by Jo Davis
“Look out below!”
At the shout, Bastian’s eyes popped open just in time to see Michael running full-out for the edge of the pool, straight to where Bastian was floating. “Hey, don’t even—”
His friend leaped and let out a triumphant war whoop, tucking his knees up cannonball style. Bastian scrambled backward, but not fast enough to avoid being drenched when Michael hit the water with a big splash. He came up sputtering, while Michael laughed.
“You shithead!”
“I thought I was an asshole.”
“That, too!”
Swiping his face, he drank in the sight of Michael, dark hair dripping, beads of water making trails down his sculpted, lightly furred chest and abdomen. Two bronzed male nipples peaked immediately, no doubt due to the contrast of wetness and cool air. Three puckered bullet wounds—one too damned close to the man’s heart and the others on his side and stomach—didn’t detract from his perfection. Bastian tore his gaze from them with effort and covered his lapse with a counterattack.
Cupping his hand, he swatted the water, dousing a smug-looking Michael right in the face—and the war was on.
They battled like a couple of teenaged boys, yelling and chasing each other around the pool. Both grappling for the upper hand in an effort to be victorious in dishing out the most dunkings. Bastian couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such fun.
Right up until Michael threw him face-first into the concrete edge of the pool.
Pain exploded in his face and he struggled to his feet, draping an arm on the ledge and holding his mouth. “Ah, fuck.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry! Shit! Are you okay?” Michael waded quickly to stand in front of him.
“I think so.” Already, his lip was starting to throb. But a tentative check with his tongue reassured him there were no loose or broken teeth.
“Move your hand and let me see.”
He did, and Michael reached out, frowning. Gently he grasped Bastian’s chin and brushed a thumb over his puffy bottom lip. “It’s just a scrape, but I know it must hurt. I’m sorry. God, I’m an idiot.”
At his touch, Bastian froze. Every cell in his body screamed out for more intimate contact, but he didn’t dare move, much less breathe. “Forget it.”
“I should’ve paid more attention to what I was doing.” His voice softened. “You know I’d never hurt you for the world.”
Michael’s eyes locked with his for several long moments, and Bastian couldn’t think. Because Michael still hadn’t dropped his hand, was still rubbing the pad of his thumb over Bastian’s lip. Because suddenly there was an unmistakable fire in Michael’s dark eyes as his friend’s gaze dropped to his mouth . . . and not in examination of his wound. Michael angled his body closer, throwing off enough heat to boil the water around them.
The man appeared ready to devour Bastian whole.
Please do it. Please, I’ve waited so long.
“Sir? You have a phone call. I believe it’s important.”
Michael jerked away as though he’d been electrocuted, and spun to face Simon. “I’ll be right there.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And find some medicine to put on Bastian’s mouth. We had an accident.”
“Right away.”
Michael couldn’t leave the pool fast enough, and didn’t look back as he grabbed a towel from the shelf against the wall, quickly ran it over his body, and walked out. Bastian faced the distinguished old butler, struggling to mask his bitter disappointment at the interruption. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he saw a hint of sympathy in Simon’s usually placid expression. The look said that the butler hadn’t had any idea what he was interrupting until it was too late, and that he was sorry. The elderly gentleman had a big soft spot for both him and Michael.
For a split second he considered asking Simon for his input on how to deal with Michael. The man had worked for Michael for years and wasn’t blind. But Simon was terribly proper and never ventured an opinion unless asked. And on this matter, probably not even then.
“I don’t need any medicine, just a little ice for the swelling,” he said, proud of how he kept his voice steady.
Simon nodded. “Do you wish to accompany me to the kitchen, or shall I bring it here?”
“Here, please. I’d like to swim a bit longer.” And sit in the hot tub. Maybe then he’d be able to warm the chill that had overtaken him with Michael’s abrupt departure.
Simon left and Bastian sagged against the side of the pool, letting the misery seep in now that he was alone. You know I’d never hurt you for the world.
“But you do, over and over,” he whispered. “And it’s my fault for letting you.”
Somehow, he had to stop loving Michael. And he would.
The day they lowered him into the ground.
Two
“Katrina, we’ve got a problem with this new pinhole camera.”
Katrina Brandt looked up from the vast array of high-tech spy gadgets on her worktable to see Emma Foster striding into the room. The tall, stacked blonde worked down the hall and served as SHADO’s expert in the area of makeup artistry and disguise. Their agents depended on Emma to make them blend into the scenery while on assignment, and on Katrina and her team for reliable electronic-surveillance technology.
A failure on either front was not only unacceptable, but potentially fatal.
Katrina skirted the table and held out a hand. “Let me see.” The other woman released it into her palm and waited while she examined the tiny device. “Nothing appears to be bent or otherwise damaged. I’ll have to check it internally, run it through a video test feed, and let you know if it can be fixed.”
“I figured as much.” Emma propped a hip on the edge of the table. “Whether it can or not, that thing cost a couple of our agents some vital evidence earlier today. They got their target’s confession on audio, but the video was shot. I had to call Michael and let him know.”
She stifled a groan. “There goes my vacation I just managed to wheedle out of the man today. How long ago did you call him?”
Emma checked her watch. “It’s going on eight, so . . . a few hours ago. If he hasn’t called or come by yet, you’re probably safe from his wrath until tomorrow.”
“Gee, thanks.”
But she doubted that very much and knew Emma did, too. When it came to the agency, particularly to costly mistakes, their boss wasn’t one to let things slide. If he didn’t catch her here, he’d show up at her condo. The one place she’d always wanted to get the gorgeous man, and for something much more pleasurable than a stern reprimand.
She got back to the business at hand. “No problems with any of the other equipment?”
“None.”
“Well, that’s something.” A glint of gold at Emma’s throat caught her eye. “New necklace?”
A broad smile lit the other woman’s face. “Blaze gave it to me. Do you like it?” She parted the material of her blouse at the neck to give Katrina a better look. A slim gold chain lay snug but not too tight against her neck. A small lock and dangling heart charm rested in the hollow of her throat.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, admiring it. “You’re a lucky girl.”
“I am. And it’s not a necklace, it’s my collar.”
Katrina hesitated. “Your what?”
“My sub collar,” Emma replied proudly. “Blaze is my master, and in a few months he’ll be my husband, too.”
“Oh. I had no idea that you and he were . . .” She fumbled, at a loss.
“Into the D/s lifestyle?”
“Yes, that.” The topic was so far out of her realm, she had no idea what to say. Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait. Isn’t that why you two broke up a while back? His lifestyle?”
Emma nodded. “Yes. I didn’t really understand his world, and I’ll admit that the prospect of giving up control scared me quite a bit. I didn’t get that the lifestyle isn’t about humiliation, and it’s not some sexual free-
for-all where the Dom gets whatever he wants.”
“What is it about, then?” The world of D/s would never work for her, but she couldn’t help but be curious.
“The master’s sole priority is the safety and happiness of his sub. He’s in charge and has the final say, but he’ll always listen and consider what’s best for his sub. Blaze loves me and would never hurt me, and I love and trust him. It works perfectly for us.”
“Well, you’re certainly happy these days and that’s all that matters,” she said, patting her colleague’s arm. She studied Emma, seeing her in a new light. Here was a woman with an adventurous spirit and an open heart, someone she hadn’t gone out of her way to get to know outside work. Perhaps a friend? She really needed to make more of an effort to socialize, and what better time than now? “Emma, would you like to go have drinks after work sometime?”
The other woman’s face brightened. “I’d love to! I’d just need to check with Blaze. What day?”
“Tomorrow or the day after?”
“The day after should work. It’ll be fun.” Emma squeezed her hand and gave her a grin. “I’d better wrap up and get home before a certain grumpy agent comes looking for me.”
Katrina laughed. “Yeah, you’d better go. I’ll check with you tomorrow and we’ll decide on a place.”
“Great. See ya.”
Once Emma was gone, Katrina straightened her worktable. In her office, she retrieved her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, rose, and hit the lights on the way out. The drive home took only about fifteen minutes, but it was long enough for her mind to wander toward SHADO’s two most eligible men.
Michael and Bastian were her two personal fantasy bookends. D/s wasn’t her thing, but threesomes and more? There was a juicy little tidbit she hadn’t shared with Emma or anyone at the agency. She might be poised on the outside, but inside . . . she burned. All the damned time. From puberty on, her passionate sexual nature was a part of her she’d learned to embrace.
Wouldn’t her oh-so-proper, sexy bosses be shocked to learn that calm, cool Katrina loved a cock down her throat and another reaming her ass or pussy? What would they say if they knew how many times she’d envisioned them fucking her—and each other—in every way possible?
She’d have a transfer to Siberia on her desk within the hour. But the knowledge didn’t stop her from imagining the two most delectable men around using their gorgeous bodies to make a nice, sweaty Katrina sandwich.
God, she needed some excitement in her life. Some wild, kinky sex, to be honest. It had been a long dry spell, and she refused to keep hoping for a connection that wasn’t going to happen.
That lesson was reiterated in spades when she arrived home to find Michael waiting on her stoop. As she locked her car, gathered her purse, and approached her door, her gut sank to observe the irritation on his handsome face, the restlessness of his posture. He’d come to chew her out, and then go out on the town. The last was obvious by the skintight brown leather pants that looked as though they’d been painted onto his long, muscled legs. And the snug black T-shirt tucked in at his trim waist. His sable hair had been gelled into an artfully messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed style.
No doubt about it—the man was going hunting for someone to roll into his bed.
A spear of disappointment stabbed her breastbone, and whatever he was about to dole out paled in comparison to the hurt of picturing him naked with another woman. Which was completely ridiculous, because she had no claim on him at all, and never would. The man was just emerging from mourning his dead wife and wouldn’t be searching for a serious relationship. Especially not with one of his own employees.
“Michael,” she said calmly, stopping in front of him. “I know why you’re here, and I have no idea why the camera failed.”
“Not out here.” His snappy tone didn’t bode well for the rest of the conversation.
“Of course.” She bit back a sigh and moved past him to unlock the door. “Come in, please.”
Walking inside, she flipped on the lights, setting her purse and keys on the entry table. With a pointed look, she gestured for him to precede her into the living room. Glancing around, he swept a hand at the designer furnishings.
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you. And though I appreciate your attempt to be civil, I don’t believe you’re here to compliment my décor. Sit down. May I get you a drink?”
“No, thanks. I won’t be here that long,” he said curtly.
So much for his one attempt at civility. “As I said, I don’t know yet what the problem is with the camera. It’s new and was functioning perfectly before I allowed it to be used in the field.”
“You should have tested it again. Your fuckup has cost us crucial video of a terrorist admitting his role in a subway-bombing plot. It’s shitty work on your part, and I expect better.”
Katrina stared at him, momentarily speechless. In the few years she’d been at SHADO, he’d never spoken to her in anything but a professional manner, even when angry. To come into her home and verbally berate her was unprecedented and unwelcome. Steeling her spine, she returned a glare of her own.
“There was nothing wrong with my work on that camera or any other. My team puts all of our devices through the same diligent testing process, and we’ve never had a single incident before now.” His jaw clenched. Refusing to be intimidated, she stepped into his space. “I brought the camera home with me, and I’ll use my equipment here to examine it until the glitch is found, even if it takes all night. That is my promise, and if it isn’t good enough, that’s too goddamned bad. Fire me.”
His dark eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. For a few seconds she could have sworn she saw grudging admiration in their depths. And perhaps something more predatory. They glittered at her dangerously, and she almost backed up a step.
“That won’t be necessary. I . . .” He faltered, and just as it seemed an apology was forthcoming, the wall slammed down again. “I’ll leave you to your work. I’ll see you tomorrow when you have your findings.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stalked past her and slammed out the door. Locking up behind him, she muttered, “Can’t wait.”
What the hell was wrong with him? Michael was frazzled, upset about something more than the camera. Otherwise, he’d have been angry—the loss of the video feed was no small matter—but he never would have spoken to her the way he just had.
She wasn’t likely to ever find out what was eating him, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Besides, she had a long night ahead of her and she’d best get started.
Right after she poured a nice, generous glass of wine.
Michael turned the air in his classic Camaro blue with every foul word in his vocabulary, before he started to feel like total shit. In the space of a few short hours, he’d managed to hurt his best friend again and piss off a respected employee. Two people he admired.
And more than that, desired.
There it was, exposed. For a few seconds, he’d been possessed by the insane need to kiss Bastian. He’d wanted to. Wanted to thrust his tongue inside that sexy mouth. Wanted to mark him on his throat, right where any other man would see and be warned off. So badly that his cock pulsed and ached like never before.
Thank God for Simon’s interruption, even if he’d fled like a criminal afterward. Confusion had quickly morphed to embarrassment and then terror. He wasn’t gay. The phone call from Emma had given him the perfect excuse to shower, dress, and leave. Bastian, he noticed, didn’t try to stop him or even persuade him to eat dinner beforehand. In fact, his friend was nowhere around, and he was relieved about that.
Wasn’t he?
Michael had killed a few hours shopping for new club clothes, since his old ones were too loose now. Then he debated going into the office, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He ate half a sandwich alone at a café and wondered whether Bastian was enjoying the shrimp marinara, or if he was miserable, as well. After driving around and w
asting more time, and changing into his new prowling clothes, he’d ended up at Katrina’s. Where he’d screwed up royally for a second time.
Even while he was bitching at her, he was never more aware of Katrina as a woman. The fact that he found himself longing to kiss her as much as he’d wanted Bastian confused him more than ever. What the hell was going on with his libido lately?
And now? He was running.
Tonight, he planned to escape his staid life for a few hours. He needed to be touched. He yearned for soft feminine lips and hot bodies. To grind them against his to the beat of raunchy, driving rock music.
For the first time in months, he needed to feel alive.
He knew just the place. Daddy’s Money catered to a twentysomething crowd, though there were plenty of men in their late thirties, like him, who frequented the club, looking for easy action. Lots of girls went for older guys, and with any luck, tonight would be no exception.
Fortunately, he found a parking spot a couple of rows from the entrance, parked, and got out, ready to lose himself in fun. He wasn’t an old man yet and refused to live like one any longer. Though the pistol tucked into one boot and the knife in the other would help ensure that he got old to relive his adventures.
Lessons learned, and all that.
Inside, he was met by a pulsing heavy-metal riff and strobe lights breaking up the darkness. Bodies writhed to the beat, people smiling, laughing. Some hung at the bar, trying to shoot the shit above the noise, maybe find some willing company. Every one of them looked to be having a good time.
He headed to the bar first, waded in, and ordered a scotch on the rocks. Leaning against the bar, he sipped his drink and watched the crowd, trying not to appear too eager. Or desperate. Neither of which would get him laid. The trick was to appear coolly interested but approachable, and he was out of practice.
