Showdown

by Cindy Dees

They dug in, and the next several minutes were spent in blissful silence. Not only was the crispy, fluffy-edged crust made from scratch, but the tomato sauce was homemade and the cheese flown in from a dairy in Wisconsin each week. It was a pizza connoisseur’s pizza.

  Zane leaned back after two slices, and Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You only said I had to eat what you ordered, not that I had to eat all of it.”

  Sebastian grunted. “You’re not stopping yet, my friend. We’ve already established that you need some meat on those bones of yours.” When Zane looked unmoved, he added, “Live a little. You can’t deny yourself the pleasure of fine food all the time. It’s not good for your mental health.”

  “You do understand that salads, vegetables, and roughage are healthy for a person, right?” Zane retorted.

  “I promise. Nothing but salads and lean proteins tomorrow. But tonight, eat up. Who doesn’t love a slice of the finest deep-dish pizza to be had in New York?”

  Zane groaned, rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest as he took a third slice. For his part, Sebastian didn’t count how many slices he ate. He took almost more pleasure in watching Zane savor the gourmet pizza than he did from eating it himself. Zane ate slowly, sensually, enjoying every single mouthful with eyes closed and a beatific look on his face.

  Eventually, when Sebastian’s stomach ached and his belt felt tight, he leaned back. “Now that’s a pizza.”

  Zane sighed in similar satisfaction. “Thank you. I’d forgotten how amazing an American pizza could be.”

  Except as their gazes met and the words came out of Zane’s mouth, it almost sounded as if he was saying he’d forgotten how good New York could be. Or maybe how good an Italian guy in New York could be.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you really gay?”

  Sebastian started, the combination of food coma and sensual haze pierced. “Seriously? You have to ask?”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that most men would’ve made a pass at me by now. Aren’t you attracted to me?” He added hastily, “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t expect to be everyone’s cup of tea. And I don’t need you to throw yourself at me to bolster my self-esteem. It’s just that… am I wrong to feel a… a vibe… between us?”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “Thank God. I would hate to think I had completely lost my mojo in the three years I’ve been out of the Big Apple.”

  “Your mojo is fine. It’s me. I’m the problem. I’m sitting here wrestling with myself over the ethics of getting involved with someone I’ve promised to protect.”

  “I don’t need your protection. I mean, it’s really decent of you to be worried about me. Kind, actually. But I can figure this out by myself, honestly. Sure, Customs could’ve been a bitch, and I’m grateful you stepped in to make that go more smoothly, but if you want to tap out on this whole thing of the—” He leaned in and whispered, “—you know. The things in my suitcase—” He leaned back. “I’m cool with that.”

  “Ready to get rid of me, are you?” He asked the question lightly, but it felt like a brick had lodged in his intestines and wouldn’t budge.

  “Not at all!” Zane exclaimed. “I would like to stay in touch after this is all over. Maybe more than in touch. I just feel weird about foisting off my problem onto you.”

  “What if I don’t mind you foisting yourself on me?” His chagrined gaze snapped up to Zane’s. Apparently, it was his turn to make blatant innuendoes. In a lame effort to cover up his cheesy flirtation, Sebastian slid out of the booth, his dick significantly more alert than it should be in public. “Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  “Please God, let it come from inside your pants,” Zane muttered behind him.

  Sebastian laughed. “While I applaud the sentiment, I haven’t finished torturing myself yet over the moral dilemma of being attracted to the guy I’m supposed to be protecting.”

  “Isn’t it possible to do both?”

  “Don’t be all logical with me. Let me torture myself a little longer before you go and let me off the hook with common sense and reason.”

  Zane grinned. “Got it. Knock yourself out. Just let me know when you’ve inflicted enough misery on yourself and I can move in on you.”

  “Will do. This way.” Sebastian gestured toward the swinging door to the kitchen. He stepped through, and a round man with a scruffy black five-o’clock shadow shouted a hello in Italian. Sebastian waved back and hustled Zane through. The cook was an inveterate gossip and never, ever shut up once he got going.

  He led the way to a tiny back office crammed with a desk, filing cabinets, and a tall built-in bookcase.

  “It’s a little cramped in here for hanky-panky, big guy,” Zane murmured.

  “That’s why we’re going down here.” Sebastian tilted out the correct book and heard a click. He pushed the fake bookcase inward to reveal a set of steps leading down into darkness. “The trapdoor has always been only for emergency use. The actual entrance has been here all along.”

  “That is so cool!”

  Sebastian felt his way down the narrow staircase to the light switch at the bottom. He flipped it, and both the staircase and a vintage bar straight out of the 1920s lit up. Jazz music began to play, and the red velvet sofas scattered around a dance floor, in front of a slightly raised stage big enough to hold a band, glowed in the soft light of crystal and tin chandeliers.

  “It hasn’t been used in a while, so I haven’t had it cleaned recently. It’s a bit dusty.”

  “It looks like a time warp down here. Was it in this good a shape when you bought the place?”

  Sebastian laughed. “God, no. I had it restored. Took a couple of years for my designer to find all the furniture and fixtures and bring them in. Over here on the wall is a collection of photographs taken down here over the years. We used these to guide the renovation.”

  Zane moved around the vintage club in wonder, trailing his fingers along the carved mahogany backs of the sofas and chairs, twirling across the oak-paneled dance floor, and laughing as he stepped up to a bulky microphone hanging on a thick wire dangling from the ceiling. “My God. It’s perfect.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let Kelsey know. She spent a lot of time on this project.”

  “You said it hasn’t been used in a while. How long?” Zane asked.

  “Let’s see. I threw a party down here last year.”

  “Who uses it besides you?”

  Sebastian strolled over to his favorite booth directly in front of the stage and band risers, and opened a box of Cuban cigars he kept in a humidor sitting on the table. He inhaled their expensive tobacco scent appreciatively. “Every now and then I let someone else host a party here. But it’s on a case-by-case basis, and only for personal friends.”

  “I know fashion designers and photographers who would kill to do a shoot or a fashion show down here.”

  “I only allow private events.”

  Zane strolled up to him, doing his best catwalk, and put a playful hand on his chest. “How private, big guy?”

  Sebastian scowled. “You do realize we’re alone down here and this room is completely soundproofed, right?”

  A fine shiver passed across Zane’s smooth, bronzed skin, and the smile slipped from his face.

  Oops. Tactical mistake to make the Erebus operative nervous. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Sebastian teased lightly.

  “More like I’m afraid of me. Ever since I landed at JFK and you swept in to rescue me, I’ve felt… out of control. Not myself.” Zane stalked pensively around the half-circle banquette.

  Sebastian did the same, keeping the booth between them. “Why’s that?”

  Zane hesitated, then continued circling. “Because you’re not like anyone else I know.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Undecided. I don’t know what to expect from you. I mean, how many British ex-soldiers would so painstakingly restore som
ething like this?”

  “Depends on how many could afford to do it, I suppose.”

  “That’s not my point, and you know it.”

  Fair. Sebastian stood still, stopping the game of cat and mouse. “What do you want from me, Zane?”

  “Undecided.” A pause. “Thing is, the crowd I run with doesn’t do real relationships. And I get the feeling you don’t know how to do anything but real.”

  Also fair. “I don’t have a history of doing relationships at all.”

  Zane asked quietly, “Do you want to start?”

  “With you?”

  “Yes.” A pause, then quickly, “No.” A much longer pause, then, “Maybe.”

  Chapter Seven

  ZANE’S HEART was doing flip-flops in his chest. This dim, romantic setting, the sexy wail of saxophones in the background, the ghosts of flappers and mobsters swirling around him, the big, dark, handsome man in front of him—his imagination was going wild.

  “Here’s the thing. I’m worried about this weirdness with my suitcase. I want to take care of it and get my life back to normal before I drag you into anything sketchy or dangerous.”

  Sebastian’s dark gaze flared with what Zane could swear was confusion.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Sebastian. I’m interested in you. Really interested in you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  That made Sebastian grin. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be protecting you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about your safety too.”

  “Huh. Trust me. I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine. You’re the one we have to worry about, here.”

  “Still.” Speaking of which, Zane pulled out his cell phone—his phone, not the burner phone, of course—to check the time. “Crap. If I’m going to make the ballet, I’ve got to get back to the hotel, get cleaned up, and head out.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Sebastian sounded disappointed. Which was more gratifying than Zane could have anticipated. Maybe the guy really was as into him as he claimed to be. Although he was still perplexed over why Sebastian hadn’t jumped his bones already. God knew he’d been throwing out all the signals he could possibly lob at the guy without coming right out and suggesting they stop, drop, and fuck.

  Sebastian turned off the lights and music, and they climbed the secret stairs in silence, leaving the magic behind.

  Disappointment coursed through him. He’d really hoped Sebastian would make a move on him down there. God knew it was the perfect setting for an illicit affair.

  They reached the top of the stairs, and Sebastian turned around abruptly. Zane started and overbalanced backward, teetering on the top step. Sebastian reached out lightning fast to grab his arms and haul him forward into the tiny office. Zane slammed against a male chest made of pure brawn.

  “Thanks,” he gasped.

  “You okay?”

  No. “Yes.” Zane looked up into Sebastian’s blue on blue gaze and the world stopped revolving for an instant. An infinite universe of possibilities swam in those eyes. Passion. Possession. Permanence. All the things Zane craved and feared. All the things he desired but did not deserve. He wanted this man. And he could think of a hundred reasons they shouldn’t be together—

  “Stop overthinking it,” Sebastian muttered as their mouths met. He swept his strong arms around Zane, drawing him up against that muscular chest, into a possessive, carnal kiss. This was no tentative first peck. This was tongues and teeth and lust, a frantic slide of wet lips and the hot, sharp pull of being inhaled by Sebastian. Zane could crawl inside that kiss and never come out. He gave himself over to it, shocked at how damned good it felt to be owned and worshipped, dominated and cherished, all at the same time.

  He should have known the guy would kiss with as much intensity as he did everything else. This voracious embrace had nothing to do with finesse and everything to do with raw, desperate need. But shockingly, Zane was every bit as desperate as Sebastian, straining into the kiss, opening up his body, mind, and soul to the moment. He wanted Sebastian, and he freely gave himself over to both the kiss and the man.

  Zane let his hands roam across Sebastian’s back and slid his palms under Sebastian’s soft polo shirt. He gasped at the heat and vibrating tension of the man beneath. Skin. He wanted skin. All the skin. Naked bodies. Sweat. The loud, slapping sounds of hot sex—

  Sebastian’s mouth tore away from his, and Zane actually whimpered in frustration.

  “You’ll be late,” Sebastian muttered.

  “Late to what?”

  Sebastian laughed against his temple, a pained sound. “Late to the ballet.”

  “Oh.” Belatedly, his brain started making logical connections. The burner phone. An anonymous order to go to the ballet and bring the plates. Which he was 100 percent ready to be rid of. Hell, right now, he didn’t even care if he got the million bucks or not. He just wanted to be in the clear to get in bed with this man and crawl all over him. “Right. The ballet.” A heavy-breathing pause. “But I’d rather be with you.”

  “Actually, that would probably be a terrible idea for any number of reasons.”

  “I’ve counted forty-two reasons why it’s a bad idea,” Zane said against the comfortable bulwark of Sebastian’s chest. “How many have you come up with?”

  “At least that many. So far.”

  “I bet you think we shouldn’t be involved because I’ll distract you from focusing on your job and protecting me.” Zane sighed. He pulled his hands away from Sebastian’s waist and felt bereft.

  “Keeping you safe would be high on my list.”

  “I hate this.”

  “In my experience, doing the right thing often sucks,” Sebastian replied wryly.

  “I’ll cut out before the encores and final bows,” Zane murmured, “and be back at the hotel before eleven. Wait up for me?”

  “Count on it.”

  The dark promise in Sebastian’s voice sent shivers of delight down Zane’s spine while frissons of guilt traveled up it. He hated lying to Sebastian, and the man struck him forcefully as the type to hate being lied to. No doubt about it, he was playing with fire to get involved with him. But when had he ever been able to resist dancing in the flames? Life had always been one giant dare to him.

  The ride back to the hotel was freakishly awkward, with both of them clearly immersed in dirty thoughts and second-guesses. They didn’t speak, which was just as well. At the slightest provocation, Zane would have fallen on Sebastian, ripped down their pants, and demanded to have hot, gnarly sex then and there, in the back of the car on a busy street.

  The elevator ride up to the suite in the Waldorf was worse because the confines were close, forcing them to stand shoulder to shoulder, staring blindly at the electronic floor display. It took every ounce of willpower Zane had to keep his hands off Sebastian. And if Sebastian’s labored breathing was any indication, he was waging the same struggle. As they let themselves into the suite, Sebastian said gruffly, “I’ll have Etienne drive you to the theater. That should save you a few minutes.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I made you late by showing you the speakeasy. Let me make it up to you.”

  Zane blinked. Sebastian wanted to do things for him now? “Umm. Okay. I’ll be ready to go in two minutes.”

  “Two?”

  “I’m a runway model. I can do a full down-to-bare-ass-naked change, including shoes, in sixty seconds if I have to.”

  Sebastian seemed arrested by the mention of him bare-ass naked. And just like that, the simmering tension between them broke over into a hard boil again. Zane had to physically shake himself to tear away from Sebastian’s side.

  He had to meet the counterfeiter. Hand over the plates. Be done with his short second career as a smuggler. He just wanted his life cleared out so he could serve himself up to Sebastian on a silver platter, and then pray Sebastian could forgive him for dumping the plates and extricating them both from involvement with potentially dangerous ba
d guys.

  Zane was surprised to realize his hands were shaking as he hurried through putting on the counterfeiter’s designer suit. He considered the briefcase and its metal plates. How was he going to sneak those out of here?

  He shrugged back out of the suit jacket and draped it over his arm. If he bunched it up a little, he could hide the slim attaché case beneath it. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t run into Sebastian on his way out of the suite.

  He peeked out of the bedroom. The coast was clear. Gliding fast and silent, he headed for the hallway door and slipped outside. The elevator took a lifetime to come, and he winced at the loud ding announcing its arrival. He jumped inside the thing and angled himself to hide the briefcase and suit coat from view. At long last the doors slid shut, and he let out a loud sigh of relief.

  On the assumption that Etienne was loyal first and foremost to Sebastian, Zane kept the briefcase wrapped in his jacket in the car too. The ride uptown to the ballet was not long, but the crowd in front of the big marble edifice was terrible.

  “Do you want me to take you around to the VIP entrance?” Etienne asked.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll just jump out here. Thanks so much for the ride. And tell Sebastian I’ll take a cab back to the hotel later. There’s no need to keep you from whatever you have planned this evening.”

  Etienne grinned at him in the mirror and didn’t elaborate.

  “I hope she’s hot, man,” Zane said as he slid out of the car.

  He turned to face the daunting prospect of finding an international criminal in this crush of suits and gowns. It was hard to believe one or more of the patrons dealt in counterfeiting and the other crimes Sebastian said went along with it.

  He strode up to the Will Call window, gave his name, and picked up the ticket shoved through the slender opening below the glass. “Just out of curiosity, can you tell me who left this ticket for me?” he asked the attendant.

  She typed into a computer and squinted at the screen. “Nope. You’re lucky it became available, though. That block of seats is held entirely by season-ticket holders. They rarely miss premieres.”