Bonds of Denial (Wicked Play #5)

by Lynda Aicher

  “It wasn’t from the military, was it?” Quiet words stating a fact that no one else had bothered to guess. There’d been a few in his army unit who had known it’d happened off duty, but those men were far away and had never dug into the truth. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” was deeply ingrained.

  Rock gave a single shake of his head. He couldn’t speak as the slow descent of Carter’s fingers tickled along his jawline instead of over the curve of his cheek where they really were. Even after the cut healed, his nerve endings were completely screwed up.

  “Gay bashing.”

  It was a soft observation that stabbed Rock’s chest. He reached out and grabbed the first thing he touched. He clenched onto the solid strength of Carter’s hips, the rough bite of denim morphing to the soft cotton band at the bottom of his jacket. Carter was solid. Here. Strong.

  “Is this why you hide?”

  He couldn’t open his eyes, which only made every other sensation more intense. The repeated slide of fingers over his cheek that came through on his jaw. The warm press of breath that breezed past his face. That intriguing scent of Carter’s cologne that overpowered the lingering smell of filth from the garage.

  After a long moment, he managed a small shrug. “It’s one of many things,” he whispered, his words raspy. The admission seemed to suck away the last of his strength. He tilted forward, that small movement met by a quick step, and the hard frame of Carter was pressed against him.

  Oh…shit. It was too much and nowhere near enough.

  Carter wrapped his arms around Rock’s shoulders, and Rock nearly shook with the feelings that thundered through him. Even with their many layers of clothing, Carter’s heat reached him. It blanketed Rock in a thick veil of compassion and understanding that he’d never had before.

  He tilted his head until his cheek rested against Carter’s. Skin on skin, even that little bit was enough to light a fire within Rock. Why did this man, this practical stranger affect him so strongly?

  “I’m such a pussy,” he croaked, but he didn’t push away.

  The rumble of Carter’s chuckle coursed over Rock’s ear. “That is not the word I’d use for you.”

  “No?”

  Carter shook his head, the smooth brush of his cheek scraping softly against the faint trace of Rock’s beard stubble. The man wasn’t much taller than him, maybe an inch at most, but it was just enough to give Rock the sensation that he was the one being protected right then.

  “What would you use?” he dared to ask.

  Carter eased back just enough to meet Rock’s gaze, his arms still snug around Rock’s shoulders. “There are too many words and not enough time to describe you completely. And there is still a lot I don’t know.”

  But did he want to know more?

  Rock couldn’t bring himself to ask that question. He wasn’t prepared to hear a negative answer or for Carter to walk away.

  His attention drifted down to the firm lips that were within his reach. The icy air swirled around them, the cold nipping at his ears to balance the heat that was causing him to sweat.

  It only took a small lean. The littlest of sways before the chilled heat of Carter’s lips were pressed against his. Rock closed his eyes and savored the silky feel beneath his own lips. It was brief, chaste and overwhelming.

  He pulled back and braced his forehead against Carter’s, his breath coming out in short pants that were a blend of the embarrassment and desire that battled within him once again. Those wonderful lips of Carter’s were just a hair away, but he couldn’t make himself lean in for another taste. The first was too perfect to ruin.

  It was another long moment before Carter finally cleared his throat and stepped away. Rock let him go, but he ached to tug him back.

  The silence held between them. Carter searched him, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. A second later he was digging into his inner coat pocket to pull out his phone. “What’s your number?”

  “What?” Rock gave his head a shake and tried to follow.

  Carter glanced up, brows raised, thumbs poised over the phone screen. “Your number. What is it?”

  Rock rattled it off, too confused to question the man’s actions. His own phone buzzed, and Carter’s grin told him who it was before he pulled his phone out. Sure enough, the text was from Carter. Meet me at Shirley’s Café at 10 tomorrow morning.

  He looked up. “Why?”

  Carter tucked his phone away and stepped closer, raising his hand to cup Rock’s jaw. “Because this night isn’t finished, but you’re not ready for more. And there’s still so much I don’t know about you.”

  “Oh.” Another brilliant choice in the conversation department.

  Carter smiled, a wan rise of his lips as he focused on where he was slowly rubbing his thumb over Rock’s cheek. “If you don’t want to, I understand.” He looked to Rock, his eyes wary. “I just thought maybe you’d be interested.”

  “Yes.” God, yes, he was interested. But what was Carter offering? He had a good savings. His computer skills made online investing a breeze for him and the contract work he did for the government padded his bank account, but he couldn’t afford Carter on a frequent basis. “I’m interested.”

  Carter’s smile grew. “Good.” He pressed one more brief kiss to Rock’s lips before he moved away. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Rock stood there, unable to move as Carter disappeared into the parking garage. The harsh fluorescent light gleamed off his dark hair and showed the steady roll of his gate before he was lost to Rock’s sight.

  Was that a real date tomorrow? Had this been?

  He reached for his pocket as he remembered the fold of bills that were there. He’d forgotten to give Carter his tip. But it didn’t feel appropriate now. Nothing about the paid-for date had felt or gone as he’d expected.

  Even more so than the first one.

  And now he’d agreed to meet the man in public in broad daylight on a date that may or may not be for money. Oh God, I need help. He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to collect his thoughts, only they were too scattered to compile.

  There was no one to help him either. He was on his own unless he was ready to let his most deeply guarded secret out, and that wasn’t happening.

  Not to anyone but Carter.

  Chapter Eight

  Carter fiddled with his phone, checking his email account even though he’d done that before he’d left his condo. It wasn’t like a pressing message would come through that he had to answer, but it gave him something to do while he waited.

  “More coffee?” The morning-worn waitress stood poised at the end of the booth, coffeepot lifted in expectation. The burnt-gold uniform was smudged with red jelly stains near her waist. Stands of her gray hair had fallen from the bun at her nape to frame a face that was marked by faded red lipstick but still managed to pull a bright smile.

  “Yes, please.” Carter moved his cup closer to the table edge.

  She motioned toward the empty seat across from him. “Are you still waiting to order?”

  He’d been sitting there for half an hour. “Yes. He should be here soon.”

  The booth near the back was away from the windows and out of the flow of traffic. He’d arrived early purposely to secure this table. The bell over the door jingled, and he glanced up, only to look back at his phone when a pair of ladies carrying shopping bags walked in. It was still five to ten, so Rock wasn’t late yet. Another check at his text messages showed he hadn’t missed any either. That didn’t mean Rock was going to show though.

  And would that be a bad thing?

  Probably not. This whole meeting went against every rule he’d ever made for himself. It didn’t just hover on the edge of too personal, it was a full cannonball leap into the territory he didn’t enter with clients—or anyone really.

  His toe tapped an erratic beat beneath the table as he dumped another little cup of creamer into the burnt diner coffee. The too-hot liquid scorched his tongue and throat
when he took a sip and left a blazing trail of pain behind when he forced it down. He hissed at the burn and set the cup down to take a gulp of water.

  “Hey.”

  Carter jerked around, choking on his water when he forgot to swallow. The resulting inhale of liquid instead of air had him splashing the contents of the glass across his hand and table as he struggled to keep the water from spewing from his mouth and out his nose. Eyes watering, chest aching, he scrambled for a napkin to wipe at his face and keep the water contained until he got it down.

  “Crap.” Rock patted his back and fumbled to yank some napkins out of the metal dispenser by the wall. “Here.” He shoved the pile of napkins at Carter, his firm hand continuing to rub over Carter’s back. “Crap. Sorry about that.”

  Carter finally managed to swallow, coughed, inhaled and coughed again before he got a solid lungful of air. “Sorry,” he croaked. What a fucking impression to make. If this were a real client date, the man would already be calling for a refund.

  That big hand pressed down Carter’s spine, the heat of Rock’s palm soaking through the layers of Carter’s sweatshirt and T-shirt to reach his skin. He pressed back and looked up. Rock’s concerned face was bent so close it was tempting to lean up and place a welcoming kiss on his lip. Like lovers did. Or a thank you kiss—Carter wasn’t picky. But Rock would probably bolt if he did that.

  So he cleared his throat and smiled instead. “I’m good, now. Thanks.”

  “Oh.” Rock straightened, his hand dropping away. He glanced around then slid into the booth across from Carter, the tips of his ears turning a telling shade of pink.

  “You okay there?” The waitress dropped a cloth on the table and quickly wiped up the mess he’d made. “That water has a bite if you’re not careful.”

  Carter chuckled at her attempt to put him at ease and nodded. “I’ll remember that next time.”

  She flashed him a smile before turning to Rock. “Coffee for you?”

  He shook his head. “No thank you, ma’am. Just water, please.”

  “Aren’t you a polite one?” She lifted a speculative brow at Carter. “I’ll be back in a few to take your order.” She turned away to tend to another table, her quick hands catching a cup of crayons before it toppled off a table filled with three toddlers and two moms in exercise gear.

  He turned his attention back to the man he really wanted to see. Rock looked good, but then, when had he not? He removed his winter jacket and shoved it into the corner of the booth like Carter had done. His forest green hoodie made his eyes appear darker, their color taking on the shade of the material in a way that had Carter staring at them.

  “What?” Rock quirked a nervous smile and passed a hand over his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “No.” Carter shook his head and laughed. “Sorry. I was just…” He stopped himself just in time. No need to spill his real thoughts and embarrass the man more. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I told you I would.” The scowl made his face turn dark, his jaw tightening with the press of his lips.

  “Yeah,” Carter agreed. “But I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He stared across the room and shrugged. “There’s no reason for you to.” No reason unless he expected to get that fuck he’d missed out on the first two times.

  Rock sat back and nodded at the waitress as she set his water down. “You boys want some breakfast?” She glanced between them as she flipped over the papers on her small pad.

  They placed their orders, and she breezed off with a promise that it’d be ready soon. The knot in Carter’s stomach had him doubting if he’d be able to eat the omelet he ordered, but it would give them a reason for staying. He’d stopped questioning why he was here the second he caught that flash of vulnerability from Rock before it was stuffed behind that stoic front.

  “I wanted to see you again.”

  Rock’s quiet admission had his full attention. Carter let a slow smile spread across his lips that matched the flood of warmth that eased from his chest. “Good.”

  Rock fiddled with his water glass, his graceful fingers topped by blunt-cut nails. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced up without moving his head before refocusing on the water. “Is this, like, off the record, so to speak?”

  Carter frowned, not following before he registered what Rock was asking. His stomach flipped, mortification hitting when it hadn’t for years. So he was only here to get that fuck. Carter wanted to let loose with a cutting remark that would wipe away the sick feeling that consumed him. The urge to walk out of the diner and say forget it had him reaching for his coat.

  Through force of will, he withheld his retort until Rock finally looked up and met his eyes. There was true questions and confusion there.

  “I mean,” Rock started before he sat back and blew out a breath. “I’m screwing this up again. Right?” He shook his head then kept his eyes on the table. “It’s fine. I don’t have a problem paying you.”

  Carter loosened his grip on the cool leather of his coat and studied Rock. How would the man know the difference between a paid engagement and a casual meeting when money had always been involved before? This certainly wasn’t normal for Carter, so why was he so mad about Rock’s question? Because it hit too close to the truth of who he was.

  “I’m not ashamed of what I do,” he said. “If you are, then I understand if you want to leave.”

  “That’s not it.” Rock leaned in, face earnest. “I just want to know what you’re expecting. Are you waiting for me to make a move? Is this just breakfast? Is this a way to recoup the tip I forgot to give you last night?” He pressed his lips together, his shoulders flexing back as his eyes narrowed. “Or is this how you reel in the poor suckers like me who are desperate enough to pay for it?”

  If Rock’s litany of questions and accusations had come from any other man, he’d have been gone. Without hesitation. But this was Rock. The closeted military man who might’ve been a bit stiff and hesitant but had so far spoken with blatant honesty when he could get the words out.

  Carter worked to keep his voice even while he met the man’s glare with his own. “Desperation isn’t why most men acquire my services.”

  “No?” Rock’s brows shot up before he shook his head and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. I suppose most men know what they want when they book you.”

  The pink hue on Rock’s ears melted the last of Carter’s resentment. He took a cautious sip of his coffee and gave them both a moment to regroup. “This is nothing more than a breakfast between two guys who are seeing if they want to get to know each other better. I expect nothing from you but a nice conversation.”

  “So it’s a date?”

  That sounded a bit like hope in Rock’s voice, but he wasn’t going to bank on it. Yet the man’s need to nail down the definition had him cracking a smile. “You could call it that if you wanted.”

  “And if I don’t want to?”

  Carter shrugged, working hard to keep the action causal. “Then it’s friends sharing breakfast.”

  “Oh.” Rock’s reply was more of a grunt than an actual word. He studied Carter, once again giving away nothing before he spoke. “A date sounds good.”

  The relief that sailed through Carter was bigger than he wanted to admit. The tension eased from his shoulders and he let them drop as he settled back in the booth. “Good. I like that.”

  “How come?”

  “Are you always this suspicious?”

  “Sorry.” Rock clenched his fists, which were resting on the table. “It’s a by-product of my job.”

  “Here you go, boys.” The waitress set their food before them, her smile still friendly. “Can I get you anything else?”

  They both declined then dug into their meals after she left. The smell of the vegetarian egg white omelet reached his stomach and surprisingly didn’t cause it to turn over in rejecti
on. His hunger had returned at some point.

  He let Rock shovel through a good portion of his eggs and bacon before he picked the conversation back up. “So what do you do for work? I didn’t even think about this being a weekday morning for you.”

  Rock swallowed his food and took a drink of water before answering. “I do security for a club. My hours are mostly nights.”

  Carter could totally see the muscled, closed-off man as a bouncer. “What kind of club?”

  “Just the usual.” He made a point of looking around the diner. “This is a nice place. You come here often?”

  “Not too often,” Carter said, going with the conversation change. “My diet doesn’t allow for frequent meals like this.”

  The brow-scrunching frown returned to Rock’s forehead. “Why not? You look good.”

  Carter’s pulse skipped a beat at that simple compliment. He brushed it off and shot back the truth before he could think better of it. “I have to watch everything I eat. That’s a by-product of my profession.”

  Rock winced and looked away.

  Damn it. Maybe this wouldn’t work. It’d been a long shot. He’d known that when he’d taken the man’s number. “Look.” He waited for Rock to acknowledge him. “My job’s no secret. It’s out there and it’s not changing. If it’s an issue, then we should stop here.”

  This was why he kept what he did to himself. It was nobody’s business for one, but most of all, everyone looked at him with just a bit—if not a lot—of disgust once they found out. He pulled out his wallet and started to throw some cash on the table. He’d been stupid to think this might lead to something. He’d known better and still he’d let the man get to him.

  “Wait,” Rock said as he reached across to the table to stall him. His hold was tight. His long fingers circled Carter’s wrist with room to spare. “I don’t want you to leave.” He looked down at where he held Carter, his thumb making a slow swipe over the sensitive underside. “I get it. Okay? If you haven’t guessed by now, I suck at this.”

  The heat of Rock’s touch, combined with the intimate swipe of his thumb, did all kinds of funny stuff to Carter’s insides. Stuff he couldn’t remember feeling since he’d started selling his body.