STONE stood just beyond the bright lights, scanning the crowd of reporters and cameramen. As press conferences went, this one reminded him of an awkward seventh-grade dance where everyone fidgeted around the edges of the gym and nobody actually wanted to be there. Apparently Jack Lacey’s political real estate was in more trouble than he’d realized. Particularly for a man rumored to be considering a run for president.
Not that Stone was complaining about the bored crowd of journalists. He’d been able to carefully assess the body language of every single person in the room and determine that no one was showing the signs of stress associated with someone about to kill another one.
He was more fascinated by the dynamic between Christian and his boss than with any of the reporters. About twenty minutes prior to the start of the press conference, Christian had delivered a sheaf of papers that contained every question any of the reporters would be asking the senator today, along with a prepared answer, presumably written by Christian.
While a pretty young woman did his makeup and hair, Lacey read through the papers and familiarized himself with the contents.
When the press conference got rolling, Christian stationed himself in the front row of reporters, in plain sight of Lacey. Each time someone asked the senator a question, Christian subtly held up his fingers to indicate a number. It took about three questions for Stone to realize that Christian was signaling to his boss which page in his notes held the answer to the question. His opinion of Jack Lacey shifted from “what a douche” to “holy crap put that asshole out of his misery.”
The press conference took an anemic fifteen minutes. The camera lights went off and the reporters packed up, completely disinterested in Jack Lacey. Stone spied a half-dozen civilians approaching the senator and dutifully moved in beside his client.
“Great job as usual, Senator,” one of them boomed. “Keep performing like that, and you’ll be front and center in presidential debates in no time!”
Christ. Could the man stick his head any farther up Lacey’s ass? Lacey didn’t act like he could produce his own name without Christian’s cheat sheets. Stone doubted he could take those on stage with him in a debate, and he got the distinct impression the guy would be shit outta luck without them.
“Do you need a lift over to the party, Jack?” Booming Voice asked.
Stone interrupted politely. “We’ll be taking care of the senator’s transportation.”
Boomer slapped Stone’s shoulder jovially, which made him grit his teeth behind a stiff smile. Don’t touch the armed man who already thinks you’re a waste of oxygen.
“Gonna be a hell of a bash. Plenty of pussy for everyone.”
Was the loudmouth actually suggesting that the bodyguards would stop doing their jobs long enough to catch a little snatch on the side? Just what kind of incompetent yahoo did this jerk think he and Wild Cards, Inc. were?
A familiar voice muttered in his ear, “Ignore him. He has the social skills of a spoon. He’s no threat to the client.”
Holy cannoli, Christian was good at reading him. It was actually starting to be a little uncanny. He’d no sooner felt the irritation at the loud buffoon than Christian said exactly the right thing to defuse his annoyance and refocus his attention on his work.
The reporters dispersed to cull through their footage for sound bites to put on the late local news, and he and Tucker herded Lacey out to the armored SUV waiting at the Imperium Hotel’s loading dock.
The drive into Coral Gables was interminable. Saturday night in Miami apparently involved every single resident going out cruising in vintage convertibles or clogging the sidewalks on foot and tying up crosswalks. But eventually they pulled into the circular drive in front of an obscenely opulent Spanish-style mansion. He’d seen some obnoxious places in his work as a bodyguard to the rich and famous, and this place was right up there.
Stone held the car door for Lacey and was surprised when Tucker didn’t fall in behind his boss. He started to follow the senator, and Christian touched his sleeve. He turned, frowning.
“He won’t want you sticking too close to him.”
“Then how in the hell am I supposed to do my job?” he demanded.
Christian shrugged. “Watch him from a distance.”
“And do what? Call him on his cell phone to tell him to duck?”
Christian winced.
“Look. I shouldn’t bite your head off. I know you’re only the messenger. But your boss is making it impossible for me to do my job.”
“I know.” Christian sighed. “Just do what you can.”
They stepped into the grand foyer, and Stone stared around at the crowd, which was standing room only. Even if he spotted an assassin, there was no way in hell he could get over to Lacey’s side in this crush to protect the guy.
The good news was a hefty chunk of the crowd was women who couldn’t possibly be concealing weapons under their skintight minidresses. The bad news was that any number of those women would likely throw themselves at him before the night was over. Apparently, as gay men went, he wasn’t much for putting out signals that people with reasonably good gaydar could intercept.
He didn’t mind women. Hell, he really liked intelligent, confident ones. He just didn’t want to sleep with them. That interest he reserved for intelligent, confident men. Like Christian.
His gaze roved across the crowd, and he easily spotted Christian’s chestnut hair and chiseled features. No surprise, a hot Latina was already flirting with him. Something unpleasant twisted at his gut. Oh puh-lease. He did not get jealous. And certainly not of women who stood no chance with his lover. Of course, jealousy presupposed actual relationships, and he did not do those. For that matter, he and Christian were not lovers.
He continued scanning the room, looking for the telltale signs of individuals with murder on their minds. There had to be five hundred people crowded into this house, and more were coming in the front door every minute. He’d worked in nightclubs and rock concerts with crowds a lot bigger and a lot wilder than this one before. But he’d never had to work in one halfway across the damned room from the client. Hell. He was having trouble even keeping Jack Lacey in sight.
Following the senator, Stone shoved his way across the foyer toward what he presumed was the back of the house. Oh Christ. The crowd extended to the backyard and spilled around and into a huge swimming pool. There had to be at least two hundred more people out here. Of course, the swimmers were exclusively young, bikini-clad women.
He took a hard look at the men outside. Most were focused on the women in the pool, drinking and speculating on which ones they could end up having sex with before the night was over. At a party like this, there would be a number of call girls who expected compensation for their efforts, sprinkled in among the groupies who’d fuck a politician for free in hopes of living a perceived high life, or perhaps a little lucrative blackmail. Yup, sweet little shark bitches and politicians. A match made in heaven.
Jack Lacey was right in there with the other males trawling the edges of the pool, scoping out the local talent. The bastard moved around the pool with a connoisseur’s concentration. Hard to believe the guy had a wife, and apparently a formidable one at that.
The ladies wasted no time hitting on Stone. They rubbed up against him like cats in heat, brazenly groping his junk and purring at what they found. He pasted on a polite smile and mumbled what he hoped was an inoffensive apology about being at work while he brushed their hands away.
Alcohol flowed, lines of cocaine disappeared, and inhibitions evaporated over the next few hours. Whether Jack Lacey was eliciting pledges of funds was anybody’s guess. Stone couldn’t get close enough to the man to hear anything he talked about with anyone. And the longer this travesty of a protection detail dragged on, the more disturbed and angry he got. Finally he couldn’t take it any longer, and he pulled out his cell phone. Time to talk to his own boss.
It was early morning in London. Very early morning. But Peregrine Cardiffe, one of the two founders and CEO of Wild Cards, Inc., was used to middle-of-the-night phone calls.
“Go ahead,” the familiar British voice said after one ring.
“Up early or still awake?” Stone asked, amused.
“Both. No rest for the weary, my dear Stone. What prompts this call?”
“The client refuses to cooperate with me or with his own security man. There’s no way the Wild Cards can or should take responsibility for keeping this jerk alive.”
“The jerk is paying us a substantial sum of money.”
“I’m not kidding, Pere. I’ve worked with some assholes in my day, but this guy’s in a class all his own. I’m at an unsecured party right now with close to a thousand unnamed, unvetted, unsearched partygoers, at least one quarter of whom are consuming controlled substances, and another quarter of whom are paid prostitutes. And I’m under strict orders to stay away from the client. Away from the client, Pere.”
“How far away?”
“He snapped at me the one time I ventured within thirty feet of him. Stormed over and told me to lurk somewhere else, entirely out of his sight.”
A long silence. “Does the senator have a death wish? Maybe get an adrenaline rush from flirting with disaster?”
Stone bit back his knee-jerk response to objectively consider the questions. “It’s my professional opinion that the client does not take the threat seriously. At all.”
“But he called us.”
“His chief of security called us. Poor dude was probably as frustrated as I am and hoping that writing a fat check might get Lacey’s attention.”
“What do you suggest I do? Send the senator a letter refusing to accept responsibility for his untimely demise should it occur?”
“I don’t want the company’s reputation to suffer if something bad happens. Without at least a modicum of cooperation from Lacey, there’s no way to protect him. Not in the venues he’s scheduled to appear in. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Stone. You’re one of my best men. How do you Yanks say it? This is not your first rodeo. If you think this client is unprotectable, I trust your judgment. I’ll contact Senator Lacey and tell him we don’t think we will be able to provide the service he’s contracting us for. I’ll pull you out of there first thing in the morning your time.”
“Thank you, Pere. I’m sorry.”
“No need for you to apologize. If the man doesn’t want protection, he doesn’t want protection.”
Stone disconnected the call, feeling dejected. Failure was not a thing he was accustomed to. In fact, in his line of work, the failure rate was zero or a guy got out of the business.
“What’s wrong?” Christian asked, materializing beside him.
“How in the hell do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“It’s like you’re psychic. You know exactly when I’m bugged by something.”
“Although I’d be happy to take credit for having superpowers, your scowl is visible at twenty paces, Stone. Even the call girls are steering clear of you.”
Now that Christian mentioned it, the women hadn’t been hitting on him much for the past half hour or so. “Is there something you need from me?” Stone asked in resignation.
“I came to tell you the principal is going to be ready to leave soon.”
“In other words, Casanova has acquired a target and achieved lock-on?”
Christian grinned. “Exactly.”
Stone just shook his head in disgust.
They made their way toward the kitchen and outside to the valet parking area, where Tucker stood beside the SUV, arguing with the valets about how to move other vehicles to let them out. The car shuffle was just finishing up when Jack Lacey came staggering out of the kitchen with a giggling blonde bombshell draped all over him.
Christian swore under his breath while Tucker chuckled.
“What am I missing?” Stone asked.
“I bet Tucker he’d go for the Playboy bunny. His long-time mistress, Valerie, was Miss July about ten years ago. Wholesome sex kittens are his favorite flavor of female.”
“But?”
“He went for the porn star. And I’m out a hundred bucks to Travis.”
“Please, God, let her name not be Bambi Blowhard.”
Christian grinned and opened the front passenger door. “Do you want the middle or the window seat? Jack and his guest will want the back to themselves.”
The privacy panel was raised as he slid in next to Tucker. Christian climbed in deliciously, uncomfortably close to him and murmured across him to Tucker, “The package is secure.”
Stone looked back and forth between Tucker and Christian. “You do know that real security details don’t use that kind of language, right?”
The two men laughed. Christian remarked, “We wondered how long it would take you to complain.”
“Your boss’s smartassery is rubbing off on you.”
Christian threw him a horrified look. “Perish the thought.”
The drive back to the hotel took nearly a half hour in the still-atrocious midnight traffic. Stone abstained from the new bet between Tucker and Christian of whether or not Lacey would have had carnal knowledge of his companion before they got back to the hotel.
Whether the pair had sex or not, the girl was more or less clothed and her hair and makeup reasonably intact when Tucker opened the SUV door beside the loading dock. Interestingly enough, Lacey asked cautiously from inside the vehicle, “No one can see us? No cameras?”
Now the guy showed caution? Stone scanned the entire loading area. Not a single camera was visible to his trained eye. He gave a thumbs-up to Tucker, who said, “We’re clear, sir.”
They moved inside to where Christian was already holding open a service elevator that was otherwise empty. The others stepped into the conveyance, and Stone moved to the front of the lift, using his body as a living wall. This was territory he knew. They arrived on the twenty-third floor, and he stepped out, clearing the hall. It was deserted.
Tucker hustled the senator and his giggling girlfriend down the hall to the luxury suite. They disappeared inside, leaving Christian and Stone standing alone in the silent hall.
“You got a minute?” Stone asked quietly. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah, sure. The children are tucked in bed. I’ve got all night.” His gaze snapped to Stone’s as he realized what he’d said, and suddenly electricity leaped between them.
Turned on and dreading what he had to tell Christian, Stone headed for his own suite at the far end of the long hallway. He stepped into the soothing elegance of his room, turned, and caught Christian exhaling a long, hard breath of what looked like relief.
“I know why I’m relieved to be away from your boss. But why are you?”
Christian flopped down on one end of the sofa and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. “He’s a nightmare. If only he weren’t so damned charismatic. He can talk a tiger into donating its stripes to him.”
“Why don’t shenanigans like tonight’s tank his career?” Stone asked curiously.
“Because I’m that good at covering his tracks.”
“Then why don’t you let him crash and burn?”
“Same reason you’ll take a bullet for him. It’s my job. My reputation is based on how well I take care of my employer.”
“Get another job.”
“Easier said than done.”
Stone shrugged. “You won’t know until you try.”
Christian answered starkly, “I can’t fail. I refuse to go home in disgrace.”
Ahh. Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Someone back home told you that you’d never make it in the big city?”
“Something like that.”
Stone sank down on the other end of the couch, half-turned to face Christian. Their knees were only inches apart. “Where’s home for you?”
“Rhode Island. Tiny, rich enclave outside of Providence.”
“Tiny, rich, and conservative?” he asked.
“Yup.”
That lone cynical syllable held a wealth of meaning. Antigay community. Fake acceptance that masked condescension. Sniggers behind his back. Stereotyping. Oh yes. He knew it well. “Hey. You could have grown up in the South like I did, where they didn’t bother to hide their contempt. When I got bigger than the bullies, stronger and meaner, they just attacked me in gangs.”
They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the difficult roads that had brought both of them to this place in their lives. Both successes by the standards of the outside world but still fighting their private internal wars. Both stuck working for an asshole because neither of them could afford to be picky, nor would either be afforded a millimeter of sympathy should they fail to be anything other than perfect.
At length Christian spoke heavily. “You said you needed to tell me something.”
“Right. I talked to Peregrine Cardiffe earlier. Wild Cards, Inc. is withdrawing from this job. The senator’s money will be refunded in full. But we cannot take responsibility for Jack Lacey’s life under the circumstances he’s forcing us to work in.”
Real pain crossed Christian’s face. But whether it was a personal sense of loss or simply misery at having to manage yet another fuckup by his boss, Stone couldn’t tell. He wasn’t a Zen master at reading people like Christian was. As the silence drew out, he finally muttered, “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what to say. I understand your company’s position. But I wish you would stay.”
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “I can’t do anything for Lacey. He won’t let me.”
“Not for him. For me.”
And there it was again, that intense attraction. The irresistible pull between them. Unlike the last time, when it had been all about lust and sizzle, tonight it was more. Deeper. They had a tiny patch of common ground now. Shared experiences in their past. Hell, he liked Christian. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything other than mild distaste for the fuck buddy of the moment.
“Look, Christian. I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you that I suck at relationships.”
“Yeah. I got that memo. But God help me, I don’t care. There’s something about you….”
He knew the wordless frustration Christian felt. He couldn’t explain it either. Something about the big, clean-cut man beside him called to something deep in his gut. They… fit.
He sighed in genuine regret. “I’m out of here tomorrow. I have to let Tucker know that Wild Cards is pulling out of the job, and I have to get a new assignment from the company. But then I’ll hit the road.”
“Then I guess we don’t have much time to waste.”
They moved forward at the same time. Christian reached for Stone’s tie while he reached for the remote that controlled the room’s various features. He turned off the lights, and darkness embraced them.
“But I like looking at you,” Christian protested.
“I like looking at you too. But you scare the hell out of me.”
“Ahh.” A pause. A low chuckle. “I think I like scaring the big bad bodyguard.”
“Come here, you.”
Christian plunged strong hands into Stone’s hair, drawing him forward into a hot, openmouthed kiss that actually made him groan aloud. Rare was the lover who could match his strength and force of personality. It was sexy as hell.
While Christian plundered his mouth, Stone reached for the buttons of that perfectly pressed and tailored dress shirt for the muscular torso he knew lay beneath. Ties slithered free and went flying. Buttons popped loose. They stood, never breaking the lock of their mouths, their tongues sparring as they tried to inhale each other. Belts slipped free and thudded to the carpet. Zippers buzzed down in the dark. Slacks and briefs peeled away.
And then nothing impeded his hands from roaming over Christian’s chiseled physique. His fingers painted a picture in his mind of planes and bulges, filling in details of musculature, prominent veins, cut muscles that had to have taken years to develop.
“Jesus. You’re built like a god,” he muttered against Christian’s mouth.
“Says the pot to the kettle.”
“I’m a scarred-up old warrior.”
“Stone, you are not old. And your scars are hot. Tell me how you got each one.”
“That would take all night.”
“Lucky for you, I happen to have all night.” Christian backed him up slowly, taking his time edging them both across the living room, into the bedroom, and over to the big, king-sized bed.
It felt so damned good to be on equal footing with this man. They were physically well matched, but they were mentally even better matched. Christian was no lightweight to be pushed around, and yet he was willing to share the whole alpha-male gig. And shockingly, so was he. For this man, he could let go of at least one of the reins of control.
The covers went flying, and a tangle of sheets bound them together as they stretched out side by side, exploring each other’s bodies in the dark. Christian was beautiful in the way of a Greek god. He was masculine as hell, but his perfection of form made Stone’s soul ache. Christian rose onto an elbow beside him, a bright shadow in the darkness of his world.
He traced the thin scar along Stone’s shoulder with one finger. “What’s this?”
“Shoulder surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff I got dragging a drug lord clear of a meth-lab explosion.”
“Why did you save him? Were you his bodyguard?”
Stone laughed. “No. I was his arresting officer.”
“Where is he now?”
“Rotting in the basement of a federal prison for life plus about a thousand years.”
“Nice.” Christian’s finger traveled down his chest. A short, thick scar about two inches long got stroked lightly next.
Stone didn’t wait for the question. “Knife wound. Kandahar, Afghanistan. Details are classified. But we couldn’t use guns because of the noise and ended up in hand-to-hand combat. And yes, we got our guy.”
They’d actually gotten a half-dozen guys that night. Couriers for a high-level group of terrorists who’d been attacking US military bases all over the country. It had been a good bust. A dirty knife had punctured his lung and put him out of action for weeks as medics pumped antibiotics into him to counter the infection he picked up. It had been one of his closer calls with death.
One by one, he catalogued his other scars for Christian, who grew steadily quieter. Enough so that Stone started to get worried. He asked, “Am I freaking you out?”
“No. A more accurate description would be humbled.”
“Why? Because I have a compulsion to prove how manly I am that borders on a death wish?”
A chuckle floated out of the dark. “Some shrink tell you that?”
“Uncle Sam’s finest.”
“The shrink obviously wasn’t gay.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I can think of a lot better way for you to prove how manly you are.”
“Oh yeah? I’m all ears.”
“God, I hope not. I don’t want to make love to a bunch of ears.”
Make love. Not fuck. Not have sex with. Make love. Something cracked open painfully in his chest.
“You want to be a real man? Make love to me, Stone Jackson.”
All of a sudden, at the age of thirty-five, with all the life experience and sexual experience he’d accumulated, he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next. He confessed reluctantly, “I’m not sure I know how.”
“Listen to your gut and go with the flow.”
That he could do. His belly muscles contracted as Christian traced a path with his mouth down his chest, across the acreage of his stomach, and lower. Oh God. Lower.
One advantage of a guy making love to another guy was that they knew exactly what felt the best. Christian knew when to squeeze hard and when to back off a little, when to lick suggestively and when to suck a golf ball through a garden hose. The man played his body like a musical instrument, making him groan, then shout, and then nearly sob with pleasure.
And all the while, that crack in his chest opened wider and wider, breaking apart everything he’d thought he was, shattering his illusions of strength, of control. Of self. In this man’s arms, he was so much more than he’d ever known he could be.
An urge to return the favor, to break down the walls of Christian’s self-control, rushed over him. And hey, the guy had said to listen to his gut and go with the flow. With a bunching of muscles, he rolled Christian onto his back and returned the favor, exploring his perfect physique, finding his ticklish spots, the weaknesses in his armor, inciting a riot, and reveling in the cries he wrung from Christian. He was merciless, spurred on by his own raw vulnerability to lay open his lover emotionally until they were both this exposed.
Back and forth they went, one driving the other over the edge and then surging up to return the favor. They were both fit, with stamina to spare. It took them hours to wear each other out, but neither was willing to concede the night until they’d wrung the other completely out both physically and emotionally.
Eventually, though, Stone arrived at a state of emptiness that was utter and complete. And he’d never felt so full before. His body felt plundered in every way possible, his soul shredded, his mind blown. He was wrecked.
And he was a new man.