Spencer's Reluctant Rescuer [Rescue for Hire 9] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Bellann Summer

  “Are you okay? Did anything rip?” Ruger asked. His eyebrows lowered into a frown, and his lips pressed tightly together.

  Spencer lifted a hand to Ruger’s face. His beard was soft under his palm. “I’m fine, just of few twinges.”

  The corner of Ruger’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. The warmth in his dark eyes had Spencer’s heart melting into a puddle. Laughter from behind broke the moment. Spencer glanced back and saw a group of business people making their way up the sidewalk. Ruger’s hand on this lower back encouraged Spencer to head inside.

  Spencer’s journey through the front entrance lined with coat racks, and down a short hall was slow but steady. Not having two eyes was staggering for Spencer when he entered the busy dining room. At home, he managed by being extra careful. But this was a whole new ballgame. There was a constant murmur of voices and laughter surrounding him, but he could see the whole room only if he swung his head about.

  Spencer jumped when dishes and silverware clinked together on his blind side. The warm hand on the small of his back caressed him, breaking through his moment of panic. Spencer turned his head to that side, and his gaze latched onto Ruger’s beloved face.

  “The table is just up ahead. You can do this,” Ruger said.

  Taking a deep breath, Spencer kept moving. He tried to hurry and made the mistake of giving the walker a good shove. Not realizing how close he had drifted on his blind side to the tables, the corner of the walker crashed into a chair that someone was pushing back as they stood up.

  Spencer watched in horror as the momentum from his walker hitting the chair propelled it hard into the back of a woman’s legs. The lady stumbled off balance, and her hand flayed out in a desperate bid to grab the chair so she would stay upright. The black metal chair was no match against her falling weight and tipped over, sending her to the floor and the chair toward Spencer. Everything happened so fast that Spencer had no time to get him and Betsy out of the way. The chair collided with the walker, pushing it back against Spencer’s belly.

  Spencer dropped to his knees from the impact. Stars burst behind the lid of his eye, and a lightning flash of pain slashed across his abdomen. Bile burned the back of Spencer’s throat.

  A gentle hand cupped the back of his head, and he leaned his forehead against a warm, muscled shoulder. The scent of Old Spice drifted around him, easing the tension gripping his body.

  “Breathe through it, baby,” Ruger encouraged.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you blind or something? If my wife is hurt, I’ll sue your ass,” a harsh voice threatened.

  Ruger’s body stiffened. “Go to your wife and get out of my face.”

  Spencer lifted his head. The cold look on Ruger’s face made him shiver. Ruger was so warm and gentle with him he had forgotten what Ruger was. The deadly mercenary stood and stepped up to a heavy, red-faced, middle-aged man.

  The man paled, and his expression turned from anger to fear. He wisely took a step back.

  “Is there a problem here?” Tatum Kincaid, the hotel’s latest restaurant manager, asked. He and Spencer had a drink together once. But because of their schedules at the time, nothing came of it except for friendship.

  “That imbecile ran into my wife’s chair. You better call an ambulance,” the man sputtered.

  Tatum put his hand on the blustering man’s arm. “Mr. Bartrum, let’s go see how your wife is.”

  As they turned away, Spencer heard Bartrum say, “I think our meals should be free for the trauma we are going through.”

  Between the two tables, another woman was helping the man’s wife up. The wife was shaking her head and laughing while wiping at the back of her tan slacks.

  When Tatum and Bartrum reached her, she said a few words to them before walking toward Spencer.

  “Let’s get you up,” Ruger said, taking a hold of Spencer’s shoulders.

  “Could you bring the walker over? I think it might work better if I used that to brace myself,” Spencer said, happy that the pain had receded.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Bartrum’s wife said.

  Spencer wondered how two people could be so different. The slim blonde maneuvered the walker until it was in front of him. She knelt on one knee next to him and put a delicate hand on his arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I wasn’t watching when I pushed back my chair. I’m sorry.”

  Spencer ignored Ruger’s gruff grunt and covered the woman’s hand with his own. “I’m okay. I hope you weren’t hurt.”

  “No,” she answered. “I’m fine.”

  “Let’s get you up,” Ruger said. His tone was brisk, but his eyes were gentle.

  His Ruger was back. If Ruger knew Spencer considered him sweet, the knife strapped to the man’s ankle would be out, challenging anyone who agreed with Spencer.

  Spencer smiled into Ruger’s loving gaze. “Okay.”

  Between Ruger’s guiding hands and the woman steadying him, Spencer managed to pull himself up using the handgrips of the walker.

  Once he was standing, the woman squeezed his hand before rolling her eyes. “I better get back to Lyle before he tries to swindle anything more out of Tatum.”

  Spencer watched with amusement at the way the woman walked over and, with a few words, extracted her still bitching husband from Tatum’s face and ushered him out.

  “Do you still feel up to eating?” Ruger asked.

  “Yeah, I’m hungry.” Determined, he pushed Betsy down the aisle. He ignored the twinges of pain. Now that the incident had past, Spencer had plans, and they included something he and Ruger didn’t do enough of. Talking.

  Chapter Ten

  Ruger pulled out Spencer’s chair. As Spencer sat down, a warm breath and a light caress touched the skin next to his ear. Spencer watched Ruger move back around the table and fold his bigger body into the chair across from him. The waitress came and poured ice water into their glasses. Both declined anything else to drink and accepted the menus she handed them.

  When the waitress left, Spencer opened his menu and scanned the contents, wondering what he wanted to eat. Ruger reaching into the front pocket of his jeans caught his attention. He set a bottle of Spencer’s pain pills on the green placemat in front of him.

  “I’m fine,” Spencer assured Ruger.

  Ruger’s face held no emotion, and he didn’t say anything.

  Spencer frowned. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “You don’t want to hear what I have to say,” Ruger answered.

  Spencer hated that he couldn’t read what Ruger was thinking. A mask devoid of emotion had replaced the warm man of a minute ago. Spencer was starting to feel hurt. Ruger had never shut him out before. “Stop it,” he snapped.

  “Take your pills. I won’t have the pain overwhelming you.”

  “Will you talk to me?” There was a note of pleading in his voice, and he didn’t care. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I won’t argue with you,” Ruger answered.

  Spencer tipped his head to the side and studied the frustrating man. Maybe he had misjudged him. He knew Ruger wasn’t a fan of emotional drama. Searching his face again, Spencer saw lips set tight in determination and a small squint to his eyes that said the man was resolved to get his way.

  Spencer sighed. He could see Ruger was adamant and was willing to wait him out in silence. It was time to negotiate. “I’ll take a pain pill if you answer one question.”

  Ruger’s dark eyes widened. Good, maybe he was getting somewhere. Spencer’s reward came when Ruger nodded.

  “Take your pill,” Ruger said.

  Opening the bottle, Spencer popped one pill into his mouth. He picked up the glass and washed it down. Looking at Ruger, he asked, “Why didn’t you kiss me when I threw myself at you in the park?”

  Spencer remembered that day ten years before as if it were yesterday. The last dance of the year was going strong in the gymnasium. Spencer had gone out to the smoking wall, hoping to see Ruger. W
hen the tall boy-man was leaning against the wall in his usual spot, Spencer’s heart had jumped for joy.

  He’d made up a story that he had to show Ruger something, and they’d gone into the park behind the wall. Three minutes later Spencer ran out of the park with a broken heart.

  “I had already signed up for the military and was leaving after the graduation ceremony the next day. Spencer, you were only fourteen. I had no business even thinking about kissing you,” Ruger answered.

  “So you did want to kiss me?” Spencer asked, giddiness at the thought that Ruger had wanted him bringing out a giggle.

  Ruger’s eyes brimmed with tenderness and passion, but in the next instant, they became sharp and assessing.

  “My turn,” Ruger said. “What happened with your parents?”

  Deep in the recesses of Spencer’s heart, there was a place that held a raw blistering wound that had never healed. Over time, a light scab would cover it until something happened, causing it to fester again.

  The waitress came and took their orders. This gave Spencer a chance to deal with the betrayal of rejection that was always on the edge of his consciousness waiting to pop up and bite him in the ass. Spencer thought about getting up and leaving. It was a foolhardy idea. The stubborn man across the table would only follow and wait him out until he answered the hated question.

  “What do you know?” he asked, stalling for time.

  “Your parents threw you out of the house for being gay,” Ruger answered.

  “That’s what happened. Now it’s my turn.” Spencer knew his smile was brittle. Numbness had his mind scrambling to think of a new question.

  “Did they catch you with someone?” Ruger’s gaze was steady. Spencer was starting to hate the man’s calm air.

  Brushing a hand across his sweaty forehead, Spencer answered, “No, the day after I graduated, they sat me down at the kitchen table and said I had the look.” Spencer glanced around, wishing the waitress would bring their food, even if he wouldn’t be able to eat. Finally, he gave up and decided to spit out the sorry tale. “My dad said I had the look of a fag. I was so shocked at him using that word that, when he asked me point-blank if I was gay, I got pissed off and said yes. If I had denied it, things would have gone on normally. Instead, he made me stand out in the street while they packed my things.”

  “What did you do?” Ruger asked. The steely look in his eye told Spencer he was furious.

  “The police academy had already accepted me and was paid for by a trust set up when I was born. I took the envelope of cash my mother threw at me while my father was tossing garbage bags filled with my stuff onto the lawn. I worked on the side while going to school.” Spencer looked up into Ruger’s eyes. “My turn.”

  Ruger nodded, and Spencer breathed easier, glad they could leave that subject behind. “Was the other night the result of PTSD?”

  A hand holding a dish containing salmon and mashed potatoes appeared in front of Spencer from his blind side. He jumped back in his seat, startled. The waitress was busy taking his small bowl of green beans from a tray sitting on a stand and didn’t notice.

  Under the table, Ruger leaned his leg against Spencer’s, grounding the sudden panic that had tried to overwhelm him. Smiling up at the waitress, he thanked her and watched her serve Ruger. Her movements became tentative, and she stayed out of Ruger’s circle of space. She bit her lips, and her petite body went rigid when Ruger looked at her with his dark gaze while murmuring a thank you.

  “What was that about?” he asked after she practically fled their table.

  “She’s afraid of me,” Ruger answered while unfolding the large white napkin and laying it across his lap.

  Spencer followed suit and thought about that answer. “Does it bother you that most people are afraid of you?”

  “No, they should be.” Ruger sliced a juicy piece off his rare steak and put it in his mouth. Spencer wanted to lick off the drop of juice on his lower lip.

  Spencer dragged his gaze from Ruger’s lip. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Ruger took another bite of his steak and wiped his mouth was a napkin. While he cut into the thick meat again, he said, “No, for some reason, you’ve never been afraid of me. Even in high school when everyone avoided me, you stuck to me like glue.”

  Spencer burst out laughing. “The year your family moved to town, you took on the biggest bully on the second day of school. You laid Carl Mather out on the floor in nothing flat.” Spencer had been so impressed and longed to get closer to Ruger after that. “When you beat up Kyle Panel for punching me, you became my hero. I could never be afraid of a hero.”

  Ruger’s eyes grew cold. “I’m no one’s hero,” he stated. The leg pressed against Spencer’s withdrew.

  “Bullshit.” Spencer laid his napkin on the table. “I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

  Anger bubbled up and practically choked him. This man had saved him from a beating as a boy, rescued him from a rape as a man, and over the last few weeks had been pulling him out of the depths of despair. Now he had the balls to sit there and say he wasn’t a hero? Bullshit!

  “Finish your meal,” Ruger said.

  “Ruger, I don’t want—”

  “Finish your meal and ask your questions.”

  That had Spencer’s hand stopping in mid-reach for his walker. Oh, the man was sneaky.

  Settling back into the chair, Spencer ate a few bites of mashed potatoes and contemplated his next question. It didn’t escape his notice that Ruger had just played him like a violin.

  “How often are the episodes?” Spencer asked, deciding to jump right into the middle of the pool of shit Ruger was dealing with.

  “The nightmares used to be every night until a few weeks ago,” Ruger admitted. His eyes were bleak, and the corner of his mouth was turned down.

  Spencer reached across the table, glad when Ruger laced their fingers together. This was harder than he’d thought it would be. The pain radiating off of Ruger cut Spencer to the quick.

  “What do you see in the nightmares?”

  Ruger tightened his fingers around Spencer’s. “Bloated, blue-faced women. Men with bullet holes in the foreheads. Children cut into pieces.” Ruger’s black beard stood out starkly against his pale face. He was grinding his teeth together, and his dark eyes pleaded that Spencer would understand.

  “I love you,” Spencer said. It was the only thing he could think of saying to bring Ruger back from the hell that he was slipping into again.

  Ruger blinked. Patches of red shown above the cut of his beard, and his gaze darted around the room. “Um.”

  Spencer chuckled, glad to have brought Ruger back to him. Now all Spencer had to do was keep him here and maybe give him a taste of his own medicine.

  “Finish your meal, Ruger,” he said, holding back a chuckle at the surprised expression that crossed Ruger’s face. Spencer’s shoulders may have bobbed a little from his laughter.

  He received a grunt in return, but Ruger continued eating. Spencer was glad. He was getting tired and wanted to go home and snuggle with Ruger.

  * * * *

  A week later, Spencer crawled over Ruger’s prone, naked body, letting his hard, weeping cock slide over Ruger’s skin as he made his way to his goal. He did glance back and admire the shiny trail of pre-cum he’d left behind. He kept crawling, ignoring the dark eyes looking up at him until his dick was level with Ruger’s mouth.

  Before they’d fallen asleep the night before, Ruger had taken Spencer in one of the most tender displays of lovemaking he had ever experienced. During the night, Spencer woke up to Ruger inching his cock into Spencer’s still-stretched hole and making him come until he thought his dick was going to fall off.

  Now Spencer needed down-and-dirty sex. His hole clenched just thinking about Ruger’s talented fingers, mouth, and cock. He wanted them, now.

  Pressing his dick to Ruger’s lips, he enjoyed the light scratch of Ruger’s mustache against the sensitive skin of his shaft. Ruger op
ened his mouth, and Spencer was hypnotized by the sight of his dick disappearing between Ruger’s stretched lips. Prickles danced across his skin when Ruger welcomed his dick with long, wet sucks and a tongue probing his slit. Spencer couldn’t catch his breath and started panting, trying to gain some control to make this last. The tingles at the base of his spine told him he was destined for failure.

  Spencer’s hips bucked forward, sending his dick to the back of Ruger’s throat. Ruger swallowed, and Spencer lost it. A gush of cum flowed out of him. Hands grasped his hips, steadying them while Ruger’s unmerciful mouth started fucking his pulsating dick. Spencer could only endure the exquisite torture of Ruger milking him dry. Soon he had no more to give. Or so he thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  It seemed Ruger wasn’t finished with Spencer yet. He kept sucking and working Spencer’s dick, keeping him hard and building the need back up.

  “Ruger, please,” Spencer pleaded. The tables had turned from Spencer going after what he wanted to Ruger giving him more than he had ever imagined.

  Spencer’s dick slid out of Ruger’s mouth, and in one motion, Ruger lifted him off the bed and spun him around until he was standing and facing the wall.

  “Put your arms above your head and leave them there,” Ruger ordered.

  Spencer immediately complied. His legs trembled in anticipation of what Ruger was going to do to him. Sudden pulling on his nipples by demanding fingertips sent an electric shock straight to his dick. Spencer lurched to his tiptoes and arched his back. His nubs rose until they were hard and tight. Ruger gave them a sharp twist, and Spencer’s balls pulled up.

  A groan of protest erupted from Spencer’s throat when Ruger released his nipples. Sure hands dragged Spencer back against the full length of Ruger’s hard body. Cool air chilled his burning nips as Ruger’s warm breath blew against his ear.