by Mia Watts
Cheney’s gaze darted between Sam’s eyes. After a moment, he smiled gently. “She’ll be okay. I promise.”
It was like Cheney had put a golden guarantee on those words for the instant relief Sam felt. Sam sat back, feeling calmer.
“Remember that promise,” Sam told him.
Jude smiled and nodded. “I will.”
They drove another half hour before they reached a hobby farm set off the road a distance. In the entire drive, they’d barely passed a dozen houses. Considering the roughly hewn cabin and the night on hard ground, this little gingerbread fringed house looked like the Ritz. Sam half expected there to be a happy, humming grandma making pies in the kitchen.
Agent James helped them carry bags into the house. “Food and necessities are stocked. There are clothes for both of you in the suitcases.”
“How long are we going to be holed up here?” Sam asked.
Agent James shrugged, smiling pleasantly. “Maybe a couple of days. Maybe a week.”
“Maybe a year,” Jude tossed in.
“A year?” Sam repeated.
James and Cheney laughed.
James slapped Cheney on the shoulder. “We’ll catch up next time.”
“Yep,” Cheney agreed, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Wait, was that a joke? Is that the FBI’s version of humor? Because it isn’t funny,” Sam complained.
Cheney and James both laughed that knowing laugh. Sam decided he hated that joke and wished they’d strike it from their repertoires. The car stopped and the men got out. Another agent stepped from the house giving the all clear. He headed for the car as James and Cheney led the way to the front porch.
“The usual,” James said dropping his hands on his be-suited hips. “Headquarters will call if there are changes. I’ll be here when things settle down with the girl and the other cases.”
Cheney must have acknowledged James because James started to leave.
“Give me a moment.” Cheney stopped him. Glancing back at Sam, Cheney then hooked James’ arm and led him away from the house several steps.
Jude was out of hearing range, but he still turned his back to Sam, just in case the man knew how to read lips. “Can you make it quick? Don’t take time off between jobs. As soon as she’s okay, or another agent opens up, head back this way.”
“What’s the problem?” James asked, his brows lifting.
Jude dropped his chin, then glanced off into the distance. “This one is going to be trouble.”
James laughed. When Cheney didn’t join in, he sobered quickly. “He’s a little sarcastic, but he seems nice enough.”
“That’s not the problem,” Cheney said with some difficulty. “It’s the big, blue eyes and clean-cut, prep look that are throwing me.”
He could see the minute James understood. James looked over his shoulder at Sam. “That’s your type? Huh. Never would have guessed. He seems so—collegiate.”
“I’m not a cradle robber,” Cheney groused.
James grinned. “No, but for a guy who looks like he could scare the fuck out of a room full of Harley men, he does seem a little fresh.”
“Shut up.”
“Just think. The two of you all alone, playing house.”
“Get back here quickly,” Jude told him roughly.
“You’re a big boy. Keep your pants on and your hands to yourself. Do you know if he even plays pocket pool with other men?”
“Yeah.”
“Man, I am seriously going to hate missing this job. Remember. Hands to yourself. Pretend he’s a pretty little girl, and it should be a cinch. And just in case, I’ll make sure to include a tube of lubricant and a box of condoms in the grocery delivery tomorrow.”
“You’re a dick.”
“You wish. You just want to suck my big, hairy man-pole,” James teased familiarly.
“Fuck no. It’s stained with pussy,” Cheney countered, returning to an old joke.
James backed away and got in the car with the agent Cheney didn’t know. “I’d check in with you, but that goes against protocol. You’ll have to let me read your love journal.”
“Fuck you,” Jude called as the car backed up and headed down the gravel drive. He was laughing as he turned toward the house. The laughter died on his lips at the curious look Sam wore. “I thought I told you to go inside.”
“Nope. You must’ve forgotten.”
“Damn,” Cheney muttered under his breath. “Barely two days, and I’m already going soft.” He almost laughed. Soft was the last thing he’d qualify himself as around Sam. He reached Sam leaning on the porch railing. “Did you need an invitation or wasn’t going inside made clear to you?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m going. There’s no one around here anyway. Besides, your body language changes when you talk to that guy.”
Jude held open the door. Sam walked inside.
“I’ve known him for years,” Jude explained.
“Yeah, that much was clear. What isn’t clear is why you two were talking about me, and what made your buddy look like he needed to stick around.”
Jude blinked. “Do you read lips?”
“No. Should I learn?”
“No,” Jude answered emphatically.
“So you were talking about me.”
“You’re under my watch. Of course.”
“I see.” Sam didn’t look like he believed him. Cheney found out why. “You told him you like me, didn’t you?”
“Jesus.” The bottom dropped out of Jude’s stomach.
“I figured. He looked like he wanted to shake some sense into you after he sized me up.”
“Stop talking.”
“He’s worried about you being alone with me.”
Jude whirled on him, backing him to the wall. “I said stop talking.”
Sam cocked his eyebrows over his pretty blue eyes. His lips kicked up into a smile, and two small dimples bracketed the corners. God, he was fucking adorable.
“You’re worried you can’t stay professional,” Sam said as though hitting upon sudden insight.
Panic tightened Jude’s chest. Fuck, how did Sam do that? How did he just look at someone and know that kind of shit? It was like hanging out with a mind reader you wanted to fuck, but didn’t want him to know you wanted to fuck.
“I took a lot of classes on body language, interpretation, and psychology. You’re a classic read. Never play poker,” Sam recommended.
Cheney looked horrified as he straightened. Sam couldn’t help the exhilaration he felt in knowing that the big, sexy agent had the hots for him, badly enough that he was worried about keeping his professional distance. It had been a long time since a guy had caught Sam’s interest the way Cheney did.
Sam grinned widely. He was pleased to see Cheney’s gaze drop to his lips. “What’s the big deal, Cheney? Afraid your gun will misfire?”
“This line of conversation needs to stop.”
“Okay, but let me propose something first. We’re holed up in the middle of nowhere with no one expected for what could be days. How about instead of endless hours playing cards and fighting the sexual tension in this room, we cut to the chase?”
Cheney ran a hand over his buzz cut. The alarm in his eyes rivaled the undeniable interest Sam saw there. Sam had never been particularly bold, but somehow running Cheney to ground felt like the most fascinating fun he’d had in a long time. The attraction they both seemed to be feeling apparently freaked Cheney out. It was as much of an upper hand as Sam was likely to get. And damn if he didn’t want to get hands of any sort on Cheney.
“There is no chase,” Cheney countered.
“Sure. Okay. The kiss. My mouth on your cock. It’s all relative, right?”
Cheney started shaking his head and backing away. “This is a bad idea. You stay on your side of my personal space, and I’ll stay on mine.”
Sam watched him walk away. “This is gonna be fun,” he said, too low for Cheney to hear.
What bet
ter way to pass his mandatory leave of absence than to seduce the hell out of the big bad FBI agent with all his muscles? The fact that Cheney, who appeared to be incredibly competent in everything he did, got skittish around Sam made him smile. Sam couldn’t remember the last time someone had been attracted to him and hadn’t wanted to follow through. He was going to enjoy every minute of Cheney’s capitulation.
Chapter Five
Sam wiped the back of his hand across his brow. The quaint little farm house had stopped being quaint the minute he’d realized there was no air conditioning. Man, did he miss his New York apartment. The tiny space cooled off in nothing flat. It was day three of country confinement, and Cheney had yet to break his resolve.
When Sam entered the room, Cheney was as emotionally available as a rock. Sam glanced at the clock. It was a little after ten thirty in the morning and aside from folding laundry and helping clean up, there was nothing else to do.
That’s what he told himself, anyway. The more Cheney resisted Sam’s attempts to connect with him, the more Sam wanted him. He practically felt need crawling around under his skin. It didn’t help that Cheney seemed just as dedicated to his job and country as he did to resisting Sam. It was time to throw in the towel. Cheney was unbreakable.
He picked up a shirt, but thinking about the sweat stuck fabric made him shudder. That’s how every day had ended, and he couldn’t bring himself to put it on. He refolded it and put it away. When he got to the kitchen he poured himself a glass of iced tea. It felt amazing as it tracked its chilled trail down his throat and spilled into his stomach.
Ice bumped his upper lip and nose as he tilted his head back to catch every last drop. He captured a cube in his lips, sucked it and released. A dark sound by the door caught Sam’s attention, and he turned to see Cheney frozen in place, lust etched into every line of his body.
It made a man wish he had more tea to drink. After three days of trying every trick in the book to get Cheney to look at him, it had taken letting his guard down to make Cheney slip.
“Want some?” Sam asked, trying hard to keep the innuendo out of the question.
He picked up the pitcher and poured himself another drink. He took a second glass from the shelf and filled it for Cheney. Cheney cautiously walked over. Sam lifted his glass, too conscious of his earlier abandon and Cheney’s reaction, to drink freely.
Cheney took the offered glass. Sam walked toward the screen door, looking out into the back yard. Sam’s bravado had flagged. He knew the man was interested in him, but the job was important to both of them. The longer Cheney kept his head around Sam’s juvenile attempts to attract him, the less Sam was sure he could convince him to take a chance.
Besides, it was a hit to his ego. It wasn’t like he considered himself a great catch or anything, but he was a gay man, living with another gay man, and they happened to be attracted to each other. It seemed like a no brainer. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Cheney was thinking with the appropriate head.
It embarrassed Sam a little that he’d made a game out of it. Sure, it was partly denial of the circumstances and the death threats, but it was also partly for comfort. He needed to be held. He needed to know that the sexy hunk of an agent didn’t just want to protect him for the paycheck, but because he actually liked Sam. That Sam was worth protecting for reasons not having anything to do with the job.
God, he sounded like a love-sick kid. Psychologists had a name for someone who fell in love with their abductor. Did they have one for someone who fell for their protector? Not that love is what Sam felt. Not this soon. That kind of thing happened in movies and books, but not in real life. Not when death was on the table. Not when the guy you wished would strip you naked and take you hard did a fantastic impression of a bronze statue.
Sam folded an arm across his chest. He hadn’t heard Cheney leave, but the man was silent, and there’d been no conversation, so Sam assumed he had. He lifted the cool glass to his cheek, then pressed the condensation covered exterior to his jaw. He tilted his head, sliding the glass down to his neck. The cold wet trail offered some relief as a breeze touched over it.
Sam closed his eyes, sighing. His skin stung with heat. He faced the back of the house and cooler fingers of air caressed his bare chest. At his back, a trickle of sweat, or condensation, tickled his spine. It was like he had a furnace behind him.
He took a long draw of cold tea, sputtering when warm lips grazed the side of his neck, replacing condensation with quick flicks of tongue. Sam inhaled sharply, riveted to his spot. He feared he only imagined Cheney’s mouth on him. His knees were jelly. His hand shook as he gripped his glass, the cool liquid completely forgotten for the heated trace of lips and tongue on his skin.
Cheney murmured, his breath making a mockery of the hot summer sun’s scorching insult on the land. The terrain of Sam’s body, however, craved more. Sam had tried every persuasive move in his power to train Cheney’s attention on him. He’d only succeeded when he quit trying. Now Sam stood unsteady and uncertain. How did he keep it? If he moved, would Cheney stop?
A hot callused palm slid up Sam’s left arm. Cool air and hot touch made him shiver. Sam’s senses rioted. What would it feel like to have that roughened palm caress his cock?
Cheney traced the back center of Sam’s neck with his tongue. Sam swayed unsteadily. His back touched firm chest. Undressed firm chest. Evidently like everything else he did, Cheney undressed silently too. Oh yeah, because making the point of removing any of his clothing before coming to Sam could only mean one thing. That’s what it meant, right? If he turned, Cheney wouldn’t stop. God, Sam really hoped he was right.
He started to turn. Cheney stopped him. Jude stopped him. Would he mind if Sam called him Jude? Would it presume too much intimacy? But the kissing, dear Lord, it had to continue.
Sam tilted his head to the side presenting Cheney with more space to work his magic. When Jude didn’t move away, Sam leaned back fully, letting the other man support his smaller weight. Jude’s hands slid around Sam’s middle, gently stroking his chest and abdomen. It was ticklish and not nearly low enough to keep Sam happy for long. He wanted Jude’s hands everywhere.
Sam muttered his protest at the near strokes that did more to tease than satisfy. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Jude was giving him some of his own medicine. Jude’s lips clamped on Sam’s ear, sucking it hard against his tongue. Sam’s protest became a guttural moan. Jude chuckled low and deep, setting off the quivering butterflies at Sam’s middle.
Long tanned fingers plucked at Sam’s nipple and any thought of waiting Jude out fled. Sam squirmed until he’d wriggled his way to facing Jude. Then lifting his chin he caught Jude’s lips in a firm kiss, sucking his bottom lip and lightly scraping it with his teeth.
Jude yelped, leaping away. Sam stared at him in confusion until Jude laughingly grabbed Sam’s glass of tea and quickly put it on the nearby kitchen table.
“I don’t mind ice play, but a warning is generally preferred,” Jude explained.
Sam grinned. “C’mon, you know you wanted it.”
Jude’s expression turned serious, shifting smoothly. “I want you.”
The breath whooshed out of Sam’s lungs. “Well, thank God for small miracles.”
“This never happened,” Jude told him.
Sam ran his hands up Jude’s sides, enjoying the warm rises and dips of flesh over ribs and muscle. They’d deal with that statement later. Right now, he wanted more of this, however much Jude was going to offer.
Jude reached between them, tugged on Sam’s belt briefly tightening it before the whole thing loosened. Their eyes met. Jude’s lips were slightly parted, and Sam discovered that his sex-face looked a helluva lot like his pissed-face. Which was kind of a turn on all by itself. With that expression, Sam didn’t know if he was about to get fucked or spanked, and it got his pulse racing with the myriad possibilities. If he was lucky, maybe there’d be a little of both, all the while Jude glaring down at him like he was a bad,
bad boy. God, yes.
Sam felt the undeniable flip of a thumb over his button closure and the waistband relaxed. Jude’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. They looked at each other, which was ridiculous since all Sam wanted to do was press his lips to every inch of Jude’s beautiful body. But Jude was slightly taller and unless he tipped his head down, Sam would look a little pathetic stretching his lips up, or worse, climbing him to claim lip-lock pay-dirt. So he waited for cues from Jude instead.
Jude’s pissed looked turned slightly amused. It was that same heady glare, but now it had attitude, like he was pissed and enjoying every minute of it. Sam’s cock, already at attention, strained in his jeans to see just how much Jude liked it.
“Well?” Sam prompted. “You wimping out or gonna see this thing through?”
Jude tugged. Sam’s belt slid free. Sam was spun around and Jude belted his wrists behind him. That’s not what Sam had in mind.
“What the fuck, Jude?”
“I wondered when you’d stop calling me Cheney. Two kisses and a blowjob is apparently your price for familiarity.”
The belt tightened, pinching the softer skin of Sam’s wrists.
Jude almost didn’t know what to do with Sam. He’d never met a man who could so easily turn his best intentions into a haze of lust. But that’s what Sam did to him. Any time Sam touched him, all he could think about was how fast he could get Sam naked and on his back. Belting his wrists had seemed the only sane idea at the time. Anything, so long as he could slow down long enough to think clearly.
He tugged the belt, leading Sam away from the door and toward the side of the house where Jude’s room was. Pushing him ahead, he had the perfect opportunity to watch the way Sam’s body moved.
He was muscled in a leanly athletic way. Half dressed, it was even more apparent. Sam was hard all over, not an inch of softness about him, but he carried his athleticism like a swimmer. Watching that lithe walk, the oblique muscles flexing above his waistband on each step, the way the button in his jeans seemed to sway low across his flat abdomen, just about did Jude in.