by Lynda Aicher
Carter studied him for a moment, his expression withholding his thoughts. “Sure. But…” He reached out and grabbed Rock’s arm to keep him from moving away. “Only if you’re okay. I understand if you want to call an end to this. I’ll have the agency refund your money.”
Rock froze, his eyes locked on the hand that held him. The heat was back, racing from that touch point to flood him with a desire he wanted to act on so badly. He slowly lifted his gaze, lingering on the wide chest, the slight bob of Carter’s Adam’s apple, the hard line of his jaw that showed no trace of a beard, the crooked smile until he reached the amazing crystal-blue eyes that waited so calmly for him.
Like he was walking away from this? Not a chance. Not again.
“I bummed us some awesome seats.” Rock made himself smile. It was weak, but it was the best he could do. “We shouldn’t let them go to waste.”
* * *
The crowd roared around them. The slick cut and slide of the blades scraped down the ice in time with the smack of sticks hitting the puck. The cool air blended with the diluted sweat scent from the players sitting just three rows below them.
“These are incredible seats,” Carter said as he leaned toward Rock. The noise level made normal conversation almost impossible, and getting close enough to the other man to be heard was a requirement in the crowded arena.
He used the excuse and the proximity to brace his leg against Rock’s. The hard press of muscle from knee to ankle sent a jolt of awareness through the material of his jeans that surprised him. Just like the extended handshake and the small touches had buzzed through him earlier.
“Yeah,” Rock answered with a grin. He turned his head to look at Carter, his mouth just inches away. He sucked in a breath, that wide smile faltering for a second as his gaze shot to Carter’s mouth then back up. He licked his lips. “I know the PR person who reps a couple of the players. She owed me a favor.”
The urge to lean in and taste those freshly wetted lips was so strong Carter almost forgot himself. He caught the desire in time to lean back instead. “You’ll have to thank her for me.”
The hard crash of bodies slamming against the Plexiglas jerked them back to the game. He sighed in relief. What was he thinking? He was an experienced professional who didn’t get caught up in his clients.
Yet the almost-gruff military man was such a puzzle of shyness and insecurities beneath the hard-built frame and aura of confidence that each new piece of information or revelation was too enticing to back away from.
He gripped his beer and took a drink of the now-warm liquid. He’d been nursing the same drink since the first period. One beer was all he’d allow himself. Rock had stopped after two. He’d learned early to pay attention to that. He never went into a private situation with a client who was drunk. It’d taken a few bad incidents, experience and the balls to walk away before he’d gotten to that point though.
He set the cup in the holder and refocused on the game. The action was fast, the competition fierce. He’d accompanied men to high-class functions from the opera to formal affairs, but this game was probably one of the best events he’d been to. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was an avid fan of the local sports teams. It was almost like Rock was trying to impress him. Like this was a real date.
And wasn’t that a novelty.
The energy level buzzed around them. Fans dressed in the bright royal blue, black and gold colors of the Glaciers called out curses and taunts at the opponents while yelling for their favorite players. Blaring music filled the arena between plays and was accompanied by the booming voice of the announcer.
“Get in there, Hauke,” Rock yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. He’d unzipped his winter jacket, and the brown Henley hugged his chest and revealed a few dark hairs at the base of the unbuttoned V. “Shit.” His curse was low as the other team stole the puck and raced toward the goal.
Carter leaned toward Rock. “Hauke’s been lagging the whole game.” The Glaciers were down by one with ten minutes left in the third period.
Rock arched a brow and shook his head. “His game has sucked lately.”
“At least he’s playing better than Walters.” Carter watched the starting center fight for the puck before he took off down the ice, only to have his pass stolen by Detroit’s defensiveman.
“The whole team’s been off.” Rock grabbed for his beer but stopped when he saw it was empty.
“The playoffs are out if they don’t clean up their game.”
“Goal!” The loud boom of the announcer echoed through the area, followed by the blaring bullhorn.
The crowd sprang to its feet in a wild celebration of the much-needed score. Carter jumped up with the rest of the cheering fans and pumped his fist in celebration. Yes.
He turned to Rock and met the guy in a joint high five of hands raised over their heads. Pure excitement lit up Rock’s face, all nervousness forgotten in the fever of the game. Rock’s long fingers laced with his to grip his hands in a fierce hold. He tugged Carter forward to bump their chest in a caveman-style celebration. It was an action completed by many fans throughout the stands—quick, hard and instantaneous. Only Rock didn’t pull away.
Instead he froze.
Their chest pressed together, faces inches apart, mouths so close.
The warm wisp of Rock’s breath brushed across his cheek, the faint scent of beer invading his nose. Rock’s grip tightened and his eyelids lowered with the parting of his lips.
Oh, God. Carter’s brain shorted out, overtaken by his response to this man. The urge to close the space and take that tempting parting of lips in a blistering kiss was too real and carnal. Blood rushed to his shaft in an instantaneous recognition of what it wanted.
He caught his breath and stepped back. He pulled his hands from Rock and turned to yell at the ice like everyone else was doing. His heart hammered along with the beat of the riotous music that thundered over the din of the crowd. He glanced at Rock to find the man staring at him, his brow drawn hard over his eyes.
“Great shot,” Carter shouted over the noise.
Rock nodded before he leaned in close to Carter’s ear. “You are fucking hot.” His breath sent a small shiver down Carter’s neck that seemed to continue all the way to his groin and didn’t help the erection he was trying to suppress.
Carter jerked his head around, but Rock had already straightened and was taking a seat as the celebration died down. A smile formed on Carter’s lips and he slowly sat back down. It was stupid. He’d had many men and women tell him that in various forms. But hearing it from the shy, gruff military man had him wishing for things with the man he’d never be able to have.
The game started again, the players from both teams ramping up their aggression as the clock counted down. It was close, the play intense, but Carter’s interest was gone. He gripped his thighs to keep his hands immobile because all he really wanted to do was reach over and touch the man sitting next to him.
He braced his leg along Rock’s once again and let the silly tingle of anticipation swirl up his leg to infect his whole system. They might not have a chance at forever, but he could certainly give Rock a great night and maybe a start at accepting himself and his desires.
He glanced at the clock on the Jumbotron for the first time. An hour and twenty minutes left. He’d been enjoying the night so much that he’d forgotten to watch the billable hours. That never happened.
He waited for two players to skate past the bench, their shoulders grinding into each other, sticks battling for ownership of the puck, before he leaned over to Rock. He got close to his ear and stopped to inhale his cedar-sage scent. “Thank you.”
Rock hung his head, his chin tipping toward Carter as he sat back. There was a small smirk on his lips that held a promise of what might come after the game.
A promise that Carter sincerely hoped he meant to keep.
Chapter Seven
People flowed past them as they emptied from the stadium, the
ir excitement muted after the last-minute goal by Detroit to steal the game from the Glaciers.
Rock turned to Carter and tried to get his mouth to say what he wanted. He’d been building up the words for almost the entire game and now he couldn’t get them out. Like normal, he felt like a fucking buffoon. What had possessed him to say that to Carter? He’d never told another man he was hot. Ever.
“It was a great game,” Carter said. “Too bad they lost.”
“Thanks for going with me.” Of course he’d gone. Rock had paid him to. The thought crushed the rising tide of possibilities that had been growing within him throughout the game. He checked his watch and debated what to do with the last hour of their time.
“Did you have anything else in mind?”
That could mean so many things. A drink at the bar. A cup of coffee. A fuck. Yeah, he’d love to do all of those things with Carter. But which one did Carter mean? Most likely the last one. It wasn’t like Rock was full of stimulating conversation.
He tucked his hands farther into his pockets and stared across the walkway, his gaze landing on nothing. “I got a room at the hotel down the road.”
There was no reason for his pulse to race like it was. It wasn’t like the man was going to say no. Yet his heart was beating with a force that mirrored the end of a ten-mile run with a fifty-pound pack on his back.
“I parked in the lot up the street.” Carter motioned back toward the bar where they’d met earlier that night. “I can meet you there.”
He mumbled the name of the chain hotel. “Not as fancy as last time. Room two thirty-one.”
“Hey.” Carter stepped closer and for once Rock didn’t care what the strangers walking past them thought. He let the proximity of the man wrap around him. “The game was great. I’ve had fun tonight.” He cocked a smile. “As long as the room doesn’t have cockroaches or bedbugs, I’m good.”
Rock stared into those amazing blue eyes and wanted to believe everything the man said. “You have a thing against bugs?”
“A big thing,” Carter said, his smile filling out to a full grin. “And I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”
The chuckle that flowed from Rock’s chest went a long way in loosening the agonizing unease that had descended upon him as soon as the game had finished. “I’ll protect you.”
“Yeah.” Carter’s gaze skated down his body and up before it held on Rock’s. “I bet you can.”
Oh, man. Rock ducked his head and shifted his feet. It was an ineffective move that did nothing to adjust his growing erection that was pinched in his jeans. He pointed toward the parking garage. “I’m parked that way too.” He glanced at Carter. “Should we go?”
The three-block walk was made in silence. His brain refused to think of anything except what was coming, and that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. But was he supposed to? Did Carter expect him to tell him what he wanted? What to do?
Christ. He was lost. There was no data or intel that would help him here.
“Stop stressing,” Carter said as they neared the parking garage.
“Easy for you to say.” Rock’s mumbled reply was automatic and he wanted to suck it back in as soon as it was out.
“Maybe. But you control the situation.” Carter stopped and waited for him to do the same. His eyes were dead serious when he spoke. “I’m walking blind into a room with a man who’s fifty pounds heavier than me and obviously trained in military combat. I’m just as vulnerable as you, just in a different way.”
Rock studied him for a moment, the words slowly penetrating his thick wall of worry. “So why do you do it?” It was the same question he’d asked Tyler, but Carter’s answers seemed more important. Vital.
Carter released a small scoff and shook his head as he pivoted away. “Does it matter? You get what you want. That’s all you need to worry about.” He started to walk away, his strides harder than before.
“Shit.” Rock hurried to stop him. He grabbed his shoulder. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.” Carter’s muscles were tense under his hand, but he couldn’t release him. What if Carter kept on walking and didn’t come back? The real fear of that happening pushed Rock to bumble on. “You don’t have to…It doesn’t matter. I…Damn it.”
He dropped his hand, revulsion curling in his stomach. He’d screwed up again. How messed up was he that his stupid words could run off a man who was being paid to be with him?
The hard shell he’d lived behind forever closed around him as he waited for Carter to walk away. He drew his shoulders back, lifted his chin and prepared to meet the scorn that was sure to be in Carter’s eyes if he bothered to turn around.
Cars passed by in a steady line of headlights from the garage entrance, the bright glare cutting over them with a harsh flash that reminded him that to Carter, he was just one of many. He kept forgetting that, and then he went and reminded Carter of exactly that.
He wouldn’t blame the man for dumping him here.
His abs contracted when Carter slowly turned around. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his head tilted as he contemplated Rock. The darkness hid the expression in his eyes, but the gentle smile went a ways in allowing Rock to breathe. “You really are new to this, aren’t you?”
The question seemed out of place, and he wasn’t exactly sure what Carter was referring to, but it didn’t really matter since his answer was the same on all fronts. “Yes.”
“Are you sure about it?”
“What?”
“This. Me. Where we’re going.”
“God, no.” The honest answer shot from him and he sucked in a deep breath. “I mean…yes. With you. I think.” Shit. He sounded like a confused teenager.
He did want it. Yet if he thought too hard or long about what they were going to do, the blinding fear came rushing back to attack his will. He didn’t want to think about it. It was just supposed to happen and it had been about to happen until he’d opened his floundering trap.
Carter cupped a hand around Rock’s arm and moved them into the shadows. The foot traffic had died down, leaving them with some semblance of privacy. He stepped closer until there was just an inch of space between them. Rock was certain that if he took one deep inhale, their chests would touch and he really wanted to feel the man pressed against him again, but he could barely breathe.
The seriousness on Carter’s face was edged by a slight frown. “What’s your story?”
Rock shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just like yours.” He tried to back away, but Carter tightened his hold and followed each step until Rock’s back hit the solid cement wall of the parking garage.
Carter scanned his face, his knowing eyes seeming to catch all of Rock’s secrets. He pressed forward, his lips grazing over the line of Rock’s jaw as he spoke. “Maybe it does.”
The shudder that raked down Rock’s spine lit up every need held bound and contained within him. The smooth surface of Carter’s leather jacket was cold against his palm. When had he gripped Carter’s arm? If he turned his head, would Carter kiss him?
He smelled so good—rich and musky. What would he taste like?
Rock yanked his mind back to what Carter had said. A single question tumbled out. “Why?”
A long breath of warm air trailed up Rock’s neck and his head tipped back, giving Carter more room.
“Because this…” Carter nipped at the tender skin, the sharp pinch causing Rock to suck in a much-needed gulp of air, “…what is building between us is not just a fuck.”
A fuck.
“Get a room, faggots.” The cutting jibe ripped across the cold air and tore through the hazy fog Rock was drifting in. “Butt-fuckers should be exterminated.”
“Do you got a gun?” a seconded voice slurred. “We could start now.”
Rock shoved Carter away. Shit. He scanned the sidewalk, stepping forward, fists drawn and ready. The assholes wouldn’t harm Carter. The blood pounded in his ears as a quiet focus descended.
Just down the str
eet was the stumbling retreat of three men. Their drunken laughter drifted into the darkness and one of them glanced back, pausing long enough to flip Rock off. Another round of slurred digs followed, and Rock was moving before he thought about it.
“Hey.”
The firm hold and tug on his arm stopped him. He spun around, ready to pounce, only to find Carter’s calm face filled with concern and worry.
Carter held his gaze, not backing down or away as Rock got his temper under control. After a moment, he lifted his hand to smooth his fingers over Rock’s frown, the touch effectively eradicating the tension that had pulled across his forehead.
“They’re only words,” Carter said, his voice low and soothing. “They can’t hurt us.”
Rock worked his jaw, the remains of the adrenaline rush humming through him. He sniffed and tried to focus on the feel of those soft fingers stroking over his brow. “Words might not, but fists can.” He raised his fingers to the long scar that marred his face, only to yank them away the second he felt the hard ridge. He should step away, especially after the reminder of how exposed they were, but his feet didn’t move.
Carter’s gentle fingers drifted from Rock’s brow to the start of the long path of his scar. Rock jerked away the second they fell on the ridge.
Carter froze, but he didn’t move his hand. He stared at Rock and waited until a long exhale was pushed from Rock’s lungs before Carter rested his fingertips on the scar once again. It was tentative, uncertain and too intimate for their location. “How’d you get this?”
Backlit by the glow of the garage lights, Carter’s face was in shadow. He didn’t need to see the man’s face to hear the honest concern in his voice. It was like he knew the story without Rock having to tell it.
He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to block the instant flash of memory that called up the dark, dirty alley behind the dive bar in some unknown town in Europe. A place he never should’ve been. The scent of spices and rotting garbage filled his head and he swallowed back the bile that burned in his throat.