by Max Hudson
Dave had to smile. His mother was a fierce tiger when she was defending her young, and he would always be her little boy. He knew it. They all knew it. They would always be her babies.
“Reverend Dawson’s daughter Jill was supposed to come for breakfast this morning, but she cried off at the last minute…something about a death in the family. Which I find odd, because if there had been one, wouldn’t he have said something himself?” Dave’s mother sounded aggrieved.
Dave could not suppress his chuckle. “People die unexpectedly all the time, Ma. It’s a perfectly acceptable excuse.”
“I’m sure you’re glad you didn’t have to meet her,” she snapped, irate and frustrated.
“I actually enjoyed family time today,” he said, refusing to be intimidated. “Let’s not fight now, okay?”
His mother harrumphed, but she held her tongue, and the rest of the morning went by pleasantly. Dave played with Benny and his toy, asked Kayla what she got, and oohed and aahed over the sketchpad she had been wanting with the prompts for drawing every day. His niece was a bona fide artistic genius, and she loved to watch people, just like he did. The difference between them was that she drew what she saw with pencil and brush, while he painted pictures with his words.
By lunch time, he was ready to go. He had to work on the edits for the final novel in his series, and he hoped he would hear something soon from his publisher regarding their decision about Jake.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ma,” he said, kissing her on the forehead before walking down the driveway. “Be good.”
“I’ll be better when you bring home a girl.”
Chuckling indulgently at her parting shot, because he was leaving so he knew the conversation could go no further, he waved as he drove off. He didn’t see that happening any time soon, and if the way he had reacted to Jake Pratt last night was any indication, it might not happen at all. His cheerful mood dissipated, replaced by tension that made his shoulders tight and clenched his fists on the wheel. He made himself relax. He didn’t know for sure that it was more than a fleeting attraction to a gorgeous hunk. It would most likely never happen again. He could only hope he was right, because he wasn’t ready to face the possibility that he was interested in doing more than working with Jake Pratt.
Chapter Three
Jake sorted through the photos he had taken the day before. God, where had the time gone? Four days since his dinner party, two since he had spoken to Scott Brady. Yesterday, he’d spoken with the commissioning editor interested in purchasing his work, who had told him that he’d hear more from Dave about his needs for the cover shoot.
He needed something to ground him, to get him out of his head. Because the things whirling around inside of his mind were driving him crazy.
Dave Moussa. He was the kind of handsome that Jake had only ever seen on television, never in real life. None of his teammates had been as inexpressibly attractive to him as Dave was. And, he had been around some damned hot guys in the military. His daydreams these last four days were filled with erotic fantasies…all starring Dave.
Yes, he needed to get laid, but he couldn’t muster the desire to leave his comfort zone to try and hook up with anyone. He’d been out and proud long enough to have enjoyed some great and some not-so-great hookups, but since his discharge, he hadn’t found the will or the desire to do even the basic things like check out a man’s ass. Until four nights ago. Instead, he suffered in silence.
His phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize. Maybe it’s Dave.
“Jake Pratt.”
“Hi, Jake, it’s David Moussa. We met the other night at dinner with Doug?”
“I remember you. How can I help you?” His voice was tight. Damn it, he absolutely was not going to let any of his conflicting emotions out for this man to hear.
“Scott asked me to give you a call. He’d like us to set up a meeting to review my needs. For the cover.” Dave’s voice had changed too. No longer warm and welcoming — almost inviting Jake to fall back into his fantasies— it had shot all the way to practically frigid.
“Sure. When would you like to meet?” Jake had only himself to blame for the way this conversation was going. He only had himself to blame for all of it, for fantasizing about the man so wildly inappropriately—Keep it professional! He’s nothing to you!
“I’ll be out of town for a week. I was wondering if you’d be free later to throw some ideas around.”
“I can meet in an hour. Where will you be?”
For the first time, Dave seemed to hesitate. “I thought I could come out to your place again, if that’s all right. You have all the artwork there. I can run some ideas by you. You can sketch as we talk. Get it all over and done with?”
Silence. Jake swallowed.
“Or somewhere else is fine. It’s up to you.”
Jake’s hands clenched tightly around his phone, hard enough to make the case squeal. His thumb shook as he mashed the icon for speakerphone, nearly dropping the phone as he did.
He didn’t want this man in his home. He didn’t want his presence invading his sanctuary, a place Jake had tried—and failed—to keep free of his neurotic fascination with him. But, Dave was right. They could get everything done here, and quickly. What did that say about him, that he couldn’t manage his emotions enough to have a client over to discuss business? No, he was better than that.
And, Dave was straight. Or, most likely straight. He didn’t know for sure, but he’d put money on it, which made his attraction even more embarrassing. He was beyond falling for straight guys. That road led to disaster. He could do this. He could be professional, get the job done, and then say goodbye to Dave. They’d never have to worry about each other again.
“Give me an hour, and then you can come over. If you tell me a bit about your series, and specifically what your third book will be about, I can go ahead and make a few sketches for when you get here.”
Strictly business. That would help him focus and avoid embarrassing himself or the man he wanted as a client. His professionalism, his future business, and his reputation were at stake. He had an hour to get his act together. He’d need to chill the hell out if he was going to finish any work with Dave Moussa around.
Dave talked with him for about ten minutes, giving him a rough synopsis of the series, and the central focus of the third book. After the call, Jake showered quickly and threw on jeans and an old Army t-shirt, and then threw together a quick lunch. Had Dave eaten? Well, he should play a good host, at least. Hoagies seemed like a good choice, with a salad and beer.
Jake paced, rubbing his palms down the sides of his jeans. His gaze darted to the clock, once, twice, a third time. His stomach knotted. Why was Dave suddenly the one who got under his skin? Why now? Why this fascination? He’d have to sit down and have good long talk with himself, but this wasn’t the time. Dave would be there any moment.
If it wouldn’t seem like a real loser move, he’d call Doug for a quick pep talk.
The doorbell rang.
Jake spun, freezing for a moment. This isn’t a date. It’s a fucking business meeting. He would be damned if he’d let some hot stranger rattle his cage.
He wrapped his professionalism around him like a shield, but when he opened his door and saw Dave standing there, slight panic in his eyes, a strained half-smile on his lips, and a flush on his cheeks, the head of steam he had rolled up to the door with vanished.
“Hi,” Dave said. “Hope I’m not early?”
Something in the husky tentativeness of his voice struck a chord with Jake. “No, you’re right on time. Come in.”
“I thought we could do a working lunch.” He led the way to his studio and invited Dave to have a seat. “Be right back.”
Jake grabbed the meal he’d slapped together, throwing it on a tray before heading back to the studio. Before he walked out of the kitchen, he took a deep breath, and then another.
Dave was examining the sketches he had tacked up on the enormous co
rk board next to the worktable.
“These are really exceptionally good,” Dave said, his eyes still on the artwork. “I wish I had that talent. I have a niece who does. The work she puts out, for her age, is brilliant…just like this.”
Jake felt a flush rise in his neck, a burn that went to his cheeks. Dave wasn’t looking, though. Good. He put the tray down on the table and cleared his throat. Accepting compliments as true was an important part of his rehabilitation.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Dave turned and looked him in the eye. “You’re welcome.”
Jake swallowed in the silence that strained the air in the studio. “Please, have a seat and help yourself,” he finally said.
Jake sat as far as he could from him. Dave straddled the high stool close to the drawings and sketches, and Jake closed his eyes for a moment, praying for strength to make it through the next hour. God, Dave seemed to know how to push all his buttons without even being aware of it. What would Dave look like straddling something else?
He gritted his teeth at the hot spike of lust that shot through him when he opened his eyes again and saw Dave bite into his sandwich. Stifling his moan, Jake tried to find something to say. Nothing came to mind…at least, nothing he could say aloud.
He tried not to see how Dave’s arms flexed and moved against his tight t-shirt as he lifted his beer, or look at his full, heart-shaped lips. He tried not to notice Dave’s thick thighs, hugged in denim, and spread just so. Damn it, he had to refocus on the task at hand.
“So, I was thinking that maybe, since the focus of the last novel in the series is the unlocking of the final codes to unravel the full meaning of the Preceptor’s riddle, that we might go with an abstract sketch. Something to suggest the magic of the spells at his disposal, without giving away any secrets.” Feeling an unaccustomed insecurity, Jake added quickly, “It’d also retain the sense of fantasy that your series has established.”
Jake felt the burn of Dave’s gaze like a brand on his skin.
“I’d like to see what you can come up with,” Dave said. “I have an idea or two of my own, but you’re the artist.”
“Sure thing. I’ll show you.”
They swallowed the last of their sandwiches and pushed away the plates, and then got to work. Before long, Jake was lost in his ideas, and his clenching anxiety unfurled. Dave sat next to him, watching him work, but it was almost pleasant, instead of being a grating scratch on his soul. Almost comfortable. Almost like he could get used it…
“Wait a sec.” Dave’s voice interrupted his flow.
“What?” Jake sat back, growling.
Dave’s eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open, making a perfect little “o.”.
“Sorry. It’s difficult to get the focus back once it’s gone.” Jake never explained himself to anyone, but here he was, apologizing to Dave and feeling bad for his snap, too.
“Got it. And I understand. I hate being interrupted, too. I just wanted to ask if it would be better if you added some shadow here…” He reached across Jake to point to a spot on the sketch “…And then lighten here a bit more.”
Temptation #6 wafted into Jake’s nose. Damn it, Dave was wearing a cologne that Jake loved. Go fucking figure. He stayed stiff, breathing in as much as he could while not moving a muscle, until Dave sat back again. Why was Dave wearing cologne? For a quick business meeting in the middle of the day? With a guy he didn’t care about, or even know? Jesus, Jake only wore cologne if he was trying to go out and get some. But, that was not happening here. It fucking wasn’t.
He looked down at the sketch, avoiding Dave’s glance. That’s not a bad idea. You have a good eye.”
Good, he sounded normal. He could get through this. Still, his heart was pounding and his skin was burning, as if he could already feel Dave pressed against him. Damn it!
He shaded and lightened, working quickly, and the effect was startlingly different, closer to what they had discussed.
“I like this a lot.” Dave smiled.
Jake grinned back. Dave had warm, friendly eyes, and perfect teeth. Two dimples at the corners of his mouth. “So do I.” Not your eyes, or your smile and the way it warms me up inside. I mean the sketch. “I could do a few different sketches for you and then you can choose the one you like best for the cover. Then I could finish that one.”
“Or,” Dave countered, almost teasing, his eyes flashing, “you can leave it as is since I like it just the way it is.” He winked.
“Or that.” Jake laughed to relieve the hitch in his breathing. Who winks at a guy they’re not into? Was Dave flirting with him? “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”
Dave chuckled with him and then turned to the cork board, flicking through the pages and pages of sketches he had tacked to it.
“Do you draw every day?”
“Yeah. Or I paint or take photos. It’s how I—”
Dave was a stranger, but he’d almost blurted out the one thing he buried deeper than King Tut’s tomb. Only his parents and Doug knew about what had happened over there. About the permanent scars on his body and soul.
Dave’s gaze was back on him. “It’s how you what?”
Jake shrugged, pasting a grin on his face. “It’s how I unwind.”
Tension thrummed through him again, and he flicked his pencil against his palm, over and over. He didn’t want any prying into his life. He didn’t want people nosing into his business. What was done was done, and he had to live with it. And, more than anything else, he didn’t want anyone’s pity. He was drowning in pity.
God, he was so sick of everyone pitying him. Poor Jake. Poor, poor Jake, losing so much. What will he ever do again?
Dave kept going, oblivious to the turmoil in Jake’s mind. “I know what you mean,” he said with a smile. “It seems like it should be counterintuitive, but writing is how I unwind, too. That, and working out.”
Jake blinked. Some of the panic building in his chest unwound. “Yeah, I can tell you work out.” He hoped that didn’t send the wrong message. But dammit, Dave was hot. He wouldn’t lie about that. “What do you do? Lift?”
“No, not really. I mostly jog and I swim.”
“Not a gym rat?”
“Not at all.” Dave jerked his chin back to Jake. “What do you do, now that you’re out? No more ‘o-dark hundred’ morning runs, calling cadence?”
Jake laughed loudly. He loved that Dave apparently knew something about life in the military. He found Dave’s gaze, and his breathing shorted. Dave’s tone was curious, but his eyes… There was something there. Something more than banal, bland conversation, the kind of small talk and bullshit clients and agents engaged in to pass the time before money changed hands.
Maybe there was a chance for real friendship with the man. Nothing more, of course. But…weren’t people telling him he needed to meet new people? Make connections? Here was a guy—a gorgeous guy—seemingly reaching out. Maybe he’d try this. Run it out, and see where it went.
“I swim, mostly. And I lift.” He dropped his pencil on the table. Work was over. Time to figure out how to socialize.
“I figured a tough guy like you would do the macho thing.”
Was Dave teasing him? Jake grinned. “Tough guy, huh?
“Please. Of course you are. Ex-Army captain, tattoos, scar, badass attitude…the very definition of tough guy.”
Dave was definitely teasing him. Jake laughed again. “I was in for almost thirteen years. Physical training becomes a lifestyle. It’s no joke in the field, and it’s a good way to shake the bad shit off.”
Dave moved closer, standing almost beside him. God, he could feel Dave’s body heat, feel him almost touching his skin.
“Why did you leave the Army?”
There it was, the question he most hated answering. No answer was right, and nothing was perfect. Anything he said was a slippery slope at best.
“I was injured.”
He swallowed hard, and his eyes darted aw
ay, looking at the corner and a tangle of dust bunnies that had taken up residence. He clenched his jaw, hoping Dave wouldn’t notice. What next? Another long litany of questions, all ending in pity?
Dave’s eyes roamed over him silently. Jake bore the scrutiny without flinching.
“That sucks. Seems like you’re doing great for yourself now, though. You’re an amazing artist, and your business is growing well.”
He turned to Dave, staring him in the eyes. No one, outside of Doug, had ever seemed to know how to handle the subject of his injury when he returned. They had been devastated, angry, bitter, hopeless, right along with him, but they hadn’t known how to move beyond mirroring his feelings.
But here was Dave, who seemed to get that Jake didn’t want sympathy, or even empathy. He wanted a future. He wanted to mean something again, do something that others noticed. That was good, and that someone valued.
All he wanted was acceptance. And Dave Moussa was giving it to him. He was in so much fucking trouble…
Jake swallowed, clenching his fists around the sudden urge to grab the man standing almost in his personal space and plant a hot kiss on that heart-shaped mouth. Business meeting, remember? Can’t paw the man. Not socially acceptable behavior. He chastised himself silently, and managed to speak without giving away his internal struggle.
“Thanks. It’s definitely different from everything I’ve done before.”
Dave eyed him curiously. “How do you feel about your new job? I mean, you seem like the type who gave your all in the work you did in the Army.”