The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

Brad

  Brad stalked around his office, feeling caged and trapped by his thoughts. He’d not slept for shit. His muscles ached, letting him know he’d done too much. He felt unable to eat. His jittering stomach made him nauseous. Distracted, Brad scratched at his head.

  “Shit, ouch.” His hand caught into the tangled mess that was his hair. He pulled as he tried to unravel his trapped fingers. Blinking rapidly, he tried to stop the tears. He knew he was a bloody mess. All his hard work last night had done nothing.

  His legs cramped as he moved, making him head to his office chair. As he sat down, his hands fluttered about his head, trying to gauge how bad the bird’s nest was. “Crap, crappity, crap.” He pulled at his hair to straighten it. Brad squinted sideways to see where it hit. Hell, way past his collar. Huffing he let the sigh escape. He hated the trip to the hairdressers. Not that they both weren’t amazing and did a wonderful job. It was just he hated the trip to Douglas since they’d moved.

  Scowling, he blamed McHottie. Everything was his fault. This constant itch inside that he couldn’t scratch was making him twitchy. Brad shook himself, hoping it would work and calm him. When that didn’t work, he rubbed the middle of his forehead. Breathing deep, he attempted to meditate.

  Growling when Martin’s face floated before his eyelids, he tried to blink the image away. Nope. Brad jumped up, stalking back to the window and glaring at the empty house across the road. He’d tossed and turned all night. He’d nearly rubbed his hand raw to stop the tingling from Martin’s touch, pushing it repeatedly against cool sheets. Hoping it would stop it from heating with thoughts of Martin’s rough skin sliding against his.

  Had it worked, had it shite? Even now his palm tingled. Shaking the offending arm, Brad frowned at the feelings that lingered. He should be working. But no, he was too busy obsessing about the intensity of Martin’s stare. A stare that all but melted him into a puddle and answered any question about whether he was into men. Hell, if looks could burn, then Martin’s would have been classed in a dictionary as blazing.

  Brad cursed under his breath when he felt the heat creep up his body at the thought of deep crystal blue eyes. Unbidden thoughts about Martin’s body sneaked in.

  The crisp white T-shirt deepened his tan and made his skin glow with vibrancy. A perfect fit it highlighted the broadness of his chest and back. Brad squirmed at the thought of possible nipple piercings. The T-shirt had teased as it hugged his large muscled chest. He’d felt an overwhelming need to be that shirt.

  Brad’s lips prickled at the intriguing thought of what his nipples would taste like. He remembered Martin’s masculine woody scent. It snuck past his defences, like a space invader hitting its target dead centre.

  He glanced down. Yep, hitting dead centre. His tightening jeans reminded him of Martin’s joggers last evening. How they had encased all those firm muscles and ehanced his long, lean legs and firm arse as he’d moved. The material hid nothing. In fact, it had highlighted his bulging crotch.

  Licking his lips, Brad swallowed to wet his throat. His hands traced patterns on the window as his breath fogged the glass. He pulled off his sweater, wondering if he needed to turn the heating down. Brad automatically touched his forehead, feeling the heat radiate from his sweaty skin. Did skin prickle? Maybe he was ill? Shaking his head, he glanced down at his tented jeans. He shrugged, looking around sheepishly.

  “Stupid bugger,” he berated himself. “Whatever. He was a lot of hotness. That could make me feel sick, but in the ‘I want to get you into bed and look after you’ kind of way. Brad warily looked over his shoulder at the door. Relief came quickly when he knew he hadn’t been caught talking to himself again. He couldn’t take her judgement at the moment. He just couldn’t.

  He felt irked at the distraction. He had a project to finish by tomorrow, and this was achieving fuck all. “Come on.” Brad tried gearing himself up. He flexed his fingers, moved towards his chair and plonked himself down. The loud familiar squeak reminded him of his grandmother. It had been her favourite chair. An old-fashioned leather office chair, it was big with a high back. The sides almost felt like a big hug as they closed around you. Brass casters still rolled like a dream on the wood floors. He loved that the leather creaked and groaned when you leaned too far back. The seat cushion had long ago lost its padding and made his bottom ache if he sat for too long. But he couldn’t find it in him to change it, so he used a cushion from the sofa if his arse rebelled too much. It always comforted him with its familiarity, feeling his grandmother’s presence when he sat in it, almost encouraging him. Even now, Brad felt the smile stretch across his face at his whimsical thoughts.

  Puffing, he looked down at the computer’s blank screen, like his mind. “Shit, fuck, bastard.” The sulky tone was not lost on him. Yanking the mouse towards him, Brad pulled his woolly thoughts together. He had a deadline to meet, and at this rate he was going to miss it.

  He blamed Princess. If she hadn’t gone across the road, he’d be fine. Brad bellowed her name. The silence that met his ears had him glancing at the door.

  He tried again. “This is your bloody fault. If I hadn’t left the house last evening, I would never have met him. Or had all these wicked thoughts filling my head with nonsense right now!” Argh, nothing. Brad waited for a beat. “Okay, that’s fine. Ignore me then. It’s not like it’s the first time.”

  Blowing his cheeks out, he opened the program, needing to let his imagination take him under and away. He hoped it would work this time.

  Distracted by growling and gurgling, Brad rubbed his cramping stomach. The hunger he hadn’t felt earlier now made itself known. Jumping up, he ran downstairs, heading for the fridge. He quickly grabbed a banana, and while he ate, he considered his options.

  Perturbed by the silence, Brad glanced around. Princess should be mooching for food. His stomach clenched now for a completely different reason. She wouldn’t, would she? His hands shook as he went to search the house. Nausea rolled through him, the banana rebelling. He breathed through his nose. While he marched through the house, each step told him all he needed to know.

  “Ohhhh no, no, no, no, she wouldn’t! Fuck, fucking bloody hell.” The emptiness only reinforced what he already knew. A red haze had his vision blur, making his body tremble in anger. He would strangle her with his bare hands. Fingers clenched involuntarily, almost feeling the silk of her fur in his hands. Brad’s teeth clenched, grinding together with each step he took towards the door. His fingers fumbled with the locks.

  The cool air hitting his heated skin made him shiver, reminding him he’d forgotten his jumper. Muttering to himself, “No, this is so not happening,” he disregarded the cold, thinking only about kicking Princess’s furry little backside all the way to Timbuktu.

  Feeling righteous, he swung towards Martin’s front door before halting. Crap. “How the hell am I going to get her back without encountering Martin?” Realising he was speaking to himself in the street, he glanced furtively around. He didn’t need to be carted off to Ballabonkers on top of everything else. Snarling, Brad was going to strangle her. No doubt about it. There wasn’t any excuse for this now. Bloody none.

  Seeing there was no car on the drive, he thanked whatever God there was. Muttering, he changed direction and headed for the side gate. “Just go through the side gate and get her before he comes home. No one needs to know. I am sure he won’t mind. I told him yesterday I used the gate. Yes, yes, he will be fine with that.” The litany continued. Speeding up, Brad cast his eyes towards Ms Stevens’s home. Her habit of popping out just as you’d leave was way too spooky, like she had a sensor attached to you, alert to any movement.

  Shuddering at his creepy thoughts, he felt a funny feeling snake up his back, settling at the base of his skull and raising his hair. Wiggling, rubbing absently at his neck, he pulled at the gate. His sweaty hands slid against the wood. It made his head swim and his ears buzz when it wouldn’t budge. What the fuck! Pulling harder, Brad wrenched his shoulder. He squealed.
“Oh you fucker.” Brad cringed at the girly noise that escaped, looking back over at Ms Stevens’s house, not wanting to get caught.

  Leaving it, he scurried back across the road, slamming his front door. Brad froze, his shoulder forgotten about. Alarm grew as his heart tried to fight its way out of his chest. “Oh God, oh God.” He grimaced at the door as tears leaked out his eyes. Eyes the size of saucers watched the door like a hawk, waiting for it to strike.

  He’d felt like prey last night. Now he was going to have to go back into the lion’s den. His thoughts from Sunday came flooding back, only this time to bite him in the backside. Martin was a total predator, and this whole situation was just laughable.

  Brad felt a thought nag at him. Had he told Martin he used the side gate? He couldn’t remember. Why would you lock it? There was nothing worth stealing in a garden. He was convinced that he had said he used the gate. Had he locked it on purpose?

  Did he want to see him again? Warmth spread as the thought planted like a seed taking root, growing. He shrugged off his silliness. Really, that was just plain silliness. Why would anyone want to see him?

  Brad trudged back upstairs. His mind whirled. Hadn’t he made an effort to build several little houses for Princess? He nodded to himself. Yes, he had. Had she used any? Not a friggin’ one.

  Shaking his head in despair and pulling his hair back from his face, he searched the desk for a hair tie. Brad bunched it between his hands as he fashioned it into a man bun.

  He’d never understand her. He huffed. Christ, the tree houses were an exact replica of the one at Martin’s. He had got the dimensions from Mr Jamison, but no, no, they just weren’t good enough. Having given up at the time, he fervently wished now that he hadn’t.

  Nibbling his lower lip in worry, Brad paced. His hands found their way into his mouth. Biting his fingernails, he watched out the window and waited. The almost too loud clock hurt his ears. It made Brad queasy with each minute that ticked away. He tugged at the curls that had escaped his bun, unaware he was creating several perfect spirals around his face. Brad’s eyes moved back to the clock, not sure what time Martin would get home, and it was only just after four o’clock.

  What time did office workers leave? He shrugged. How would he know? Needing to do something with his hands, or else he’d have no nails left, he sat down. The creaking was comforting. He opened up the program again. Crossing his fingers, Brad touched wood. He hoped the superstition might help get him a little closer to finishing. Diving in, Brad lost himself in his work, focused on the intricacy of the program.

  The loud buzzing had his blurry eyes lifting from the screen. “What?” Brad shook his head when the insentient noise didn’t stop. Feeling slightly dazed, Brad glanced about, looking for the source. He didn’t see anything, and the noise finally sunk in. It was the doorbell.

  As he stood, the room swam before his eyes. He grappled with the chair to steady himself. Wow, that was a total buzz. Leaning forward and resting his head on the chair, he waited for the room to right itself.

  Standing carefully when the buzzing continued, he stepped with caution towards the door. “Shit!” Heading back to his desk, he clicked save. Having wasted so much time, the last thing he wanted was to lose what he had done. Feeling his system settle, he rushed downstairs. His impatience was clear when the noise never let up. Brad hoped Ms Stevens wasn’t going to prattle on too much.

  As he dragged the door open, his eyes moved up the tight black T-shirt that encased the broad chest that stood directly in front of him. Brad could all but feel the drool wanting to slide out of his mouth as he licked his lips. He felt the heat rise and settle halfway down his body.

  As he smiled, his dimples flicked into life. He was pleased to see it was Martin and not Ms Stevens. Martin’s deep blue eyes all but devoured him whole. Brad was convinced Martin missed nothing about his appearance.

  Surreptitiously, Brad glanced down, grateful his jeans were loose. Brad plucked at the hem of his shirt, raising his eyes. The intensity that met his stare made him twitch.

  The prolonged silence made Brad nervous. “Hi, McHot—emm—I—err mean, Martin.” He stuttered as colour flooded his face. He prayed to any God that could hear him to please open up the floor and swallow him whole. He felt mortified at being caught using a nickname, and his eyes wheeled around, looking anywhere but at Martin.

  Martin’s lips rose. The smile spread, beaming as bright as the sun. Brad felt scorched by its intensity.

  Feeling his face flame, Brad tried again, “Martin, what can I do for you tonight?” Swallowing hard had his Adam’s apple bobbing. The air felt charged with electricity from Martin’s scrutiny. Breath whistled past his lips. Flushing, Brad gulped in the air like a dying man. He was sure he probably looked like a guppy. His embarrassment painted his skin red. At this rate he could probably heat the whole estate from his face. Resigned, he looked back at Martin, waiting.

  “It’s not what you can do for me, though I’m sure there is a lot that I could think of,” —brows wagged suggestively—“but I think I have something you may have lost.” Martin’s dark blue eyes seemed to burn into his as he spoke.

  Brad wiped his hands down his legs, feeling that was a definite come-on. He glanced around just to check. Yep, he was talking to him. Warmth seeped into his very being at the thought of this man wanting him.

  Martin’s grin spread, encompassing his whole face and making his eyes sparkle with mirth as if he was enjoying Brad’s discomfort.

  “It appears your little pussycat has taken up residence in the tree house and won’t come out for me. I was going to bring her home to you. But, as I say, she won’t budge.” Martin lifted his shoulders as if in apology.

  “I am… err… so sorry hmm… I don’t know what has gotten into her. She never normally does this twice in two days.” Brad sighed, wondering why he was stupidly stating the obvious. It was beyond him.

  “Do you want me to come and get her?” Duh, of course, he did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come over. Hoping Martin would ignore his ongoing stupidity, he swiped his keys off the side and turned back. Words died on his lips as Martin loomed over him. Brad felt the room closing in on him. Colour drained, leaving dizziness in its wake. His legs trembled as he gasped for breath. His ears were ringing when the tight band around his chest increased, making lights dance before his eyes. The room spun as if on a fairground ride, moving faster. Needing to get off, he stepped forward, unaware as blackness engulfed him.

  Awareness crept back. The masculine woody scent of Martin’s aftershave filled his nose as he inhaled. Something warm and firm flexed under his cheek. Feeling safe, he nuzzled into the warmth. Unsure, Brad felt something flutter like spiders against his forehead. Arching his neck, Brad opened his eyes, meeting Martin’s gaze. He registered a little too late he was leaning on Martin. A relaxing timbre met his ears as he struggled to move out of Martin’s arms.

  “It’s okay. I got you. Take some deep breaths for me. Come on. That’s it. Slow it down. Nice deep breaths.”

  Encouraged by the tightening arms encasing him, Brad settled back. The heat of Martin’s hand was soothing as he rubbed his chest. Murmuring nonsense, Martin petted and stroked at him as he cradled Brad in his lap. Brad felt Martin’s fingers tracing patterns on his chest, now and then touching his nipples. Drawing in a breath, Brad tried to hold in the moan when his senses became overwhelmed.

  The smell of Martin’s aftershave mingling with the slight smell of sweat only added to his torture. Heat spread as his nipples budded under the ministrations. His cock firmed with need. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on anything but what was happening. But his clouded mind and his now raging lust wanted more. Brad found himself grinding down. The firmness that met his arse made him still. His breath escaped in small puffs against Martin’s chest. A shiver racked Martin’s body, nearly dislodging Brad in the process.

  Grabbing Martin’s T-shirt, Brad knew he probably had a wide-eyed dazed expression, but it
didn’t stop him from meeting Martin’s heated gaze for a second.

  Christ. Flummoxed, he pulled back. Scrabbling off his lap and standing on rubbery legs, he grabbed the wall. Locking his knees, he breathed in air that didn’t cloud his judgement. His body vibrated with the need to jump back into Martin’s arms.

  Taking a minute, he was pleased that Martin appeared to understand the moment was over, giving him space.

  “Erm, I… am… sooo… so sorry.” He stumbled over his words. Swallowing, he tried to get past the lump in his throat. Shutting his eyes, he concentrated. He tightened, then released his muscles, trying to calm down. He felt like a wounded animal. He hated people looming over him. The memories had flooded in too fast, taking over.

  Systematically Brad relaxed each muscle, then did a once-over to check his body. Only then did he open his eyes. As he glanced back at Martin, the need to explain pushed at him. “I am sorry about that. You gave me a little fright when you stepped into the house. It’s hard to explain, but I haven’t had anyone in my place before.” He searched Martin’s face to gauge his reaction to the next part. “Ever.”

  Martin’s mask stayed firmly in place. Brad thought he registered surprise but couldn’t be sure.

  “You scared me when you stepped towards me when I didn’t expect it.” Brad was pleased his voice had not betrayed how jittery his insides felt.

  Grabbing his keys off the floor a second time, he looked up. “Shall we go?” He watched Martin drag his hands through his hair, ruffling the layers so they stuck up while uncertainty crept into his eyes.

  Brad pulled his hoodie off the coat stand and tried to be assertive. “Come on. Honest, I am fine. I always recover quickly. Look. Even my legs are steady.” Brad bent and flexed his legs to demonstrate his point. The flush heated his pale cheeks as Martin glanced at his crotch. Shit, he forgot about that. Rushing forward, he all but rushed Martin out the door.

  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Martin headed back to his house. Brad muttered under his breath, “I am going to kill you, Princess. Just you wait.” Feeling resigned, Brad followed behind Martin.