by Lori Foster
Matt mingled with them all: Dare, Trace, Jackson and Spencer. He was accepted. But only because he didn’t know. The others trusted Chris to understand the importance of privacy. Not that Chris dug into the minor details either.
He coordinated for the others, lining up transportation, fabricating their cover. Research. Data. When necessary, he did computer surveillance, background checks, document searches.
He knew the men never left unfinished business or loose ends. They all had the capability to be lethal. They worked with local authorities when they could, but had the capacity to move beyond them when necessary.
Whenever possible, he stayed on the sidelines. If Dare went off on a mission, Chris held down the home front. And despite what Matt might think, he was damn good at his job.
Sure, he downplayed the time-consuming difficulty of his job because he enjoyed it so much. But he was everything Dare needed—minus a lover—rolled into one.
Chris grinned. Luckily, Molly now filled that one and only void.
Rolling to his back, Matt stretched, unwittingly putting on a show, displaying flexed muscles and innate sensuality. Even first thing in the morning, Matt looked good. Too good. Chris locked his jaw and his knees, fighting the urge to rejoin him in the bed. But if it was only physical appeal, resisting would be easier.
With Matt, it was so much more.
After a yawn Matt opened his eyes—and caught Chris’s smile.
Which, of course, made the smile disappear. “I made coffee,” Chris told him, trying not to stare too hard when Matt sat up—and pushed the sheet away.
“You don’t drink coffee.”
No, he didn’t. But Matt did. “You probably have time for one cup, but I have to get to work.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s your way of telling me to hit the road?”
Jesus, he did not want to have this argument, not now. “You don’t need to get to work?”
An arrested expression came over Matt’s face. He twisted to see the clock on the nightstand, and then relaxed. “I have an hour, damn it. Don’t scare me like that.”
Glad for a change in topic, Chris asked, “Important client coming in?”
“Wealthy client.” Matt grinned. “I make her beautiful, and she tips me really well.”
And of course that made her important, yet Matt refused to see the importance in what Chris did.
Because he doesn’t know what you do.
Biting off a groan, Chris turned away. “I’ll call you later.”
He heard Matt leave the bed, but he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking, away from Matt, away from his conflicted feelings, and away from the need for immediate decisions.
Stepping through the front door of his small home, Chris started up the path to the main house. The morning sun crept up from behind the hills, sending light to dance across the surface of the placid lake. Mornings were always so peaceful, filled with mist from the lake, birdcalls from the trees and air so fresh Chris couldn’t help but breathe deeply.
Dare was probably already out for a morning jog, otherwise the dogs would have greeted him. Feet now damp from the morning dew, Chris opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. Molly was at the counter pouring coffee. More rumpled and puffy-eyed than usual, she glanced up, gave a sleepy, “Good morning,” and shuffled over to a bar stool, cup of caffeine in her grip.
“Morning.” Chris opened the fridge, got out the orange juice and filled a glass. “Late night?”
She nodded. “My brain would not stop plotting.” She covered a yawn. “At least I got some good notes out of it.”
As a bestselling author, Molly often lost sleep when in the middle of writing a book. “Want me to fix you some breakfast?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not yet. Dare said he’d cook when he got back.”
There were many things that Chris did well, but cooking wasn’t one of them. When compared to Dare’s culinary skill, he ranked no more than mediocre.
Propping her head on a fist, Molly asked, “Where’s Matt?”
With the juice halfway to his mouth, Chris froze. Never before had she asked him that. Not once. What was up with everyone suddenly butting into his life?
Just then, the intercom buzzed, indicating that a car needed him to open the gate. Always cautious, Chris checked the monitors first.
Molly came to stand beside him and saw Matt in the driver’s seat of his car.
“He looks…disgruntled.”
“Maybe like you, he’s not a morning person.” Chris pushed the buzzer to let him pass.
Molly didn’t move away. “You could have invited him to join us.”
Putting space between them, Chris went back to the counter. He meant to keep his mouth shut, but heard himself say, “There’s no point.”
Thoughtful, all too introspective, Molly eased back into her own seat. “No? How come?”
“Matt doesn’t know what I do.” He downed the juice in one long gulp, and then went to the sink to rinse the glass. “He thinks I’m an errand boy.” Smirking, Chris said, “And I suppose that’s the simplest explanation.”
“You’re so much more than that!”
“Yeah, I know.” He wasn’t insecure in the least about his value. But that wasn’t the point.
“So tell Matt,” she insisted.
Hands braced on either side of the sink, Chris dropped his head forward with a laugh. “That’d mean also telling him what Dare does.”
“Oh.”
He turned to face her. “And what Trace, Jackson and Spencer do.”
Molly frowned. “But doesn’t he already know some of it?”
Yeah, Matt knew enough to be cautious, and to play deaf, dumb and blind when necessary. Out of necessity, Matt had been brought to Dare’s house to give Priss a makeover—by order of a scumbag human trafficker. Both Priss and Trace had been undercover at the same time, Priss as the trafficker’s long-lost daughter, Trace as his number-one bodyguard. To maintain their cover, they’d had to follow directions to polish Priss up…for a sale.
Trace couldn’t risk taking her to the usual sources for that, and Chris trusted Matt—as far as it went. Matt had been to the house before that, but only to swim, hang out.
And visit Chris.
Matt wasn’t a dummy. He’d met Dare, and he’d been through the complicated and detailed process of gaining entrance to the property. He had to know that secretive shit went on, but he had enough sense not to dig.
Unfortunately, the more he was around, the more he’d see and hear. The more he’d understand.
The more he’d want to know.
Chris leaned back on the counter. Unlike Priss and Arizona, who’d demanded active roles in the organization, Molly and Alani could both be endearingly nonchalant about the inherent danger involved.
They weren’t reckless, and they never risked talking to the wrong people. But they did have a knack for normalizing the very unique career paths their husbands had chosen.
“He knows enough not to pry.” Chris leveled a censuring look at her. “And you should know that any and all details of Dare’s enterprise are top secret. I would never risk security by saying too much.”
She winced. “I guess that could be an issue for any relationship.”
An issue. “Yeah.” Definitely an issue. Before Molly could get worked up about it, Chris pushed away. “I have a million things to get done today, starting with some computer work for Trace and Priss. Then I have calls to make and appointments to set. But after all that I’ll head to the store, so if you think of anything you need, add it to the list on the fridge.” As he walked out, he mussed her already-messy hair more.
“Chris?”
Dread stalled him. Without facing her, he said, “Hmm?”
“I love you.�
��
Nice. He smiled over his shoulder. “Back atcha.”
* * *
After simmering off and on for much of the afternoon, Matt finally called it a day. Now, on his way to the lake, he tried not to second-guess his decision to confront Chris.
He was not a needy person, damn it, not a man who begged for company. But he needed resolution.
Chris was one of those guys that everyone loved. He made people laugh. He listened when others talked. He was relaxed, casual and smart. Chris had a wide range of friends, from football players to doctors, landscapers to dancers…
And Matt, a salon stylist. A damn good salon stylist, if he said so himself.
From the beginning, they’d shared a sexual attraction. He’d stayed over with Chris before, and each time had been better than the last—and more addictive.
Each time, he lost a little more of his heart and became more convinced that Chris was “the one.” But did Chris feel the same?
Last night had been extraordinary, sexy and fun and so easy that it had given him hope. To him, it had felt like they’d crossed a line, that they’d finally strengthened their relationship—a relationship that, to him, meant the world.
To Chris…well, he still didn’t know what Chris felt, and that was the problem. If he wasn’t as invested, then it was past time for Matt to cut and run.
He wanted to be a part of Chris’s life, the best part, and nothing less would do.
His chest felt tight as he thought about how indifferent Chris had seemed. How cold and determined he’d been to get rid of Matt with the morning sunshine.
A complete contrast from the night before.
Thank God his day had been too busy for him to dwell on it much. The hectic schedule had helped to stave off the worst of the worry. But still, thoughts of Chris, complete with images, had intruded in every free second.
Tall and tanned. Strong from swimming and running with the dogs. Sexy in an earthy, relaxed way.
His casual shorts usually hung low on lean hips. Every T-shirt—when he bothered to wear a shirt—seemed at least a decade old. And though Matt styled hair for a living, he recognized something innately masculine about Chris’s shaggy black hair, always disheveled from repeated dips in the lake, the wind and work. Paired with his direct blue gaze and that cocky, laid-back smile…well, a GQ model couldn’t pack as much sex appeal as Chris did without even trying.
But it was more than the good looks that made him special. It was Chris’s sharp but witty sarcasm, his complete irreverence, how comfortable he was in his own skin. Chris didn’t suffer uncertainty, or second-guess decisions.
Everything he did, he did with effortless charm and confidence.
In contrast, Matt had worked his ass off to make a name for himself, to find security, both financial and emotional.
It hadn’t been easy, but he’d met most of his goals, and now he wanted more.
He wanted commitment—with Chris.
Slowing his purple convertible, he pulled up to the entrance of Dare’s impressive home. Unannounced. Not that anyone passing by would notice the dirt road that, hidden by tall evergreens and hardwoods, twisted and turned around the trees and climbed up to a main gate. The very deliberate design did a lot to hide the mansion from view.
Dare owned all the surrounding land, but it wasn’t until farther in that an ornate iron fence enclosed the property. Chris had told him to always check before visiting, because, for reasons Matt didn’t entirely understand, state-of-the-art security included not only the gate and multiple monitors, but also electric fencing.
Only by way of the lake could anyone attempt to sneak onto the property, and even there, alarms and lights announced any and all visitors.
Without meaning to, he’d overheard enough to know that Chris’s friends cultivated associations in all facets of law enforcement, and many within the political arena. He wasn’t privy to detailed info, but it was as much what they didn’t say as what they did that told him they dealt in clandestine operations. It didn’t take a genius to see that the men possessed an edge of danger—but Matt didn’t fear any them.
He trusted Chris, and that said it all. Whatever Dare and the others were into, they were honorable. Otherwise, Chris wouldn’t be a part of it all.
Before he could change his mind, Matt drove forward down the long path until he reached the gate. Surprise visits were highly discouraged. He expected Chris to be pissed, but somehow he’d get around that.
Fighting back nervousness, Matt hesitated for a long time. Just as he worked up his nerve and reached out for the intercom, a car horn beeped behind him. After nearly jumping out of his skin, he twisted to look over his shoulder.
Priss waved at him and beside her in the driver’s seat, Trace scowled.
Damn.
Heart hammering, he exhaled a long breath, worked up a smile and waved back. Now in a rush, he hit the intercom and said, “Matt here, with Priss and Trace,” because, really, that seemed much less intrusive than explaining that he’d come alone, uninvited.
It was Molly who said, “Hi, Matt. Come on through.” The gates opened and he entered, with Trace close behind. When he parked, he found Dare standing there in front of the big house, arms crossed over his chest, one brow lifted.
Uncertainty got a stranglehold on his throat, but Matt was nothing if not brazen. “Hi, Dare.” He waved again and left his car. “Chris around?”
“He went into town.”
Oh hell. So they knew Chris hadn’t invited him. Awkward. Keeping a smile pasted on his face, he asked, “Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“Probably within the hour.”
“Oh…good.” Now what? He looked around, hoping for inspiration.
Priss saved him when she sidled up and said, “Come on in. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some stuff anyway.”
Trace always looked like a thundercloud, but more so now with Priss’s announcement. “What stuff?”
Looping her arm through Matt’s, she told her husband, “I want to surprise Alani with the works. You know, top-to-toes polishing. New haircut and style. Maybe a deep conditioner. Manicure and pedicure in some fresh, trendy color. Maybe a facial, too, and makeup—”
Looking glazed over by the details, Trace interrupted her to say, “Sounds good. Have fun.” He and Dare went into the house together.
Snickering, Priss leaned into Matt. “They’re so easy. Talk about girl stuff and it’s all they can do not to yawn.”
Chris was the same, at least in that respect. He was so disinterested in the things that interested Matt.
God, he didn’t know what to think—especially when Priss steered him toward the yard instead of the house.
“Want to sit on the dock and talk?”
And avoid Trace and Dare? “Absolutely.”
As if she’d read his thoughts, she grinned. “You know they like you, right?”
“Yes, of course. The warmth is there in the narrow-eyed scrutiny of my every move.”
Priss hugged him close with a laugh. “Hey, they allow you in, and that says it all.” Still leaning into his side, she pulled out her phone and sent a message. “Molly will join us.”
With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, Matt said, “Yay.” What were the wives up to? Matt had the awful feeling that he was about to be grilled.
They were only halfway down the hill to the dock when Molly and both dogs came out. Tai and Sargie charged down the hill, circled them, ran back up to Molly, down again—and then to the dock, where they made perfect doggy dives into the water.
As they swam this way and that, going under the dock and around the boathouse, Matt laughed. “What are they doing?”
“Looking for Chris.” Priss slanted a look his way. “They love him.”
Matt firmed
his mouth; he wasn’t about to comment on that. Not until he talked to Chris.
The dock rocked under their feet. Sunlight sparkled off the surface of the water in a dazzling display. So pretty and peaceful. He understood why Chris enjoyed it here so much.
Sitting down at the edge of the dock, Matt pulled off his shoes and peeled off his socks, setting them behind him. Priss came down so close to him she damn near sat in his lap, her shoulder to his, their elbows bumping as he rolled up his pants to midcalf.
Wearing shorts without shoes, Priss dropped her feet in, kicking lazily. Molly crowded in on his other side. She wore capris and smelled like sunshine, as if she’d already been outside for a while. Matt knew she sometimes took long walks while working on plots for her books.
The women sandwiched him in. He could feel the strength of their purpose, and finally, after cooling his feet off in the water, he said, “All right. Let me have it.”
Without preamble, Priss launched into speech.
CHAPTER THREE
“What’s up with you and Chris? One minute you two look annoyed with each other, and then you spend the night.”
“But then you leave practically before the sun is up,” Molly interjected. “And Chris hides it well, but he’s not happy.”
Not happy? That was news to Matt. He said to Priss, “It’s none of your business,” and then to Molly, “He told me to leave.”
“Oh.” Molly leaned around him to look at Priss.
Priss shrugged.
They were both wonderful and he adored them, but he wouldn’t discuss with them the confusing particulars of his relationship with Chris.
Except maybe to say, “I had to get to work anyway.”
“Oh,” they said again.
Matt rolled his eyes. “I should have brought my trunks. It’s broiling out here today.”
“So take off your shirt,” Priss told him. “I would if I could.”
That made him laugh. If her husband heard that sentiment, it’d likely set him off—either making him jealous or causing him to carry her off so she could remove her shirt, and more. As Matt opened the buttons on his shirt, he teased her. “You like to give Trace heart palpitations, don’t you?”
