by Cindy Dees
“Too busy chasing all the cute boys in high school?” Christian asked lightly.
He snorted. “Yeah. Right.”
“When did you come out?”
“Never.”
“I beg your pardon?” Christian stopped and turned to stare at him.
“I’d have been killed, like, literally, if I’d done it in high school. Then I went into the Army. Not a great place to announce I was gay either. Then I got to my Ranger battalion, and it never came up there.”
“Does anybody but your occasional lover know?”
“My mother has always known, I think.”
“Your father? The rest of your family?”
“He’s never asked and I’ve never volunteered it. Doesn’t really seem like any of his business who I sleep with.”
“Fair.” He turned to walk but stopped again. “What if you fall in love with someone? Will you tell him, then?”
His gut clenched with an odd, unfamiliar, and deeply unpleasant sensation. Holy shit. That was fear. For the second time in as many minutes, this man had made him afraid. What the hell was up with that?
“Not a bridge I’m too worried about crossing,” he lied.
Christian physically pulled back from him. It was a subtle withdrawal but visible to the observant eye. And he was an observant man. Particularly around this guy he was apparently hyperaware of.
He frowned. What had he said wrong? He wasn’t looking for a relationship nor expecting one to come along. He traveled way too much to put down roots and do the whole hearth-and-home gig.
Christian resumed walking, pacing toward the exit and steps that led out onto the main ballroom floor.
For some reason, Stone felt compelled to murmur, “I really am sorry about tackling you.”
“It’s all good. I’m glad to see you’re worth what Lacey’s paying for your services. Those are some great reflexes you’ve got there.”
Dammit. Christian’s voice was cool and polite. Distant. He’d emotionally pulled back too.
He frowned. “For future reference, if you ever see a laser dot like that again, don’t stop to think about it. Don’t look around to see where it’s coming from. Don’t point it out to anyone. Don’t ask any questions. Just hit the dirt. Next time it may not be an asshole playing a joke at the other end of that laser beam.” He added reluctantly, “I’d take it amiss if someone blew your head off.”
Christian’s far too intelligent and far too perceptive gaze snapped to his. Stone forced himself not to look away. His adrenaline was still screaming, his reactions still too raw, to bother trying to hide them.
Christian’s expression thawed, and the ice in his blue eyes melted into the warm blue of the Caribbean. He nodded slowly and then murmured, “I like you too.”
Wait. What?
He hadn’t said he—
But apparently, he did.
Sonofagun.
Gobsmacked, he mumbled lamely, “Remember about the dot. If you see one, move.”
“Got it.”
Stone realized in minor shock that his legs felt more than a little weak. Good grief, the effect this man had on him—
Oh, wait. He’d just had a big scare. That wasn’t him reacting to Christian declaring that he liked him. It was the aftermath of an adrenaline dump into his bloodstream. Yeah. That was it. Totally about the scare. Nothing to do with him returning any feelings for Christian.
Ahh, the joys of coming down off a hard spike of life-and-death adrenaline. He was going to kick Tucker’s ass when he got within arm’s length of the guy. Tucker knew better than to mess with a man trained like he was. Truly, his finger had begun the pull-through on the trigger of his gun before Tucker had identified himself. It had been a closer call with disaster than the security man or Christian knew.
Christian asked him low, “You okay? Do you need a drink or something?”
“It’s not even 10:00 a.m. yet,” he replied dryly.
“It’s after noon somewhere.”
He grinned reluctantly.
“Come with me. I know exactly what you need.”
He looked up sharply at Christian. Hoo baby. What exactly did that mean? Did he dare hope?
Nah, don’t be an idiot. This guy’s too professional to take up where we left off last night.
But he wouldn’t say no to it if Christian asked.
Meanwhile, for once in his life, he decided to let someone else look out for him. “Lead on.”
Chapter Three
CHRISTIAN WAS frankly startled that Stone followed him out the french doors and toward the beach. The work version of Stone Jackson was wired way, way tighter than the man he’d met in the bar last night.
Granted, in Stone’s line of work, tight was a good thing. But gone was the relaxed, funny man he’d nearly had sex with….
It wasn’t good for anyone to live life always walking the razor’s edge. He knew that from personal experience dealing with his mercurial boss. Everyone needed to let go of the reins now and then. God knew, Stone looked ready to kill someone right now.
“Shoes and tie off, Stone,” he ordered briskly, kicking off his own leather oxfords and stripping his socks. He untied his necktie and let it dangle around his neck. Ahh. Better.
“I’m not cavorting on the beach like some starry-eyed tourist who’s never seen the ocean before.”
He glared at Stone, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your shoulders are up around your ears, you can’t keep your hands still—they keep reaching for your holster—and I can see the pulse pounding in your temple, so don’t tell me your heart’s not racing and your blood pressure isn’t sky-high. You need to breathe, and you need to burn off a little stress before you hurt someone.”
To his credit, Stone seemed to take a moment to self-assess, and then he followed Christian onto the sand without comment. Would wonders never cease?
“How do you know about burning off stress?” Stone asked as the first wave lapped up over their toes, cool and foamy.
“You have met my boss.”
“Yeah. Giant asshole.”
“I often leave work with a burning need to put my fist through a wall.”
“And do you?”
“No, numbskull. I go for a run. And if that doesn’t work, I hit the gym and beat up a punching bag until my violent urges diminish.”
“Should I put you on the list of people who want to take out Jack Lacey?”
“Dude, that list will be huge. We’re talking phone-book dimensions.”
“Where do you suggest I start narrowing down the list, then?”
“How about we talk about that later? Right now, you’re supposed to be relaxing. Catching your breath. Trust me, you’ll have a clearer head later if you chill now.”
Stone mumbled under his breath low enough Christian didn’t think he was supposed to hear, “Damn. Classy and smart.”
Stone thought that of him? Cool.
Barefoot, he led Stone along the water’s edge. The soft, white-sugar sand farther up the beach would already be hot underfoot in the late-morning sun. The hotels and condo associations in this part of South Beach imported truckloads of premium sand every year and actually made it a pretty decent beach. Down here by the water, though, it hardened up enough to be walkable, with only minor cracking of the crusty surface underfoot.
The tangy smell of salt and algae was strong. It reminded him sharply of long summers in Martha’s Vineyard spent playing on the beach with his older sister, turning nut-brown and white-haired, carefree and innocent. Before things like sexual orientation and career choice and maintaining a careful facade of respectability became the center of his world.
Stone stopped just far enough into the ocean for waves to wash over his ankles and to begin burying his feet in the sand.
“C’mon,” Christian said, taking off down the beach.
“You’re seriously taking me for a long walk along the beach?” Stone asked, hurrying to catch up.
He shrugged. “I would have s
uggested we go for a run if either one of us was dressed for it. You look like you might actually be able to keep up with me for a little while.”
A crack of laughter escaped Stone.
Oh yeah? Mr. Macho thought he could keep up with the triathlete? He’d like to see it.
Aloud, he said, “My intent is not a romantic stroll. I’m trying to help you to burn out the adrenaline screaming through you and work off some of the anger that’s making you look vaguely homicidal. I need you not to kill someone in the next hour because you’re wound so tight that someone accidentally triggers a kill reflex out of you. Particularly since it’s most likely to be my boss who does it.”
“Why do you care if I kill someone or not?”
“A staff member of Senator Lacey committing homicide would be a PR nightmare. And it would land squarely in my lap to fix. No, thank you.”
“Is it up to you to fix everything for everybody, then?”
“Call me Girl Friday,” he answered lightly.
Stone did not respond other than to veer out into the surf a little farther.
The tide was out and the ocean was quiet this morning, with lazy, arced sheets of foam creeping up the beach and retreating slowly. Good day for an open-water swim. At this time of year, the ocean was warm enough that he wouldn’t even need a wet suit to stave off hypothermia.
Part of why Christian worked out so much was to let off the stress of being around Jack Lacey day in and day out without putting his fist through the bastard’s teeth. He could relate to Stone’s tension.
He was surprised, however, when Stone paused and turned to take a long look at the hotel. The security guard was still mostly in charge of the man.
Stone shook his head, muttering, “What idiot thought a controversial politician can be safe in there? The joint’s completely indefensible.”
Christian responded, “I highly doubt the Imperium ballroom was designed with defense of any kind in mind.”
“I should bail on this job right now.”
“Why haven’t you already?”
“I—you—”
Warmth flooded Christian’s entire body. Stone was staying because of him? That was kind of spectacular to know. Except—
It was his turn for a mental hitch. They both worked for Jack Lacey. No hint of scandal could touch the senator, who created more than enough scandal of his own already. No way could two of his staffers be seen having a torrid affair in public.
Because it would definitely be torrid if he had anything to say about it.
And he got the distinct impression Stone would not be opposed to torrid either.
Somebody passing by wolf-whistled—whether at him or Stone, Christian couldn’t tell.
His entire body clenched. Ohgodohgodohgod. Had someone recognized them? Made them as a couple? A denial press release started to scroll through his mind unbidden.
Beside him, Stone jolted violently, his hands coming up in a defensive position Christian recognized from his boxing training.
“Easy there, Rambo. You can come down off the bridge now. No one’s trying to kill anyone.”
“You don’t have to talk me down off any bridges,” Stone snapped. “I’m not going to jump.”
“Hell, I’m not worried about you jumping. Looks to me like you’re up there with an Uzi picking out targets. That’s what worries me.”
Stone grinned at him reluctantly.
The whistler jogged past, apparently not a paparazzo, not a journalist, not someone who recognized either of them.
Christian sagged in relief.
“Walk with me, Stone. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”
They continued down the beach, shoes dangling from their fingers and toes tickled by the surf hissing onto the sand. A cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean this morning, making for unseasonably pleasant conditions. Still, the humidity made Stone’s dark, collar-length hair wave and curl around his strong features in very European fashion. Usually Christian went for the clean-cut type, but the look was hot on Stone. It softened the harshness of his features. Balanced them.
“Do you have psychology training?” Stone asked him without warning.
“Sort of. I’m a lawyer by education.” His profession was as often about head games as it was about the law.
“What kind of law?”
“Criminal. I specialize in overturning prisoner convictions.”
A snort. “Is that how you ended up with Lacey? Aiding and abetting his shenanigans?”
He shrugged back. “Actually, I do my best to keep him on the straight and narrow.”
And truth be told, it was not an easy job. But between Christian and Lacey’s wife, with her iron fist inside that velvet Southern glove of hers, they’d more or less succeeded so far. His secret nightmare was that Lacey would get the bright idea to run a corrupt side gig and tell neither him nor his wife about it.
“Why do you work for him?” Stone challenged.
“He’s no worse than other elected officials on Capitol Hill. And with a job as a Senate senior staffer on my résumé, I have a shot at the kind of work I really want.”
“Which is?”
“The federal prison reform project over at the Justice Department.”
“Although that sounds like massively worthy work, I have to be honest with you. It sounds as dry as dust to me.”
Christian grinned at him. “I’ll take it over throwing myself on top of people for a living.”
A smirk. “It has its perks. You took that tackle surprisingly well. I’d have injured most men.”
“I’m not most men.”
“No.” A pause. “You’re not.”
Arrested by the undertone in those words, Christian stopped and turned to stare at Stone.
But Stone refused to meet his gaze and kept on walking. Huh. A relationship between them was out of the question. Not only did both of them have demanding careers that took all of their attention, but now they worked for the same man. Ethics alone dictated that they not get involved. Too bad. Stone fascinated him as no man had in a very long time. Maybe ever.
They walked about a mile down the beach before the decent sand ran out. Thankfully, Stone’s shoulders had come down from around his ears, and that white line around his lips had mostly disappeared by then.
They turned around to walk back to the hotel at a more leisurely pace than they’d made the outbound leg.
That was more like it. The trained killer had retreated, leaving behind the guy he’d met last night in the bar. The guy he’d almost had gnarly sex with and was still frustrated as hell not to have had sex with. His dick stirred with interest at the mere thought of lying over that sofa, bare-assed and ready to rumble. In fact, he had to grit his teeth against getting any more turned-on in these thin business trousers that would do nothing to contain a hard-on.
Cock still filling and getting heavier by the minute, dammit.
Must. Distract. Self.
“How’d you get into the security business?” he asked. Jeez. Even he could hear the strain in his voice. Get it together, man. Christian prided himself on his self-control. He never lost it like this.
A shrug. “Did similar work in the military. It was an easy slide over to the civilian side of the house and a decent paycheck for a change.”
“You were a bodyguard in the military?” He was not aware of that being an actual job the military did.
“I trained security teams for foreign heads of state. Taught them how to keep their personal popcorn dictators alive.”
Fuck. That was sexy as hell. Focus on the conversation. “And how did you learn how to do that?”
“My job for several years before that was to kill foreign heads of state.”
Christian jolted to a halt to stare at Stone, who stopped as well. “The US government doesn’t kill foreign leaders. Doing so would open our own senior leaders up to assassinations in return. It’s one of the few gentlemen’s agreements left in the world. You don’t kill our
guy—we won’t kill yours.”
“You go right ahead and keep on thinking that, oh, naive one,” Stone answered dryly.
“Who? Name me one head of state we’ve taken out.”
“Dude. That kind of stuff is so classified the security-violation fairies would rise up out of the ocean and shoot me dead where I stand if I talked about it.”
They resumed walking. “Seriously?” Christian muttered. “We do that kind of stuff?”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff we do.”
“But why?”
“Threaten the nation, threaten to attack civilians, threaten a high-ranking member of our government—we’re coming for you. By responding forcefully to global bad guys, they’re on notice not to mess with Uncle Sam.”
“I know the logic, thanks. I’m a senior aide to a United States senator. I do, you know, politics?” he said sarcastically.
Stone threw up his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to insult your intelligence. I already got the memo that you know your shit.”
He subsided and veered toward the hotel, which was drawing near.
Although Lacey wasn’t on the Senate Intelligence Committee, certain briefings came across his desk from time to time. Rumors floated around among the Senate staffers. Now and then, the full Senate got a briefing about some activity the military was undertaking. He didn’t want to venture a guess at what the CIA might be up to that it didn’t brief the Senate on.
“And who exactly is we?” Christian asked. “Who did you work for?”
“Classified.”
“I’ve got a top-secret clearance. Have to if I’m going to handle all of the senator’s correspondence. I’ve heard of some of the types of groups you’re talking about.”
“I guarantee you haven’t heard about the one I ran with.”
He got the distinct impression that was all Stone planned to say on the subject. It made sense, though. As fast as one Special Forces group got famous for its exploits, another had to be formed that was a deep, dark secret. Totally off the books. Able to work invisibly in the shadows to do the kind of stuff Stone was hinting at.
“What’s Senator Lacey up to this morning?” Stone asked as they slogged up the beach to the hotel. “All his itinerary said was executive time.”
