“Are you ready to go to supper, anjinho?” Santos asked, striding out of the bathroom in fresh jeans and a body-hugging dark brown T-shirt. His still-damp midnight hair was combed up and away from his face.
A whiff of soap and Santos’s own unique musky scent flowed over Tristen. He took a second to kneel there and enjoy it.
Tristen’s eyes popped open when hands encircled his waist and Santos lifted him in the air. “Santos, what are you doing?”
“Enough daydreaming,” Santos said, slinging Tristen onto his shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
“Put me down,” Tristen ordered, slapping Santos’s hard-as-a-rock butt cheek.
Tristen’s ass cheek bloomed in pain when Santos’s hand came down on it. “Hey,” he objected. Santos rubbed the offended spot, making the heat of pain turn into a heat of desire.
“Quiet down, anjinho,” Santos said, opening the bedroom door. “We need to get going. Garrett gives those who are late cold food.”
“Please, put me down,” Tristen pleaded. “I can walk into the kitchen.”
Santos stopped and let Tristen slide down his body to the floor. Tristen looked up, needing something from Santos but not knowing what it was.
“Ah, amorzinho.” Santos brushed Tristen’s hair away from his face before cupping his cheek. “It is hard dealing with feelings that are new. I promise you we will get through them together.”
Santos lowered his head and sealed their lips. Tristen melted into Santos’s big body as the man took the kiss deeper. This is what Tristen needed. Tongues slid together, tasting, feeling, and connecting.
Tristen’s mouth was wet and burning by the time Santos lifted his head and smiled. “It will be fine,” he assured Tristen. “I won’t leave your side.”
“How did you know I was nervous about seeing everyone again? Tristen asked.
Santos shrugged one wide shoulder. “Your walls of flirting are no longer needed because you are now with me. It makes sense that it would take time for you to get used to not hiding behind them.”
Tristen was speechless at Santos’s declaration. He didn’t even object when Santos slung a heavy arm over his shoulders and guided him out of the room.
They were almost to the kitchen when Tristen found his voice and skidded to a stop. “Are you saying I’m with you, as we are together? Like a couple?”
Tristen waited. If the big guy hesitated or looked uncomfortable, he was so out of there. He wasn’t sure he could recover if he let himself become vulnerable to Santos and the Brazilian stomped on his heart.
“We’ve been together for weeks now,” Santos answered. “You ran away before I could let you know about it.”
For the second time in minutes, Tristen was rendered speechless. In a daze, he let Santos guide him to the kitchen with Sadie right behind them.
* * * *
Santos knew that anyone looking at him wouldn’t have a clue of what he was feeling. Elation, happiness, and a fierce need to claim Tristen physically were all mixing together. Straightening to his full height and puffing out his chest a bit, Santos steered his anjinho toward the kitchen.
He kept his arm securely around Tristen’s shoulders and hoped to assure the smaller man that everything was going to be all right. That didn’t work out too well when they turned the corner of the hall and came face-to-face with the whole team sitting at the table. Tristen’s shoulders trembled, and Santos began rubbing his arms, trying to comfort.
Friendly greetings filled the air as Santos pulled out Tristen’s chair and seated the man before sitting next to him. He shifted his leg, pressing it against Tristen’s, wanting the connection. The anjinho slid a sweet glance at him from under heavy lids.
“One more minute later and you would be eating cold food, my friend,” Garrett threatened.
Santos eyed the glass dish containing chicken and vegetables covered in a steaming, rich gravy sauce. There was also a big bowl of lettuce salad with bright vegetables mixed in, and on the counter, he spied an angel food cake with a glass dish of strawberries mixed with blueberries next to it. Eating cold food was nothing new for Santos, but he was sure the little cutie wasn’t used to it. He noted Tristen kept his head down and didn’t look anywhere near Garrett.
Taking Tristen’s plate, he filled it with salad and the chicken dish before setting it back down in front of the man. A glance at Tristen’s face had Santos pausing in the act of filling his own plate. Tristen’s eyes were bugging out, and his mouth was open as he stared at his plate.
“What is the matter, fofinho?” he asked.
Tristen looked at Santos with wide eyes. “What army do you think is going to eat all that food?”
Santos glanced down at Tristen’s plate. He hadn’t dished up half as much food as he was going to give himself. “Eat what you can. I will finish the rest.”
“You’re going to eat from my plate?” Tristen asked.
With one finger, he closed Tristen’s tempting, plump mouth, which had fallen farther open. Someday soon he would explain to the man how growing up hungry made it impossible to waste food.
“No fair,” Morgan complained. “First we have Roman and Jimmy acting all lovey-dovey, and now you two are starting in.”
“You’re just jealous,” Santos shot back.
“Of course I am. It could be any one of us in your position,” Morgan pointed out.
Santos stood. The quiet and deadly tone of his voice could have cut steel with its underlying intensity. “No, you couldn’t.”
Morgan stood, ready to say something back.
“Sit down.”
Roman hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t have to. The huge man was the alpha leader of this bunch. Morgan and Santos never hesitated and sat down.
“Morgan, you of all people know that the past is the past,” Roman said. “Once one of us claims our one and only, that’s the end of it.”
Years ago Morgan and Roman had gotten together briefly while both of them were working undercover. Roman had still hired Morgan as the team’s computer and technical specialist after making it clear Jimmy was his one and only. Things seemed to be working out so far.
Roman addressed the rest of the table. “I’m calling a team meeting tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. I expect everyone to be there.”
Isaiah leaned back in his chair and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Sorry, Jimmy, but I won’t be able to make that eight-thirty doctor’s appointment you made for me. Captain’s the boss.”
To Santos, he did not sound that sorry.
Jimmy slapped his napkin on the table. “Fine,” he snapped.
Roman’s hand snaked around Jimmy’s neck and pulled him over to give him a quick kiss. “Sorry, little bit. But we need this meeting.”
Jimmy studied his husband for a moment before nodding.
“Eat up, everyone,” Garrett said. “I want to serve dessert and get my kitchen cleaned up for the night.”
“You just want to be ready when The Big Bang Theory marathon starts,” Flyer teased.
“There’s a Big Bang marathon on tonight?” Reese asked.
“Yeah,” Garrett answered. “They’re showing season one tonight. Tomorrow is season two and so on.”
“Count me in,” said Parker.
Positive responses echoed out from around the table. Santos looked down at Tristen, who had his head bent staring at his plate. Sliding his arm over the back of his chair, he asked, “Do you want to watch television with the others?”
A troubled hazel gaze looked up at him. “I don’t know,” Tristen answered.
“Tristen, can I talk to you for a second?” Jimmy asked.
Tristen turned and looked across the table at his brother. Santos could see a whole conversation was going on between the two of them without either saying a word.
Finally, Tristen nodded before laying a hand on Santos bicep. Tristen’s bottom lip was trembling, and his hazel eyes held a look of pleading. Santos would let the two brothers have their privacy, but
then he was going to find out what was going on in the little blond’s head. He wanted to know why a sullen, withdrawn man had replaced his flirty, in-your face Tristen.
Santos dropped a kiss on the corner of Tristen’s mouth. “Go see what your brother wants. I’ll wait.”
“Okay,” Tristen answered.
Jimmy’s walk was stiff as he led the way out of the room toward the front entrance of the house. Poor Tristen looked as if he was going to the gallows the way he dragged his orange-flip-flopped feet.
“I don’t blame you kissing up to that sweet, tight ass or for a chance at those pouty lips locked on your dick,” Isaiah remarked.
In one motion, Santos was up out of the chair. The blow of his fist connecting with Isaiah’s asinine mouth felt damn good. The weapons expert was a deadly man, and the next thing Santos knew, lights were exploding behind his eyes and he was going down.
Santos had grown up on the streets where dirty fighting kept a person alive. Peering through watery eyes, he reached out and grabbed Isaiah’s ankle. The big black man crashed to the floor.
Before Santos could jump to his feet, a booted foot stepped on the middle of his chest. Roman’s dark blue gaze froze Santos in place. He saw painful retribution if he moved a muscle.
Chapter Four
“I thought we settled things. Why did you come back?” Jimmy asked.
His brother had led him to a hallway outside of Roman’s office, Morgan’s computer room, and a couple of other rooms Tristen hadn’t a clue what they were used for.
Now Jimmy was confronting Tristen, and he didn’t have any answers that would appease his brother.
“I don’t know,” Tristen answered. Wants, needs, and fear swirled around in his mind but wouldn’t settle down enough to let him speak them.
“Is that all you can say?” Jimmy stepped up and put his face right in front of Tristen’s. There was only about a half-inch difference between their heights, but Tristen usually wore shoes with a bit of a heel, so he looked taller. Now he wished he had that small advantage.
“I don’t know,” Tristen repeated, rubbing his forehead.
“Damn it, Tristen.” Jimmy hit the wall next to Tristen’s head with his palm. “Are you planning on sleeping with every guy here? Are you going to be the cockteaser you always are? Roman is having enough trouble shaping them into a unified team. You coming here and pitting them against each other so they can tap your ass is unacceptable, and I won’t let you do it. You’re going to have to leave.”
Hurt sliced through Tristen straight to his heart, squeezing it until he couldn’t breathe through the pain. Lifting both hands, he shoved Jimmy away. Jimmy’s green eyes widened right before his body hit the wall behind him. Tristen took off, not stopping until he was out the front door.
A huge ball of frustration grabbed ahold of his insides, and anger took over. A wrought-iron patio chair and table set sat in front of him. Tristen lashed out with everything he had and kicked one of the heavy chairs. Deep, slicing pain slashed through his foot, but he didn’t care and ignored it. The chair hit the stone floor of the patio with a hollow clang. Another wave of anger, hurt, and frustration burst out, and he kicked the chair again.
“Why doesn’t anyone give a shit? Do they ask me how I feel? No!” Tristen screamed. “Flirting is not cockteasing. Fun is fun. Did anyone bother to ask me out? No. Santos is the only one. He asked me questions, damn it.” Tristen kicked the chair again, making it rock back and forth. “I kidded myself. It’s Santos I wanted, not Garrett. I want him to know who I really am, even if I don’t know who I really am.” Tristen covered his eyes with the heels of his clenched hands.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Jimmy asked in a low, quiet voice.
Tristen turned his head and opened one eye. “Because all you see is a prick-teasing slut.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said. He began biting his bottom lip, and lines appeared on his forehead. “Sometimes my temper gets away from me. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Tristen answered. His little brother had a pistol of a temper, and Tristen could never stay angry with him.
Tristen smiled at Jimmy, hoping they were coming to some kind of understanding. Wincing, he shifted his foot around. It was starting to hurt from kicking the chair.
“Holy shit, Tristen,” Jimmy yelled. “What did you do?”
Tristen looked down. Blood was gushing from his foot, creating a good-sized puddle on the stone floor.
Jimmy turned and ran to the front door. Yanking it open, he screamed, “I need a medic!”
Tristen put his hand on the table to steady himself. All of a sudden his stomach began to roll, and his face grew hot. Jimmy pushed a chair away from the table and guided Tristen into it.
“Jeez, Tristen, why is everything you do over the top?” Jimmy complained.
“I guess I’m just stupid that way,” Tristen answered. Now he felt like shit inside and out.
“Stop it,” Jimmy snapped, putting his arm around Tristen. “You are a drama queen and a prima donna. And you are my brother, whom I love with all my heart.”
Tristen hugged Jimmy tight. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Do you think you could try and like me a little?”
Jimmy loosened his hold. “I think we both need to work on liking each other.”
Tristen sniffed and tried to smile. His foot was starting to throb.
“Holy shit, what did you do to him, Jimmy?” Morgan asked from his place in the doorway.
He didn’t stay there long because Santos pushed him out of the way and rushed to Tristen. Parker appeared, holding a medical case.
“What happened?” Santos asked, kneeling next to Tristen’s chair.
Tristen noticed, for once, they were about the same height. He frowned at Santos’s bloodshot eye, which looked like it was swelling up.
Before he could ask about it, Parker knelt in front of Tristen and opened the case. Tristen couldn’t stop the whimper of pain that escaped when Parker’s gentle hands removed his flip-flop. He noted his flip-flop had a big chunk out of it. Bummer, he’d liked those shoes.
“I, um, may have kicked the chair a few times,” he admitted. He hoped that was enough of an explanation. Yeah, he had no chance in hell of that happening.
“You took on that heavy chair with a bare foot?” Santos’s thick eyebrows rose as he looked between the toppled-over chair and Tristen’s foot.
Tristen would have pointed out he’d been wearing flip-flops but didn’t think that argument would work in his favor. So he decided to settle with, “I was angry.”
Any further discussion was interrupted by Tristen sucking in a hissing breath. Parker had encased the bloody mess in a huge gauze pad and was using both hands to squeeze the life out of his foot.
“Ouch, shit, crap, ouch.” Tristen lifted his hand, and Santos immediately grabbed it. On his other side, Sadie came up and put her head on Tristen’s lap.
Parker opened the gauze, and blood flooded out. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go in for stitches, Tristen.”
“No,” Tristen snapped. “Put some butterfly bandages on it.”
Jimmy started laughing so hard he had to lean against Roman, who was standing behind him. Tristen gave Jimmy the dirtiest look he could. The whole team had gathered around and was looking at Jimmy’s antics with amazement.
A finger touched Tristen’s bottom lip.
“Why the pout?” Santos asked.
Tristen let go of Santos’s hand and crossed his arms. “Sometimes having little brothers around is a pain,” he stated.
Between gasps for breath, Jimmy said, “Get the whiskey out. That’s the only way you are going to get him near a needle.” If Roman hadn’t grabbed him, Jimmy would have landed on the floor of the patio he began laughing so hard.
Parker’s blue-eyed gaze was serious. “What is he talking about? They won’t treat you if you’re drunk, and since alcohol can act as a blood thinner, I wouldn’t recommend drinking while your bleeding
is this heavy.”
“That’s okay,” Tristen answered, looking Parker right in the eye to let the man know he was serious. “Because I’m not going in.”
“If you hate needles so much, how do you handle the dentist?” Reese asked.
“Hah!” Jimmy cackled. “No cavity would dare go near Mr. Perfect’s mouth.”
If Tristen could stand, he would have punched Jimmy in his not-so-perfect big mouth. “I wouldn’t talk so loud over there,” he snapped. “Cavities are too afraid to get near your smart mouth.”
“From what I can see, you have three good-sized lacerations on your foot,” Parker interrupted, his head bent over the torn flesh of Tristen’s foot. “They’re too deep for anything I have. You need to go into the clinic.”
After Parker had pressed the gauze back over the wounds, he pulled out a clear plastic package from his medical case. Ripping it open revealed a weird rubber sock. With careful movements, he maneuvered the sock thing over Tristen’s bandaged foot. Tristen started taking deep, soothing breaths, trying to breathe through the extreme pressure the apparatus was putting on his foot.
“What is that?” he asked and started panting like a dog. Mentally he apologized to Sadie for that analogy. Ever polite, she sat and let him bury his hand in the long hair on her neck. Holy crap, that was intense. He started to wonder if his foot was going to fall off.
“It will help keep the bleeding at a minimum until we can get you to the clinic,” Parker answered.
Tristen weighed his options as he saw them. Running away wasn’t going to work. Number one, he didn’t want to leave Santos. And number two, there was no way he was running on his injured foot. So that left needles or squeezing his foot to death with the sock? Tristen decided a smaller shoe size was just fine with him.
“Leave that sock thing on for a while. It’ll be fine,” he said.
“That is not happening, fofinho.” Santos stood from his kneeling position. A hand gesture had Sadie moving away, going over by Rhys’ giant schnauzer, Mich, and lying down.
Strong arms lifted Tristen. An instant thrill coursed through him at being enclosed by the big Brazilian’s muscles. The next moment fear replaced the thrill and drenched his being when he realized what Santos was doing. Panicking, Tristen began to push at Santos’s shoulders and kick his feet. It said a lot at how deep his feelings were growing for Santos that he wasn’t punching the man in the face.
The Tracker Claims the Cutie [Rescue for Hire West 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 3