* * *
Quinn has made mistakes—like sleeping with the wrong people. It’s taken him time to figure out what he wants in bed and out of it. Understandable, since he’s attracted to both men and women and surrounded by a network of friends who seem to have no trouble finding love in any combination.
* * *
When he meets Trevon—the sexiest man ever—on the side of the road, only one thing keeps Quinn from pursuing him: Trevon’s even sexier wife, Devra.
* * *
Like Quinn, Trevon and Devra have led rough lives. Financial and safety concerns forced them into a marriage of convenience they both secretly wish was more.
* * *
The lessons Quinn’s past taught him should put the brakes on his fantasies of propositioning Trevon and Devra for a one-night ménage. But the need to atone for his previous transgressions, along with pure temptation, drives him to bring the struggling couple closer, even if it means breaking his own heart in the process.
1
“You calling it quits already? What the hell am I paying you top dollar for?” Gavyn crossed his arms as he leaned his shoulder against a metal pole in the center of his motorcycle repair and restoration shop, Hot Rides. His words might have sounded harsh, but his crooked smile promised they harbored no true irritation.
“Because I’m the best mechanic in this shop. Even my asshole boss knows that.” Quinn smirked up at his very non-asshole boss. Their relationship had more in common with that of siblings than employer and employee. Hell, Gavyn had practically watched Quinn grow up, from a punk fifteen-year-old into…well, a punk twenty-two-year-old.
Not much had changed on that front, really.
Besides, the guy clearly had a soft spot for Quinn, who hadn’t even gotten fired yet this week. Although he’d been canned a couple times in the past, Gavyn always rehired him within a few hours. It would be awkward if he didn’t, considering Quinn lived in a tiny home on the Hot Rides property that they’d built together after Quinn had graduated high school. That was a perk of being the biological little brother of one of Gavyn’s closest friends.
It wasn’t just that, though. Quinn had worked his ass off, day in and day out, for the past four years to help the shop grow from a start-up to something they were hardly able to manage between them anymore. Not even with occasional help from the Hot Rods gang, mechanics at their sister shop, which focused on building badass cars.
“Kid, you’re the only fulltime mechanic at this shop.” Gavyn winced.
“See?” Quinn tried to laugh it off though he was stressed and careening toward burnout, which would only make the situation worse. Gavyn counted on him. They were going to have to start turning business down if they didn’t figure things out and expand Hot Rides soon. Of course, that only meant more responsibility for him as the shop manager. He had to do something to get his head on straight. Given his family history of alcoholism, downing a few beers wasn’t an option.
“I’m taking a late lunch break to go for a ride since my next appointment cancelled last minute. I need a little fresh air. Cool?”
“You know I’m just busting your balls, kid.” Gavyn squeezed his shoulder. “Hell, if it wasn’t for that inventory count I promised Amber I’d finish today, I’d join you.”
“You sure you don’t want to blow that off?” Quinn grinned, always willing to be a bad influence. “For some dumb reason, she loves you. She’ll forgive you. Especially if you make it up to her later…”
“Don’t be thinking about how I smooth things over with my wife. Unlike your brother and the rest of his gang, I don’t share well with others.” Gavyn snapped a dirty rag in Quinn’s direction, stopping short of actually flicking him with it. Even when roughhousing, none of their friends ever laid an aggressive finger on him. Physical contact—especially the cruel kind—wasn’t something to joke around about. Not after what he’d lived through. “Go ahead. Have enough fun for both of us. Just be back in time for your next appointment.”
“Yeah. Of course.” After all Gavyn, Quinn’s brother—Roman—and the rest of their friends had done for Quinn, he would never let them down. They’d literally saved his life, and he would never forget it.
“Probably be best if you eat some fucking lunch while you’re on break.” Gavyn spread his feet and stood taller then. “You look like you’re getting skinnier. Don’t make me tell Ms. Brown she needs to feed you. Or maybe I should, so she’ll bring a shit-ton of grub over and I can have some, too.”
Gavyn’s mother-in-law, along with Quinn’s brother and the rest of the Hot Rods, had practically raised Quinn after they’d rescued him from his own mother’s house of horrors. Ms. Brown could cook better than a chef in a five-star restaurant and he didn’t even have to dress in stupid fancy clothes to eat at her house.
Quinn ran his hands down his stomach, feeling the lean muscles beneath his skin. Were they more pronounced? Maybe. Lately nothing had appealed to his…appetites.
He reverted to the Quinn he’d used to be, the one who didn’t say much and got hurt so often that he didn’t bother to argue when it wouldn’t do any good. With a shrug, he turned away from Gavyn and grabbed his helmet.
“Keep the rubber side down. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Gavyn cleared his throat. “You know, adrenaline is a drug, too.”
Quinn for sure wasn’t touching that one. Gavyn and Quinn’s brother had become fast friends after they’d met in a last-resort rehab facility. They’d struggled with sobriety from drugs and alcohol long enough that they both understood some of his urges. Instead of responding, he put his helmet on, loving how it blocked out the entire world except for what was right in front of him. It would force him to focus on staying between the lines as he flew over the pavement.
That would have to be concession enough to please Gavyn.
Quinn slapped the tinted visor of his helmet down, swung a leg over his motorcycle, and then started it. The engine coming to life between his knees shook the knots from his shoulders. Here he was powerful and in control.
He flexed his fingers, nodded at Gavyn, then took off with a roar that could have come straight from his soul. Freedom. Escape. Whatever you wanted to call it, he lived for it. Needed it.
Besides sex, riding was the best relief he could find from the dark thoughts that still haunted him from time to time. Gavyn was right. Exhilaration was his drug of choice. His opportunities for a hit had been limited recently, since he’d been striking out in bed.
Middletown wasn’t exactly a mecca for eligible, freaky singles. Nightlife was limited to a few honkytonk bars. And he’d already fucked his way through the more-than-willing women…and guys…around. Sure, he’d gone out prowling at those dives, done some dancing, played a few games of pool, and sat in the corner, watching for anyone who caught his eye. Since he didn’t drink—not after he’d experienced firsthand how alcohol had turned his mother into a monster, nearly cost Gavyn his soulmate, and attempted to destroy his own brother—he usually got bored pretty quickly, before he could find anyone interesting to take home.
His reputation didn’t help. It frightened the majority of his potential lovers away. He was far too wild a ride for most of the normal folks who lived in their conservative Midwestern town. Quinn wondered if it was the fact that he was bisexual or into the occasional threesome that made a bigger black mark against him. Either way, he was getting pretty fucking tired of having to explain himself or make excuses for the way he’d been built.
It could be he was getting old, like Tom—Ms. Brown’s husband and the father figure for all the misfits at Hot Rods and now Hot Rides, too—had recently teased him. Since he’d been forced to grow up quick, he sometimes felt like he was twenty-two going on sixty. Today being one of those days.
As much as he loved Hot Rides and the extended family he hadn’t always been lucky enough to have supporting him, he wondered if it might be time to move on and find a place where he could be the man he truly wanted to be, in all aspects of h
is life. Somewhere urban, where he might be able to discover more unattached people like him.
Problem was, he’d have to understand exactly who he was first.
With a twist of his wrist, Quinn cranked the throttle, hunkering lower as the bike leapt forward. The rear tire fishtailed before he could straighten it out. His heart leapt as he brought his motorcycle under control.
Sorry, Gavyn, he apologized mentally as he did exactly what his friend had told him not to do.
People were right to worry about him.
He raced down a road that got curvier and narrower as he left Middletown behind, if only for a little while. It took miles and miles before he realized his mind had blanked. Gone were the ruminations about how stuck he felt, his responsibilities to Gavyn, what felt like an impending betrayal of his brother and the rest of their friends, his lack of companionship—everything except the vibration in his hands and the heat billowing off the matte black metal beneath him.
A switchback in the road marked the farthest point of his loop. With a sigh, he turned toward home with the restlessness inside him quenched temporarily. He’d already started thinking about what parts to pull for his upcoming service appointment when he spotted a flash of something on the shoulder of the road up ahead.
Another motorcycle. Candy-apple red. Some sort of vintage Indian that had seen much better days. It was in shitty condition, but sexy as fuck nonetheless. Quinn swerved toward it even before he noticed the spectacular jeans-clad ass pointed in his direction as a guy bent over to inspect the broken-down bike. A shirtless, ripped guy with skin the color of rich, oiled walnut. He was sweaty and running his hands over his ultra-close cropped hair as if he was about to lose his shit.
It was exactly the diversion Quinn craved right then.
He licked his lips as he skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the road a little too quickly to say he was complying with Gavyn’s command to be careful. Then again, checking out a stranger and his motorcycle on a deserted country road probably wouldn’t qualify as safe either.
None of that stopped Quinn from doing it anyway.
2
Quinn tugged off his helmet. He tucked it under his arm, against one hip, as he shook his hair out of his face. He kept it pretty short on the sides, but it always got out of control on top, especially when he was riding. He used the other hand to rake it into some sort of decent order. “Hey. Need a hand?”
The guy cursed under his breath as he unfolded himself and stood.
Quinn backed up a half-step. It wasn’t very often he had to look up to someone. Not after that last growth spurt he’d had when he was about nineteen. Hell, of all the Hot Rods, only Bryce was taller than him now.
This man had them both beat by at least four inches. His black polo with a logo for a local landscaper embroidered on the chest was draped around his neck. A bead of sweat rolled from his collarbone, down the flat spot between his pecs then over ab after ab after ab. Damn, manual labor had its benefits.
Suddenly, Quinn felt the need to clear his throat. He licked his lips instead.
“Nah, what I need is a fucking ride that doesn’t break down every other day.” The guy grimaced. Even the snarl twisting his lush lips couldn’t mar his gorgeous face. He was model material—tall, very dark, and pretty much the most handsome example of maleness Quinn had ever seen. “Can’t even keep a shitty job when I’m late or calling off all the damn time because of it. Gonna have to give up and sell her.”
Damn. That had to hurt. The Indian was a classic. Not something you came across every day, not even in Quinn’s line of work.
“It may not be reliable, but it sure is beautiful. What is it, a 1940s Chief?” Quinn sighed as he ripped his gaze from the guy’s perfect physique before it could wander below the waistband of his faded black jeans. He didn’t care to get himself decked today.
“Close. It’s a ’38. And thanks.” The guy betrayed his frustration by angling away to run a fingertip over the contour of the deep fender.
Quinn was instantly jealous as fuck.
Until the man spun back toward him and stuck out his hand. “I’m Trevon Russell, by the way. Thanks for stopping. Do you have any idea how far we are from Middletown?”
His grip was strong and steady when his long fingers wrapped around Quinn’s hand and shook it. “Quinn Daily. About ten miles.”
“Shit.” Trevon crouched down again and started jiggling things around. “I’m never going to make it if I walk. My boss said I’m done if I’m late again.”
Quinn could already tell his efforts were pointless. “Looks to me like you need a new distributor. The cap is cracked, and with all the rain we’ve been getting lately...”
He turned his head slightly toward Trevon, taking in the man’s thick lashes and his amber eyes speckled with gold from up close. He didn’t look any less flawless from a foot away.
“Yeah, the thing’s shot.” Trevon stood and kicked a rock into the underbrush. “I’ve patched it up ten times too many. The spark plugs keep getting fouled too.”
“Fortunately, I know a kick-ass mechanic.” Quinn put his hand over his eyes like a visor and peered up at Trevon, who glared into the woods. His good looks weren’t obscured by his hand, which ran over his super-short buzz cut over and over.
Quinn wished he could do that for the guy, soothing him with repeated caresses as they made out. Trevon obviously needed an outlet for his frustration at least as much as Quinn had when he’d left the shop earlier.
Trevon grunted. “Probably expects to get paid then.”
“My rates are negotiable. We can work something out.” Quinn wouldn’t mind sharing a pizza and an evening of the guy’s time after a long, hard ride…or maybe before a private one…in exchange for his skills.
“You?” The guy whipped his head around, taking a long look at Quinn’s immaculate, custom motorcycle. Was that appreciation sliding in behind the aggravation?
Quinn hoped so. He took a lot of pride in his work. “Yeah. My friend owns the shop in Middletown. Hot Rides. I work there.”
Technically he was the head mechanic and Gavyn had made him a partner when he’d given him shares of the business for his twenty-first birthday, but he didn’t intend to come off as a pompous asshole when this guy was clearly struggling. Hell, he’d been there before. It was only by the grace of his big brother, Roman, that he’d escaped as whole as he had.
“I’ve heard of the place. Definitely can’t afford it. Thanks, though.” Trevon’s hand paused its circuit over his head and said, “Maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, I could come by and buy a used cap. Maybe something I could modify and make fit, if you’ve got any junk parts hanging around.”
“You’ve got experience with that?” Quinn asked, impressed.
“Well, kind of. I do the best I can. Watch a lot of videos online and tinker until I get it right. I’ve been restoring this old thing since my grandfather…”
He trailed off and swallowed hard.
Quinn stared at the motorcycle from where he still crouched in front of it. He put his hand lovingly on top of the perfectly imperfect antique. No wonder Trevon was hanging on to it. Even in this condition, the Indian would be worth a small fortune to the right collector.
He should know, since he dealt with a lot of those daily at Hot Rides.
Quinn was surprised when Trevon plucked his hand from the motorcycle and used the connection to tug Quinn to his feet effortlessly. He wasn’t exactly scrawny like he’d been back when his mother’s boyfriends had taken their bad attitudes out on him. He didn’t hide in attics anymore to avoid confrontation or allow himself to be manhandled, either.
It was kind of hot that Trevon could overpower him like that. Probably because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to abuse that strength. “What do you think, could that work out?”
“Sure. Let me get a tow truck over here from our sister shop. We’ll give you a lift to work and then you can come by afterward to see what we can do about the
bike. It’s no big deal. Rebel is on his way back from delivering a hot rod this afternoon. He’s probably going to come right by here any time now.”
“I can walk it.”
Quinn knew that stubborn set to Trevon’s jaw well. A mixture of ego and embarrassment that didn’t solve any problems. He knew better than to argue directly. So he tried to be a bit more subtle when what he really wanted was to throw this man to the dirt and fuck the bitterness and resentment right out of him, leaving them both relaxed and happy.
“You could, but that would suck. I think the news said it was going to hit the nineties today. It’s no imposition, and I swear I’m not looking to get paid for it either. Bring some pizza with you after work and we’ll be cool.” Quinn shrugged one shoulder. The words flew from his mouth before he could think better of them. So much for Gavyn’s earlier advice about playing things safe. “Better yet, hang out and have a few slices with me before we figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it together.”
“Did you just proposition me?” Trevon raised a sexy brow. He didn’t take a swing at Quinn, though, so that was a good sign. Quinn had learned early to duck when he said shit like that. He should know better by now, considering that he’d been hitting on guys for nearly eight years. Sometimes it was worth the risk.
Life would have been easier if he’d been attracted only to dainty, meek women, or to guys who were significantly less ripped than this one. But hey, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun. His heart was pounding twice as hard as it had when he’d been shattering the speed limit a few minutes ago.
“No. I mean, not in the way you’re thinking. You don’t have to do anything you’re not into for me to offer my help. If you’re down, though, who knows what I’ll service after your bike?” Quinn smiled as if he hadn’t just offered to handle the guy’s dipstick.
The spark that flashed through Trevon’s lion eyes reminded Quinn of the fire that powered an internal combustion engine. Hot. Fast. And heady. So it shocked the hell out of him when Trevon backed up, shaking his head. “Sorry, man. I’m not into that.”
Love in the Dark Page 203
