Single Malt

by Layla Reyne

  He’d been flirting. Walker was gay. And interested, in him.

  And down goes Frazier, he heard Chloe cheer in his head.

  Shit. And fuck and damn while he was at it.

  Maybe he didn’t belong back in the field after all. Was he this off his game or had he just been willfully blind to the truth staring him in the face? A truth that would complicate their partnership. A truth Aidan was in no state to handle, especially not tonight.

  “I’ve never seen you with—” He cut himself off, trying to recall if he’d ever seen Walker with a companion, male or female. “Anyone,” he answered his own question.

  Walker’s eyes, when they met his again, were hard and years older than thirty. “I’m not closeted, if that’s what you mean. Just careful. When it comes to the press, I learned my lesson.”

  “Really? ’Cause the reporters seem to love you.”

  “It’s not fair to expose someone else to that.”

  Interesting. So he’d been burned, or almost burned. Was that why he’d suddenly dropped out of the NBA and moved across the country? It fit with everything he’d learned so far about Walker. He was cocky, sure, but his interactions with Leah, with Byrne, with him about Katie and Gabe, and the late night call to his mother, hinted at a deep consideration for others. The well-mannered Southern boy who didn’t want to make waves but couldn’t seem not to.

  “Tell me about this quinceañera date from hell,” Walker invited.

  Recognizing the deflection but still too stunned to do anything about it, Aidan answered, “Lots of dancing, ill-fitted tuxes, big hair, and big dresses. Crazy Mexicans and Crazy Irish.”

  Walker chuckled. “Who was the lucky lady?”

  “Isabella Crane.”

  “Tom’s wife?”

  “Isabella Cortez then, but yes, the very same.” His voice grew quiet as sorrow crept in. “I set them up after Academy.” He took the last sip of whiskey and pushed his glass across the bar to a passing Roy.

  There was a scraping sound and when next Walker spoke, he was closer, his hot breath coasting across Aidan’s neck. “Why don’t you show me some of these dance moves?”

  Aidan whipped his head around, bringing them nose-to-nose. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m serious.” Walker grinned, the temptation and levity in his bright blue eyes chasing away the sorrow of the day, of the past eight months. “Impress me,” he said, using Aidan’s own words against him.

  “Whiskey,” he warned, low and tight, fighting his instincts.

  “Come on, it’s just us here.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Aidan confirmed the other couple was gone, Roy was nowhere to be seen, and the only two waiters left sat folding napkins in the private room.

  Walker, standing between their stools, inched closer and laid his hand over Aidan’s again. “Dance with me, Talley.”

  Hooked, the offered comfort reeled Aidan in. Tugging his hand, Walker pulled him off the stool and into his arms. As they swayed gently to the music, it wasn’t dancing with Isabella Aidan remembered but dancing with Gabe after their wedding. Held in Walker’s arms, knowing what he did now about his partner’s orientation, Aidan allowed himself to notice the physical similarities between Walker and his husband. Both accomplished athletes, they were bigger and stronger than him, larger in height and mass. He liked being surrounded in a bigger man’s warmth. He also liked dominating that when he had a mind to. And Walker was one hell of a specimen.

  Relaxing into the embrace, Aidan coasted the hand not in Walker’s up his cut biceps, over his broad shoulder, and around to his back where rock-hard delts stood out beneath the rough chambray. Closing the inches between them, he pressed his chest to Walker’s and bit back a moan at finding the front of him as warm and firm as the back.

  Walker dipped his chin, his stubbled jaw nuzzling Aidan’s temple. “Something tells me this isn’t how you danced with Isabella.”

  “No, it’s not.” He breathed deep, fighting not to melt into his partner’s embrace. Everything about the moment enticed him to bury his face in Walker’s neck and let go—that deep molasses voice, the tempting cologne, a warm embrace after months of cold loneliness.

  Just as Aidan closed his eyes, just as his legs and arms began to lose their form, a shrill ring shattered the moment, and cold air rushed between them.

  Swearing, Walker released his hand and dug his phone out of his pocket. He glared down at the screen. “It’s Cruz.”

  Aidan stepped the rest of the way out of his arms. “Take it. I’ll settle the tab.”

  Walker headed for the other end of the bar and Aidan riffled through his wallet, pulled out several bills, and placed them in the leather folio Roy had left on the bar. He turned back around and took in the empty restaurant once more. Defenses down, memories crashed through his heart and mind.

  Bringing Gabe here for their first date, New Year’s Eve ten years ago.

  Gabe paying a small fortune to buy out the private dining room, the night gay marriage was legalized in California, so he could get down on one knee and ask for his hand in marriage.

  Their friends and families gathered here to celebrate their nuptials.

  Guilt slammed into Aidan, causing him to stagger back into his barstool.

  “Whoa, there.” Walker rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “You okay, Irish?”

  Aidan skirted out of reach, cursing himself for betraying his husband in a moment of weakness, for taking comfort in the arms of another man in the place that had been theirs. It hadn’t been long enough. He wasn’t ready to move on, no matter what his sisters or anyone else said. Gabe was the love of his life. There was no moving on from that.

  He avoided Walker’s question and his gaze. “What did Mel want?”

  “You weren’t answering your phone. She wanted to make sure you were okay and that we were on schedule to make our flight.”

  Aidan nodded, moving to the closet at the end of the bar where he’d stored his coat and suitcase. “We need to get a move on.”

  He was stopped short by Walker’s hand around his upper arm, demanding his attention. “Aidan,” he started, those blue eyes darkened again by a stormy mix of emotion.

  Confusion, disappointment, frustration, arousal.

  Aidan met them defiantly, denying all the things he’d put there. “We’re going to be late.”

  Growling, Walker dropped his arm and ran a hand through his hair, the tousling making him infuriatingly more attractive. Aidan hurried for the door while he still could.

  “Are you okay to go?” Walker asked, rushing to catch up. “If you need another day with Katie and your family, I’m sure Cruz would understand.”

  Aidan’s chest constricted at the revival of Walker’s disarming consideration. No care for the roller coaster he’d just put him through. Only concern. This kid—this man—was too good for him. He needed to get his act together and be the friend, partner and mentor Walker deserved.

  And that was as far as it would go.

  Stopping in the middle of the parking lot, Aidan inhaled deep and turned to face the other man. “I’m fine, Whiskey.” His voice was calm and even. “Thank you for asking.” He waited for Walker’s expression to gentle, for the tension in his broad shoulders to ease, then said, “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  Leaning over the bathroom sink, Jamie soaked a plush washcloth in warm water and brought it to his face, chasing away the last vestiges of jetlag. He hadn’t slept a wink on the red-eye to Houston. Their last-minute booking had landed them in the back row of coach, and there was nothing his charm or Aidan’s badge could do about a full first-class cabin. Despite the tight fit and upright seats, Aidan had slept most of the three-and-a-half-hour flight, so once they deplaned in Houston, Jamie had let his partn
er lead the way.

  Past the rental car counters to a Mercedes E350 convertible in long-term parking.

  Past the valet who’d greeted Aidan by name when they’d pulled in front of a private oceanfront complex.

  Past the opulent lobby, into the glass elevator, up four floors, and through the living area of an open-plan condo.

  Jamie had only had eyes for the guest bedroom Aidan directed him to and the California king bed waiting there.

  Four hours of dead-to-the-world-sleep later, Jamie took in his surroundings anew. The bathroom was floor-to-ceiling white marble, including the sunken whirlpool tub and glassed-in spa shower, and he quickly availed himself of the latter. Freshly showered, he spotted his luggage on a rack by the bedroom door. He tossed out clothes until he unearthed his athletic shorts and a gym shirt. Once dressed, he padded across the smooth bamboo floors to the far wall and found two wooden rods in the heavy blackout curtains. Pushing them apart, he gasped at the view revealed—rolling dunes, white sandy beaches, and the blue-green waters of the Gulf.

  Opening the French doors set in the wall of windows, he stepped out on the balcony and let the hot, humid air surround him, fondly remembering beach vacations as a kid. Money had been scarce growing up, but his mom always saved enough for a week at the coast. They’d never stayed anywhere this nice—motor lodges were all they could afford on a waitress’s tips—but sand, sun and water were entertainment enough for him and his sister, and his mom had been content reading a book on the beach beside them. Nothing had made Jamie happier than buying her an oceanfront house at Oak Island with his NBA signing bonus.

  Wandering down the balcony, he reentered the condo at the next set of open French doors, unsurprised to find the living area as lavish as his room. A gourmet kitchen was equipped with top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, expansive granite countertops, large center island, and a raised breakfast bar, stools tucked neatly underneath. In the adjacent dining area, a long, rectangular piece of beveled glass sat atop two white stone pillars, surrounded by eight chairs, their blue gingham cushions matching those on the barstools. Beyond the kitchen and dining areas, in front of where Jamie stood, a pair of oversized couches and two swivel chairs faced a sixty-inch wall-mounted plasma television, a media unit underneath with the requisite cable box, Blu-ray player and gaming system.

  Noticing the open door to his right, Jamie poked his head into the other bedroom. Finding nothing but Aidan’s exploded luggage, he searched the main area for a note or other clue as to his partner’s whereabouts. As far as clues went, a lukewarm pot of coffee and a covered skillet weren’t a lot to go on. Lifting the lid on the skillet, he inhaled the enticing aromas of chorizo, peppers, eggs and cheese, all arranged on a picture-worthy breakfast tostada. He poured himself a mug of coffee, slid the tostada on a plate, reheated both in the microwave, then carried his breakfast out to the balcony.

  As near as Jamie could tell, glancing above and below the waist-high stucco balcony wall, the condo was on the top floor of a four-level structure, four units wide, except the first floor, which only had two units on either side of the lobby. The building was a narrow beach and row of dunes back from the ocean, which was calm today. A few kids played on the sand, two teens floated on body boards just past the breakers, and, a little farther out, someone swam parallel to the coast. Shoveling in the last of his tostada, Jamie set the plate aside and picked up the binoculars on the table behind him. Adjusting the dials, he focused on the swimmer.

  A shock of blond hair and broad, powerful shoulders breached the water’s surface in smooth, practiced strokes. Jamie’s face warmed, not from the late morning sun but from the memory of that amazing body in his arms last night, tight in apprehension then relaxing as they’d danced. He’d gone to the Tavern with the single intention of making sure Aidan was okay. After learning about Katie’s outburst and Aidan and Gabe’s anniversary, he figured his partner needed a friend. But the intimate atmosphere of the place and their conversation had had Jamie thinking about more. Wanting more. Once Aidan had mentioned the quinceañera, the thought of dancing with him had become irresistible.

  And that right there was problem one. Aidan was his partner, his mentor. Jamie admired him, had wanted him from afar for years, but fraternizing with a fellow agent was frowned upon by the Bureau; with one’s partner was taboo. He loved his job and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it, especially now that SAC Cruz was eyeing him for promotion. While he preferred to stay in the cave, out of the public eye he’d already had enough of, he wanted to do well and advance, which meant doing good, clean fieldwork and keeping his hands off Aidan.

  Problem two, Aidan was very much taken. The flood of guilt had been painted clear as day on his face after Cruz called last night. Gabe still had a firm hold on his heart.

  Problem three, Jamie recognized his own inclination to move too fast, to fall head over heels at warp speed and ignore the danger-ahead signs lining the path to destruction. The shrink he’d seen during physical therapy after his injury, when he’d been at his lowest, had said his instant attachment tendencies came from the loss of his father at such a young age. She was right, to some degree. He didn’t want to waste time when he knew how short life could be. Another part of it, though, was the happiness hoarder in him that wanted to grab onto the good and keep it hidden close, out of the ruthless public eye that could destroy it with a single headline. While clips from his highlight reel still aired from time to time, the media had mostly left Whiskey Walker alone since he joined the FBI. Getting involved with his wealthy, older, widower coworker—a man—would be sure to thrust him back into the headlines. Their lives would be exposed and their jobs at risk. This time, Jamie had to pay attention to the warning signs. He had to curb his desire and steer clear of any romantic attachment to Aidan.

  His partner, though, wasn’t doing him any favors. Sauntering up the wooden walkway from the beach, towel slung over one shoulder, Aidan’s swim trunks were molded to his lower body in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Groaning, Jamie turned his back on Aidan and the ocean and adjusted his shorts.

  By the time a key turned in the front lock and Aidan stepped inside, Jamie had his body and imagination mostly under control. Running soap and water over the dishes in the sink, he glanced over his shoulder, grateful to find Aidan had wrapped the towel around his hips, even if it did draw his gaze to the strip of auburn hair leading beneath the towel.

  “Morning, partner,” Aidan said, and his eyes snapped up.

  Hiding the warmth on his cheeks, Jamie turned back to his task. “Sorry I slept most of it away.”

  “Judging by your A-plus walking dead impression after the flight, I’d say you needed it. Can’t sleep on planes?”

  “Fifty-fifty shot, if I’m in first class. Coach, never.”

  “Ditto, but with enough whiskey...”

  Shutting off the sink, Jamie turned and braced his hands behind him on the counter. He felt like he needed to apologize, like he’d somehow taken advantage. “Listen, about last night—”

  “Thank you,” Aidan said, as he fiddled with the coffeepot. “I had a rough day and you were a good friend, so...thank you.”

  Jamie spun back to the sink before Aidan glimpsed the disappointment on his face. Friend. Not the zone he wanted to be in, but where they had to be. Hell, it was better than merely partner. He’d take friend; he’d be happy with that. He didn’t have a choice.

  “You know, you don’t have to do that.” Aidan appeared across from him on the other side of the bar, two mugs in hand. “Daily housekeeping service.”

  His mood improved instantly. He shut off the water and wiped his hands on the dishtowel over his shoulder. “This ain’t exactly the Holiday Inn.”

  “The building’s owned by families with business in the area, mine included.”

  Grabbing the other mug, Jamie took a careful sip of
the coffee, unsure how hot it would be, and was surprised to find it prepared how he liked it. Suppressing the threatening grin, he asked, “What else is on the agenda today?”

  “I called the field office before I went for a swim. It’s Sunday, so skeleton crew, but Gary and his team will meet us at noon. Then we’ll head over to GNL.”

  “How are we playing the field office? Friendly or foe?”

  “I may have ruffled some feathers the other day.”

  “You think?”

  “You’ll need to flash that gorgeous smile and win us some friends.”

  Gorgeous. So much for holding back that grin and blush. “Who do you want to interview at GNL?” Jamie asked, feigning ignorance of both.

  “Everyone who has access to the BSL-4 labs. I want to look them in the eye and see if we’ve got a coconspirator inside.”

  “And I have some follow-up questions for the network security team.”

  Aidan downed the rest of his coffee and handed Jamie his empty mug. “You’re on point there. Technobabble and all that.”

  “Can you at least say jargon or lingo?”

  Aidan used his forearms on the bar to lever forward, mouth twisted in a smug grin. “No promises.”

  “Asshole,” Jamie grumbled, though it morphed into a laugh.

  A laugh that died when Aidan gave him a wink, turned and walked, sans towel, across the living area to his room, his firm backside on display beneath those damp swim trunks.

  Partner, mentor, friend, Jamie repeated to himself. Nothing more.

  Good luck with that, came a voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like the cause of his torment.