by Mia Watts
Carla whooped. Nina grinned, and Chris caught the impressed nodding of Doreen agreeing with his conclusion.
“Christy, my husband and I are having our annual spring dinner party tomorrow night. Would you and Vinny like to join us?” Doreen asked.
The invitation came cautiously as though his answer mattered a great deal more than Doreen let on. He had no sense of what, just that this moment of networking could be critical to their in.
Chris leaned forward and flashed her a genuine smile. “We’d love to. Should I bake something?” God, please no unless you want macaroni and cheese with tuna chunks.
“Just yourselves.” Doreen stood. The others followed suit, so Chris rose too. “Girls, I’m sure Christy has things to get done today. It was a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to tomorrow night.”
“Thank you for the welcome,” Chris answered.
“We’ll introduce you to the others at the party,” Nina told him.
Others. Excellent. Vin could fucking eat Chris’ awesome-ass undercover abilities because that invite felt fucking significant. “Can’t wait.”
“Keep the plate until the cake is gone,” Doreen said as she left.
Carla laughed, “Yeah, it’s not like we don’t know where you live.”
Goosebumps rose up on his arms. The three women left laughing. Chris laughed too, trying to share the joke. He tried to shake off the foreboding.
Where the fuck was Vin?
* * * *
“Where the fuck is Vin?” Chris prowled the hallway hours later.
The microwave read ten thirty. Chris had long since shut all the drapes, changed out of his outfit after going to the grocery store and finding ways to be seen around the nearby community. He’d also washed all the makeup off his face this time and then decided a full shower was required to detox his body from woman smells.
He’d searched the Vin’s room, being careful to put things back the way he’d found them, too. Vin used a triple razor head instead of electric and wore trunk boxer shorts. His pillow smelled like the coconut shampoo he used and Vin preferred sports scented deodorant.
He knew exactly what the well-worn gray sweatpants felt like on Vin’s skin because Chris was wearing them. He didn’t want to risk the peek-a-boo incident a second time. If he couldn’t have his own pants, he’d use Vin’s.
Chris had cooked, damn Vin, and he was late for macaroni and cheese dinner with a side of chicken ramen and fruit cocktail.
Finally he heard the lock on the front door turn. Chris ducked behind the couch and out of view of the open door, not risking the chance someone would look in and see him, un-womaned. When the door shut and bolted, Chris bounded to his feet.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Chris put his hands on his hips.
Vin smiled slowly, tiredly. “Oh good, something new. You’re pissed.”
“You couldn’t have called or something? Couldn’t have told me this morning where you were going while I worked the case and schmoozed the neighborhood? Your dinner’s in the kitchen. It’s cold.”
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Vin muttered. Propping the case on the entry table, he clicked it open and pulled out a file.
Chris ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever. Where were you all day?” he asked, biting back his annoyance. He circled the couch and motioned him toward the kitchen. Popping the ramen and macaroni in the microwave, he reheated the food and faced Vin.
“Running the case files. Cross-referencing. I.D. searches. Paperwork. Satellites don’t show any grow-house hot-spots. No buildings putting off the kind of heat signatures it takes to grow weed covertly,” he answered, tossing the file on the counter top.
Vin tugged at the knot on his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling both from his body and wadding them up on the counter. His white undershirt strained across his chest, taunting Chris with semi-transparency and flat, dark nipples beneath.
His mouth went dry. Dryer still when Vin pulled off the band holding his hair back. The microwave dinged and Chris gladly dealt with the food. His own bare chest made Chris’ hours in the gym and special training seem ineffective.
He’d look at the satellite pictures later. When there weren’t prettier things, like dark nipples and handsome men, to look at. And why hadn’t Vin told him he’d gone to research? Shouldn’t they have discussed it?
“You didn’t think I should know the plan this morning?” Chris asked.
“You had company.”
“Over coffee would have worked.”
“Wasn’t thinking about it then,” Vin said. He motioned to Chris’ pants. “My sweats?”
“All I have are girl things. Figured you could share.”
“The guy-look works for you.”
Chris shot him a dirty look.
“So do the sweats.”
Chris handed him the plate of warmed over pasta and a bowl of canned fruit. Vin looked from the food to Chris. So help him, if Vin laughed, Chris would scalp him. How, he didn’t know, but he’d do it.
Vin wisely kept from comment and took his food to the dining room. Chris grabbed a couple of beers and joined him, plopping down in the chair adjacent.
“Did you do each other’s hair?” Vin teased. He must have read something in Chris’ expression, because he let it drop into silence unanswered.
“Find out anything?” Chris asked.
Vin shook his head. “Thanks for dinner.”
They both looked at his plate. Vin’s gaze met his and they both started laughing.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not much of a cook. There’s coffee cake, though. Doreen, Carla, and Nina were the women who came over this morning. By the way, we’ve been invited to Doreen’s house for a spring dinner party tomorrow night. Apparently they do it every year and they’re going to introduce us to more people.”
“Ah.”
“Trust me. This is a good thing. I get the feeling that I passed some kind of social test for women and they’re letting me in the club,” Chris explained.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re invited too. But just so you know, I told them that you cheated on Christy once and have been trying to make it up to her ever since. Christy uses your guilt to get what she wants, yada, yada, yada, and you’re actually a sensitive teddy bear type.”
Vin nodded, scooped up another mouthful of macaroni and cheese.
What did it take to make the man talk? Chris tried a different tack. “I think we should go casual, but not in jeans because I don’t think these people wear jeans. It’s like living in a gated community but without posted signs on how to behave and what to wear. I think I need a manicure. They all had perfect nails and soft hands. You think they could have noticed my hands when I shook theirs?”
“Probably.”
“Shit. I don’t have anything to wear for tomorrow night. Do you think I should pull out that blue dress with the high waist?”
Vin’s expression turned blank.
“The white one, maybe, with the lace shrug? That one buttons over my throat but opens to show a hint of cleavage,” Chris goaded.
“Uh…” Vin lifted his beer and sucked down several gulps.
Chris waited for him to finish, plastering a patient smile on his face and widening his eyes innocently.
“Sure,” Vin finally said, shrugging as he answered.
Absently, Chris scratched his arm and folded them on the table. The guy didn’t talk for anything. Not when freaked out, yelled at, insulted, or made uncomfortable. Something had to make Vin crack.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Chris asked.
“Takin’ the day off work to help you unpack.”
“What a guy.”
Vin frowned. He put his fork down and pushed the plate away. He’d eaten every bite.
Warmth spread beneath Chris’ breastbone. Pride and pleasure. “You want more?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Cake?”
“Save it for coffee tomorrow,” Vin suggested. He
leaned onto the table too. “You still pissed at me?”
“No. I’m good,” Chris mirrored.
“Are you?” Vin’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
Ah, I’ve said something to amuse the giant again. “What do you mean?”
“Can’t tell if you’re good or not, rookie.” Vin sat back in his chair. “Can you hack the party as a couple?”
“I can hold my own.”
“I don’t know. You wimped on the fight scene in the front yard,” Vin said, caging his words in doubt.
“I did not! I had you by the short hairs with the entire neighborhood for an audience.”
“I kissed you and you freaked out. We’re supposed to be married. What happens if I put my arm around you or pinch your ass at the party?” Vin asked.
Chris’ ass tingled at the suggestion. “One, you won’t be pinching my ass at a dinner party. It’s uncouth. And two-” God, he did not want to explain Vin’s kiss giving him a hard-on. “Breaking it off was all part of the rouse.”
“Sure it was.”
“It became part of the rouse when I made it part of the rouse this morning,” Chris defended.
“But you choked at the time.”
Not admitting to a hard-on. Damn uncomfortable getting turned on with your dick tucked.
“I knew it. You choked,” Vin announced. “So what will you do when I make a pass at you during the party?”
“You want to make a pass at me?”
“You said I’d do anything for you and you use me to get what you want. Only a lovesick moron would be led around by a leash.”
Chris snorted. “Fine. Make a pass at me and see what happens.”
“Now?”
Well, that’s not exactly what he meant, but seeing the alarm in Vin’s body language egged Chris on. “My couple acting ability sucks and you plan on making a realistic pass at me during the party, right? If I’m so bad, don’t you want to make sure I don’t screw up the op?”
Vin squirmed.
Great. I’ve got the hots for my homophobic partner. “Just pretend I’m in drag, all right? I’m not squeamish. Or pretend I’m a chick or something. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Should brush my teeth first,” Vin mumbled.
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Fine. We’ll go brush up and meet in the living room. It’s work, Paul Bunyon, quit freaking out.”
As he brushed his teeth, the same question circled his mind. Do I even want to kiss a guy who’s homophobic and I’ve got no shot keeping? Great fucking question.
It was a great fucking question when he flossed and rinsed and it was still a great fucking question when he ended up in the living room with a Neanderthal hottie who looked nervous as hell. Did Neanderthals get nervous?
“We could tell people you aren’t demonstrative.” Chris spoke first, giving him an out if he wanted one.
“Too late for that.”
“Yeah, I guess move-in day kind of blows that one out of the water.”
Calm descended on Vin. He slipped his hands into his pockets. He arched a brow. It was the same look he’d worn when Chris had first stormed the conference room.
What was he waiting for, an invitation?
“Ready?” Vin asked.
Hell no.
“Yeah.” Chris shrugged.
Vin closed the four steps between them before Chris’ shoulder had finished dropping. Cupping Chris’ face between his hands, Vin swooped in. His mouth covered Chris’ roughly, possessing it instead of accepting permission to be there. Sweet peppermint lingered on Vin’s lips and flavored the firm sweeping pleasure of his tongue as it plunged past Chris’ defenses.
For the second time in as many days, Chris’ knees wobbled. But this time, pain didn’t force him to push away. Chris clutched Vin’s ribs, holding on as much as he dared while Vin tasted and branded every part of his mouth.
Vin changed angles, smashing their noses together. Chris didn’t care. Pulling further away to do the same maneuver would have been an unbearable distance.
His lips felt raw, bruised, scorched, and still Vin coaxed Chris’ response with the skill of a deft seducer. He hung on, powerless to do anything else. Not wanting to stop him, ever.
Vin’s tongue lapped, rubbed, stoked. His teeth closed gently on Chris’ tongue to scrape when he withdrew it, then suckled him back in only to release and chase after.
Chris’ head swam dizzily. Vin moved one hand to sift through Chris’ hair, tickling his scalp far more gently than he laid claim to his mouth. Chris’ moan couldn’t be stopped, having been ripped from his soul by a master.
And then all the sudden, it ended. Chris swayed as Vin abruptly let go and moved away. Aside from the flush beneath his olive complexion and kiss-roughened lips, Chris saw none of the signs of devastation in the other man that Vin had ravaged in Chris in the wake of that kiss.
Bereft, cold, and in shock, Chris stared dumbly.
“That’ll work,” Vin murmured.
Chris commanded his lips to move, his voice to speak, and managed a loose-headed nod in place of words.
“Aw, damn. I didn’t put the dishes away. Since you did dinner, I’ll clean up, okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Where in God’s name was his voice? Vin’s tongue stole it, that’s where.
He should walk away. Go to bed. He should do something else besides stand around looking like an idiot.
Water turned on in the kitchen. Plates clinked together. The water shut off. “Tarp?”
“Yeah,” he answered, so grateful his voice had returned that he didn’t mind the huskiness.
“The sweats look better than that damn robe. Keep ’em.”
“I’m gonna,” Chris pointed down the hall, searching for the word he needed. Apparently, not all his words had found their way home. Not that Vin could see him pointing. “Sleep,” he said. “Gonna sleep.”
“Night.”
Perplexed, he looked toward the kitchen. “Night,” he answered.
Chris shook his head with wonder and confusion, then headed for his room. Where he laid in bed when Vin turned off the last light and shut his door. Where he continued to lay for another couple of hours, wondering what the fuck he was going to do now that Vin had permanently imprinted himself on Chris’ every waking thought.
“Fuck me,” he swore. “I’m screwed. I should just tell Vin I want him and get it over with.”
Vin would probably think Chris’ crush on him was funny. Or appalling. Chris had never been ashamed of his orientation, though, just guarded, and he wouldn’t start now. He threw back the covers, swung his feet to the floor, and marched to Vin’s room before he lost his nerve. Vin had a right to know that his gay partner wanted a piece of his ass. He’d be a little less careless with kissing Chris, but that would spare them both when the case ended.
Chris tapped on the door. “Vin, you awake?”
Chris entered his room soundlessly. Vin sprawled on his belly across one of the twin beds, naked. A streetlight glowed through the blinds to touch his body with a lover’s admiration, skimming the dips and silvering the rises. He slept with his face propped on folded arms allowing his black hair to spill like ink over his cheek, jaw and shoulders, reaching only the top of his back where the ends snaked in a twisted pattern on glowing skin.
Chris’ chest constricted with longing. Vin’s upper back sloped to a dip before the sudden rise of Vin’s round, sculpted ass. Chris’ gaze followed the perfect symmetry of Vin’s spine to the dark crevice hiding the sweet spot Chris wanted to nudge with his now insistent cock. Thick, rounded hamstrings, dimpled knee backs, wide square-ish calves to knobby ankles and pale soles shimmered in masculine beauty on twisted sheets.
As he watched, Vin bent a knee and shadows crept tantalizingly away from his upper thighs. Chris tried in vain, willed his eyes to adjust better than humanly possible, to see the sack nestled there.
“Vin?” he croaked.
Vin sighed in his sleep. Chris watched the light play on his rib
s as they expanded and contracted on each deep breath.
“Shit. For a top detective, you sleep like the dead,” he whispered.
He sidled over to the bed. Like a kid unable to stop himself from reaching into the candy jar, Chris dragged the tips of his fingers from Vin’s shoulder blade to his hip. He hesitated, wanting to touch more, lower, but didn’t dare tease the sensitive skin of Vin’s cheeks and be caught doing it.
Closing his eyes to block Vin’s naked image, he managed to draw his hand back. “God, you are fucking magnificent.”
He left before he could change his mind and jumped back into his own bed. Pulling the covers up tightly under his chin, he turned away from the door to discourage himself from thinking about waking Vin with intimate caresses. Then he started counting sheep to distract himself.
Except the fence became Vin’s naked back, and the repetitive jumping of sheep turned into Chris dry-humping Vin’s ass.
Definitely not a sleep aid.
Chapter Four
Chris sighed, picked up his pillow and crammed it over his exposed ear. How many weeks was this assignment going to run? Chris would deserve a fucking medal when it concluded, for his show of restraint.
Many more kisses from Vin, and he’d be the first wife in history to tent her own dress. Not to mention the cum stains-from the inside.
Something fuzzy touched his wrist. Chris flung his arm to dislodge whatever vermin had crawled into bed with him. The pillow joggled off the side of his head and he heard the distinct snick of cuffs closing.
“What the fuck?” Chris bellowed.
His arm yanked upward forcefully and Chris twisted around to see Vin loop the long chain joining furry cuffs around several thick spindles. Wide, warm chest filled Chris’ vision. In a disjointed link of reality and surreality, he tried to piece together what was happening with what he knew. His free wrist held down, it all came together in a matter of seconds when the final furry cuff closed and locked on his other wrist.
Vin sat back, surveying his work.
Chris tugged instinctively. Metal scrapped wood, but he couldn’t lower his arms.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed again.
