door, but he’d be damned if he was going to let go of Diesel’s hand. Luckily, he rolled a natural twenty and it opened easily on the first try. He tugged Diesel inside and kicked the door closed behind him.
They were alone.
Finally.
“You want the tour first? Or we can order dinner.”
When Diesel grinned, his ears twitched like a deranged elf from Lord of the Rings. It was freaking adorable. “Does the tour include your bedroom?”
“Uh-huh.” The wood floor creaked under his feet. He’d lived in the house for almost five years. It wasn’t a mansion, and somehow Diesel’s broad shoulders made the less than 900 square feet seem even smaller.
“This is the living room.” He gestured at the dumpy brown couch and the big screen television. “The kitchen’s through that door.” He’d always intended to renovate, but the cracked hexagonal tiles were original to the house.
He tugged Diesel across the living room and into the narrow hallway. Eric’s bedroom was to the left, even if he spent most nights at his mom’s. In the middle was a bathroom that had been renovated in the seventies. The toilet was avocado green. To the right: “The master suite in all its splendor.”
“My room’s bigger,” Diesel said. “And I’m pretty sure it started out as a walk-in closet.” He took a single step into the bedroom and banged his knee against the double bed. He raised his free hand up and touched the ceiling. “At least this place has a window.”
Jack snorted. “You know that’s a fire hazard, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“You’ve got to figure that out. Can’t have one of my guys living in a fire hazard. If something happens, all the other fire chiefs will make fun of me.” He pushed Diesel down against the bed and kissed him until they both saw stars.
Chapter Thirteen
Kissing Jack was like riding one of the rare wild waves that crashed against the beach in Atlantic City. It was better than any possible dream or fantasy. Diesel’s brain had been stuttering since their lips first connected back in the firehouse. Then there’d been the kiss on the boat that left him desperate and whimpering. Fuck
, he’d almost come in his pants in front of a boat full of long-faced commuters.
Luckily, the cold air had made short work of his growing erection or else the walk back to Jack’s house would have been painful.
Faded blue shingles and a pie-eyed porch meant the exterior of Jack’s place was definitely an HGTV “before.” The inside wasn’t much better. The small living room was clean but cluttered. The glimpse of tile he’d seen through the open bathroom door made him want to get out a trowel. The bedroom was little more than a bed and an overstuffed bookshelf.
But the forest green duvet cover was soft to the touch and the mattress was so freaking comfortable. Diesel had the sudden urge to roll over and go to sleep. Between his roommates and the lascivious images that played across the back of his eyelids every night, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a solid eight hours.
Then Jack’s lips met his, and sleep became an impossibility. Damn. He didn’t just kiss. He conquered. His tongue was an invading army and Diesel didn’t want to fight back, especially not when he could feel long fingers tangling in his clothes.
Jack’s body lifted half an inch, creating just enough space for him to tug Diesel’s shirt free from his pants and then—damn. A cold hand splayed out across his belly, making him buck and groan. It hadn’t been that cold outside, but the combination of Jack’s chilled hand and Diesel’s hot flesh was unbelievable.
“Please,” Diesel whimpered. He’d said that before. He needed to come up with something else, but his neurons refused to fire. Rough cotton moved against his bare belly and then Jack rocked his hips downward. Friction and heat exploded across his skin as they connected in a way that would have been impossible standing up. Their height difference had disappeared and Jack’s erection ground against his in a way that made him want to beg for more.
Damn. Why couldn’t this be a dream where their pants just disappeared in a puff of smoke? But Diesel wouldn’t give up the reality of Jack’s nails digging into his skin for anything. He was going to leave scars. He was going to—“Fuck!” Pain ripped through his body and made him whimper angrily.