First Impressions

by Jay Hogan

  “I gather you need someone with you, though, for tonight at least?”

  Michael rubbed his hand over his face, wincing at the developing bruising. “Shit. I forgot about that,” he snapped wearily. “And fucking Florence Cameron Nightingale won’t let me leave without that being nailed down.”

  He caught a soft snort of laughter from Josh and glanced the man’s way. With his guard down and a smile on his face, the man had moved from stupid hot and sexy to just plain devastating. Christ almighty. He couldn’t stop from returning his smile. “I know, right? Damn fairy scares the shit out of me.”

  “Get in line,” Mark snickered.

  Josh pushed himself off the wall and tapped Mark on the shoulder. “A word?” he asked.

  The detective frowned and followed Josh out the door. While they were gone, Michael managed to haul up a pair of green scrubs without too much difficulty and was just finishing when the two men returned.

  “Done with the secret squirrel routine, then?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” Mark stood at the end of the bed, hands resting on the footboard. “We have a possible solution for you, for tonight at least.”

  Michael’s gaze flitted between the two men. “Why do I think I’m not going to like this?” he asked. “Don’t tell me. It involves a room with bars, crappy food, and drunk neighbours.”

  The detective smirked. “Wish we’d thought of that. Plan B perhaps? Can only make plan A look a winner, right?”

  “Go on, then, tell me plan A.”

  “Okay. So, Josh has a sister who lives just down the road from his place. He called, and she agreed to you spending the night there. She’s a trained first aider and has no problem with keeping an eye on you. In the morning, Josh will give you a lift back to the hospital. That gives you twenty-four hours to sort other accommodation.”

  Michael opened his eyes wide. The idea was ludicrous on so many levels. One, he hated the guy—well, not entirely true, but there was no way he wanted to be beholden to the dick. Second, it was plain and simple a stupid suggestion. “No way. If those guys track me there, I’d be putting her at risk.”

  Josh answered, “Only we will know where you are. And the commander. No one else will be told.”

  “What if there is a police leak like you said?”

  “I repeat,” Josh reassured, “no one else will know. You’re not under any official protection. This isn’t official, it’s a private arrangement, and she’s a civilian. And Katie is fine about it. I offered to swap with her, but she wouldn’t have it. And I’ll leave Paris there for the night as well, just to be sure.”

  “You can do that?”

  Josh nodded. “We’re off duty until tomorrow afternoon, and I live only a few houses down. I’ll drop you on my way home. She’s waiting for us.”

  Michael’s head spun. The offer felt too close, too… nice to accept, but really, he was past arguing anything tonight. He was tired and sore beyond ridiculous. He just wanted to get his body into bed and sleep. So he raised both hands in surrender. “Whatever gets me the hell out of here tonight,” he agreed. “One of you gets to tell Florence, though.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOSH SPENT a restless night on his couch with Katie and Michael Oliver mere houses away. He’d been worried sick about the man, more than seemed entirely warranted if he was honest with himself, and leaving Paris there hadn’t eased his concerns much either. He should’ve insisted Katie swap places with him, but she could be damned stubborn if she set her mind to it. That aside, she’d really come through for them, and he owed her big time, again.

  As much as Michael Oliver was a pain in the arse, the guy needed their help. He’d had the crap beaten out of him and needed a safe place to stay. And Josh wouldn’t sleep until he made sure that happened. For whatever reason, he felt protective of the man. Michael was a visitor to New Zealand, after all—no family, few friends. And if the reasons maybe went deeper than that, well that was no one’s business but Josh’s, right? With only five of them knowing his location, chances were slim anyone would find him.

  Josh’s own house had been off limits, of course—he didn’t want Sasha involved in any way. Plus, a witness staying with a police officer might raise a few eyebrows, even if Josh wasn’t directly involved in the investigation itself. Josh’s boss had been clear on that. Katie’s place was cutting it fine, but it had got the nod of approval from the prosecutor since Josh had already been dismissed as a potential witness, having not actually seen the assailant and there were others better placed to testify. Jackson was taking point on that. And the arresting officer of the second man would have his day in court for that side of things. So Josh was in the clear.

  Katie called before she left for work. Michael was still asleep. She’d woken him twice in the night to find him lucid both times. Josh organised his daughter for school, showered, and threw a razor around his face before heading to his sister’s place, a 1970s spacious brick townhouse. Over the years she’d shared it with various flatmates to reduce costs but was now earning enough from the dive shop she owned and operated to afford the luxury of living alone.

  At the back door, he paused and took a deep breath, ignoring the flutter in his gut at being alone with the doctor for the first time other than in a car. He could hear Paris through the door, the shepherd’s soft, welcoming whines a balm to his ridiculous nerves. Even just for a night, he’d missed the mutt. He’d known handlers suffer months of depression following the death of their dogs, the intense work and home relationship 24/7 providing the glue in each other’s lives.

  “Hey, boy,” he whispered, opening the door and dropping to one knee. Paris ran his rough tongue over Josh’s face, finding every crevice, ears included, whimpering nonstop.

  Josh roughed his neck and pushed him away. “How’s our charge?” He made his way to the guest room door and knocked. No answer. He quietly popped the door open to find Michael facing away, snoring softly, the bedclothes tangled around his legs. The waistband of a pair of black Calvin Kleins peeked just above the sheet.

  So sue him if his gaze lingered just a little longer than necessary on the man’s smooth skin and thick biceps, and on the large tribal tattoo that ran the width of his back and disappeared into those Calvins. But when his gaze landed on the mottled blue-green bruises blooming over Michael’s ribs and loin, an unexpected surge of anger and concern fired through him.

  The man had taken more than just a couple of hefty kicks. He was hurting badly, and seeing the reminder in living colour had Josh seething all over again for those responsible. He’d spent most of the night figuratively sitting on his hands so he didn’t bug Mark constantly for updates on whether they’d arrested the fuckers yet. His friend would let him know if they had, but still. Josh closed the door and left the man sleeping as he battled his emotions. This was more than just physical attraction and he knew it. Not that it changed anything.

  He smiled at Paris waiting patiently at his side. As always, the shepherd’s presence calmed him. “Right, Tonto, coffee and lots of it.” He slid the glass door open to let Paris come and go, emptied a couple of ibuprofen and an antibiotic onto the breakfast bar with a glass ready to go for Michael, and set about making breakfast. The man was Josh’s responsibility while he was here, and Katie would boil him in paint thinner if he wasn’t a good host.

  The bread was in the toaster when Michael himself appeared in the doorway, running his hands through his roughed-up hair. Josh’s breath hitched. Sweet Jesus. Shirtless and fresh from bed, the sexy sight evaporated Josh’s every rational thought. That damn kiwi tattoo instantly drew his attention, lying over Michael’s heart amidst a soft flush of chocolate hair that arced down into a tempting treasure trail. And there was no hiding what looked like a hefty package behind those scrubs hanging low on the man’s hips, low enough for Josh to wonder what had happened to the Calvins. The fastening was knotted altogether too loosely—wouldn’t take much…. Oh for crap’s sake.

>   “Oliver. You’re awake,” he said, his gaze hovering over those damn bruises. Shit. He was behaving like such an arsehole. Ogling the poor man’s body when the guy had been through the fucking ringer the night before. “Come here.”

  Michael’s gaze narrowed, the bruising around one eye looking tender but not yet closing the lid.

  Josh rolled his eyes. “I just want to check those injuries.” Of course he did. Oliver approached and Josh had him turn around, then take a few deep breaths, noting how the man winced with each one of them. “How bad is the pain?”

  “Better than it looks.”

  “And your head?” Josh leaned in and peered at Michael’s eyes. “What day is it? Do you remember what happened—” He reached for the cut above the eye but Michael grabbed his wrist and the heat of his touch nearly seared Josh’s arm.

  “I’m perfectly fine… Mom.”

  Josh stepped back and narrowed his gaze. “Knowing you, I would’ve expected you’d be a great liar. Turns out, not so much.”

  Michael’s eyes remained on Josh. “I usually am. Why, have you been worried about me?”

  “Yes.” The other man looked startled and Josh realised he’d actually said that out loud. Shit.

  Michael grinned slyly. “Good to know.”

  Neither looked away as a heated silence rose awkwardly between them.

  Michael broke it first. “Also, I think you’ve got our professions reversed,” he commented dryly. “I’m sore, yes, but things appear to be functioning as they should under the rainbow patchwork. And just for the record, you know nothing about me, Josh. Not for the lack of trying on my part. Just saying.”

  Josh snorted and shook his head.

  “And one more thing. Can we dispense with the Oliver shit? My name’s Michael, as you well know.”

  Josh sighed. “I know it is… I just…” want to keep you at arm’s length, don’t want your name on my lips, don’t—

  “I know exactly why you do it.” He sounded almost disappointed. “But we’re kind of past that, don’t you think?”

  Josh blinked slowly. The man was right. He was being an arsehole… again. “Sure… Michael.”

  Michael grinned widely. “There, was that so damn hard?” He reached around and slipped his hand under the waistband of his scrubs to scratch his lower back, dragging the material even lower on his hips and Josh….

  Shit. His mouth ran dry and his cock plumped as every scrap of blood plummeted south. The toaster popped beside him, and he jumped in his skin, the scent of burnt bread filling the kitchen. Goddammit. By the time he managed to drag his gaze up and knit a couple of intelligent thoughts together, he found nothing but amusement dancing in the other man’s expression.

  “See something you like?” Michael baited.

  And the man was back. Josh ignored the question. He threw the cindered bread in the bin and tried again with a couple of fresh slices. “Coffee’s ready. Your pills. Take them.” He indicated the medication on the bar and turned to scrutinise the toaster, giving his dick a chance to settle down. One could only hope.

  “It could’ve been my sister out here, arsehole,” he grumbled. “Don’t you think your scrub top would’ve been in order, at least?”

  Michael appeared at his back, reaching around to fill the glass from the cold tap. Their shoulders brushed, the contact lasting barely seconds. Long enough for Josh to register the delicious heat radiating off the man.

  “Your sister knows I’m gay,” Michael countered. “She’s nice, by the way.” He poured himself a coffee. “Besides, she told me she’d be gone by seven thirty.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “So, then all this was for my benefit, I take it?”

  Michael snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I thought I had the house to myself. I hardly expected to find you out here making breakfast, as romantic as that is. You’re lucky I didn’t stumble out naked.”

  The image went straight to Josh’s dick… again. Fuck. The toast popped, and why was that suddenly such an erotic thing?

  “I’ll take my coffee to the shower,” Michael said. “Try and steam out some of the aches.”

  He left, and Josh threw his tea towel at the wall. Why did he let the man get to him? Because he was fucking gorgeous, exactly his type, and Josh was horny as hell after a two-year dry spell, that’s why. It wasn’t rocket science. The universe was definitely fucking with him.

  Singing rose above the shower, and Josh caught the opening lyrics of Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” Bastard.

  Thirty minutes later they sat across from each other, finishing breakfast. Michael had been unusually quiet since reappearing from the shower. He was still wearing the same scrubs, top and bottom this time, thank Christ. Paris had immediately curled into a ball at the man’s feet, studiously ignoring any jab from Josh to get him to move.

  “Leave the poor animal alone,” Michael said, finishing up his third cup of coffee. “It really bugs you that he likes me, huh?”

  Yes. “Of course not. He’s just not allowed to beg for food.” Josh collected the plates and moved into the kitchen.

  “He’s not. He’s asleep, for fuck’s sake.”

  Josh let it go. “Feeling any better after your shower? Meds kicking in?”

  Michael ran a hand lightly over his ribs and kidney area. “Still feels like someone’s run a marathon on my freaking back. And don’t get me started on my head, but yes, better than earlier. Thanks for asking.”

  Josh nodded. “At least nothing was broken, right? Or worse, even?”

  “Thank Christ for that. Last thing I need is a stay in my own damn hospital.” He stretched his arms over his head, wincing at the pull.

  Josh studied him quietly from the kitchen.

  “What?” Michael prompted.

  “I was just thinking. It must have been bloody scary.”

  Michael froze and for a minute he said nothing. Then he sank into his chair and his gaze slid from Josh to his coffee. “It was. I just kind of switched off in the end. You know how you get that feeling something is inevitable, and the best you can do is stop fighting and ride it out?”

  Josh nodded.

  “It was just like that. I hunkered down and prayed, as much of a coward as that might make me appear. Up until I saw that damn broken bottle in front of my face. Then I just fucking panicked.” His cheeks pinked as his gaze met Josh’s again. “Stupid, huh? I was almost more horrified at living and being scarred for life, than dying there on the rug.”

  Josh held his gaze. “Not stupid at all. I’d have been just as terrified. You were fucking brave is what you were. You kept your head and did what you had to do. Who knows what might have happened if you’d tried to push things? And you lived because of it.”

  That same awkward silence built again as the truth of those words settled between them.

  It was Michael who once again broke the silence, wriggling in his seat and throwing Josh a smirk. “Well, you should be happy anyway.”

  “Why’s that?” Josh set the dishwasher going. “More coffee?”

  “Nah. My kidneys have had enough punishment.”

  Josh took a seat back at the table. “Why would I be happy?”

  Michael slid him a sly smile. “Because I’m not gonna be cruising for a bit looking like this, am I?”

  He couldn’t help but return the smile and would take the distraction for what it was—Michael closing the wall he’d just let down. “Guess not. Though there’s no accounting for taste, right?”

  Michael chuckled. “Is that humour, Officer Rawlins? You wanna be careful with that. People might find out you’re not such an asshole.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t have that.” He took a mouthful of coffee. “Anyway, it’s not so bad, your eye. Wouldn’t put many off.”

  Michael eyed him curiously.

  “What?” Josh asked.

  Michael looked away. “Nothing. So, what’s the plan?”

  “I drop you back at the hospital to be checked
out. After that, you head for greener and safer pastures until we give you the all-clear.”

  “Can I get my locks changed and an alarm installed today or are your guys still there?”

  “They’ll be done by noon. Go ahead.”

  “They find anything?” Michael reached to stroke the shepherd’s head, and Paris tilted it sideways to ensure his fingers reached just the right spot. “You’re such a slut,” he told the animal.

  Josh grinned despite himself. “Nothing yet,” he answered. “Have to wait on fingerprints and forensics unless an eyewitness comes forward. The broken bottle’s our best bet. There was blood on the neck. As they didn’t get the chance to use it, the blood was either splatter from you or it was theirs. Mark thinks they were wearing gloves, but you never know.”

  Michael sat tense and quiet, avoiding Josh’s gaze. The reminder was clearly unnerving and it only convinced Josh that Michael had been way more affected by the whole incident than he’d let on.

  After a moment Michael said, “Your sister wants me to stay here… for a bit, or as long as I need, anyway.” He glanced sideways at Josh.

  Coffee sloshed over the brim of Josh’s cup, scalding his hand. “Shit!” He reached for a cloth. “She what?”

  “Yeah.” Michael caught his eye. “Didn’t think she’d mentioned it to you. Don’t worry, I can stay at the hospital if it’s a problem, which clearly it is.” He stood and made for the door.

  Josh fumbled for a response. Katie had said nothing on the phone about the man staying. Why she’d do something like that without checking, he didn’t know. “Stop.” He blurted out. “Just, um, just hang on a minute, will you? I, ah, just need to talk with her.” He stepped outside for some privacy.

  She answered on the third ring. “Wondered how long it would take you,” she said, and he pictured the smug smile on her face.

  “What the hell, sis? You said he could stay?”

  “Yeah, I did. It makes sense. No one knows where he is, and he’s right down the road for you to keep an eye on. I’ll just stay with you till it’s over and look after Sasha there. See? Easy.”