Saints United [For Love of Authority 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhiannon Ayers

  Silence echoed over the line, so deep and so sure, A.J. pulled the phone from his ear to make sure they hadn’t gotten disconnected. But no, the line was still clear. He put the receiver back to his ear and waited.

  Finally, after a long, tense silence, the voice on the other end whispered, “A.J.?”

  A.J. shivered, his cock twitching in his jeans. Christ God in heaven, there was so much longing in that voice. A breathless incredulity that couldn’t possibly be faked. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Yeah, Ryder. It’s me. A.J. How have you been?”

  “A.J.,” Ryder whispered again, some raw emotion A.J. couldn’t decipher heavy in his voice. “God, A.J. Talk about out of the blue. You gotta give me a second, here. I sure as shit wasn’t expecting to…to hear from you.”

  He bit his lower lip, started fiddling with a splinter near the edge of the step he was sitting on. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Hang on a sec,” Ryder said shortly. A.J. could hear some rustling noises, and what sounded like traffic passing by. “There. Had to pull over so I didn’t wreck the squad car. Fuck, man. How the fuck are you? What have you been up to? Are you still in law enforcement?”

  A.J. laughed. Typical Ryder—always getting right to the point. “Uh, no, actually. I was a computer tech for the FBI for a few years, but now I’m in IT services. I run my own company called IT Matters.”

  “That’s amazing,” Ryder said, and there was real happiness in his voice. “I knew you’d go far, with all your mad computer skills. So I take it the MIT thing went well? I mean, it had to, if you got into the FBI and now you’re making bank as an entrepreneur.”

  “It did. Graduated with honors.” A.J. found himself blushing for no particular reason—except that he desperately wanted to impress Ryder. Idiot. He cleared his throat. “The FBI recruited me. I was at Quantico as a student for a little while, but eventually they had me start teaching classes. I did that…for a while, but now I’m on my own.”

  “Dude, that’s really amazing,” Ryder said with a chuckle. “So you’re calling me from Virginia? How did you get my number?”

  A.J. passed his fingers through his hair. “Actually, that’s kind of a funny story. I…well, I moved recently.”

  “Where?” Ryder asked.

  A.J. paused, took his courage by the throat, and said, “Here, Ryder. I’m here. In Houston. I just moved here.” Four months ago. But he didn’t say that part out loud.

  Ryder sucked in a sharp breath, then his voice turned all business. “Where are you? Right now, where are you?”

  “Um…at my new apartment. I’m still not very familiar with the city, so I don’t know…”

  “Text me your address,” Ryder said sharply. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  A.J. sat up straight. “You don’t have to…”

  “The fuck I don’t,” Ryder growled, his voice deepening enough to rattle the speaker inside A.J.’s phone. “You don’t get to fucking tell me you’re in the same city and then expect me to not want to see you. I just got off shift anyway. Text me your address. I’ll be right there.”

  Hand shaking, heart going a mile a minute, A.J. complied. He hesitated only a moment before hitting the “send” button. “I sent it,” he whispered hoarsely. “Ryder, are you sure…”

  “Got it,” Ryder interrupted. “You’re in Sugar Land. That’s about ten minutes from my place. Do not go anywhere. I’ll be there as soon as I can. And A.J.?”

  A.J. swallowed. “Yeah?”

  “I’m really, really, glad you called,” Ryder whispered.

  Then he hung up.

  A.J. let the phone fall away from his ear and sat staring across the apartment building’s parking lot. Then he carefully stood, climbed the stairs, and walked inside.

  “Me, too, Ryder,” he whispered, settling himself on the couch in the front room. “Me, too. I just hope this wasn’t a worse mistake than the one I made eight years ago.”

  With that unsettling thought in mind, he sat back to wait.

  Chapter 6

  Ryder hit the Bluetooth button in his steering wheel with shaking fingers, feeling as if someone had just smacked him with a Mack truck.

  A.J. called him. A.J. fucking Johannes, the man he’d fallen in love with back when he was a dumb-fuck college kid, called him. Never in a million years would he have expected that. Fuck, the dude left in such a hurry last time, Ryder thought the guy hated him.

  And for years, Ryder had convinced himself he hated A.J. back.

  He needed to call Lyss. His wife would want to know about A.J.’s sudden appearance in Houston. Ever since he told her about his college lover, she’d been on him to track A.J. down, clear the air between them. Lyss was good like that—she hated burning bridges. Didn’t matter to her that A.J. had been the one to high-tail it out of there without so much as a “see ya.” She was all about making clean breaks, clearing up misconceptions, making things right.

  She was an exceptional woman. Which was why he loved her more than life itself.

  Yeah, he needed to call her. But not yet. He needed to make sure he wouldn’t come across like a kid who’d just figured out his favorite candy was on sale.

  Especially since that’s exactly what he felt like right now.

  Ryder closed his eyes, tried to breathe deeply while memories flooded through him. Had it really been eight years? Felt like eight minutes. Hell, eight seconds. He could still feel the texture of A.J.’s soft skin, still sense the heat pouring off the man’s body. Could still remember exactly what it felt like to sink his cock into that scorching-hot, silky-soft tunnel. And fuck, that body. Pure sex on two legs, yet totally oblivious to the effect he had on other people.

  Totally oblivious to the effect he had on Ryder.

  His first memory of A.J. was still vivid. Back then, Ryder had been nothing but a dumb jock, catching a free ride to UT Dallas on a football scholarship. His parents had wanted him to go into law enforcement—every male in the family had been a cop, all the way back to the 1800s—but he hadn’t been so sure that’s where his future lay. Still, UTD had a great criminology program, and he’d gone ahead with the football thing so he’d have a chance to check the program out before making a decision.

  He remembered being in the dorm room, standing on his bunk while trying to hang a poster over his bed. Random sounds, scuffles and bumps and thumps, echoed from the room behind him, indicating he had company. He called over his shoulder, “I got here first, so I got dibs on the first bunk. Name’s Ryder. With you in a minute.”

  No answer. Ryder shrugged, finished tacking the poster to the wall, and turned.

  And nearly swallowed his tongue.

  Christ God in heaven, the guy was fucking gorgeous. Electric blue eyes, wide and filled with intelligence, regarded him warily from a face that belonged on a Greek statue. Nice build, though a little smaller than Ryder typically preferred, with narrow hips and shoulders that promised to fill out a bit more as the guy grew into himself. Brown skin, more than just tanned but not quite full-blood Latino, coupled with short black hair that tapered up over his ears. He had a duffle bag over each shoulder and a rolling suitcase parked at his feet along with a pair of laptop cases—that explained the thumps and bumps.

  Ryder cleared his throat and his expression, hoping like hell his lust hadn’t shown on his face. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  The guy just watched him, not saying a word. Hiding a frown, Ryder crossed the small room and took hold of the rolling suitcase’s handle without being told. “I’m Ryder. Ryder St. Claire.”

  A long, long pause. Then the most amazing voice he’d ever heard, part Spanish accent mixed with west-Texas-southern, said, “Andre. Johannes. But everybody calls me A.J.”

  Ryder parked the suitcase next to the empty bunk, did an about-face—and found A.J. standing ten inches away, suddenly close enough to feel the heat pouring off his body. Ryder swallowed, suppressing a shiver along with the urge to reach out and drag the guy over for
a hot, tongue-fucking kiss. He managed to fight it back—barely—and retreated to his bunk to get a little distance between them.

  “So. What’s your major?” There, that sounded like a nice, safe topic. Better than Hey, are you bi, too? ‘Cause I really want to fuck you right now.

  “Criminology,” A.J. answered quietly, placing his duffle bags on his bed. He shot Ryder an inscrutable look, a slight frown on his brow. “You?”

  “The same,” Ryder had answered without even thinking about it. Huh. Guess he’d chosen his major after all. He watched A.J. fuss with his stuff, pretending not to notice the little speculative glances the guy shot over his shoulder every once in a while. A gazillion questions buzzed in his brain, but he kept silent, just watching the other guy move around, growing more and more curious by the minute. A.J. seemed…young. Naïve, almost. But that didn’t ring true, not when he could literally feel the guy’s innate intelligence. It made no sense.

  Finally, after a tense silence, A.J. heaved a sigh and flopped down on his bed facing Ryder. “Look, I need to tell you something. To get it out of the way.”

  Oh, shit. If he tells me he’s gay, I may just self-combust. Ryder tried for an encouraging smile. “Sure.”

  A.J. took a deep breath, then blurted, “I’m only sixteen. I graduated high school early. Mom didn’t want me leaving the state before I turned eighteen, so I enrolled here. But I know everyone is older than me, and I’m freaking out right now. So, sorry if I seem…skittish. I’m just…overwhelmed, I guess. I’ve never been anywhere but El Paso, where I grew up.” He paused, fidgeted uncomfortably. “Is that…I mean, is that going to be a problem? Me…being so much younger?”

  Ryder swallowed a groan. Yes. But not for the reasons you think, jailbait. “Nah, man. It’s cool. Thanks for telling me, though.” He gave the guy a soft smile, hoping his attraction—and his disappointment—didn’t show. “Saves me from getting you into more trouble than you’ll get into all by yourself.”

  A.J., obviously surprised by Ryder’s reaction, sat up and regarded him thoughtfully. “What do you mean?”

  This time he laughed. “Dude, come on. Chicks are going to be falling all over you.” Guys, too, if you aren’t careful. Damn it. “You better get yourself a sign that says ‘Off-Limits’ or something.”

  A.J. blushed. The dude actually blushed. “Yeah, right. Be serious. Nobody is going to pay attention to me with you around.”

  Wait, what? Ryder almost asked…but stopped himself in time. If A.J. complimented Ryder’s looks, his jeans would start tenting without hope of hiding it. Instead, he steered the conversation toward more mundane topics, forcing himself to stop seeing his roommate as a fucking sexy piece of ass and start seeing him as a friend who needed his help. Because A.J. would be in a lot of trouble if other students saw him the same way Ryder did. A kid that gorgeous would be serious temptation, especially for horny college kids. And right now, A.J. needed a friend, a protector, more than he needed a guy drooling over him.

  So he’d spent four long, torturous years suppressing his desire for his sexy-as-fuck roommate, pretending he had no more interest than any other purely straight guy. Wasn’t easy. Nearly killed him when A.J. did turn legal—which, in Texas, meant seventeen, since that was the age of sexual majority. Ryder had had to take a mental image of the kid, then brand the words “Totally Off-Limits” across the top of it in big block letters. The only thing that helped was the fact that A.J. didn’t show any interest in any other guy the whole time they were roommates.

  If he had, Ryder probably would have lost his shit.

  Those four years were probably the horniest Ryder had ever had. He’d gotten relief wherever, however he could, all in the hopes that he’d be able to get rid of some of his sexual frustration before having to sleep in the same room as A.J. And it worked…or so he’d thought. Until their very last night together, Ryder hadn’t been aware that his wet dreams had been so…obvious. Or that A.J. had been watching him jerk off in his sleep the whole damn time. But then, in his defense, he had made such a point of trying not to see A.J. as a sexual object, he’d completely missed all the signs that said the guy would be more than up for a round or two between the sheets.

  That last night changed everything. Ryder had gotten one fucking incredible, unforgettable night in the guy’s arms—only to wake up the next morning to find A.J. gone. No note. No good-bye. No nothing. Just an empty place beside him in the bed, and a room devoid of A.J.’s presence.

  Ryder had been so pissed off, so devastated, he trashed their dorm room in an effort to clear some of the rage from his system. Didn’t help, of course. Neither did the bill he’d received for damages afterward. He’d hauled ass out of Dallas and never looked back.

  Eventually, he did manage to accept the fact you can’t force someone to love you—or accept your love in return. It was a hard lesson, but one he took straight to heart. Took him years, in fact, to let himself open up enough to accept more than just casual affection. Of course, that had eventually led him to Lyss, so he guessed everything had worked out well.

  Thank God he never told A.J. about his application to the Boston Police Academy. Back then, he hadn’t been certain he’d even get in, so he’d been hesitant to get the guy’s hopes up. Or maybe it was that he didn’t want to get his own hopes up. A.J. had never asked him to move to Massachusetts with him, after all. That had been Ryder’s idea, when he found out the guy had been accepted to MIT. He’d had a vague hope that if he could get A.J. alone outside the confines of their dorm room, he might be willing to give the two of them a chance. Might be able to get him to accept being in a relationship with another man. Unfortunately for Ryder, A.J. still hadn’t accepted it, not even after they’d both finally admitted their feelings.

  One night. Ryder’d gotten one night in A.J.’s arms. And up until today, that was all he’d ever thought he’d get.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, St. Claire. Just because the guy called doesn’t mean he has any interest in picking up where you left off. And there’s the little fact that you’re a married man, now, with a beautiful wife to take care of. A.J. coming back don’t mean shit. Especially not until you talk to him…and your wife.

  “Fuck me running,” Ryder growled, shaking his head at himself. First thing’s first. He punched the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel, waited for the digital lady to ask for his command, and barked out, “Call ‘My Woman.’”

  Lyss absolutely hated that he’d used those words as her voice-command label for the Bluetooth in his cruiser. Tickled him whenever he thought about her scowling over it. So he was grinning hugely when her clear Southern tenor rang out over the car’s speakers.

  “Hey, handsome. Made it home yet?”

  “Not yet, beautiful. How about you? Still at the hospital?” Lyss was an ER nurse at Ben Taub, the ginormous county hospital. The worst one, as far as he was concerned. But despite repeated pleas for her to find a position with one of the better hospital systems in town, she insisted on working there. She was good, damn good, and they desperately needed good nurses there. She was determined to fill the void, even if it meant working long hours. So he swallowed his misgivings and let her have her way.

  For now.

  “Clocked out,” she told him cheerfully. “Just got in the vehicle.” Her accent got thicker when she was tired. She said it like “vee-hickle.”

  Ryder snorted. “Your Southern’s showing, miss Georgia peach.”

  Her chuckled echoed through the speakers. “You bring the Belle out in me, Texas Ranger.”

  Old joke. Back when they met, he’d simply introduced himself as Ryder. She, wanting to be funny and impress him, had tried to make a joke by saying, “So, what, is your last name Texas Ranger?”

  He’d cocked his head at her, one eyebrow raised, which made her laugh and say, “Oh, come on. I can’t be the only one to have made that joke.” When he just stared at her, she huffed impatiently. “You know, from that show. The Chuck Norris show.”


  Chuck Norris? What the hell…Then in hit him. Ryder had grinned hugely, leaned in, and told her, “Ma’am, Chuck Norris’s name was Walker, not Ryder. The show was Walker, Texas Ranger.”

  Her blush had been so damn cute, he couldn’t resist leaning in for a sweet kiss. And that moment had led to nine whirlwind months that eventually culminated in a pair of rings on both their fingers.

  Laughter was the best aphrodisiac.

  Ryder shook the memories out of his head and returned his focus to the woman patiently waiting for him to tell her why he called. “So, I’ve got news.”

  “Figured as much. Did something happen in the meeting with your captain?”

  Yeah, actually, but his news about A.J. took precedence. “Nah. Something different. Something pretty damn good. Well, at least I think it’s going to be good.”

  Lyss laughed. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense, handsome. What’s going on?”

  Ryder took a deep breath, wrapped both hands around the steering wheel, and told her, “A.J.’s in town.”

  Her gasp echoed through the cruiser, a sound filled with shock and speculation. God, he loved that she always remembered the things he told her. No need to explain who A.J. was—she knew every intimate detail about their time together, and she didn’t need a refresher to remember exactly what that name meant to her husband. Made him feel special, that she paid so much attention to him and his life. Even his past mattered to her.

  “Really?” Lyss squealed breathlessly. “Oh my God, Ryder!” There went her Southern again. The word came out with two syllables—Gaw-odd—instead of one. “How do you know?”

  He told her about the random phone call. “I said I’d meet with him tonight,” he finished, sobering. “Which is why I had to call you.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I mean, I’m glad you did and all. But you don’t need to waste time talking to me if he’s waiting on you.”

  Ryder chewed his lower lip. “I can come get you on the way to his place. You should be there, Lyss. I want to introduce you.”