Bedtime Stories Redux

Book Shelves

2011-02-19T07:01:00.000-08:00

Sherlock Holmes
An intrepid teenage gumshoe finds a mystery dropped right on his lap. Literally.

Bonnie Prince Charlie
Prince Charlie knocks on a tower door hoping to rescue a princess but finds one decidedly not in need of a hero. And terribly masculine besides.

Practical Magic
What happens when a werewolf finds out that huffing and puffing down a witch's door simply doesn't work?

My Marine
Being rescued by a Navy SEAL certainly isn't all it's cracked out to be as our hero finds himself dragged unwillingly by a six foot soldier across the hostile Afghanistan borders...

Best Friend
A gay man realizes there is much more to his best friend than he ever knew...

My Dearest Enemy
Nothing cuts quite as deep as a best friend's betrayal. So what happens when a man's past comes knocking on the door?

The New Year
It was the beginning of a new year, the Chinese Lunar New Year and John Sung finds out that having a large family can have its special advantages...

Sweet like Chocolate
After an interesting change of heart, an old best friend decides to pay a visit with an intriguing proposition...

Manhattan Men
Living a blissful yet ordered life in Manhattan, Michael Wu finds his life turned upside down when his parents come knocking on his door - looking for his nonexistent husband...

I Shot the Sheriff
In a small lil town in the middle of nowhere, an amateur sleuth finds himself getting into more trouble than he's worth when the local Sheriff gets wind of his unlawful activities...

Dating Mr Perfect
Wishes can come true sometimes. But sometimes dating the perfect man can be literally hell..

My Mechanic
Ever had car troubles? Jake finds himself saddled with just such a problem not knowing that a car service could be just the remedy for his troubles.

Navy Blues
Thane finds himself needing more than a furtive love affair.

Meeting Mr Darcy
What happens when a one-night-stand turns out to be something more? A disbelieving Doc finds himself falling into the pages of a Jane Austen novel to find a Darcy of his own.

Sherlock Holmes

2010-02-06T07:35:00.000-08:00

"The game's afoot, Sherlock."

Great. Another Sherlock joke.

Guess I'll probably never live that name down. Not only had my unimaginative parents named me after the world's greatest detective - supposedly my dad's earliest fictional hero - I also had to turn out to be, at least according to the trusty town sheriff, one of the nosiest brats around.

I prefer to call it inquisitive. Certainly had come in handy last summer when I'd helped him collar the Bayside Strangler. Of course in a wealthy hamlet where snooty upper-crust lips flapped plenty over Sunday brunches, that incident had gained me some little notoriety. The fact that my father was the new crusading district attorney only helped cement my family's do-gooder reputation. So I got the brunt of the Sherlock jokes at school.

Usually I tolerated it well enough. Not always though. The wicked sneer on the handsome face of my enemy told me that he knew he'd gotten my goat. And he loved it, the bastard.

"Aren't you supposed to be out tricking with your latest tween skank? Madison, wasn't it?" So I wasn't always politically correct. But if you'd seen the blond miss cheerleader trying her best to get into his pants - and I have, you'd understand what I meant.

"Aww, that hurt." He clutched his heart in mock agony. "Don't you know why I'm here?"

"Fuck off." I moved to shut the door only to have the buffoon shove his foot to block. "Look, your brains already retarded. You don't need a gimp leg on top of that."

"Clever, Miss Nancy Drew, but I bet you can't guess what I'm doing here." When I just glared at him, he just continued grinning unabashedly at me. "Still don't know? Why, it's simply elementary, my dear Sherlock. I'm here to pick you up on our date. Behold your chariot awaits."

"I'll hold up for the next one." I knew he was up to no good. So much for our little truce. "Get lost, Watson."

Yes, his name is Watson.

And yes, the delicious irony that my worst enemy in high school turned out to be named Watson hadn't been entirely lost on me. Watson St James. Straight-A pupil. Star quarterback. President of the Student Council. Scion of the wealthiest family in town - and possibly the entire state. An all-around jackass who hated my guts for reasons unbeknownst to me. Certainly a mystery I had yet to solve. And most probably didn't care to.

Unless I was paid. Like any good lil Chinese boy, Sherlock Huang liked his wallet well padded with dollar bills, thank you very much.

Couldn't deny that Watson had presented me with a puzzle that had gotten me intrigued. Once Watson had thrown down the gauntlet of finding his mother's killer, I simply couldn't resist. Every curious little amateur detective in the state had been following the lurid details of this case. Of course learning the truth didn't exactly set us free. Couldn't be easy for Watson to find out that his beloved uncle had been busy garrotting pretty co-eds during summer break - after getting his kicks strangling his late sister-in-law - instead of lazing in the Bahamas as everyone thought.

He'd gotten thoroughly pissed at the end. I didn't blame him.

Though the inheritance that had dropped on his lap must have lessened the crushing blow of two deaths in the family. Some boys had all the luck. Watson had billions in the bank, a movie-star smile and several magazine covers. Me, I got the evolutionary throwback to the gorillas grunting at my front porch.

I doubt tossing bananas his way would work. "Very funny, Watson. Joke's over. You already paid my fees. Now get lost."

A mutinous look came into his face. "You wanted a date? You have a date. I don't welsh on my bets."

Oh yeah. I might have forgotten to mention the part where I'd agreed to help with Mystery 101 only if he'd cover all my costs along with a brand new laptop. And the sum of one date. Don't ask me what possessed me to strike such a deal. I'll admit to enjoying the occasional intrepid poke at the dangerous beast.

Easy enough for Richie Rich to swipe his unlimited platinum card after all. The spanking new machine - and an additional cheque - arrived in my mailbox the day after I'd solved the murder.

Didn't expect to find Watson gift-wrapped at my door three weeks later though.

And gift-wrapped he was. Brainless inbred baboon he might be but that certainly didn't dull his appeal to me. Slicked up in a linen jacket, neatly pressed jeans and that killer smile, Watson St James looked good enough to unwrap with my hot tongue. No wonder his notorious uncle - whom he resembled more than a little - had managed to charm the girls right out of their lacy panties.

And into his murderous arms.

But I wasn't some simpering co-ed ready to drop trou at his command. At least I hoped not. That wild thudding in my chest could only be the after-effects of the gallon of caffeine I'd downed earlier for a night of mugging. Turns out tailing wannabe criminals in the dead of night didn't actually count as extracurricular points in the school system.

"Grunting and scowling at me like this. Oh yeah, Watson, this is the date every gay boy has been dreaming of. Thanks so very much. XOXO. I'm so gonna write about it in my frilly pink diary." I moved to shut the door but he slammed a ham-sized palm on the door. I don't think my father could blame me if I accidentally slipped and let the door slam on his fingers, right?

"Wait." Just like that. One simple snap and the dark clouds on his brows cleared away, dazzled by the flash of his million-dollar smile. It was obvious that the acting gene hadn't left the family with his thespian mother's death. "Sherlock, aren't you even in the tiniest bit curious?"

"Not in the least, Watson." Curious about a gorgeous six footer quarterback with a tight rump I could bounce pennies off, sure. Not that crazy to test out my nascent theories on whether he'd jump me in his car only to land his fists in my face. Wouldn't be the first time. We'd tussled before and I barely managed to gain the upper hand. Turns out his pretty shiny gym-toned muscles weren't only for show.

I certainly wouldn't chance another encounter. Of course that hadn't stopped my rowdy hormones from creating wicked night-time fantasies of us having a sweaty throwdown in my bed instead. Ah youthful testosterone.

"I'm hurt. Do I detect a hint of mistrust?" His smile grew wider. "Look, Sherlock, you fulfilled your end of the bargain. Now I'm here to honour mine."

"And then you'll take me on a slow romantic drive down a dark lonely road where your hired goons will set on little me with baseball bats." Wouldn't be the first time I'd been ganged up on after all. Of course at that time I'd been prepared with my fists - and a tazer gun.

He chuckled, a low deep rumble of a sound. "You were always an imaginative sort. I swear no goons involved."

"You're not gay. You paid me already so we're square."

"Wait, weren't you the professor who lectured us on the Kinsey scale a while ago? Who knows? I might be bi-curious."

"Go dial up your own fucking social escort."

"Afraid?" Obviously enjoying himself tremendously, Watson leaned closer with the very devil in his blue eyes. "Our very own Riverdale High bad-ass karate-kicking action figure hero actually scared? Aww, I'm a little disappointed."

He knew that always got my goat. And I let it. Damn him.

What the heck. At least I'd get a free meal. Can't be worse that the Chinese takeout I'd planned. Unwilling to let him have the last word, I couldn't resist getting in one final dig though. "Laugh all you like but I'll expect a goodnight kiss with tongue, asshole."

"Fine. Let's get it over with then."

Actually thought he meant the date so I turned to get my coat from the closet. Wasn't that the obvious conclusion? I certainly never expected slow-moving, doltish Watson to suddenly have moves. Before I could raise a hand to block his sneaky strike, he'd slammed me against the door in a crushing embrace. Damn he was fast. So that was why they called him the Raider of Riverdale?

Wait, were those his lips on mine? Did the Raider just kiss me?

Shit, was that tongue?

Any brief thoughts of protest fled since all I could think of was... what an ass. Sure I'd fantasized about the famed St James booty but never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how good it would feel in the palm of my hands. Perfect fit. At least I now knew why the blond Fletcher twins raved endlessly about them. I might add in a smitten squeal of my own.

Fine. I'll admit I wasn't immune to his charms. Come on, I'm a teenage gay boy with raging hormones. Hell I'd fuck a rusted letterbox given the opportunity. And now here was Watson St James, all six feet of sexy, well-muscled dreamboat. He'd even been polled sexiest bachelor last year. I certainly couldn't miss the opportunity to cop a feel. Or two.

But that was all I allowed myself before I gave him a reluctant shove. There was no use in prolonging the inevitable after all. "Watson! What the fuck."

"I-I.." There was a shocked look on his handsome face as well. Certainly not acting this time. His clever hands - only a moment ago stealing their way down my back into my pants - reached up to tug his brown curls fetchingly. "Hell, Sherlock."

"Congrats. It was a good prank. I'm punk'd. You obviously know that I have a ... crush of sorts on you."

"You do? Well, well, well."

Those big ingenuous blue eyes widened sufficiently enough that I started to wonder whether Watson had been as innocent as I had thought. Surely he had guessed that I'd been trying to crush this little bud of attraction for him. How could he not notice the number of times I sighed over his handsome face?

"Sherlock, it's far from elementary. I never knew." He shrugged in reply.

I eyed him suspiciously. Certainly was an Oscar-winning performance if he was lying. "If you're still pulling one on me, you know I'm going to take you down. Hard."

"My usual reaction would be to bristle in defence but this time, thinking of having you take me hard does make me a little intrigued."

"Do you have a camera behind the trees? Your goons hidden somewhere?" Rather than shoot off his mouth as he usually would, he only grinned at me. Watson seemed so terribly earnest that I started getting worried.

"That again?" He ran a hand through his dark curls in mock frustration before laughing out loud.

"Fuck. Look. Want to search me for wires?"

"But you're not.."

"What? Not gay?" The amused laughter died down and he looked away as he spoke carefully. "You're talking to a kid brought up by a movie mogul wannabe and a billionaire industrialist. Both of whom weren't in the least bit ashamed of their sexual habits. Every possible sexual permutation possible, they've probably tried it. And sent me the X-rated videos to critique. We don't do sexual prudery in the St James household."

Obviously the tabloids hadn't been lying. Despite the fact that Watson had just revealed what had to be a painful anecdote from his scarred childhood, he seemed particularly serene. Happy even. I stared at him, just long enough for him to look back at me and catch my eye. There was a wicked smile I hadn't seen before - and I'm not a big fan of surprises.

"Always wanted to know what it would take to shut you up. Evidently the thought that I could swing both ways has you speechless. And why is that, Sherlock? Interested?"

Oh, he was smooth, I'd give him that. Though I'd barely noticed it, he'd maneuvered his way to back me against the door. No doubt the swooning cheerleaders in short skirts couldn't resist his manifold charms but I was trying my best not to knee him in the groin.

Between trying very, very hard not to think of other things I wanted to do to his groin area.

Testosterone. Always a dangerous hormone.

Think. Think.

Confident of the irresistible effect he was having - and my ensuing brain shutdown, Watson pressed his advantage by stealing another kiss. Didn't try very hard to complain this time though. A little gentler and more tentative this time, possibly worried that I really might aim one of my killer punches at his pretty face.

I pulled away. Albeit reluctantly. When you've been an almost virgin for as long as I have, it's pretty hard to shove away what the school termed the devirginator.

He smiled. "Better?"

"I don't know."

"Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth." Watson moved away but he kept those piercing blue eyes on me. "I can already see those mechanical gears moving in your sharp lil brain. We don't all have evil ulterior motives."

"One dinner. No hands."

"That's all? When I let you get to second base?"

Probably more than that but I bit my tongue. "It was momentary insanity. This never happened."

"Maybe it's time you stopped thinking."

Chocolate

2009-02-19T07:32:00.001-08:00

Linc. Please be there. I need to see you tonight. Will be over in an hour.

It was him. Mr Chocolate. Though it had been some time since I'd spoken to him face to face, the voice was unmistakable. Deep, mellow, utterly smooth with just enough of a soft drawl which brought to mind decadent, sultry Southern nights. It would have made him blush if I'd told him that was exactly how one of his lady friends had once described his voice.

But then again, the man blushed easily - especially when one knew which particular nerve to hit. I should know since I've known him practically forever. The first time I'd met him, he'd been a bad, bad boy and I'd dubbed him Mr Chocolate ever since. Granted he was eight as was I - and not only was he dark in colouring, his happy cheery face was also smeared with chocolate. We clicked since then, made a sacred pact of brotherhood complete with secret handshake in our hidden canyon and stuck together through thick and thin.

Amazingly the nickname for him seemed almost prophetic as it certainly fit him to a T right now. These days, Adam Garcia was the embodiment of chocolate himself - dark, sinful and meltingly irresistible. Different shades of brown characterized the man from his sinfully dark brown eyes, his sleek mahogany hair, his light mocha-latte coloured skin, a hard physique that had graced the covers of fitness magazines and strolled down runways on fashion week.

It was inevitable that I would have a crush on him once I'd grown up and realized that I was far more interested in men's dicks rather than girls. What was there not to like in Adam Garcia? After all, he was a wildly attractive, sexy man and I was a hormonally charged gay man. Add that to his sweet, wonderful personality and you had our Mr Chocolate himself. But the man was hopelessly straight as an arrow. In time, I came to realize that we were much better off as friends and shelved away the early schoolboy crush I had on him, hidden deep in a closet that was never to be opened. It wasn't that I didn't occasionally indulge in secret fantasies of licking hot chocolate off his hard, well-developed pecs but I also knew that it was a harmless fantasy since he hadn't shown any desire to turn over to the dark side so to speak.

For the next few years in school and on to college, we were the terrible duo, the wild-n-woolly fag of the school and the staid, serious quarterback with a penchant for books and a secret addiction for choc bars. On and off he'd give me a stern, no-nonsense lecture on my licentious affairs with men not really worth my while while I'd tease him about his overdeveloped biceps and brainless jock mentality. Of course no one dared question his friendship with the out-of-the closet guy who ran the local Gay and Lesbian Society especially when the man had biceps like a rock. Not to mention a boiling hot temper hidden behind his seemingly placid, unruffled demeanour. Rumours about his sexuality were practically nonexistent as the girls in high school could readily attest to Adam's rampant heterosexuality. Eventhough I was his roommate all through college, I'd certainly never been privy to his bedroom activities - since the man was stubbornly closemouthed about it despite my nagging - but I had nonetheless heard the rumours about his reputation as a veritable tiger in bed. It always seemed ironic to me that such a straight-laced choir boy could turn into some kinda Don Juan in the night.

In the years since then we'd moved apart - in physical distance - but we still managed to keep in touch. It was rare that a week went by without Adam calling me up for a quick chat to catch up. Nowadays with the advent of the Net, he also maintained a regular e-mail correspondence with me that had my colleagues puzzling over the frequent messages from the ultra-mysterious Mr Chocolate.

So while I puzzled over his latest message, I flipped through the other pending messages on my machine. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the messages came from him. One thing Adam was - he was definitely single-minded. What Adam Garcia wants, Adam got. If he wanted to talk to me, I might as well sit tight and wait for him. Thing was, he was right on the other side of the country. Not only would it take hours to get here, it would be insane to come over just for a chat. A simple urge to talk wouldn't have him travelling such a great distance. After playing his message again, the nerves in his voice started making me worried and I started imagining all the things that could happen. Just as I was about to pick up the phone to call his cellphone, the phone rang again.

"Linc!" That deep voice came through over the phone, making me wonder as usual why he hadn't gone on stage with that amazing voice. "God, I'm so glad to get you there."

Sending half a dozen messages wasn't his style and I knew it had to be something important. My mind ran through a few dozen nightmarish incidents that could have happened. Leaving courtesies aside, I cut to the chase. "Why, what's up? What happened? Is everyone okay? Your parents?" I couldn't imagine anything happening to the Garcias. They were the most.. fun parents any kid could ever have when we were younger. Of course, Adam hadn't thought so. A real conservative old soul, my friend - and his ultra-cool hippie parents had probably been as stunned by him as he had been with them. At times I bet they blissfully wondered whether they'd exchanged kids when he was born but they loved him like crazy anyway.

"No, no, they are all alright. Last I heard they were calling me from some treehouse in Northern California. Some kinda protest," he quickly reassured me. "That's not the problem. It's me. I think I need to see you soon. Uhhh.. can I come over tonight?"

"Huh?" His voice held the same sense of urgency as it had earlier and I was puzzled. No bodily injury. No family crises. Just to make sure, I knocked the phone on the table thinking that I had misheard him. The reception must be bad. He couldn't possibly be flying over 500 hundred miles for a talk. "You're 500 hundred miles away."

My dead-pan voice got to him and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Seriously. Trust me on this. I'm at the airport right now."

That stunned me. "Huh?"

"I just arrived back here." He sounded almost breathless like he'd ran all the way instead of flying. "Do you have any plans? I know it's short notice and all but I really need to see you."

"This is some kinda joke, right." Which was very unlike him. Well, he did have a sense of humour, no doubt about that but sudden irrational acts of impulse certainly weren't his style. Some time ago, he'd once told me that it was his parents unconventional upbringing that had made him this way. He was just bound and determined not to be as flaky and nutty as his own parents. Me, I always thought the unconventional Mr and Mrs Garcia were the coolest parents a kid could have. But then I hadn't been brought up in a home where the parents were the ones who pulled weird stunts such as appearing as Carmen Miranda and a matching fruit bowl at their son's birthday parties.

"Uhhh.. no."

"You would have me believe that you flew over here just for a chat when you could have told me over the phone .. unless... Good God, man, you're getting married!" It was the only thing I could come up with that would explain it. Although in his last mail, he hadn't mentioned that he was seeing anyone seriously. For a moment, my heart stuttered at the idea that he was getting married but I shook away that selfish thought. After all, Adam was a wonderful man and he did deserve to be happy. But for form's sake, I just had to damn the lucky bitch. With all that she was getting, she had better appreciate the man or I'd pimp-slap her silly.

He was silent for a moment. "I-I.."

"You are! That's wonderful news! Who is the lucky gal? Damn, she beat my time!" I kidded.

"Well, it's not a marriage. Not exactly but.."

"Not exactly?" Since we were kids, he had always been good at twisting words around which helped in his work but I never did like that about him. Straight to the point, that's me, no beating around the bush.

He cleared his throat as he always did when he got nervous. "Well, I do have plans to enter a committed relationship."

"Lawyer lingo?"

He chuckled softly. "Sorry."

The fact that he'd kept a secret from me made me vindictive and I had to grill him on principle. "Tell me who! And why haven't you told me? Do I need a court order to wring the name from you. Whips? Cuffs?"

"Well, I-

"Keeping this a secret from me for so long. You deserve a hard spanking, Meester Garcia.." Just for the sheer fun of it, I added a trace of campiness into my voice. It wasn't that hard when I thought of that hard, musclebutt. "A long, hard spanking."

"Ouch." He laughed, a soft, deep intimate sound that I'm sure had the women he knew sighing into their pillows. "Are you ever going to give me a chance to speak in edgewise?"

"No," I answered simply.

My simple answer had him laughing again. "Look, you caught me alright. I do have someone in mind but I haven't spoken to the person as yet. So it's still ... up in the air."

It boggled my mind exactly why his wedding had him running back home but Adam's mind had always worked in mysterious ways. Why come back here when he had a girl over there to propose to? It was an unusual way to broach the topic but I shrugged knowing that he would tell me the reason why as soon as he arrived. "You could have saved your cash - though I do know you have tons of it - and sent an e-mail for the wedding."

"Pretty confident of me, huh Linc."

It was easy to answer that. How could anyone possibly say no to him? Not only was he beautiful on the outside, he was beautiful inside too. Loyal, dependable, responsible, occasionally a stick in the mud but then all he needed was the right woman to shake him up a little. Add that to his Mr I'm-Too-Sexy-For-My-Shirt looks and you had a verifiable Stepford Husband inside and a lean, mean testosterone-fueled bad-boy sex machine on the outside. What else could a woman want? Shaking my head vehemently, I answered honestly. "No sane person would refuse you, hunka-burning love!"

"Stop that," he ordered sternly.

The thought of a marriage reminded me of something. "You'd better make sure I'm the best man or I'll stage a protest. Run around telling everyone you knocked me up."

There was a pause of a heartbeat before he replied warmly. "Linc, you will always be my best man."

"Linc! It's been ages."

Dropping his bags, he came straight into the room and launched himself straight into my arms. It wasn't the first time he'd given me a hug but it still surprised me since he usually wasn't the first to initiate any gestures of affection. For a man who looked as he did and practically oozed with sex appeal, Adam was surprisingly conservative. Which essentially brought us back to his unconventional parents who spent their weekends smooching and causing scandals at the local theatre drive-in. I smiled remembering the time he had to bail his parents out for indecent exposure - necking by the interstate highway in their family sedan. Of course that hadn't embarassed him as much as their monthly protests over various social causes - occasionally in the altogether.

But this time, he gave me a spontaneous hug that I could have sworn seriously endangered a few of my ribs. There was no doubt that he'd been working out too. But the hug didn't surprise me as much as my physical response to him. The sudden whiff of his cologne and his scent brought back some secret memories of hot, lonely nights staring at my bedroom ceiling back home and dreaming forbidden fantasies about Adam Garcia. That was a secret door I'd slammed and locked shut a long time ago. My sudden reaction surprised me and I tried to pull away only to have Adam pull me closer.

"Man, I've missed you," Adam whispered softly.

The thrill of having him so close gave me a shock. Hadn't I gotten over this particular crush years ago? Sure it took two nights of solid rationalizing but even then it had taken a few rounds of good bourbon and whisky to forget about him. Gently, I pulled away and held him an arm's length away. "So have I. You don't have to crush my ribs to prove it."

"Sorry about that but I just ... " Giving me a wry grin, he looked almost sheepish. "Linc, there's so much I want to tell you."

It wasn't his first time in my place and I pulled his overnight bag away from him. It was surprisingly heavier than I thought. The shoulder bag came with a huge travelling case. Was he intending to stay a month? What in the world did he pack? Ushering him in, I showed him the way to the closet. "Really? And here I had plans to go for the opera."

In the process of removing his overcoat, he gave me a narrowed look. "Linc."

The familiar look on his face had me chuckling. "Well, since I made the time, you've all the time in the world."

"Thanks a lot!" Following my pointed gestures, Adam neatly folded and hung his overcoat in the closet. And I had my moment to see why the cameras had always loved my best friend. Each time I see him, he seemed to look even better. It was a point of envy for me as I always managed to look terrible next to him no matter how much I primped before the cameras. Standing beside him, I always turned out looking like chopped liver. Some guys were just born lucky - Adam Garcia was luckier than most. Just like the song said, on the day he was born some angel had obviously sprinkled some damned sex god dust on him.

Catching my admiring gaze, he flashed me a quick, disarming grin. "Yeah?"

Standing against the dark frame of my closet, he made quite a picture. The sexy young executive, tall, dark and handsome with a certain charisma that drew the eyes irresistibly. I'd always had a thing for men in suits. Leaning back on the wall, my arms crossed, I nodded. "Just looking at the man described as sex in a suit."

"Ouch." The moniker had him wincing. When he saw that I was about to say more, he reminded me with an evil twinkle in his eye. "You promised."

He was obviously referring to the wager we'd made years ago of not referring to his stellar looks again. It had been the night I'd rescued him from a drunken date who couldn't keep her hands off him despite his protests. So what if I lost the wager and owed him one night. It's not like he'd ever make good on it. "I can't help it. Italian-Latino gods do that to me."

His dark eyes twinkled with humour. "Say another word, slave and I could have you washing my apartment floor with a toothbrush for one night."

"Not much of a chore. I bet you wax and polish almost daily."

Pulling him into my humble abode, I gestured to my living room which as usual looked as if a tornado had just blown in. For a brief moment, he stood there in plain shock. Books, magazines, newspapers, all jumbled together all over the living room. It was in a perpetual state of mess - something obviously totally alien to Adam Garcia but then again he knew me much too well. Cataloguing the mess in his mind and no doubt rearranging it, the man sighed and shook his head. Before he could make another comment, I pounced on him first. "Try to clean up my mess and die."

The idea had been in his head as I had guessed and he laughed, throwing up his hands in defeat. "You noticed I didn't say anything."

Wagging my finger in warning, I shook my head. "I know you, Mr Garcia."

"Yes." He gazed at me quietly with those dark eyes. "That you do."

That unfathomable look in his eyes had me feeling vaguely self-conscious and I wondered at the reason. The man was acting weird all of a sudden, and for that matter, so was I. What the hell had gotten into me? Leaving him in my living room, I dragged his bags to the guest room. I could have sworn that the last time he packed this much was when he'd left home for college. "Any drinks for the New Yorker?"

His voice carried down to the kitchen. "Just plain water will do, please. Thanks."

"Plain and straight for the straight, healthy man. I hear you," I teased him as I walked back to the living room. As always he took his seat on the blue armchair near the side table. That was my Adam - almost as predictable as the sky was blue. There were some who might find it maddening but I ... had grown rather fond of that particular quality. It was nice to have something familiar. Not only did he take the same seat, he had evidently rearranged the junk on the side table into a more acceptable pile of papers.

Giving me a side glance, he grinned, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Why, you think I should have a... cock-tail?"

"Saucy!" The expression on his face made me laugh. It was the first time he'd said anything like that and I had to smile. "Did squeaky clean Adam Garcia just make some kinda dirty sex innuendo?"

Folding his well-muscled arms, he frowned and made a playful complaint. "I don't know why you keep saying that. I am not all that squeaky clean!"

Sitting in what I'd begun to call his chair, he looked as disgruntled as a little boy. Sure, he was all gorgeous male eye-candy now but look from certain angles and you could still see that naughty eight year old, his dark eyes glowing with that flash of mischief. Of course nowadays Mr Chocolate came in a package of male charisma, muscles and zero-fat. Returning his grin, I drew my finger down his hard forearm and playfully licked my fingertip. "Yum. Pure vanilla."

"Asshole." He gave me a gentle shove and wiped his arm in mock anger. Leaning back on the chair, Adam gave me a considering look. "Do I look all that innocent to you?"

"Innocent? That's not the word for it. Babe, you look like a fucking wet dream and you know it. Your ex, Pam said that her uterus contracted in lust when she first met you." Of course that hadn't been the last thing she'd said to me. There were other things such as mention of his generous size which had left me gaping in shock, wonder and increasing lust - and wondering whether it could really be true. Judging by his other attributes, it probably was true. Why else would God skimp on that when he'd been blessed with amazing yum yum eyes, model cheekbones and a body from Men's Fitness? In all the years I'd known him, I realized that I had never seen him in the altogether which was a damned shame. At times, it seemed as if he'd been brought up by strictly religious Mormons rather than parents who had no qualms at joining a nude anti-fur protest. The thought had me smiling. Judging from the elder Mr Garcia - if Adam had followed his family genes, the man was sure to be incredibly well-endowed. Certainly unforgettable.

His face turned red. "Now you're pulling my leg again."

It was easy to get that blush on his face and I delighted at it. He was still the only man I knew who could blush - and still look hot. Don't even get me going on his glasses. "I'm not. My gay pals cream in their pants when you walk by with that absolutely bootylicious bod. Walking orgasm, that's what you are, my friend."

"Linc." He narrowed that dark gaze on me.

"A body made for sin - and a mind made for a monastery," I commented. "What a waste."

His cheekbones were stained red. "Linc."

"You're such an easy target, Adam." Since he was young, mention of his amazing looks had always embarassed him. Ladies - and men - propositioned him in public places, bras and contact numbers were left on his windshield, heads swivelled when he walked by. It certainly was tough being beautiful. "But I really have missed you, Adam. It's not the same writing mail."

This time he smiled, bringing those irresistible dimples to life. "Same for me too. It's been too long."

His earlier drink order had nearly been forgotten. The dictates of being a host meant that I should serve Adam first but I couldn't resist. Thoughts of the unknown phantom lady who had snagged Adam Garcia had plagued my mind all evening as I waited. My imagination had imbued the secretive tramp with the physique of a Playboy centerfold, the sexual charisma of a Indian courtesan and the brains of a nuclear scientist. Flopping on to the couch next to him, I started my interrogation. "So tell me who she is!"

For a moment, he looked thrown. "Who she is?"

The stunned look on his face surprised me. Wasn't that what was on his mind earlier? Surely she couldn't be that forgettable. "Yeah. The girl. The woman. The lady you flew five hundred miles to tell me about. This unknown goddess who has finally conquered Adam Garcia."

"The lady?" Adam enunciated the word clearly, the shadow of a smile quicking up the edge of his lips. "You wanted to hear about my girl? Though I am sure the person would object to being pointed out as my girl."

"Yeah, you mentioned her earlier," I pointed out. Was the man being obtuse on purpose? "Come on, spill all to papa!"

"You're talking about the person I'm in love with?" This time his grin widened and I started getting suspicious.

"Yeah. Do I really need to get out the cuffs? Got them somewhere in my closet. Tell me quick." Giving him a threatening growl, I reached over and held his hand down. "Get it off your lovely overdeveloped chest." That was of course an exaggeration. Like the rest of him, Adam's chest was perfect. Nicely flexed pectorals that pressed against the folds of his cotton shirt, the dark, nickel-sized nipples showing through the faint white of his shirt. Yum. I grinned as I imagined his horrified expression if I were to give in to my impulse and give his nipples a quick bite.

For a moment, he glanced quickly down at our linked hands and his face reddened. "Well, the person -"

Although he delighted in legalese, beating around the bush had never been his style and I started getting suspicious. He seemed to be hiding something and damned if I didn't want to know what it was. Was she eight months pregnant? Was she entrapping him in to marriage? Was she an Afghani rebel leader with a penchant for whips? "Person? Person in question? Is that lawyer lingo again?"

"Please." Seeing my growing impatience, he backed away and held his hands out in front of him in surrender. "Bear with me."

Giving him my best scowl, I gave him fair warning. "Five minutes, counsellor, and make it snappy."

"OK." Leaning forward, he spoke softly, keeping his intent gaze on me. "I just need you to keep calm here. Just listen and promise me you'll keep calm."

"Keep calm?" The implication - and the worried look on his face - had me scowling. Although I had my share of temper - and the occasional wild tantrum, that didn't mean that I wasn't capable of control. Not everyone was born an oversized Ken doll with a lukewarm temper and implacable nerves. "Would that be an insult, sirrah?"

He grinned. "You know about 9/11 I'm sure."

How could I not know? For the past few weeks, it had been in all the papers and the news. My first knee-jerk response had been to place a call straight to his home to see if he was okay. But the previous e-mail had mentioned a seminar in Boston and that hadn't even been close to point zero.

"Well, I don't know how to put this, never been all that good with words when it comes to..... but I was there."

The hasty speech had me staring in shock. "What! You were there! You promised me you were safe in Boston."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"What! You lied.. You.." I simply ran out of words as I imagined what could have happened. Never in a million years could I imagine a life without him in it. Although we weren't exactly living together as we did in college, I couldn't imagine a day without knowing that he was always with reach if I needed him. He was the first I'd run to when I had a problem, the first I'd run to when I'd gotten my promotion. Where would I be without him? "You could have.. you could.."

"I didn't," he answered coolly. "Although I was only less than a block away."

"Oh My God." Determined not to overreact, I fought the urge to run my my hands over him to make sure he was solid and real.

"Forget about that." He easily waved away my concern. Coming out of his seat, he moved to kneel in front of me, resting his arms on my knees. "Look, that's not what I came here to say."

"What?"

"It was a wake-up call for me. Something that jolted me from my everyday life. As I saw the fire, the smoke, the building coming down on ..." Lost in his thoughts, Adam closed his eyes for a moment. "You see, I realized that if I'd died, I wanted my last moment to be with someone. Someone I'd searched for my whole life. Someone to care for. Someone to love. Someone I never thought I could ever love that much. But I'd never noticed till then that I had already met that someone." Staring down at his hands, he smiled to himself. "Silly of me."

I felt almost like shaking him. "There's a crash and you realize that."

"Yes." He looked up at me then, his eyes surprisingly somber when he replied. "Yes. And I realized that I am in love. Probably have been crazy in love all this time."

It was amazing but it had finally happened. There was a seriousness in his expression, something so calm and sincere that I couldn't help but believe him. Since I'd known him, I'd never seen him like this and I envied the woman he loved. Somehow, I'd always known he had a great big soppy heart deep inside that silent, tough guy image. His father had always said that the Garcias loved deeply only once. "So who is she?"

The serious face changed as he grinned roguishly. "It's not a she."

"It's not?" I gaped in surprise. The obvious answer appeared before me but I just simply couldn't fathom such an idea. "Not a she?"

"No."

"No?" It wasn't a woman. No XX chromosomes. What could he possibly mean? Not only had he dropped such a bomb on me, he had to drop two at one go? My mind stalled and jammed at the sudden intrusion of too much information. Before he could give me another heart attack, I stopped him. "Wait, let me try to understand what you're saying here. You're telling me that it's a.. a man?"

It took him a moment to reply and even then, he peeked up almost shyly at me through his lashes. "Uhh.. yes."

If Adam had come in dressed in a frilly pink tutu and told me he'd been headlining a Vegas drag show, I couldn't have been more surprised. A man? What could he possibly be thinking? "Who is it? Should I be jealous?" And I was. Even more than I would have been if it had been a woman. The first thought that had run through my mind was why not me! If he was going to fall in love with a pair of XY chromosomes, why couldn't he have fallen for me? It certainly wasn't because I was carrying some damned torch for him but it would have been nice if he had thought of me first. After all, I was the one who had been with him since the beginning. We'd gone through college together, studied together... heck, I'd gotten him his first condom. I was reasonably good-looking, had all my teeth and hair. Why not me?

"Don't get mad." The quick flash in my eyes hadn't gone unnoticed by him and evidently it pleased him as he couldn't help smiling. Taking my hands in his, he squeezed it tightly. "You don't have to be jealous. It's you."

"Fuck." The quick answer had me laughing in response. Trust him to know exactly what I felt and know exactly the right thing to say. Giving him a quick shove, I told him off. "Yeah, right, asshole. You have been carrying a torch for me since high school. C'mon, tell me who!"

Although I shoved at him, it wasn't easy getting away from him and he held on tightly to my hands. "It is you. I think I love you, Linc."

It wasn't the first time he'd said it but it still gave me a sudden thrill eventhough I knew he'd never mean it the way I would ever want. But it wasn't his fault and I managed a sly grin in response. "Yeah, baby, so do I."

"That's not what I meant." Adam caught my arm just as I moved away. My answer obviously wasn't the one he wanted. "I love you."

For some inexplicable reason that I couldn't fathom, my heart had started beating a mile a minute, my mind whirled around as I absorbed what he had just said. Dazed from the crash, that must be it. Hit his head on a flying piece of debris. Lost his mind. Searching for something to say, I waved him away and tried to stand up. "Hey, man, I got it the first time."

When I tried to pull away, he held on tight and refused to release me. This time he kept his dark gaze on mine. "I love you."

Repeating what he'd said didn't help much. My palpitating heart leapt up to my throat and remained there for a second. "You're insane. Stop kidding around."

"No, I am surprisingly sane for the first time in my life."

My grin faltered. "Look, you don't wake up and decide to be gay, Adam."

Evidently puzzled by my bizarre reaction, Adam released my hands and stood. "Call it what you want. I am not going to put a label to it. Gay or not, I realized that I want to spend my life with you. You are the one constant in my life. I don't know why I never realized it before."

"So did it come to you as a sudden thunderbolt, a blow on your head or a slow realization?" Deciding to humour him, I took a seat on the armchair and waited for his explanation.

As expected he moved back to his chair and took a seat. The obvious sarcasm in my voice didn't unnerve him and he replied warmly, just as affable as ever. "Somewhere in between actually."

He was as insouciant as could be and my eyes narrowed. "This isn't the time for a practical joke."

Leaning back at his ease on the chair, he smiled in reply. "Look, this isn't a joke. Why would I lie to you?" he shrugged.

The calmer he got, the more agitated I was feeling. It was amazing how he could just change the entire dynamics of our relationship and still sit as cool as cucumber on the damned chair. "I don't think you're lying. I-I..."

Leaning forward on his chair, he said calmly. "I have never lied to you before, Linc. Have I ever said anything and not meant it?"

It was true and I couldn't argue with that. Since we were kids, he was the one true blue boy scout that never lied to me - or to anyone else. That had been one of the traits the Garcias had planted in him. "No, you haven't."

"So?"

"What do you mean so?" As he sat there looking smug, I leapt from my chair and traced a warpath around the room, wearing out my rug. It didn't make sense. Adam Garcia didn't suddenly change his mind like this. "So that worries me like hell when you march in here and tell me all this. All this insane ramblings! Have you been drinking?"

"Hardly insane, I should think." He gave me a sweet smile. "Come on, you can't tell me you haven't thought of us being together before. You've known me for a long time. You're gay. Don't tell me that even in the shortest instance, you have never thought that.. hey, wouldn't it be nice to be with Adam? Live with him? He's a nice, peaceable guy after all."

My reply was automatic, almost instantaneous. It was the only way I could answer. "No."

It was a lie but I would never admit it to him - or even to myself. How many times had I lain awake in bed, watching the bed bunk beside mine with Adam quietly snoring? I had just come out to myself - and to everyone else. The idea of love between men was something new, heady and exciting to me. It was just so easy to imagine the sexy, sweet Adam in my dreams.

It must have been obvious to him that I was lying but he decided to humour me and nodded in understanding. "Really? No? I'm a nice guy. I cook. I clean after myself. I earn a good living. Have all my teeth. Still no? Not a single thought about living with me?"

"No, I haven't," I answered flatly. No way was I going to humiliate myself by admitting that I'd had regular fantasies of having warm, naked showers with him since high school. Running my fingers slowly down the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing the strong line of his spine to the full, tempting curves of his buttocks. Confirming the rumours that had circulated around college about Adam's generous size.

"Don't lie." My face burned when he leveled his knowing gaze on me. "I've seen you looking at me. Checking out my fine fucking wet dream ass."

Using the same line I'd used before was tantamount to a blasphemy for me. I gave him a glare to kill at ten paces and he only laughed. "I doubt you've thought of us being together."

"If you're talking about sex, no." Shrugging those wide shoulders, he shook his head. "Truth to tell, it scares me a little. I'm new to this after all."

As always, Adam was relentlessly honest though I would have preferred that he wasn't. Was he blind? Stupid? Just the suggestion of sex from him had me imagining the impossible. Sex with Adam Garcia. Hot, hard, heady, fast. That muscular, lithe build writhing and tossing on my sheets. Heck for this deliciously neat stud, I'd change my sheets daily just to have him on them. "See, you're not gay," I pointed out.

"But I'm sure you could teach me, couldn't you?" His eyes turned heavy-lidded, the first time he'd given me one of those heated gazes. For the first time too, I realized that I wasn't surprised that the ladies fell over themselves when he gave them one of those looks. It promised unadulterated, scorching sex and I'm sure the man could deliver. "And I promise you I am a very fast learner."

It didn't surprise me that the ladies found him irresistible. This new sexual predator Adam scared me more than a little and as he moved toward me, I took a hasty step back, almost tripping over a bunch of misplaced books. "Adam, I-I really don't know what.."

His smile turned wolfish, a flash of pure carnal invitation that sent shivers down my spine. "I've started having dreams about you, Linc. Really .. hot dreams."

How could I possibly help it? Helplessly, almost involuntarily my gaze dropped down to his crotch and my breath caught. Whoa mama! Judging by the size of it, I'd have to say that the Garcia blood ran true in him.

Catching the look in my eye, he chuckled. "Hell yeah, you're interested."

"Who wouldn't be? Did you say hell?" Dragging my gaze from the whopper he had down in his pants, I forced myself to meet his amused, dark-eyed gaze. "This is impossible."

"I know it's quite a bomb I'm dropping. But I just couldn't waste another day." As I remained at arm's length, he was quiet for a moment, his dark face serious and emotionless. "Just say you don't love me, you don't ever think you could find it in yourself to love me and I'll go away. Seriously, I won't ever mention it again."

My gaze faltered under his. "I-I don't.."

"Look me in the eye, Linc," he ordered.

"I don't."

"Don't what?" Seeing me waver on the decision only had him coming forward.

Seeing the smug smile on his face was just too much and I shoved him away. "Stop it. This is not a fucking cross-examination."

My answer had him smiling. "I knew it."

"You don't know anything," I retorted stubbornly. Which was actually a lie. Not only had he managed to stun me by appearing here - which rarely happened but he'd managed to do it twice in a day. It had to be some kinda record for him. Since when had my predictable Mr Chocolate become someone ... new and near unrecognizable? Sure, I enjoyed change as much as the next person but this was my one constant and I found that the sudden shift confused me.

As I started to move away, he caught on to me. "Hold on. No, I don't know anything. Not much anyway but I know you. My brother, my best friend, my pal." His deep voice softened even as he ran his fingers lovingly down my cheek. "My best man."

It was what he'd told me when he'd said goodbye earlier. Withdrawing, I moved away from him and stood up. My cheek still burned from the touch of his fingers. "Stop it."

"You know me, Linc." Running his fingers through his dark hair, he gave me a rueful look. "Probably better than I know myself. You know I won't give up."

Which was true. Since I'd known him, I'd never seen Andy Garcia waver from his convictions. Like an overzealous pitbull with his favourite hambone, he never let something go. It was one of his admirable traits but right now it scared me to hell. "I need time, Adam. You don't suddenly drop a bomb.. you don't suddenly.." I stuttered hopelessly, tangled in my thoughts. "You don't fucking do something like that!"

"Fair enough." Nodding in agreement, he leaned back on the chair. "I know what you mean. I'm a patient man. I shall wait."

His words sounded almost ominous and I cringed. "You have to get back to work," I pointed out.

Easy as pie, he replied smoothly. "Not really. I have some time saved up and I took a month sabbatical."

For some reason, the idea horrified me. It sounded as if I was his next project on his list of things to do. Something to be ticked off on his schedule. And a whole month! My depleting strength of will certainly couldn't withstand such an onslaught of Adam Garcia bent on seduction. Only the barest shred of willpower held me away from giving in and jumping the man's sexy bones. "What?"

Sitting forward and edging to the front of his chair, he looked at me and smiled. "I am going to give you romance. I'm going to try my best to give you the starbursts and marble halls you've always looked for. The Godivas and the post-it notes. The works. I am going to make you love me in return."

It was like my biggest nightmare- and my wildest dream - all rolled into one. Years ago in a moment of weakness, I'd spoken of what I wanted in a relationship. As usual, he had listened intently and told me that I would find my prince in time. Little did I know that it would come back to bite me. "No."

Kneeling before me, he took my hand and clasped it in his large, warm ones. "Give me a chance. You've always wanted a man who loved you. I never thought that anyone could possibly fit your criteria - what a perfect ass he'd be - and I definitely can't but I'll try my best. Just give me a chance."

Looking down at my... our joined hands, it was so easy to believe in what he said. I wonder whether he knew that my criteria had been based on a vague idea of my dream man. Which had actually been Adam Garcia. Had he just called himself an ass? "You don't do this, Adam. You don't do this kinda insane stuff. I'm the one who does this. Have you gotten your head checked?"

"Perhaps." It was an admission that had him smiling but the man was undeterred. "Well, I think it's about time I did the unpredictable for once. Guess I'm a crazy Gracia after all."

"You don't love me. You're not gay."

"Stop." My continual denial was starting to annoy him. Releasing my hands, he sighed with some exasperation. "When do you start thinking for me?"

Placing my palm on his chest to keep him away, I tried not to think of the firmness, the solidity of his chest muscles and the heat contained within. His heart beat steadily emanating vibrations through the warmth of his skin. "I am protecting you from your madness. Your insanity."

"Why?"

"I-I.." Exactly why? My night-time fantasies had me creaming all over Adam's sweat-streaked, naked torso but this was cruel reality. Eventhough I wanted my hands on that incredible ass of his didn't mean that I could just toss away our friendship on this sudden change of heart. What happened if he suddenly changed his mind back?

"I've told you." Adam only grinned in reply. "It's simple enough. Just say you don't love me and I'll stop."

It was just that simple and it irritated me that I found that I couldn't do it. Dammit all, was I still crazy in love with the man? Obviously self tehrapy and a drunken binge hadn't cured me of this particular obsession. "Damn it, you know you're an easy man to love. You know just how easy it would be for me to.. for me... to.."

"Love me? I'm hoping you would," he answered simply.

"I would be taking advantage of you if.."

"Go ahead."

Determined to make him see my way, I reminded him again. "Do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes," he answered simply. "Look I am a grown rational man. You know me better than anyone in this world. Have I ever said anything or done anything on a whim? You know me, I have never been a whimsical man. I have thought this through a million times and more. Every question that could possibly come to your mind has gone through mine and still I have only one answer to give." There was a wry smile on his face as he said that.

It was exactly what I'd said before about him. "I-I know."

"I see I have given you quite a surprise." He smiled almost triumphantly to himself. "About time I started doing that."

Before I could even respond, he was standing up and walking to the bedroom. "You're leaving?"

"Haven't you been listening?" My stunned response had him turning around with a smile. "I'm not leaving. The flight took hours. I need some rest, I am going to sleep."

Of all the things he could have said, that was the last I'd have expected. "Sleep?" I gaped in reply. "What? Damn it, you can't just drop a bomb like this on me and then... You can't.."

For a man who had just offered a proposal and been rejected, he took it perfectly calmly. Turning to me, he folded his arms coolly and replied. "I think you need to absorb what I've just told you tonight. Before I would have slowly broken the news to you but I simply couldn't wait that long. Not anymore. But it can definitely wait a day. I am not giving up, Linc. I just think you need the time to think it over."

"Well, good night and..." For a moment, he stood before me as if contemplating his next move. The wily chess player planning his next move. It was a game I'd never won with him. Before I could make a smart comment, Adam pulled me up roughly, his strong hands drawing me up as if I weighed nothing.

Just as I was about to make a faint protest, he effectively silenced me as his lips came down heavily on mine. Just like everything he did, he was second to none. It was no wonder that Adam Garcia had left scores of women heartbroken. Lips, hands, tongue - all combined to simply drive me wild. In his arms, all rational thought fled - chased away by the reality of Adam's warm, muscular arms around me, his firm, tender lips against mine, his hard thigh pressing against mine, the size and urgency of his cock burning on my hips. Involuntarily, my hands drew up to run through his dark curls like I'd always wanted to do.

And just as suddenly, he pulled away and looked at me. "Well, good night."

Still in a daze after the hormone overload, I stared back blankly. "You're going to leave me horny and confused over here."

"Yeah. But you'll know that I'll be next door. Naked. Horny. Available. And the door won't be locked." With a wink and a devil of a smile, he was gone.

Damn. I should have known that too much chocolates was dangerous. Then again, he did say the door was not locked.

The New Year

2009-02-19T07:30:00.001-08:00

Big families are great in small doses. Reunions, weddings, funerals, the odd get-together. On a good day, I might even say that I am thankful to have come from a really large family. The grandparents, the occasional crotchety grandaunt, nine aunts and uncles plus the squabbling in-laws, assorted cousins that numbered up to forty at last count and a handful of greatgrandkids making up the number. It was a riotous bunch and I loved the hell out of them, mostly. On days such as today however, I found them a bloody pest. Especially when one of them has managed to find out the secret you've been hiding from the rest of them.

The deafening crash of cymbals, the deep, heart-pounding beat of the drums signalled the arrival of the lions down the driveway of our family home to usher in the New Year. The sound of firecrackers - virtually replicated by my technowhiz cousin June since real-life firecrackers had been banned several years back - filled the air even as my younger cousins squealed with delight. Nearby at a half-moon table in the front hall, my two older aunts chattered on, filling each other with the latest family gossip even as they filled themselves with melon seeds. Eager to escape the neverending questions pelted at me each New Year - mostly on my lack of a suitable mate, I hid myself in a dark alcove off the main hall, a place my grandmother used for her occasional afternoon nap. Fishing out my PDA from my shirt, I started to take down some notes as I lounged on one of the seats around the marble table. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one with the same idea.

"Hiding in the closet, John?" The voice was deep, velvety, as smooth as chocolate cream - and it belonged to James Sung. Ever since he'd ferreted out my secret, he had been an ever-present pest. My cousin James was the only son of my third aunt. Well, not exactly my third aunt as she had been adopted into the family after her parents - who had been my grandma's best friends - had died in World War II. A far too convoluted story and I certainly had more entangled branches of the family tree to tell.

Let me tell you about James. Not only was he the family scapegrace - falling in and out of scrapes every other week, he also had the distinction of being the best-looking guy in my generation. For the last six months after his latest mishap, he had been sentenced to stay with me. For the most part, even I had to admit that he had settled down somewhat. Although he still pulled some weird stunts once in a while, it was more manageable and far less dangerous to himself. Anyone who cared to ask James would have received a woeful, tearful tale of being torn between two unfit parents who spent their time squabbling, fighting and tossing precious Ming vases at each other. He claims that his parents' disregard for their only son accounted for his lack of self-esteem, an obsessive need for approval and his severely destructive behaviour. It was all too true and a definite reason for sympathy. Unfortunately, James only dragged the pitiful tale out of the closet to endear himself to the fairer sex who found his hurt vulnerability paired with a model-handsome face and a buff body straight out of International Male absolutely irresistible.

Many a time, I tried to tell myself that I wasn't dead envious of his good looks but I couldn't. In comparison with his wilder days, the man was an absolute saint now eschewing all vices but the few years he spent in a drugged, alcohol coma hadn't left a scar on that incredible face at all. Of course that wasn't to say that I looked like something dragged out from the pit but I was more well-known in the family for being the responsible one, the mature one, the guy who constantly rescued the scapegrace, the guy who acted as a sort of deputy sheriff for my grandfather as I went about dispensing his Machiavellian mode of justice. The rest of the family called me Zhan Zhao.

Surprisingly enough, I had started in the lower ranks of the company as a favour for my grandfather - and for the family. Passing out of university, I had every intention of entering the field of medicine but duty called and I submitted easily thinking that I could leave anytime I wanted. Very soon however, I proved almost indispensable according to my grandfather - though I seriously doubted that - and each time I broached the subject of leaving, he would beg me not to leave and once even faked a heart attack. Under severe family pressure, I remained in the family business. Each time I threatened to leave, there was the usual bout of tearful recriminations, a swanky new office and a promotion with an even heftier wage. Looking back, it was a fatal mistake to give in all the time. Not only was I unwillingly conscripted into the family business, apparently I also took on the duties of a deputy, policing the activities of our extended family.

Familial ties had always turned out to be my downfall. About half a year back, when James came to me with his solemn promises to change, I'd accepted it and even offered him a place to stay - following an imperial edict from my grandfather. After all, I lived in the family mansion in the capital, a three-storey mausoleum that had far too many rooms for a single bachelor. The temporary lease had turned out to be somewhat semi-permanent and six months later, he was still sleeping in the room above mine. Unfortunately, one day when I was far too careless, he found my secret. Just two days ago, my snoop of a cousin - who obviously couldn't keep his nose out of people's affairs - came upon my open laptop and decided to pry. Up on the screen was a JPEG that I'd recently downloaded, a tall, sexy hunk dressed in nothing but a smile - and a 12 inch dick from hell. The picture spoke for itself - and of my sexual orientation.

Needless to say, James Sung felt it his duty to be my tormentor and the next day was spent with him teasing me mercilessly. Faced with the spectre of having James plaguing me throughout the plane flight back home, I'd cancelled my flight plans at the last minute and decided to take a slow drive home. Caught at the last moment, he had no choice but to go home by himself and I had to myself a six hour drive to think of a rational, logical explanation that would placate my relatives. After all, logic and rational thinking were my strong points, weren't they? After six hours of Russell Watson blaring out his arias through the stereo, nothing came to mind however. How could I possibly explain away the all too obvious evidence of my homosexuality? Could I blame it on a quirky adolescent phase that I hadn't quite gotten out of? Could I claim that it was an accident, that some evildoer had downloaded the pic to implicate me? Although part of me was relieved to finally have my secret out in the open with someone in the family, there was a tiny part of me that cringed at the very thought of being dragged out of the closet. How would my family react? Even my steel-balled mother would probably faint from such distressing news. Could my grandfather's ailing heart stand the shock? Would I be cast out of the family without a single reference?

A dozen questions and worries nagged at my mind as I spent half my time writing a suitably penitent out-of-the-closet speech for myself and the other half thinking of various methods of torture for James. Oddly enough, my methods for torture always involved James being totally naked, writhing in sweat and chained to some flat surface. Ultimately however, my fears were unfounded as for some obscure, despicable reason of his own, James saw fit to keep the information to himself. Greeting me at the front door of the mansion, he made no mention of the shocking discovery at all and acted as if nothing had happened.

But of course, it didn't mean that he couldn't spend his time tormenting me in private. Caught in my hiding place, he cornered me in my seat with a wicked smile. No doubt, his many female admirers would have creamed at the sight of that smile but I steeled myself. So what if he did look incredible - the warm, smooth gold of his skin that spoke of his Chinese heritage, the thick, black curls that he'd kept military-short this year, the dark, thickly lashed velvety brown eyes that sparkled so often with devilry.

They sparkled in the familiar way now as he blocked my exit. "So, tell me, John, do you find jockstraps hot on guys? Or do you have a decided preference for briefs?"

"Fuck!" It was the third time he had posed such a leading question and each time I'd managed to ignore him but this time I turned to him with a scowl. "James."

"C'mon, have a heart!" Dressed in a slick new suit for the New Year that made the most of his tall, athletic physique, James looked good - and he knew it. Turning around so that I had an excellent view of his impressive back, he asked another question. "Does my new pants make my ass look fat?"

It was a moot point. His back was a masterpiece, broad, well-muscled shoulders tapering down in a perfect V to his trim waist and a firm, perfectly rounded ass that showed how God had intended a man to wear pants. However at that moment, I didn't feel like telling him that nothing could possibly make his tight, sexy behind look fat. Not only would it probably amuse him like hell, it might make his ego implode upon itself. "You're getting on my nerves."

Not content with my curt reply, he took a seat on the marble table, hopping up onto the tabletop. Since he was a kid, he never took the conventional way, always using the table instead of a chair for a seat which drove my grandmother crazy. It also drove me crazy but I didn't think that he needed additional ammunition. "Don't you think the new curtains are absolutely fabulous? I mean the red and the yellow are a bit too much but I think it works, don't you?" He peeked up at me through his preposterously long lashes, grinning at me all the while and I had to restrain the urge to reach out and run my tongue across his soft lower lip. The man had great lips, firm, thick, gently curving at the sides, often coming to a pout that begged for a hard kiss. As he leaned forward, my dick twitched in my pants as I started imagining what else I could do with that mouth.

The sudden lurid image had the effect of a quick splash on the face and I shoved him away with a glare. "James. I am warning you."

"Was that a Village People CD I saw in your car? Streisand?"

"Any more jokes and I'm going to dock your allowance." It was a very real threat. Since his parents had been too busy having their annual knock-down fight to even bother about their son, it was left to my grandfather and later, me to manage him. Since we had both passed the age of majority, I had been left virtually in charge of his trust fund. The demeaning situation frustrated him no end but so far he had made no push to change the situation as it were - as he was also smart enough to know that under my care, his personal fortunes had almost trebled in amount.

"Ouch. You are a hard man," he complained playfully.

As he leaned down again from his perch on the table, my nostrils filled with the heavenly scent of warm, healthy male sweat and I shuddered. It was a tantalizing scent that had haunted me for the past few months and I had rigidly schooled myself to ignore it, no matter how tempting it could be. Keeping him at arm's length, I stood up and pushed him away, trying to get around him. "You got that right. Now, let me pass, you nut."

"A hard man." He ran his finger down my well-toned arm instead. "Really hard. Been working out?"

From any other man, I might have thought it was a come on but from James, it could have been anything. Of late, I had been having distressing sexual dreams with my sexy cousin as the lead actor and it was slowly pushing me off the edge. The both of us had almost nothing in common, he frequently gave me the urge to throttle him and dammit, the bastard liked girls! "James!"

As I took a threatening step forward, he let out a laugh and danced away around the table. "Oh, come on, it has taken years for me to find a flaw. Can't you give me this one?"

Although he laughed, I could see that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're serious?"

From the safety of his end of the round table, James teased me. "Yeah, the perfect grandson. Spectacular grades, amazing credentials, perfect hair. It is nice to know that you're still human, after all."

The way he spoke of me made me sound like some android devoid of human emotion. For a moment, I wanted to shrug it off, thinking that only James thought of me that way but then, I remembered something Aunt Mary had said before and I wondered. Aunt Mary had talked of me as a clone of my Grandpa - and I didn't think that she had meant that as a compliment. My grandfather was the all-powerful, all-seeing family patriarch who had a penchant for getting his hands on the best deals in the country - and also finding his way into every little family dispute. Although I saw him as the kind, loving man who had guided me personally through some of the worst stages of my life, I knew that there were others in my family who saw him as some terrifying creature of omnipotence. Had I really turned into the old bastard - as we called him? Stunned with the realization, I decided that a seat would be in order and sat back down. The panic in my voice was not obvious however as I countered his statement, "I am not all that perfect."

Taking up his unconventional seat back on the table, James just shrugged. "Go tell that to my mother."

"Tell what?" Somewhat disturbed by his comment, I ran my fingers through my dark hair. "That I'm not perfect. Surely she knows that. I make mistakes more often than I can count."

"Hardly any, John and my mother just can't stop reminding me of it either. Why can't you be more like John? John never does anything wrong." His lips twisted in a sexy sneer. "Perfect Little John."

I looked at him, surprised that he had said that. In recent years, there had been an animosity between the two of us - mostly on James' side - that had culminated in one horrible drag-down fight about a year ago. It was a terrible experience but I believed that we had benefited from it. It still amazed me how easily we had come to blows over such petty, insignificant matters. After all, years back when we were younger - and he hadn't grown that sharp, bristly armour of his, we had been as close as two such different personalities could be. And after our fight, when he had moved in with me, we managed a tolerable relationship, certainly not as close as I would have liked but I assumed that we got along quite well. "Look, you know I am not some robot."

"You aren't?" Dramatically, James let out a gasp and faked a shocked expression. "Does Grandpa know about this?"

My earlier surprise faded away as I turned my glare on him. "James."

"I love it when you give me that stare," he stated fondly, lifting a hand to brush away a stray lock of my hair.

It was a surprisingly intimate move that had me stiffening, his touch sizzled against my skin and I carefully moved his hand away. "That's not the point. You're not supposed to enjoy it. The staff at the office run at the sight of it."

For a moment he looked down at our joined hands but thankfully decided not to comment on it. Instead, he gave my hand a warm squeeze, released it and smiled. "I can easily believe that. But I like it."

"You are incorrigible," I scolded him.

"Yes." We were close enough know that he only needed to lean forward an inch or two - close enough that our noses almost touched, our lips barely a hairsbreadth away. His breath was warm, spiced up with the red wine chicken that he'd taken only this morning and the faint, surprising hint of peppermint. "And you love me all the more for it."

Dare I tell him about last night's sexual dream? It would probably give him fodder to tease me for the rest of my life if he knew how I'd worshipped his hot, naked flesh last night, how I'd spent my time spreading slow, melting kisses down the front of his magnificently built torso. "Yeah... you wish."

For a moment, our gazes met and I wondered what he was thinking about inside those dark, soulful brown eyes. Something different lit up those dark eyes, something darker and warmer. We were close enough that we were almost kissing, he knew that I was gay... I started wondering whether he knew of the licentious thoughts in my head, the thoughts that had me aching to move closer, to draw that handsome head close for a kiss. What would he say if I moved my hand over his powerful thigh, thread upwards towards the tempting juncture of his crotch...

"So tell me, why aren't you involved with anyone?"

The abrupt change in subject - and the quick, efficient way he had of moving surprised me. While the others might regard the man as a lazy good-for-nothing, I could see that the man could move really fast when he wanted to. While I was still in a sexual daze, the man had moved back from the table and onto the chair. I shook myself to regain my bearings. "None of your business."

"It is none of my business," James agreed instantly. Leaning forward onto the table, he shook his dark head. "But you know me well enough that won't stop me asking. I'll just keep on asking till you tell me."

His persistence had always been one of his more irritating traits and I frequently wondered why he had never applied those particular traits into his work. If he'd been only half as dogged... "Look, I work from 9 to 9 for a company that never sleeps, I manage everyone in the family's petty little problems, your parents' divorce and settlements, Aunt Mary's latest bailout, you."

The last word was said pointedly and he flinched accordingly. "Ouch. There goes the fangs again."

"Yes," I replied flatly.

His smile turned devilish. "But baby, you know I love it when you bite."

"Stop it."

Evidently pleased that he had managed to annoy me, James tried for another change of subject. "Did you hear that 8th Aunt is pregnant again?"

The quick changing of subjects had me floundering and it took me a moment as I wondered at the connection between my 8th Aunt and my state of matrimony - or my lack of it. Scrolling through the list of relatives in my head, I pictured a plump, good-natured matron in her late 30s with a brood of kids and the most horrific new year dress. "Good God. They couldn't possibly find another name with a J!"

"Don't underestimate grandma," he replied with a shrug. "I think it's a toss-up between Jeremiah or Joseph if it's a boy and Jessica or Janet if it's a girl." Oddly enough, years back my grandmother had dug up an archaic list of names starting with J and each new member of my generation had been saddled with one. The earlier kids had of course lucked out with a better choice of names.

"There's already a Jessica."

"Hmm.. yeah, you are right. Forgot about the kid. Wouldn't you just know it.. you're always right."

"Stop that." Eyeing him with some disfavour, I demanded an explanation. "What is it with you? Must you always irritate me?"

"Hey, it's my job and you do pay me a pretty good allowance." His grin resurfaced as did those drop-dead gorgeous dimples. "So why isn't a guy like you married to some seven foot hulk with muscles? No Mr Right around the corner?"

My heart did a triple beat and I looked away from his smile, amazed at my reaction. What in the world was happening? While I had always admired James' sinful good looks - and had fantasized more than once about tearing his pants down for a quick slurp, I could always turn my mind in a different direction. This time, it seemed all I could think of was a naked, sweaty James and the nearest flat surface. Was it the wine? What could I possibly have in common with some gorgeous thug with a penchant for driving me crazy? "I don't like muscles."

"Liar," James pointed out. "I saw that jpeg! Muscles bleeding out of the ears, veins popping out in both arms and a whopper of a dick from.."

"Have you no shame?" Shocked, embarassed, I stood up to look around. "Shut up! Grandaunt is just sitting there in the next hall."

"Please!" he laughed. "She wouldn't hear us even if I screamed fuck my ass in her ear."

It was a thought that had occurred to me previously and one that came to my mind now. Bending that perfect young body over the marble table, spreading the cleft of those incredible half-moon cheeks, hearing his cries as I fucked him till we both blew our brains out. A drop of sweat trickled down my spine at the thought and I clenched my fists. Trying to think of a distraction, I imagined my crotchety Grandaunt coming by dressed in nothing which sufficiently dampened my erection. "And the picture wasn't that bad."

James only sneered in return. "It was but you're avoiding the question."

Deciding to go on the offensive for once, I turned the question back to him. "Why are you suddenly so interested in my social life?"

"Maybe I am interested."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I'm interested." His gaze met mine without wavering, those dark eyes somber and serious for once. "Interested in you."

"What?" Stunned at the sudden thrill that ran through my spine, I took a mental step back, far backward. Not only from the surprise that his answer had caused but also from the mind-boggling idea itself. Although I had never considered it as a possibility, I found to my dismay that there was nothing else that I could possibly want more at that moment. Me and James. "That isn't even remotely interesting or funny."

"Nothing funny about it. You're a good-looking, upstanding young man, well-read and travelled, have all your teeth and hair.." Listing off my attributes with aplomb, he steadily counted off the tops of his fingers. "Well, you have a tendency to have some dark humours and mood swings but I think.."

"Mood swings?" The images that had come to my mind, me and James, were nothing compared to the anger that came rolling beside. Alternately, my fingers itched to choke him - and pull him close for a blistering kiss. It was a dangerous feeling and I found that James always managed to drive me a little crazy. "Stuff it, asshole."

His smile turned into a superior smirk. "You'd like to, wouldn't you?"

It was far too close to the truth and my face turned an alarming shade of pink as I blustered through a reply. "God, could you be any more crude... shit. If you don't stop this, I really will stop your allowance this month."

Some weeks back, the threat would have gotten a reaction but this time he just returned my stare with a cool look. "I could get a job."

"You said that six months ago," I pointed out mercilessly. Although I had to admit that he had changed a lot. At least he wasn't bumming around and getting drunk again. Just three weeks ago, I'd caught him going out at night and I could have sworn that he had gone for night classes but he denied it. But why else would a man need a backpack with books in it?

"That was different, it was six months ago. I was a brainless idiot then." This time he replied without a hint of humour, his voice filled with a singular determination that surprised me. "I really will get a job this time. Anyway, just answer the question and I'll keep quiet."

"No, James. I am single and alone." I finally answered his question, frowning all the while. "Now, will you leave me alone?"

He laughed.

His reaction surprised me even more. "What the hell is so funny?" I demanded.

The ferocity in my voice had James smothering his laughter in a barely repressed grin. "Nothing. Jeez, can't a guy just laugh." Even as I continued glowering, he snickered.

Standing up, I leaned forward and stared down at him. Ever since we were kids, I always had the height advantage over him - about an inch or two more. "James Sung, you've got something up your sleeve but I just can't tell what it is."

In reply, James tilted his head to one side and gazed innocently at me. "Well, you're single and I'm single..."

"If that's another gay joke again.."

"Perhaps we might have something."

Giving up, I flung my hands up. "James, if you keep on teasing me about this, I just might thump you."

He gave me a sidelong glance. "Why do you think I am teasing?"

"Get out of here." I told him with a smile.

He laughed again.

After tormenting me for the past ten minutes, we'd both gradually drifted down to the front hall to await the lions' entrance. As usual, my grandparents, my parents and the other elder relatives took their seats near the front entrance while those of the younger generation huddled around the main door, munching on peeled mandarin oranges and pickled dates. Seeing my approach, my grandfather sent me a warm smile and nodded. The red packet was in my shirt pocket and this year, I had been elected to give payment to the lion dancers. Outside the porch, some of my cousins were busy snapping photographs and I declined their offer to join them with a self-deprecating smile.

To keep the kids from getting in the way of the lions, James had corralled the youngest of my cousins into a small group that hung about the door. Crouched down by the front door with the younger children, he was toying with the braids of one of my younger cousins, the chubby five-year-old Joan, as he held her close to his side. Another small boy, Joseph, spent his time happily digging through the pockets on his shirt in search of red packets no doubt. Something the small girl confided in him had the man laughing aloud, flashing two rows of straight white teeth and those irresistible dimples. Damn. James Sung was one sexy bastard and that was something that I could never deny.

Shallow. Utterly shallow to be interested in a man just because he was hard, hot and handsome but I simply couldn't deny it. As I continued my admiring perusal, he turned to me and looked straight at me. His eyes were dark, almost totally black in colour and fringed with the most sinfully thick black lashes that had the cousins complaining daily at the injustice. Those soft lips curled up in a knowing smile that had me turning red. Damned if he didn't know that he looked great.

"John?"

It was a voice that I recognized and I turned sideways with an easy smile. It was my cousin, June. One of the closest to my age, June was in charge of the fledgling software development branch of the company that was based in Singapore. Almost dainty in size at around 5'2", she reminded one of a little fairy, sloe-eyed, elfin-like features and slim, lithe limbs. Those who crossed her however soon learned why for all her tiny size and gentle voice, even my redoubtable grandfather occasionally cowered before her when she roared which gained her the nickname of Cili Padi, a surprisingly fiery spice that came from an exceedingly small chilli plant. Dolled up in chinoiserie chic all in dazzling red, she looked like the perfect little chinese courtesan - albeit a mini version. "Hey, you look wonderful but then again, you always do."

Always pleased to see me, she pulled me close for a hug. "You are a sweetheart."

"That's me."

"And you look as dashing as ever, trying to outshine us all."

Grinning foolishly at her, I replied. "I try my best."

"Poor guy." Pulling away for a moment, she looked up at me, her dark eyes searching. "Has Jackie been bothering you again? Jonathan? James?"

"Why do you say that?" I asked nervously. Did she smell the almost incestuous lust I had for James on me? Could she tell that moments ago, I was that close to slurping him up like the tall, cool drink that he was? Could she guess that I wanted to press my lips down the front of James' shirt, run my tongue down the hard, smooth expanse of his impressive torso, breathe in that musky scent of his, mized with his tangy sweat and spicy cologne. Almost incestuous since James didn't have any blood ties to any of us but then again with all the entanglements in our family, who knew for sure?

It wasn't what I feared however as June replied with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "You have that line between your forehead again."

"What? What line?" I said in frantic surprise, turning around in search of a mirror. Sure, I was okay with not being the best-looking but I could have sworn I didn't have a wrinkle on my forehead this morning.

"And here I thought your brother Jonathan was the vain one." Laughing at my reaction, she gave me a fond nudge. "Gotcha, big cousin."

"Hey, a man of my age has to watch out for the wrinkles!" I protested.

"You might act old but I know that you're only three years older which makes you only 27, young man."

"Act old?" It was the second time somewhat had said something like that and since June wasn't one to kid around, I stared back. "I act old?"

"All serious, reserved, conservative.. I bet some of the younger cousins are terrified of you."

The way she said it was so plainly matter-of-fact that it stunned me. As one of the eldest children in the family, it had always fallen on me to take charge, to deal with the responsibilities that came with a large family. Sure, I'd always known that I was a little more serious than I should be but serious enough that the kids were terrified? "What? Tell me you're not serious."

"That's not what I meant. You don't scare the living daylights out of them, John." Surprised at the look on my face, June hastened to reassure me. "You're not a monster to them, John, but it is terrifying to be compared to you. Doing so well in school, always well-behaved, performing like a genius at work. I know you're under a lot of pressure from everyone but it is still intimidating to stand under your awe-inspiring shadow. Believe me, I know."

"Good God, James said almost the same thing." The fact that James had been correct irritated me and I started loking for the perpetrator. Turning to look for him, I was surprised to see Joan standing alone, clapping her hands while James was out of sight. Deciding that he was probably flirting with one of the neighbours, I turned back to June.

"Well, he is right this time," she nodded in agreement. "Lately, he has been doing quite well for himself these past few months. I think you're a great influence on him. It's the first time in years I've seen him at least sober on New Year's Day."

Just as I was about to make my usual acidic comment on James, the lion dance started out in the front hall and the ensuing din silenced our conversation.

Moving to stand at the edge of the room to watch the proceedings, I smiled. Others might call it an unbelievable din, a sudden alarming clang of noise and colour so jarring that many couldn't stand it and yet for me, it has come to symbolize the Chinese New Year. The sudden flash of red and yellow. The clash of the cymbals. The beat of the drums. The laughter of my cousins. Two lions came dancing in, one resplendent in fiery red and gaudy orange and the other in austere shades of black, grey and white. Satisfied with their position, the lions started their intricate steps, moving to the beat of the relentless drums as they played, danced and rolled about in our front hall. In the midst of the revelry, June released the sounds of her firecrackers and though I couldn't see the flash of red that came with the crackers, she made it sound all too real.

Halfway through their routine, I started wondering whether the red-gold lion had a vendetta against me - which worried me since the dancers in the lion seemed to be far more agile and graceful than the other. The red lion managed to weave and leap through the contraptions my cousins had made with seeming ease. Each time it made its rounds around the room however, the head of the lion would turn and send a playful wink towards me with its huge batting lashes. A second time, the lion came close to bump teasingly against me. A quick look around the room confirmed the fact that I was starting to hallucinate since no one seemed in the least bit suspicious of the proceedings. Deciding that it was a figment of my imagination, I received a shock when the lion took a daring leap off the front table and landed in front of me.

Standing against the edge of the room, there was no room for me to run and I took a step backwards only to have the lion come closer. Just as I was imagining getting devoured by a fake lion, the lion batted its lashes at me again and shook its head vigorously before dancing away. As one of my cousins laughed behind me and gave me a clap on the back, I stared back down on the floor and saw a small red packet on the ground.

Satisfied that everyone had kept their eyes on the lion, I leaned down quickly and picked it up. Lifting open the flap, I stared in astonishment. A small scroll written in Chinese. And it asked me out on a date. The writing was as familiar as my own and I stared in shock. What the hell was James up to?

The man remained out of sight as I searched for him in the front hall all the way to his room. As I came back out to the front, I realized that the crowd had dispersed slightly and the lion dancers were outside partaking refreshment. My brother Jonathan and June crowded around the man under the red lion and I wondered why. Calling out to them, I took a step towards them hoping that they would know where James was hiding. "June, have you guys seen James?"

The lion's head came off and I stared. It was James. Sweat dripped down his dark wet locks onto his flushed face. He'd changed his clothes for the performance and perspiration caused his skimpy white T-shirt to cling onto his well-sculpted chest, outlining his hard, solid pecs, slick now with glazed, edible sweat. At the edge of his pecs, two dark, cherry-coloured nipples poked through the expanse of his white tee. The shirt was translucent enough that I could have easily counted his abs with meticulous care. Although his pants were loose and baggy, they came down tight around his crotch, drawing attention to the ample goods within. I could have easily slurped him up with a straw.

My brother clapped him on the back and praised him on the performance as James smiled gratefully. Noticing my approach, Jonathan called out to me. "He was great, don't you think?"

Even June had been impressed by his athletic prowess earlier. "I can't believe you did all those jumps and splits!"

It was something that I couldn't deny as well. "Yes, he's always been good at performances," I replied non-committally.

The tone of my voice remained cool and James turned to look at me, surprise evident in his dark eyes. "Uhh.. glad you liked it, John."

Keeping my voice as calm as I possibly could, I spoke softly. "James, could I have a word?"

As attuned to my feelings as a close brother could be, Jonathan sneaked a look at James and then me. It was easy for him to correctly guess my feelings as he had often been on the receiving end of one of my lectures in his younger days. Unfortunately, his studies in the university hadn't thought him the value of diplomacy. "Uh-oh, James, what did you do to big brother now?"

"Oh, I think I have a very good idea," James told him with a fading smile. Seeing the disgruntled expression on my face, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Fine. I can see that you just can't wait so let's go up to the room, I just need to change."

"What is the meaning of this, James." Waving the letter in front of him, I lit into him as soon as he'd dragged me into the safety of his room. At that point, I couldn't pinpoint on the exact reason for my anger, a burning feeling that had come to life when I'd seen his writing on the scroll. Was this one of his pathetic mind games? Had he guessed that I'd fallen in lust for him and now he was trying to play some stupid prank on me? "Tell me, what the hell is this?"

As I'd raged on my own, he'd crossed towards the dresser and retrieved a shirt and a pair of blue jeans. "It means exactly what it says." he replied doggedly. Dropping his clothes on the bed, he sat down to face me.

"If this is another one of your pranks, I.." I was at a loss for words and had to satisfy myself by glaring at him.

James didn't look away, holding my stare instead. "Look, why is it so hard to understand? Don't you get it? I've always .. been interested."

His voice rang with sincerity and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't read any sign of duplicity in him. It boggled my mind as I couldn't find any reason why he was doing this. There was no way in hell he could have always been interested in me as he'd claimed. Why would he make such a claim? Was he high on drugs again? "You've always been... is this one of your jokes? If it is, I don't think it's very funny."

The look on my face had turned from fury to a certain confusion that him smiling. "It isn't. I've always looked up to you, admired you."

Floundering, I tried a new tack. "Have you been drinking again?"

He laughed. "You know I stopped drinking sometime back."

"Well, you sound drunk."

"I'm not." Standing up, he pulled off his T-shirt in one swift motion, tossed it away and walked slowly towards me. His bare chest was just as amazing as I'd imagined, perfectly muscled, smooth as silk, glistening with sweat. My attention came to lie on the swell of his pecs, the darkly tipped nipples riding on the crest. The pants rode low on his waist, baring his midriff - and the sexy trail of black curls that led the way down his taut abdomen.

His lips curved up in a wicked smile. "You like what you see, don't you, John?"

"You're definitely drunk," I told him. Trying to take a step back, I stumbled over the carpet and fell forward onto James as I tried to regain my footing. My hands scrabbled down his naked torso, running down his sweat-soaked muscles as I tried to gain a grip. His strong arm came around my waist to catch ahold of me.

"Always the clumsy one." The devil was in his eyes again as he helped me up. "Always falling for me, John."

"Shut up."

"And I'm not drunk. If I was drunk, we wouldn't be having a rational conversation at all, I'd be tearing that suit off with my teeth and we'd be having wild monkey sex." His words were intoxicating and drew an amazingly clear vision of the both of us tangled in the sheets. The sharp gasp that came from me had James smiling again. His hand came to rest on the lapels of my suit and he looked up at me, looking almost shy for a moment. "Look, it's already difficult enough saying this so don't make it worse. I love you, John."

I stared at him. It was obvious that he was waiting for a reply but I found that my throat had practically closed up and all I could think were James' words. A thousand questions jostled for position in my mind but all I could think of was his cliched phrase. It would be easy enough to give him the same reply but I found that I couldn't. Sure, I lusted for him but did I love him? Surely not, I was already having enough problems dealing with the fact that I wanted desperately to knock him down and fuck him. There was no way I was going to compound my problems my falling in love.

Tired of waiting for a reply, James let out a sigh. "You don't have to give me a reply right now. I know this might come as a surprise to you but I have been attracted to you for.. for a long time, John. I never thought that I'd have a chance with you.. well, not until the other day." As I remained silent without comment, James took his chance and hastily continued. "Look, you know why I changed? It's all because of you - and well, because of how I started looking at myself. For years, I thought that I wanted validation and approval from all the wrong people.. Grandpa, my parents... when all I actually wanted was your approval. Your opinion matters the most to me, John."

"Me?" My voice came out in a squeak and I blushed right to my ears. It had never occurred to me that I held such an important position in his life. So far, I'd always imagined that James thought of me as the marplot, busybody cousin who acted as his warden/guardian.

"Remember about two years ago. You came by my apartment."

My mind flipped through the calendar with ease. It was easy to remember that night since it was the first time we'd both come to blows with each other. "You missed work twice in a row, a job I help you get. You were high on some ecstasy pills, drunk and you had two nameless bimbos squirming around in your lap, Dumb and Dumber with Boobs."

"Mia and Lili. Obviously it has stayed in your mind." Somewhat surprised at how easily I recalled the event, James nodded. "Yes, I remember your face then."

"My face?" Surprised that he could even remember my face through that drunken, drug-induced haze, I started to tell him so but changed my mind. There was no need bringing all those old issues up when it was clear that he had tried his best to change the past.

"Yeah, you looked plain disgusted," he said quietly. Releasing his hold on me, he turned away from me. "And disappointed in me. That was something that had never happened before.. You'd always had faith in me."

"I still do." The admission surprised me as much as it did him. "And I remember that day, you caught me at a bad time that day. I just had to handle your parents' quarrelling again - broke a few things in the house if I remember correctly, getting Jackie out of a jam and then you came along." Of course I didn't feel like telling him that it was from that particular night that I started having lurid dreams about him. He had come to the door, absolutely drunk, in a opiate haze and yet he looked absolutely incredible. And as mad as I was then with the red haze across my eyes, there was this sudden shocking urge to drag the bastard back to my house and fuck him hard. That moment had stunned me - and perhaps had me acting harsher than I would have normally.

The man laughed, a bitter, jarring sound unlike the warm, deep-throated sound that I'd grown used to. "A bunch of fucking screw-ups, huh."

"James." Concerned, I reached out to put my hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently on the firm muscle. "I never thought of any of you as screw-ups - well, except if you'll excuse me for saying so - your mom and Jackie. Never you. Even my mother doesn't think that of you."

Turning his head sideways to glance at me, he posed his question to me. "Really?"

"Yeah." I tried a smile. "Just misguided."

"Much worse than that, I'm afraid."

Imitating his move earlier, I recanted his bad points with my fingers, counting them out one by one. "Perhaps a little spoiled, overly arrogant, desperate for approval.."

Looking at me from under his thick black brows, he glanced at me through narrowed eyes. "You can stop anytime."

"You know something, James." Pleased that he was back to his old self, I ran my hand gently down the curve of his spine - partly for his sake but mostly for mine. As I'd said before, the man had a superior back - and everything else. "I never saw you as that. I always saw you as the guy who got me into scrapes, the guy who taught me how to have fun. The kid who taught me how to cut class, the guy who taught me how to shake my booty in Zouk."

My description had him smiling. "You were always too old for your own age."

"I always had to be." It was the simplest answer - and the truth.

"How true." He laughed. "Well, I've changed.. or well, I'm trying to anyway. I even started taking some courses."

It explained his frequent disappearances in the evening, backpack in hand - something that had puzzled me for the past few weeks ever since I'd caught him coming home one night. At that time, since I'd seen no signs of any excesses upon him, I'd accepted his vague excuses. "You said you hadn't."

"I didn't want to flake out on you again, John."

"Somehow I don't think you will."

"Thanks." The smile on his face was reward enough.

Going back to his clean pants, he dug around the pockets and fished out a wad of notes. With a triumphant sweep, he drew it out and handed it towards me. "And here's the money for the past six months' rent. I counted it according to the rates around the area and -"

"John." For a moment, I stared down at the neatly tied-up stack of notes and back at his face. It was more money than he had probably earned in his whole life. Sure, his hefty allowance could easily cover the cost but James had never been able to budget and save anything. "Where did you get this?"

"You'll think it's stupid." He looked a litle sheepish as he told me the answer. "I've been doing some modelling lately, runway stuff and prints."

"Oh. That's.. that's wonderful." It was an absolutely perfect deal, making money out of that fabulous face and body and I was amazed that we hadn't thought of it before. As I tried to imagine seeing James' first ad on display - and had a lustful thought of a twenty foot billboard of James in his Calvin Kleins, I took a deep breath and shoved the money back. "You know I can't take this, James. I can't charge my own cousin rent."

Since I still made no move to take the money, he tossed it back onto the bed. Turning back to me, he gave a shrug. "Half-cousin at best but well, no point in arguing but... you have to at least give me a chance. You don't love me at all right now but I do know that you do have the hots for my body - and right now, I will take what I can get." Those dark eyes turned warm with appeal, his voice grew heavy with the timbre of sex and I shivered. His large hands reached forward and ran slowly down my face, leaving a delicious trail of heat in their wake. "I had this great plan to seduce you here, to have you giving me the best fuck of my life .. but let's start with dinner instead."

His face was inches away again, his warm breath burning against my cheek. His hands had come down to my shoulders, running deliciously down the lapel of my suit. How could I possibly say no? At this game, the man was a master and I found myself helpless. "Okay, dinner when we get back. And you're paying."

His handsome face was split with a wide smile just before he let out a yell. "Yahoo!" Before I could even make a protest, he silenced me with a warm kiss. Those strong arms pulled me close enough that I could feel his heart pounding through his chest - and his hard cock burning a mark on my thigh. Not one to ever lose an advantage, my hands drew him close and ran down the perfection of his broad back. The warm bed beckoned behind me... the bed in my grandparents' home.

Realization came to me and I shoved him away. "Jamie!"

It was a name that I used to call him when we were younger and he smiled. Although he pulled away, he kept his arms tight around me. "You taste like vanilla, John. Sweet."

"Fuck! Anyone could have seen!"

"So?"

I could find no reply and just laughed.

He flashed a sinful smile. "Come, Perfect John, let's break a few rules of our own."

Dearest Enemy

2009-02-19T07:27:00.001-08:00

"Get out, you faggot!"

It was the last thing I ever heard from my best friend.

Like a bad penny, funny how he always turned up when I least expected it. And when I least wanted him to. At this moment in time, I should have been ecstatic and at the top of the world. Four and a half hours earlier, I had just landed a new account for my firm and been offered a partnership. It was everything I'd worked for the past three years, the reward for all my sweat and tears, all those nights of slogging, worrying and biting my nails raw to reach my deadline. Folowing the tradition in the firm, there had been a quick, impromptu celebration in the new bar downstairs. In between drinks and hors' douevres, dozens of people came over to offer their congratulations, my friends and colleagues came with a smile and a pat on the back, my erstwhile boss and now partner gave me a warm, sincere hug. Although I was surrounded by wellwishers, friends and co-workers, I could have sworn that I'd never felt so lonely in my life.

And it was all because of him. Damn the bastard.

Gulping down my third martini, I decided that it would be my last. Like I'd been saying for the earlier two. My photo album lay open on my coffee table, a picture of my graduation set up proudly on the front page. He'd been there as well, his husky arms around me, both of us grinning away like fools. We'd been friends since... practically forever. And we'd gone on to school and college together. Sure, there'd always been that indefinable tug of attraction beneath the boyish camaraderie. How could I possibly deny that? He was a handsome, attractive guy and in my raging teens, my hormones were practically uncontrollable at that time. Hell, they were still in an uproar right now. But I kept my feelings under wraps and never mentioned anything. After all, he was like the brother I never had.

I'd taught him the finer points of physics and he'd drummed into me the manifold virtues of a carefully made stinkbomb. Secretly, I'd shown him my secret technique of putting a nasty spin to a fastball and he'd confided in me when he'd fallen deeply in lust with Jennifer Briggati's overly generous cleavage. Together, we'd mastered the art of handling a gearshift one dusty evening in the last days of July and ended up mowing the lawn for the better part of a month after denting the fender of his father's truck. My best friend.

My first offer had been an opening in London that I'd coveted for years. It was the night before I left that I decided to tell him my biggest secret, the one thing I'd kept from him for so long. That night, I meant to come out to him - not make a come-on - but that was what had happened. Was it my fault that there was a sudden spark of explosive chemistry between us? That the alcohol we'd both eagerly imbibed that night had loosened our inhibitions, released the one dark desire I'd hidden so deep inside that I didn't even know it existed. A tiny spark that had turned into an inferno as I'd finally realized all the vague, unshaped dreams and fantasies that had troubled my many nights. Visions of dark, handsome strangers with blue eyes and roguish smiles that had coalesced into one beautiful man on that night.

While I certainly hadn't expected sweet, thoughtful words from a man who still found Beavis and Butthead hilarious, his reaction the next morning changed everything between us. The first thing he did was plant his fist in my face. As soon as I'd gotten over the shock - and the foul epithets he'd slapped at me, I'd lashed back in return. In retrospect, it wasn't a particularly wise thing to do since he was almost a head taller even then and at least 30 pounds heavier and more muscular than my own lithe, streamlined frame. But that hadn't stopped me. Then again, I was never one to think first anyway since I usually left the thinking it over to him. Before he could even take another breath, I'd given him a hard sucker punch that staggered him - and a quick blow to his tight midsection. The last I'd seen of him was the stunned look in his blue eyes. And the words he'd said to me then.

Giving him another punch that had knocked him off his feet, I'd stalked out of that apartment. Roughly six hours later, I'd faced his locked door with my luggage all ready and packed. Even now, I could still remember all the things I wanted to say, all the explanations that I'd prepared in advance but I remained silent. I never saw him again after that. Two days later, I was already unpacking my bags in a shiny new apartment in Chelsea, London. Who knows if he'd tried to contact me through all these years. I never wanted to know. But that hadn't kept me from scanning the news about him, getting a pang whenever I read the sports page from the States and saw his name.

No, it was a lie that I never saw him again. After all, I did see him a year ago when I came home for my sister, Cheryl's wedding. Somewhat nostalgic, I'd walked down Main Street for a drink at the local bar, Henry's. Henry made a drink that was strong, bitter, black and tasted like a drop of heaven. But all I saw was him, standing at the corner looking even better if possible, dressed in a white button-down shirt and a pair of sinfully tight blue jeans. The gorgeous quarterback. His blue eyes wide and stunned at the sight of me. He might have said something. I was reasonably sure he'd called out my name. An apology? Another tirade? Who knows. All I did was turn and leave on the next plane. Turns out I never did get that drink.

And then this. A box of letters from him. Something my mom had finally sent to me with a truckload of advice about forgiveness. The first letter was dated almost 6 months after I'd relocated to London. Since I'd gone, I'd expressly forbade any of my friends and family from ever giving my address to him but that hadn't stopped him from writing. Since then, he'd sent a letter regularly every month for the past four years till the last one which was dated two weeks from last Tuesday. The hasty scrawl across the front of the white envelope was as familiar to me as my own writing. Even after all these years, I could still recognise it instinctively. I'd always teased him that he should have been a doctor with that indecipherable writing. Even as I tried vainly to forget him, I occasionally wondered what he'd done with his life though I never tried to find out. Whether he'd achieved all the dreams he'd spoken of those summer days when we'd laze around his father's garage and watched the world go by.

When I'd first moved back to town and my new apartment, there'd been a gift from him on my doorstep. A potted azalea. Amazingly, the man still knew which button to push. The devious old bastard. Knowing that I might toss his housewarming gift down the drain, he knew that I couldn't possibly do such a thing to an innocent plant. Which was why the cheery plant adorned the window sill in the kitchen right now.

It was obvious that my mother had told him of my return. No one else was as insistent as she that we should start talking again. Don't let the sun set upon your anger and all that. It was the reason she'd kept the letters for me. Seeing that familiar scrawl made me sad. Made me feel so alone. And I hated him for that. That one night had given me such hope. It had brought to life feelings that I'd never though existed. Until then, I'd never realized that I could love someone so much, that I secretly yearned to have someone beside me. Absentmindedly, I traced his name which was imprinted on the back of the envelope. Brad McKinley.

The bane of my life. And damn him, I missed him.

A quick rap on the door had my pulse jumping. At this hour of the night, I simply couldn't imagine who would come around knocking at my door. Although I had started dating since I came back, I hadn't had anyone over as yet. The only people who knew my new address was my sister and my mom. It would be just like Cheryl to come knocking without calling first.

Heaving an impatient sigh, I took a quick stretch and stood up. Throwing my shirt on without bothering to button it, I stalked to the door, grumbling all the while. The knocking continued incessantly and I was almost positive that was it Cheryl. No one could possibly be as persistent as her. Oh God, could it be Tom again? Ever since marrying her impossibly perfect husband, she had been trying to find faults with him and found herself getting exasperated when she couldn't find any. Even I found it hard to find anything wrong with the man she married.

"I'm coming. Stop knocking!" Swinging the door open, I closed my eyes and heaved out another sigh. "If you're here to complain about Tom again, I swear-" I never got to finish my thoughts.

"Well, I would love to hear about Tom. But I think we should talk about us first."

My fingers stilled at the doorknob and I felt my knees turn to water. The voice. Deeper, huskier but even without opening my eyes I could recognise it. How could I not? The last time I heard it was exactly four years back. My mind was a blank. All the wicked thoughts of retribution that I once had disappeared faced with the reality. Part of me could only think of running, running as far as I could. Back to London. Where it was dull, boring but utterly safe. The other part ... well I followed the other part and slammed the door in his face.

Well, I tried to slam him out of my life anyway. With the years that had passed, I hadn't counted on the fact that he might have anticipated my reaction and that his reflexes might have improved tremendously. In a flash, he had his right leg through the opening and he'd planted himself bodily as a wedge in my doorway.

"Damn it, Dermot!" he huffed.

For making the mistake of saying my name, I opened my eyes and glared at him. Brad McKinley. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Killer smile. Incredible body. That hadn't changed. Damn.

Two words were foremost in my mind, the same words he'd yelled at me with a twist. "Get out, you breeder."

"Fuck." Squeezed between the doorjamb, he managed a quick gasp. "Dermot. I-"

"Get out."

"Wait." His blue eyes turned wide and pleading, the look which usually got him his way but I knew better. "Give me a chance. I just need -"

"Get out."

"Chanting that line like a mantra isn't going to make me going away." Those eyes flashed a warning and I knew that I had a fight on my hands. Just what I needed to make this a perfectly wonderful day. Earlier, I'd envisioned lying on my couch and just flipping through the channels on the telly. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd be involved in a WWF Wrestling championship.

Just as I was about to make another attempt to get rid of him, he took advantage of my momentary lapse and gave the door a hard shove that had me landing on the floor. Before I could start up to kick him out, he had me pinned down on the floor, my arms clipped to the top of my head. Not only had he become much faster, he was also much stronger. Then again he was always stronger than me. The genes of a gorilla did that to a person. Not to mention hours of football and gym.

Not only did he pin me to the floor, he had the gall to flash me a cocky grin, flashing a row of gleaming white. "Hey, long time no see."

"Get off me," I spat out.

"Not until you hear what I have to say." His jaw tensed in that stubborn manner that I remembered.

My brain hit on a sure method of getting him out of my apartment. Granted, I hated homophobia as much as anyone but I sure liked it right now. Putting on my queeniest voice which I never did even for a gag, I lisped delicately. "You sure you want to lie on a faggot here, McKinley? I might just get excited with your oh-so-hot bod."

His eyes narrowed. "Dermot."

"God, I can feel your hot dick on mine, so big, so thick. I am getting all hot and aroused here." As I rolled around under him, I realized that I really was getting aroused by the situation. Damn. Damn Brad and his pheromones and his perfect pecs. From memory, I could easily sketch out a vision of hard, golden curves of male muscle, smooth, slick with sweat and capped with dark male nipples. Nipples that easily came to life with the proper care. From what I could feel right now through his sweater, they were already responding pretty well. "Like whatcha feelin' stud?"

His only response to my lewd comments was a darker frown. "Can it. Ten minutes. Is that too much to ask?"

Despite all my best intentions, his hard thigh slid between mine and I could feel my dick reacting to the suggestion. Hot man. Hard muscles. Flat surface. My indiscriminate cock simply couldn't handle the barrage of suggestions. The very idea that I could still get aroused by him irritated me. What the hell was wrong with me? It wasn't as if I'd been celibate the past few years. Truth to tell, I'd had plenty of good sex and with plenty of good-looking men. Well, not plenty as in a marine platoon but there were a few. Desperate to get him away before he got wind of my reaction, I hastily agreed. "Yeah. Ten minutes. Just get off me."

His expression told me that he wasn't buying my easy acquiescence. "I know you too well, Dermot. Give me your word on that."

"Okay. Fine. Ten minutes. Asshole."

The moment he let go, I released a punch that knocked him over. It was worth four over years of frustration and packed quite a wallop.

Unfortunately, the man was as tough as ever and he barely winced. "Shit."

"Get out," I said quietly. Rolling up onto my feet, I glared down at him. A face that still haunted me more than I cared to admit. Dark, chiselled planes, an aristocratic nose and a 1000 watt smile came together in a face that would make women weep. Add that amazing face to a body that had been featured in Men's Fitness more times than I could count and you had quite a picture. Even now, his muscles strained against the white turtleneck he was wearing, the material clinging lovingly to the smooth curve of his pecs, the flat planes of his tight abs. It wasn't obvious however how he'd gotten into those skintight blue jeans. It looked as if he'd been poured into it, firm ass and all. All in all, Brad McKinley was one smooth drink of water.

Still seated on the floor, he wiggled his jaw gently. "Damn. You gave your word. That used to mean something."

"I've changed, Brad. Yeah, that's me. Turned into a low-lying, deceitful, oversexed nelly," I spat out that last bit before I turned away. For the past few years, I'd always imagined a meeting with him but I never thought it would feel like this. I'd imagined feeling nothing at all after all these years and I realized how wrong I was. There was a quick, sudden ache in my heart that told me that I still had some time to go before I could totally let go of whatever feelings I had for him.

"You've still got that sneaky left, that's for sure." He was still massaging his jaw. That hard, square jaw wasn't the least bit dented. My hands itched for another go. "Dermot -"

The man still hadn't moved from his spot on my hallway and I leaned back against the wall a few feet away. "What the hell are you doing here?" I said quietly.

He knew me too well. My placid demeanour didn't fool him in the least. Watching me warily as he'd no doubt watch some unpredictable beast, he slowly backed away. "Look, for the sake of our friendship.."

The warnings I frequently had about my temper came back to me but simply counting to ten didn't seem to be working right now. "There is no ... our friendship. Don't you remember? That effectively ended three years ago when I got you drunk, seduced you and forced you into a depraved, licentious lifestyle."

The sarcasm in my voice had him wincing. "Look, you're not even giving me a chance to say I am sorry."

"You missed that particular boat three years ago."

"Fuck. I have been trying for the past four... " He looked as if he wanted to say more but he paused. "Look, I even brought .. well, I cooked chow mein. Thought that would help. You used to like it very much."

That explained the large package lying outside my door. "Thanks. Get out."

"Aren't you at least going to offer me some of that? Remember those days.." he said wistfully.

Those days when we used to hide up in his treehouse and munch on the treats my mother insisted that I bring along. How could I possibly forget? In college, Brad had finally given in and started cooking - which he surprisingly did well. His fried chow mein had become our staple diet most nights when he wasn't experimenting with the spices and ingredients he kept in the small apartment kitchen.

"Then take it and leave."

"You want me to grovel, is that it?" He stared at me, the hurt in his eyes almost palpable. For the past 20 years, that look had worked like a charm. Eventhough I steeled myself against it, I found myself weakening.

"No, I just want you to go." Moving over to the door, I held it open despite my reservations. Eventhough I'd tried to forget the man, I couldn't deny that I'd always hoped that we could have maintained our friendship despite everything that had happened between us. He was the closest friend I'd ever had and shared almost all my childhood memories.

"Wait. I-I just want you to have this." He held it out to me and I stared at it. A friendship bracelet. Blue-green and black. I remembered the time we'd spent trying to figure out the correct knots on a dare from my sister years ago. We'd finally bungled through two bracelets. The fact that Brad had kept it surprised me. He was always the careless one, the one who kept on losing and misplacing things. His mom used to say that he'd lose his head if it wasn't screwed on tight. "Remember that day when we did it. How we laughed when you got your fingers all tangled up. Well, I found it while I was rummaging through my things.. and I thought you should have it back."

Who knew that my heart still could feel a pang at the thought. "One meal and you're out."

Surprise flashed across his dark face before he suppressed the feeling. "Okay."

It was obvious that I had relented but I couldn't help denying it. "This doesn't mean anything, McKinley."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed readily.

"Wipe that smirk off your face." Saying that, I turned back and walked into my kitchen.

During dinner, I tried not to look at him but it was difficult not to with Brad sitting right there in front of me looking absolutely scrumptious. It was really hard not to appreciate a great looking man at my table even if he was the man who had practically spat at me four years ago. Not to mention almost breaking my nose. Although he was an asshole, no one could deny however that he was major male eyecandy. If it was possible, the years had improved him. Years of professional sports had given him the added bulk and muscle that he hadn't had when he was younger, his shoulders were wider, his sculpted biceps strained deliciously at the sleeves.

And the man still did somehing absolutely wonderful with a pack of noodles.

I knew him almost as well as I knew myself - or as well as he knew me. At the moment, he was dead nervous that I might just reach over and bite his head off. Gesturing to the heaping plate of noodles in between us, he tried his best to break the ice. Although he had gotten over the idea that I wouldn't just kick him out, his tone still held an undertone of nerves. "How is it, Dermot?"

"It's fine." In reality it was wonderful especially since I'd been subsisting on take-out for weeks but I certainly wasn't going to let him know that. After all these years, I wasn't about to tell him that I would enjoy feasting on his noodles - and anything else he would like to offer me. The fact that I was still attracted to the gorgeous hunk of meat, this perfect distillation of testosterone and genes irritated me, given the fact that he had literally tossed our friendship into the garbage not too long ago. It certainly wasn't the all-encompassing blinding hate that I envisioned years ago.

The perfection of his smile, the charming dimple bracketing the smile only caused me to glare at him. I didn't even want to risk thinking about the rest of him.

"Uhh.. Dermot. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Asshole. My sullen response was daunting and he searched valiantly for a topic even as I continued eating. I saw no reason for me to make it easier for him.

Silence reigned for the next few moments as he struggled for something to say. "You never read my letters, did you?"

It was the last thing I'd thought he would have brought up. Silently, without looking up from my plate, I pointed idly at the pile sitting on the table. As if on cue, the pile teetered and slid on the living room table. Wonderful. He messed up my life once - and now he was messing up my table.

"It's here?" His smile was almost wistful when he saw the pile of letters on the table. Standing, he crossed over to the table and rifled through the first stack of letters. Picking a random letter out, he flicked it open and turned to look at me. "You kept my letters?"

The spark of hope in his eyes annoyed me and I kept my answer curt. "My mom kept it. I couldn't stop her."

A quick glance at the rest of the letters confirmed his suspicions. "You never read any of them did you?"

"No. It would have been an insult to my intelligence."

"It wouldn't," he replied coolly. Almost reverently, he shifted the pile back into several neat rows. That was a welcome change from his usual messy behaviour and I wondered blithely how much he had changed in the past few years. That great butt of his certainly hadn't. "But no matter what you think of it, you didn't throw it away," he pointed out with a soft smile.

It was the smile that got to me again. That quick flash of masculine charm, so damnably sexy. All it did to me was make me irrationally nasty - and had me fighting the urge to run my fingers over the soft swell of his lower lip. "The world's forests are disappearing. I was planning on recycling it."

"Ouch."

As Brad remained silent rifling through the letters after that exchange, I kept my face trained on the plate instead of his cute ass. What was it about that ass of his? It had been my first real inkling that my sexual proclivities leaned that way - seeing Brad McKinley's tight sixteen-year-old bubble butt wrapped in skintight denims. That amazing ass had not only remained a fucking work of art, it had gotten better. The result of almost a decade of high school and college athletics, it was so hard, muscular that I imagined quarters could certainly bounce off those taut cheeks. So much for the wear and tear of age.

Shaking himself from his private reverie, he looked up to catch me staring - at least three feet down from his face at his butt. My face flushed.

His blue eyes flashed, he grinned. "Like what you see?"

"Shut it. Aren't you gonna eat?" Embarassed at being caught ogling his booty, I turned back to my dinner and realized to my horror that I had almost finished two plates of noodles! Something about Brad always amde me lose control.

"Yeah, I will." Pleased with my reaction, he returned to the dining table, all affable again after managing to yank my chain yet again. "So what have you been doing all this while?"

"Apart from dancing around shiny poles and seducing innocent yet virile college boys?" I replied smoothly.

He gave me a cool glance. "Dermot."

It was easy getting a rise from him. One up for the home team. Taking a quick bite of the noodles, I mumbled resentfully through my food. "Don't tell me you don't already know. Didn't my mom send you regular follow-ups? The Dermot Lee Kincaid Newsletter?"

His ears turned red. "You know about that."

"Yes." It certainly amazed me that he thought I was such an idiot. My own mother, the turncoat was the staunchest supporter of the Brad McKinley Fan Club and she had regular support rallies for him each time I called home. It had become almost a tagline for my mom - rather than a simple hello, it was 'Call Brad'. It had become a persistent pain in the neck - especially after my return and I thought irrationally that he must somehow be behind this wicked scheme to drive me insane. Every week, my mother would keep his memory fresh in my head no matter how much I tried to forget. Back in London in the beginning, I would end each call with a quick escape to the nearest bar in search of a substitute, a dark-haired, blue-eyed stranger. It had been absolutely pathetic.

"And all that time, you didn't say anything." He gave me a searching look, those baby blues trying their best to decipher me. "I am amazed at your restraint."

"Unfortunately, my attorney told me that gagging my mom wasn't in my best interests."

He laughed. "There's that nasty sarcasm that we love."

"Look, chow mein aside, what are you up to? This aw-shucks good-guy mood is making me bloody suspicious." Letting out a sigh, I stared at him. "Why are you here?"

"I told you," Brad said carefully.

Much too carefully for my tastes. The way his eyes wandered got my antenna rearing up. It started making me suspicious. No matter how much he had changed, I doubted that he had managed to change this habit. He could never tell a lie worth a damn while looking at me. "That's not the reason. Don't give me that crap."

"It's not crap." Almost instantaneously, his voice lashed out even as his jaw hardened in response. "Look, that day you walked out, I was an utter idiot. A fool. And you didn't even give me a chance."

"A chance?" A flash of the past came to me and I could feel my hackles rising in response. It was his face I saw again, the face he wore four years ago, the anger, the fury, the utter disgust in those familiar blue eyes. The fist that he raised against me, the sudden flex of that muscular arm. And I could easily remember then, the feelings of betrayal and humiliation that had filled me - so very soon after I thought I'd achieved almost a dream. "A chance for what? To beat me up again? To call me a fucking dickslut? I am sorry but although I am obviously a depraved sex maniac, I'm not much into sado-masochism - at least not that kind anyway."

"Dammit! You never gave me a chance to explain! You just up and left - for bloody London!" In a second, he rose from the table and slammed his hands on the table. The sound stunned me and I looked up into his bright blue eyes. This time, there wasn't the shame, the disgust - only remorse and a whole load of guilt. "That was a mistake. I was stupid that day, Dermot. A fucked up asshole. I didn't know what I was losing then."

My growing irritation surfaced. "A faggot buddy? Somebody to give absolutely fabulous window treatments?"

"Stop that." As I was standing to leave, Brad reached over to catch my hands and though I tried to pull away, he used all his simian strength to hold on. "You're my best fr-"

"No," I replied flatly.

"My best friend. Almost a brother." He repeated forcefully. "The truest friend I've ever had and I lost you over something so trivial. Don't make me pay like that again."

"Having a wild fuck all night wasn't trivial for me." It was anything but trivial. Although it had been marred by the events after, I could still remember that one night. The heat. The skin. The flesh. My hands eagerly unwrapping the perfect gift, tearing the Oxford shirt open, ripping into his cotton pants, letting my hands run over his hard, naked body. The soft moan he released when I turned my lips on that spot beneath his collarbone.

"Trivial?" Seeing the expression on my face, Brad released me and returned to his seat. He looked up at me, his dark, handsome face an unfathomable mask. "No, it certainly wasn't that. Look, I know you hate me."

For the past few weeks, I had been wondering about the same thing. But I realized that the years had changed me somewhat and I could look back on things differently based on my experiences after the incident. It would be so easy to remain convinced that my love for him had turned inexorably to hate but I found that I couldn't. All I could remember was the guy who had held my hand when my grandfather had passed away, the man who cooked and made hot soup when i was feeling under the weather. "I don't. No, I don't hate you, Brad. You hurt me terribly, you right bastard, but I can't find it in myself to hate you. I cannot hate someone who was so much a part of my life before."

"You're a bigger man than I thought, Dermot," he admitted in a soft, subdued voice.

"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm all that big, big boy."

My teasing reply pleased him and he nodded in some relief. "I still want to make it up to you."

I sighed. "Look, you don't have to do that. We might not be able to go back to where we were but I don't hate you. Believe me, I don't spend my time figuring out ways to humiliate you."

"Never?" He smiled ruefully, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling up.

"Well, in the beginning, I did have this nicely set up scenario of your big dick being roasted over an open fire. But I stopped having that pleasant dream years ago." It was actually true since in my recent X-rated dreams I was busy feasting on his hot dick even as he writhed in ecstasy but he certainly didn't have to know that. No doubt he would be stunned at the amount of whipped cream and lashes I'd used in my dreams. No open fire involved though.

He winced. "Nasty."

His expression had me smiling for once as I leaned forward to make my point. "That's me. And you'd do well to remember that."

"I never forgot you. Each time I felt happy, each time I had some news, I always turned to look for you," Brad replied softly, his gaze intent on mine. For some unfathomable reason, I felt uneasy and looked down at my plate, my face flushing. It had almost been the same for me and I found that it surprised me. Since we were kids, I always thought that Brad had a million good buddies and I was just one of the insignificant number. The affable, sociable guy that he was, he seemed to have a throng of friends eager to share some time with him.

"You know, I tried to track you down but your mom stopped me," he said conversationally.

This amazed me as my mom seemed to be pushing us together at every chance she could get. Pleased at the change of topic, I moved my chair closer to hear more. "She did?"

He shrugged. "She said you weren't ready and frankly I was terrified."

"Terrified?"

"That you'd slam the door on my face."

"And break that pretty nose," I sneered in reply.

"Hey!" His hands lifted to briefly touch his nose. Like everything else about him, it was perfect. The years of college football hadn't left the usual scar on his face which amazed me. "Don't touch the nose. It got me through college."

I smiled. Perhaps later I would tell him that I had managed to keep track of his movements through my mother's calls. "Perhaps several months ago, I would have slammed and locked the door. You caught me in a mellow moment today."

"Yeah."

"And I was too damned hungry today."

He smiled. "That too."

That night we talked, settling into a warm camaraderie, still uncertain but there was something. It was amazing how easily we fell back into our old ways, teasing and ribbing each other almost as if nothing had happened between us. Years melted away as he started talking about what he'd been up to. Just as he said, he'd literally used his face to get him through college. Just like a tale from some urban myths, a talent scout had grabbed him as he'd walked down the streets and he'd started his career as a model after college. The money that he earned helped him set up his own little nest-egg as he struggled in the beginning at a career in professional sports. Of course I already knew all that but it was interesting to hear firsthand. It also amazed me considerably to hear that he had dreams of actually becoming a physician as I'd imagined earlier.

As the hours passed, it was as if that night had never happened. Almost. Each time, I saw him turn his head, tilt his head in a certain manner, send me that particular smile with that glimmer in his sexy blue eyes, it still had my heart stuttering. As I slowly rifled through an inventory of my lovers, I wondered whether any of them had managed to draw such an emotion from me and came up with none.

After a moment, he stopped and shook his dark head. Tilting his head to look at me, he flashed me a rueful grin. "God, I've been talking all this while."

"Go on, Brad." Surprisingly, I found that I liked hearing what had happened. Since flying off to London, I had broken off all ties with all my old friends in school and college and it was interesting to find out what had happened to them. Of course none of them had been into as many pursuits as Brad and I seriously wondered how he managed to juggle all his responsibilities. "I don't mind."

"Enough talking about me. Tell me what you've been doing?" Taking a slow sip from his coffee mug, he raised a dark brow. "So you seeing anyone?"

"Sure." I shrugged coolly. "Didn't you see the platoon of hunky marines in the bathroom waiting?"

"Wise ass."

Flinching from the playful punch he aimed at me, I snickered. "No. Still single. Any cute friends?"

"You surprise me."

"Why?" Immediately suspicious, my brows drew closely together. "Just because I had a one night stand with you doesn't mean that I -"

Cutting in before I could continue, Brad retracted his statement quickly. "That's not what I meant. I'm only surprised that you're still alone. A guy like you would make someone a very happy man."

Of course he didn't realize that right now, I'd love to make him happy. There was a part of me that would always remember that amazing night that we shared with a pang of regret but then he didn't have to know that. "No one could compare to you."

Pleased at my compliment, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile. "Thanks."

"Stop. We're getting mushier than Hallmark."

He laughed and caught me in a bear hug.

That was how it was between us for the next few weeks. With the flimsiest of excuses as his platform, Brad would drop by my office to take me out for lunch and it soon became a simple routine for us. As he contemplated leaving sports, he'd started taking premed courses in the college across town in the off-season and he commuted back and forth. It was amazing how easily we fell back into the rhythms and patterns of our old friendship, like a missing piece of my life had finally fallen back into place. And it fit almost perfectly. Unfortunately, the platonic buddy-buddy relationship of the past didn't mesh well with my feelings for the man. Along with our rediscovered friendship, I also realized with some dismay that I had never actually fallen out of love with Mr Brad McKinley. The heavy emotional baggage that I'd carried around for years vanished in almost an instant as I found myself getting to know - and liking the older Brad McKinley.

And anyway it was hard to remain angry with a guy who brought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast. And looked like he did.

Together with the rosy-tinted glasses of love came an amazingly adult sexual charge that I hadn't felt since I was a perpetually horny, hormonally charged teenager. As physically affectionate as he was, Brad had no qualms about generally driving me crazy and his physical closeness left me in a state of near-orgasmic high. I could feel my hormones churning each time Brad threw his arm around me and pulled me close to whisper in my ear. I know it certainly didn't mean anything to him - heck, he must have thought that I'd outgrown that stupid crush on him - but it drove me secretly insane.

Oblivious to the erection tenting up my pants, Brad leaned from his chair to whisper into my ear, his warm breath heating up my cheek. We were out on a Sunday brunch and he'd dragged me out for some dim sum which I'd always loved. In between steaming plates of dumplings and sweetmeats, he decided to point out the local meat along the way. "Hey, look. What about him?" Brad made the suggestion with a teasing smile. "He's quite the good-looker."

Swivelling around to catch a glimpse of the man walking by, I made a note. Sure, the man he was looking at was great-looking. Nice built, great smile but unfortunately nothing compared to the man by my side. Giving him a quick nudge back to his chair, I whispered fiercely. "Stop it."

His blue eyes twinkled with unholy glee. "Why not? Great shoulders, big arms, nice butt. Isn't that you're looking for?"

"Don't even think about it."

"Surely, you don't expect to have brains and earning power with all that... you can't have everything, you know." He grinned. "But then again, there is one guy I know.."

Unfortunately, it was a line that I'd heard before from many of my well-meaning friends and I could see where this was heading. Turning to him - with my chopsticks aimed threateningly - I said quietly. "McKinley, if you ever dare set me up on a blind date, I will.."

He snickered. "Well, shucks, and here I know this great guy at work who.."

"Brad."

The stern look I turned on him made him laugh even harder. "Okay, before you jab me with that extremely dangerous chopstick, I have something that I know will placate you." Turning back to the gymbag that he'd dumped on the seat next to him, he opened it and started fishing around in the contents.

"Placate?" I echoed in disbelief.

"Yeah?" Giving me a quick glance through his lowered lashes, he grinned. "Don't make fun of my vocabulary now."

"I didn't know you had one."

Tugging out a thick manila envelope from his bag, he shoved it at me. "Here."

For a full moment, I stared down at the envelope and then back at him. Shaking out the contents, I was almost speechless as I looked down at the stark black-and-white photographs inside. These were the first photographs that I'd captured with the simple camera that he'd bought for me years ago. They weren't all that great compared to some of my recent work but it was like finding a long forgotten friend. "My God, where did you find these?"

"Can't really remember.." Thinking back, he drew his hand through his dark curls. "Probably in one of the bags you left behind in our place... you left in a hurry... I knew you'd want to keep these."

Sure, I left in a hurry. After that disastrous morning, I barely had the time to pack all my stuff before I ran stumbling down the stairs. There hadn't been the time to rummage through all my belongings and I'd only grabbed the essentials.

Shifting through a few shots that I'd taken of him, I smiled. Those shots were the easiest since it was simple enough to make Brad look good, the camera adored his striking good looks. These pictures certainly wouldn't be worth anything to the people who went to my exhibitions but these were taken by a young man obviously in the throes of his first love and they mattered very much to me. It amused me to realize that my camera had evidently managed to capture the love I'd felt for him then - even before I'd realized it myself. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Hey I'm always nice," he protested. "Ask anyone."

"Yeah, right." Arranging the pile back into some semblance of order, I placed them carefully back into the envelope. "You weren't all that nice when you dumped Tasha Blake."

"Tasha?" He shrugged. "I was stupid as a kid."

"Can't argue with that."

My quick response had him grinning. "Still stupid right now but I bet I look much better now." Leaning back a little, Brad flexed for me and shot me his best smile. The leather jacket he wore fell open to reveal the blindingly white T-shirt that clung intimately to the perfection of his sculpted torso.

"You wish." I rolled my eyes. Privately I thought that he looked good enough to eat but I figured he didn't need to know that. "Your ego knows no bounds."

Tucking in another piece of dumpling, he shook his dark head. "Can't shake the truth."

His lopsided smile brought to life an irresistible dimple that drew my eye and I wondered how he had remained single till this day. Since the day he'd dropped by my place, he'd managed to avoid the question several times but I was still curious. Though I managed to catch some news of him dating some up-and-coming starlet once in a while, I never seemed to hear of him having a long-term relationship. "Who are you seeing nowadays, Brad?"

"You mean, a girlfriend?" Looking up from his plate, he gave me another nonchalant shrug. "No one."

"Come on, seriously."

"Seriously. No one," he repeated slowly. "Nada. Zilch."

Recalling his prior behaviour, I smiled. "One-night-stands with the groupies then?"

"No."

"No one?" I stared in shock. It was simply improbable. A man who looked like him without a date? What was the world coming to? It boggled the mind that a handsome, intelligent man like him wasn't beating off crazy admirers with a stick. If a dish like Brad McKinley even stepped into a gay haunt, the queens would be feasting on his hot bod in seconds.

"Stop looking like that." Giving me a quick punch, Brad laughed. "Come on, I am not some salivating cockhound."

"Yeah. right. You don't want me to recite the names of every girl I made my waffles for, do you?" Regaining my senses, I shook my head in disbelief. Back in college, it seemed as if Brad had a neverending carousel of girlfriends. The names and images of his various girlfriends since Jennifer blurred in my mind and I found that I couldn't even properly place them in their order. And that wasn't even counting the numerous one-nighters that he occasionally brought over, girls I met once over breakfast the morning after and never saw again. "I seem to remember a certain bed creaking every night next door."

He had the sense to blush. "You heard?"

It wasn't all that often that I managed to catch him unawares - and make him blush. His dark face was flushed and I couldn't help poking at him. Confirming his suspicion, I replied smugly. "I sure did. Every silent scream."

"Shit."

"Damn right."

His blue eyes flashed with humour. "You enjoyed every moment, didn't you."

As juvenile as it sounded, I stuck my tongue out.

It made him laugh again and he shoved me back in my chair. "Look, I've dated around some but there's no one that I particularly liked." As he continued, his sexy lips turned up in a sly grin. "No one with a fetish for peanut butter and jelly."

"McKinley." Dropping the chopsticks back on the sand, I eyed him coolly. "That's the lousiest come-on ever. You're lucky you have that pretty face."

"Don't forget the great ass," he reminded me, his blue eyes twinkling.

I snickered.

Munching through another savoury dumpling, he flipped the chopstick about to point at me. "How about you, Kincaid? I don't believe all that crap about you being single."

It was a question that had been posed to me by my parents more than once and even after multiple attempts I found that I still didn't have a proper answer. Although I had done the rounds in London - and God knew, some of the British men with their crisp, upper-crust accents were hot - I still hadn't found the certain connection and chemistry that I expected in someone I planned to be with for the long-term. Perhaps I was a romantic fool with rose-tinted glasses but I had grown up in a home where my parents still cared very much for each other and it surprised me that I had come to expect the same in my own relationship. Sure, I might have chosen a different lifestyle than the one my parents would have wanted for me but it amused me that I still shared the same old-fashioned values that I'd been brought up with.

The truth seemed to be the easiest so I told him. "Actually I have dated a few guys in London but they never worked out. I guess I just haven't met the right guy."

"Someone hot like me?" Brad teased me with a salacious wink at me. "Come on, Dermot, you marry me and I'll treat you like a queen."

Wadding my tissue, I tossed it at him. "You wish, asshole."

Even as he laughed and evaded my missile, I started fearing for my sanity yet again as it had been at the tip of my tongue to reply in the affirmative.

"Shouldn't you be getting home by now?"

"Why?" The man lazing on my couch playing with my remote looked up at me and laughed. "Kicking me out, Kincaid?"

Sure, hot guys in the living room were always an improvement to any decor but Brad McKinley in a old faded tanktop and skintight jeans proved too much of a distraction for me. After his appointment at the gym, he'd dropped by at my place with two six-packs and pizza and I found myself unable to turn away a delivery boy who looked as good as he did. And he looked spectacular. The tanktop was cut low at the front, showing off beautifully sculpted pectorals and his impressive lats. His nipples peeked out around the straps, thick, fleshy points ringed with soft dark hairs. I didn't even have to continue on how great his legs looked, all hard and pumped up in denim.

He'd brought a disc of the latest shoot-em-up but I barely noticed as I kept my attention on the man beside me. It was getting difficult trying to restrain myself as the buzz of the beer clouded my mind. I'd never been a good drinker. A second ago, he'd downed a beer and as a few drops trickled down his chin, I had the image of myself licking the trail left by the beer down his cleft chin down his throat to where it disappeared into the folds of his tanktop. It was when I started imagining nibbling on the nipples crowning the edge of his hard pecs that I decided that it was best that he left before I could make any uncalled for attacks on his virtue.

"It's late. I gotta.. I gotta get some sleep," I ended lamely. It was easy enough to predict that I'd be fantasizing about tearing that tanktop off tonight.

"Dermot, I have something.." He stood up, looked at me for a moment as if he wanted to tell me something but then he just shrugged. "Nah, it's nothing."

"What?" I asked curiously.

Shaking his dark head, Brad just smiled. "Nothing important." Picking up his gym bag in one hand, he headed towards the door.

"Look, Brad.. I..." He was standing at my door and I could picture myself plastered against him on the doorway. Not a very good sign.

Correctly guessing my condition, he grinned, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're already woozy right now, right?" he teased me.

It had always been a well-known fact that alcohol and Dermot Kincaid didn't mix well. In college, I would have gotten my first taste of sex with one of the nubile co-eds after downing a six-pack if I hadn't heaved up. The man knew me much too well and I laughed. "Just a little. I could never hold my drink all that well."

He reached over and slapped me on the back. "Well, I'll letcha catch your beauty sleep. Looks like you might need it."

"Asshole," I replied fondly.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the hallway for a moment before turning back to me again. "You know," Brad started sheepishly. "I think I forgot something."

It didn't surprise me at all since he was notorious for forgetting things like that. Turning back to my living room, I scanned the area. "What? I don't think you left anything here."

"I forgot to do this," he replied in determination.

There was no moment for retreat, no time for a snappy answer before he came forward and kissed me. The shock of the sudden contact had my lips parting, allowing his tongue to flicker, grazing my teeth on the way down my throat. His hand reached around to cup my neck, holding my face close as our tongues parried and thrust in a frenzied swordsplay.

I pulled back from him, gasping for air. His face was so close, the strong line of his jaw, his soft, sensual lips. This was the man I loved a long time ago and I remembered the way his lips had melted against mine, the way his warm, silky skin felt beneath my fingers, the hard, firm muscles tensed underneath my touch. His scent beguiled me as it had years ago, the spicy scent of his cologne and fresh sweat.

When his lips brushed gently against mine again, I held my hands up to push him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Kissing?" he ventured carefully. "Foreplay?"

As he pressed forward again, I shoved him away. "Stop. You can't do this."

"Why?"

"We don't do this."

His brow creased as if in deep thought before he replied. "As I seem to recall, we did it four years ago." Brad moved down again and his hot tongue slithered across the edge of my ear. "And I think we did it pretty well for a bunch of amateurs even then."

My left hand reached up to clutch his head, tangling in the silky curls of his dark hair - but I didn't know whether to push him away or pull him close. His long legs maneuvered between mine and I could feel the hard, pulsing length of his cock burning against my thigh. The recollection of the sheer size and power of him left me weak in the knees. A sudden wave of sexual desire swept me away, clouding my mind as I tried to reason with him. "Brad, what's all this?"

He turned to me, his face barely an inch away now, his blue eyes looking thoughtfully at mine. "This is what I have been meaning to tell you all these years. If you'd read some of my letters, you'd have known."

"What?!"

"I'm bisexual," he admitted softly.

"What?"

He growled in reply. "You heard me."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "God, you know I can't resist you and now you drop this bombshell on me?"

"Yeah, is it working?" he asked hopefully even as one of his hands trailed down the curve of my spine to caress my butt.

The idea that he could be interested in guys hit me like a ton of bricks and I couldn't say that I terribly disappointed. "When?" I said in surprise. "What happened?"

His dark brow raised sardonically. "I'm dead horny now and you want to talk?"

As he shifted his hip to press his stiff erection against me again, I realized that any explanations could wait. "You won't go crazy tomorrow," I told him. It was a statement, not a question and I found that I wasn't at all afraid that he would go into another berserker rage.

"Nope." Grinning foolishly, Brad reached behind him and brought my left hand down to his lips. "After all, you have that nasty left hook."

"Asshole."

"Look who's talking."

Best Friend

2009-02-19T07:20:00.001-08:00

For two weeks after his recent breakup with his latest girlfriend, some Jennifer-Love-Tiffany-Amber, he had moped around the house, looking lost and confused as he usually did after each horrific debacle. But this time, he didn't break down to confide in me with mournful eyes as he usually did. Although once in a while, I'd catch him staring at me with an intense look that I found simply indecipherable.

And now this.

"Come on, darlin' make me gay," he repeated for the second time with a teasing grin.

Contrary to what you would expect, I wasn't his darling. If I was, we wouldn't be having this conversation since I'd be jumping his admittedly sexy bones faster than you'd expect. He probably also knew how I hated him calling me that. It couldn't have been the alcohol. Since we'd sat down for a drink and a bite, he hadn't been drinking more than a glass unless he'd been downing some while I wasn't looking. And I was definitely paying attention to everything he was doing.

But this was Mr Straight and True Blue talking here. There was no way he could be saying this. Not that I hadn't had naughty secret fantasies of him saying exactly that. Since he had come knocking at my apartment to answer my want ad for a roommate, I had often wished the same. Looking at that dark, perfect features, it was easy to see why. And for the next 3 years since then, my friends have continually told me that I was insane to be mooning over a man who was so steadfastly straight. In fact, it was one of the first things he'd admitted to me. Once I'd gotten over the realization that the gorgeous man at my door was there to answer my ad and not to do a stripper's dance, I knew that I had to out myself to him. It was either that or take a leap back into the proverbial closet again as I tried to hide my appetites. And frankly, my closet was already way too cluttered up.

In response he had only grinned in return. "I'm straight. I hope you don't mind."

No matter what happened, I would always remember that phrase he'd used. Instead of shying away from it, he treated homosexuality as almost a boring commonplace and it hardly fazed him at all. Which only made Mr Straight Hunk Boy even more appealing if that was possible. I doubted that I could resist even if I had wanted to. Just look at the man.

But if it was only his great looking pecs and dazzling smile that had me falling all over my feet, I think I just might have gotten over the crush in three years. But God obviously had to punish the poor, suffering gay roommate. People looking at him for the first time would be so dazzled by his good looks that they usually thought bitterly that behind that megawatt smile and the shiny muscles, there was only vacant nothingness. It was a nice, hopeful notion that most of us lesser endowed mortals have that people who are so gifted in their looks are obviously deficient in some other way, in most cases their intellect. It was similar to what I had thought in the beginning and that I had found out later to my regret that I was miserably wrong.

Taking advantage of his sleek good looks, the man walked the runways and his face and body was splattered over a number of billboards and magazine covers. But not only did he advertise and look great in briefs, he also worked on them. Yes, Mr Muscles took part-time modelling as a way to pay off his tuition - to be a damned lawyer. And besides graduating recently at the top 5% of his class, he also had to have a mind sharp enough to slice through.. well anything and wit enough to compare with my own - so much for a gorgeous but dim-witted roomie. He also had a keen sense of humour. It was amazing how we seemed to laugh at the same lousy jokes and smile at the same exact moment in a movie. And he could make the most boring subject in the world - one of the old cases that he was forever reviewing - seem almost funny.

And to cap it all off, the man cooked like a dream.

So in the past four years, I had slowly and irrevocably fallen in love with the idiot. It must have been those flawless... waffles. Sure, great buns were nice to look at - and his were award-winning - but with four years of just looking at the goods, I had to depend on something considerably more substantial than hunky eye-candy. Sure, I probably made him sound like a paragon of virtues and that was the last thing he was. He was a flesh and blood man and he had his share of annoying traits that I could expound on for hours if not days. Don't even get me started on his stubborn ass ways.

So, I continued dating. Heck, Paul even threw in a few recommendations. In his naive enthusiasm to get me out and dating, he practically tossed me at every available gay man in town. Walking in the streets, he'd point out cute guys - or what he assumed was cute - and asked me to jump their bones. But none of them worked out. Somehow , there just wasn't the spark that I felt when I was around Paul. Hell, the man exuded more sex appeal from his lil finger than all of them put together.

My friends all obviously said that I was nuts. From the beginning, he had made it clear that he was totally irrevocably straight but he was totally fine with my sexual orientation. Sure, I'd tried hitting on him in the beginning but nothing came of it. So with time, I decided that rather than lose him, I decided that having him as a best friend would be better than nothing at all. Yeah, whoever said that having half a loaf of bread was better was undoubtedly an idiot - and hadn't tasted Paul's golden crisp waffles.

He was my closest pal in every way that matters. Some of my friends had taken to calling him my husband and in a way it probably was everything that I had dreamed of. A man who welcomed me home everyday with a warm hug and smile. Who I could count on to be there whenever I needed him - and to have the perfect dinner ready! He cooked, he cleaned up the house if nagged, never left the toilet seat up and he made great coffee. Only there was no sex. Ever. It was practically the PG version of a gay romance.

It was not that homosexuality disgusted the man. It would have made it so much easier if he had been violently homophobic. Then I would have had gotten over the sophomoric crush I'd had on him earlier on and life would be so much easier. But no. Homosexuality didn't drive him crazy. It just totally baffled him. He just couldn't conceive the idea that a man could love another man in that way. After all, men were pigs, he had said with a lazy smile.

"Hey!" Realizing that he was rapidly losing his audience, he gave me a gentle nudge to bring me back to the present. "Come on, you have tagged along with me on some of my dates and you've even gone to the places that I've been. Why have you never asked me to one of your ..umm.. gay bars?"

Of course, one of his annoying traits was his persistence.

But back to his question. Why? Hmm.. perhaps it had never occurred to me that he'd be interested. And I wasn't such a fan of hanging out at bars anymore anyway.

In the beginning, when I was still in a state of denial and shock over the fact that I was madly, heads-over-heels in love with a hunky breeder, I dated incessantly. Hit every gay, happening and wild spot in town - desperately hoping to find a man who'd match the straight stud at home. After all, although I might not even come close to his level of sex appeal - which was practically astronomical - I did have my fair share of good looks and I did have my admirers. So I dated. Very often and with very little discernment but I curtailed that activity after some time as I realized that none of them could possibly live up to such high expectations - namely Paul. Of course that was also after the last sleazy, low-life scum had groped his way up my thigh.

"Why? The bars aren't at all interesting. And.. " And the queens over there would have a field day with a A-Grade hunk of meat like you. I'd have to bloody hell beat them off with a big stick.

"C'mon, show me all your dark places." He grinned playfully and gave me another nudge. "Don't lie to me. I know you go to those places."

Any other time, I could have stood firm on my stand but in view of that smile, I relented but I still needed to find out for sure. My dark eyes narrowed suspiciously and I decided to give him a little push. "Why do you suddenly want to go? Is this some kinda scientific experiment? You haven't gone gay on me, have you?"

Expecting a vehement denial and an exhortation of his rampant heterosexuality, I was surprised when the man just smiled easily in return. "Take me there and you'll know for sure, won't you? C'mon. I just want to know my very best friend. You've seen all my hangouts and yet you haven't shown me a single one of your places. I just want to get to know you better."

Did I mention earlier that I hated to be called babe? It was his best cajoling tone and he probably knew it. Usually that and those dimples always made me just wanna roll over, bend over, well practically do whatever the man wanted. And there was no doubt that he probably knew it too.

Oh God, there was that dimple!

Well, I certainly was no proof against that smile and those dimples. In about half an hour, we were both standing outside Dinty's, a neighbourhood bar where everybody knew everybody else's name - and their ex-boyfriend's too. Parked out on the sidewalk, Paul stood aside and gazed up at the name of the bar, a curious smile hanging on his lips. Dressed in a black V-neck sweater and crisp black khakis, he looked simple, sexy and scrumptious, one of those low-fat, low-calorie desserts that could only do you good.

If anything, another thing that differentiated him from other straight slobs was the fact that the man was a sharp dresser. Occasionally, the clothes that he wore made me want to tear it off with my teeth to get to the good stuff. He looked that good. Of course, with that face and that body, he could look dangerously sexy in a burlap sack. But his taste didn't run towards sacks, it ran towards branded material with foreign names that I couldn't pronounce for the life of me. Whoever had said that the homos had the monopoly on style and taste had not met this breeder.

"Staring again." Sensing my close scrutiny, he turned, smiled and struck a pose for me. "You like?"

Oh, I definitely liked. And could clearly imagine tearing off that sweater and having my wild way with him on the sidewalk. It would have been simple enough except a flash of his naked flesh would probably cause a riot in these parts. "Are you sure about this?"

"It looks like a great place. I'd never have thought.." Paul grinned playfully and shoved his hands into his pants, trying to look innocent.

If I'd wanted to punish the man, I'd have brought him to the meanest, sleaziest leather S&M bar in town - not that I knew where that was! - and tossed him - like the succulent prime Grade A beef he was to the rabid. aggresive wolves for an orgasmic feast. But he was my best friend no matter what and I simply couldn't find it in my heart to subject his sweet vanilla and American apple pie hetero proclivities to such raunchy fetishes. And anyway, frankly I was afraid of those places myself.

So I brought him over to my favourite bar, Dinty's. Paul was right. An outsider wouldn't even have pegged it as a gay bar. Guys were playing and laughing together over the pool table, a group of 20 somethings were kidding around over by the dart board, a few average joes were riding the bar sharing drinks. It was a typical man's bar. But look closely and you'd find that at least 80% of the customers were true blue and utterly gay.

"Never have guessed that it was full of fags?" I said in a decidedly mean way.

The smile on his face fell. "You know that's not how I meant it."

The disappointment on his handsome face ought to make me ashamed but I shoved the thought aside. I was suddenly grumpy. Grumpy at the fact that I was finally about to enter my favourite bar with a major hunk who simply wasn't mine! "I don't know. How should I know what you meant? I don't even know what gave you the idea to follow me here?"

His face brightened. "Actually it was Angela's idea. She asked me to go take a look."

At this moment of vulnerability, I certainly didn't need to be reminded of Angela, the fabulously beautiful undergraduate that he had dated for the past three months or so. I could have hated her for being so perky, so charming and the worst of it all - looking so good in heels but I found that I couldn't. She was great, friendly and incredibly smart too - which was a welcome change from the clingy, curvy bimbettes with more boobs than brains that he usually brought home. More than once, I'd occasionally wondered whether their brains had somehow gone for a slow slide down into their more than ample cleavage.

But Angela Morelli was different. Angela majored in Psychology which gave us plenty to talk about and I admitted that I did like her. Amazingly, we'd even gone for drinks and 'dates' together. No doubt I would probably have given my blessing to the holy union of the perfect Angela and the equally perfect Paul if there wasn't that niggling, possessive lil part of me that wanted the divine Angela tossed out the window. And Paul coming to sweep me off my feet after that happened of course.

But that never happened. Actually in a sense it did although Paul never swept me off anything. Not that he ever swept anything in the house without prodding but that was something else altogether.

Out of the blue however, fabulous Angela suddenly up and decides to toss herself out the window - with no help from yours truly - and leaves Paul. In a decidedly mature, classy manner too. I never did get what she had told him two weeks ago but it seemed as if they had parted as friends. Which was a surprise as usually Paul had to get a restraining order to get one of his bimbettes away from his lust-inspiring body.

A note about Paul's bimbettes. For the whole time that I've known him, the man had been dating like.. well I hate to say this about him, but the promiscuous hound dog seemed to be dating everyone and anyone in town. And probably doing more than half of them if not all. Clearly, I had no need of further proof of his heterosexuality especially when I had loud moans and groans with the accompanying creaking bed coming from the room next door. And our stash of condoms slowly depleting as fast as I could replenish it.

If anything, he seemed to be an incredible lover which made me hate the cunning, luscious bimbettes even more. Enough lusty praise about his length and girth seeped through the wall for me to fantasize about it almost daily - and had me checking out his crotch to confirm my suspicions. But he never stayed with them longer than 2 months. Which made the luscious Angela even more memorable as she'd lasted a good 5 months.

So what did the wily Angela mean when she'd made that suggestion? "Angela sent you here?"

"Look." Running his hand through his hair in mild frustration, Paul sighed and stopped me as I was going in. "If you really don't want me here, I'll understand. I'll leave."

Put it in that matured, understanding manner, what could I do? He was being a nice guy and I was being a major, tight-assed bitch. Pasting a reconciliatory smile on my face, I shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you, pretty boy."

"So you do think I'm pretty, huh." His blue eyes twinkled.

Refusing to commit myself, I declined to comment and pushed open the door to enter.

As we entered the bar, a few queens at a side table turned around and checked out Paul's excellent bod - which left them drooling - and had my hackles rising. The jealous, insane bitch hidden deep inside me roared and threatened to lop their heads off but before I could even answer with a decent snarl, a large arm snaked around my waist and pulled me back - hard against a broad chest.

"You gotta protect me, babe." There was a secret smile on his face as he bent down and nuzzled my neck.

For the first time since puberty, I was afraid that my voice practically squeaked when I answered, "What the hell are you doing? Get off me."

"Maybe later," Paul whispered into my ear, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter. Seeing the shock on my face, he laughed and released me. "Come on, let me buy you a drink, stranger."

For a whole minute, I stood there staring at him. What was up with him?

Straddling a seat at the bar, he beckoned to me with a crook of his finger and a smile. As I said before, I simply couldn't resist the man. And I doubt anyone could resist that look in his eyes.

Taking the seat beside him, I ordered my drink and made a vow to sit there stoically silent. Not only had he invaded one of my private sanctums and ventured into the gay world, now he'd even made what I would have termed a come-on from any other man but him. Recalling his actions tonight, I simply couldn't find any reason for the way he was acting. Maybe Paul wasn't telling a lie and he was just trying to enjoy himself for the night. Or maybe he was really high on some drugs?

So it was with some suspicion that I turned to him and looked at him. His eyes looked clear and he didn't seem to be on anything although he seemed to be in a little too good a mood for a man who had just been dumped by someone he'd termed the best lady he'd ever met.

"My God, you're doing it again." Crossing his arms, he leaned a little back and grinned at me. "I can practically see the little wheels in your head turning, Doctor. Trying to analyze my every move. Don't."

Was that it? Was he trying to psyche me out for some obscure reason? Was this some diabolical plan to drive me crazy? Was this..

Then the man had the gall to laugh. "Oh God, you are just t-too much!"

"What's the real reason you wanted to follow me, Donovan?" I said insistently.

His laughter stopped abruptly but he still kept on grinning. "Why? Are you gonna bring out the whips and cuffs if I refuse to answer?"

"Paul," I gritted out as I tried to repress the erotic images that came to my mind at the thought of whips and Paul.

It was my mean tone and he knew it. Immediately, his grin faded. "Come on, I really meant it earlier. I just want to hang out with my very best friend. Is it too much to ask for you to just lay off the amateur psychoanalyzing for one night and just enjoy yourself with me?"

Amateur! Who was he calling amateur? But nevertheless, I managed to relax a little and returned his smile. "Okay, I believe you. But I am still gonna keep an eye on you."

"Great, then." Apparently cheered by that fact, Paul gave me a warm pat on the back. "That's what I'm counting on, babe."

The drinks arrived and I took a sip of mine. "So what do you plan to do here?"

Wiping off the drink mustache, Paul just shrugged. "Just hang around, I guess. Check out the crowd, that kinda thing."

Taking a quick glance around the room, I saw that there were already more than a few guys in the bar who had definitely noticed Paul's presence. "If you ask me, the crowd's already checking you out," I replied dryly.

"Jealous, babe?"

For a minute, I was tempted to tell him the truth. That my evil queen bitch persona was aching to claw a few roving eyes out and roast them over a slow fire. And then tie a large sign around Paul's neck proclaiming my ownership. Look but don't touch! But I suppressed that thought and answered blithely, "You keep on wishing, Donovan."

Without warning, he suddenly put his arm around me again and pulled me close. "Don't worry, the only man I'm leaving the bar with tonight is you."

His arm remained around me and I could have moved aside like I had tried to earlier but I didn't. First I knew it was ultimately futile since he was bigger and stronger than me. I mean, with his 6'4" and me at 5'7", you do the math.

And anyway, occasionally when something got to him, he could be way more persistent. Secondly, the aftershave he was wearing was simply intoxicating - especially when mixed together with the melange of soap, fresh air and the spice that was all Paul Donovan.

"Hey, Adam, you're back. You had me wondering what had happened to you!" The voice could belong to no one else but Ralph.

"Hey, Ralph, long time no see." And it was. Big, brawny and dark, Ralph came lumbering up to the bar. "How's things?"

Taking a quick look around the bar, Ralph nodded. "Fine. Everything's fine. Don't have to ask how you're doing. I can see you're doing fine and I can see very well what's been keeping you busy these days." Friendly as always, Ralph flashed a toothy grin at Paul, his black eyes warm and appreciative. "And frankly I don't blame ya."

Pulling his arm away from me, Paul lifted it to offer a handshake. "I'm Paul Donovan."

"I'm Ralph Nolan, owner of this lil dive here." Tossing the cloth he'd had over one broad shoulder, he returned Paul's handshake with one of his hamsized fists, pumping it enthusiastically. "And since you're new - and since you're obviously good friends with my good man Doc over here, the drinks for you's on the house."

"There's no need -" I tried to protest but Ralph waved me off.

"I said it before and I'll say it again." Placing his hands on the edge of the bar, he talked straight to Paul. "You know what Doc did for me. This man saved my sainted mother, that's what he did."

"Really?" Paul said, looking interested. Glancing over at me with a raised brow, he continued, "He certainly never told me that."

Adjusting my seat, I just shrugged it off. "I just did some CPR when Mrs Nolan had a heart attack. Just kept her going till the ambulance showed up. No big deal."

"No big deal, he says." Chuckling, Ralph gave me a light punch on the shoulder. It felt like a truck had rammed into me. "Well anyway, you've got yourself a good man sitting there, Paul Donovan."

Instead of denying the fact vehemently and proclaiming his heterosexuality to the world, my man there just grinned back in return. "I'm starting to get that. And I intend to keep him."

If my eyes could have bugged out, it would have. As it was, I could barely stammer out a reply. "Ralph, he's just kidding. We're not together, we're just friends and he's -"

I was about to beat out the jungle drums to yell out an affirmation of his macho heterosexual masculinity but I had no time. Who knew the man could move that fast. As long as I've known him, the man moved slow. While that trait irritated me, I used to say that it was his Southern slow-as-molasses blood that did it and he'd just smile in that sweet way he had and drawl out, "That's 'jes me, honey."

But in a flash, he had those incredible lips pressed against mine and I was finding out the reason he had flocks of wild women screaming his name every night. The man could kiss.

Since I was a kid, I always wondered how great a kiss could be that it could cause brilliant fireworks to explode overhead as in the old movies. AS I grew up, I came to realize that it probably doesn't occur that often and Hollywood probably made it up. I was wrong. Right then, I felt as if Chinese New Year had come a tad early.

When he released me, I was tempted to go into a swoon and lift my hands out for a vinaigrette. Now I finally realized what Scarlett felt when Rhett pulled her close. Not only could those incredible lips do wonders, that tongue of his clearly deserved a medal too. Imagine what he could do with those large hands. At that moment I didn't even want to think about that heated bulge in his crotch. "W-what -"

"Only friends, huh." His deep blue eyes twinkled. "Friends who fuck around, maybe."

I spluttered out, "What the fucking hell- "

Watching us with a delighted smile, Ralph couldn't help teasing me. "Looks like you've got yourself a winner, I think."

"I don't have him. He's not mine," I insisted helplessly.

Leaning close, Paul squeezed my hand. "Aw shucks, honey. Why argue the facts? I'm yours. You sure yelled it out loud enough last night."

The shock after the kiss had worn off and I stared at him. What the hell was the man up to? Was the gay air in the bar affecting him? Some weird vibe? His drink had some homo virus?

Laughing easily at Paul's frank admission, Ralph wished him luck and went on to serve another customer. The minute he was out of ear's reach, I waded into the fray. "What the hell was that about?" I demanded to know. Part of me wanted to quickly wipe my mouth before I got irrevocably addicted to Eau de Paul but part of me couldn't help lingering over the amazing aftertaste.

There was that secret look on his face again. "It was a kiss. Didn't you like it?"

I rarely lied and I didn't intend to start tonight so I just gave him a quick nudge hoping to make his kiss look as harmless as it was probably intended to on his part. After all, how would the man know that his kisses left my knees feeling weak. And inadvertently jumpstarted my erection. "Don't do it again."

A triumphant smile blossomed on his face. "I'll try."

"And wipe that smile off your face."

For the next half hour, we talked about the regular things. And he recounted a story he'd heard that day about one of his colleagues. As promised, he didn't make another pass at me nor did he make a grab at me which relieved me considerably. Of course I simply didn't want to think of the tiny bit of disappointment that I was feeling too.

"You're drifting off again," Paul complained companionably and gave me a light pat on the shoulder.

"No, I am not!" Realizing that I was probably doing what he'd said, I amended it. "Well, maybe but I was just thinking."

"Of what?"

Taking in the view of the bar, I smiled. "Thinking that every gay man in the bar must be wishing they were in my seat."

Raising a curious dark brow, Paul asked me what I meant by that.

It was pretty obvious what I meant and I simply couldn't believe that he could be oblivious to the looks he had been getting. Throughout the evening, half the gay boys in the bar had been making passes at him. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't." Flashing a quick teasing smile at me, he shrugged and threw up his hands in surrender. "Hey, sometimes you say some pretty deep stuff and it takes some time for my poor lil brain to digest it. Take pity on me."

The 'aw-shucks' dumb country boy look didn't do anything for me. Not when I knew he'd probably used it in court to get some extra credit from the jury. But I felt compelled to tell him. "You know you're a good-looking guy. I don't have to tell you that. Without me as your ball and chain, I think the gay boys in Dinty's would be all over you like hungry vultures over a particularly delectable bone."

"Bone?" In the midst of lifting up his mug, he put it back down again. Carefully, he kept his gaze on the table. "You paint quite a picture, Adam."

"I do, don't I?" His uncharacteristic response puzzled me. I thought it would get a laugh out of him. He certainly enjoyed laughing.

"But they don't know me as well as you. All they see is a pretty slick front, all bright smiles and muscles. You know me, warts and all." Suddenly, he looked up from the table, his blue eyes gazing into mine with an unerring focus. "How about you, Adam? Do you find me attractive? Even with the warts and all."

Those eyes pinned me under a microscope and I wiggled under it, trying to find a way to evade the question. It had never occurred to me that Paul would suffer from low self esteem. He was gorgeous, witty, wealthy, intelligent, popular. What else could the man possibly want? Was he attractive? How could he possibly ask such a question? His face and body was pasted all over the place. The world thought he was gorgeous! Could I think any less? The fact that I loved him for more than his looks only made him far more attractive to me.

But I simply couldn't betray the fact that I felt that much for him - that even now, if he'd just whisper yes, I'd have thrown him down on the floor and had my way with him right on Dinty's table top. To hell with the laws of decency. I was dying to confirm that Paul Donovan really could live up to my X-rated fantasies. Of course with the brief encounter I'd had with that thick tool snaking down his pants, he just might exceed all my expectations.

So I answered cautiously, watching his expression closely. "Paul, I think anyone would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend."

He clearly wasn't pleased with my carefully worded answer. "I don't want what anybody thinks. What do you think?"

"You want to know what I think?" Well, lying certainly wasn't in my bag and I never could do it to him. "Yes, I think you are attractive. If you were in the bar alone, I'd probably be buying you a drink."

Apparently, I succeeded in my intent and received a warm smile from him. "I'd have let you buy me breakfast too."

The implication of what he said made me laugh. "Get out of here, asshole!"

Pausing to take a quick gulp of his beer, he turned to me. "Hey, I think I gotta pee. Where's the men's room?"

Swivelling on my seat, I pointed to the back of the bar but seeing the crowd at the back eyeing him, I felt compelled to add a warning against some of the drooling fags who were bound to make a move on him.

This only made him smile wryly as he slid off the stool. "It's not the first time, Adam, people have made passes on me before. I do know how to watch my ass."

Sometimes it made me wonder. A man who looked like that in the modelling world. Sure most male models looked great but there was a certain something about Paul that made him stand out. No wonder he had been getting movie offers lately. The puppy-dog look in those amazing eyes? The incredible dimple? That award-winning ass? Yeah, I'd bet more than a few people would have tried to make a move on him.

As I was sitting there nursing our drinks, I heard a familiar voice at my ear.

"Adam, when did you decide to come down to join the meat market again?"

I turned with a warm welcoming smile. Surprisingly, Charlie Fernandez looked almost conservative today. Of course that still meant that under his leather jacket, his T-shirt was a screaming hot pink with the words 2QR2BSTR8 emblazoned across his chest paired with jeans so tight it looked painted on. Not to mention the carefully ragged out holes in appropriate places baring his white briefs which wrapped tight around an incredible male ass. Of course with his dark good looks, he could carry off most everything. In the time I'd moved here, he was one of my closest friends and I warmly hugged him back. "Hey, I couldn't keep myself out of circulation that long. Gotta find me a hot man to warm my bed."

"Yeah, right, a nun like you." Removing his jacket, Charlie leaned back and took the seat vacated by Paul. "Ah.. the evidence shows that the chair is still warm. Spill the beans. And here I thought you were still all caught up with your Breeder Hunk Boy again."

I frowned. "I was never caught up with him."

"Yeah, right!" Taking a moment to order his drink, Charlie snorted in response. "Then where is your husband?"

"He's not my husband and he's in the men's room."

The excited squeal that Charlie made could be heard clear in the next continent. "Get out of here! Sexy Saint Paul visiting the denizens of gaydom? Could it be? Is he finally turning over to the dark side?" His voice dropped to a whisper and he ad-libbed the Darth Vader theme.

I could only wish, I thought to myself. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. He's still straight, gay boy."

"So far he is. But he's never had a taste of our side of life yet." Charlie grinned. "Who knows, he might like it."

Chuckling in return, I gave him a poke in the arm. "Don't even think about it. I wouldn't want to get one of his fists out of your face."

"Mmm.. male violence always gets me hot. All that flexing muscle and testosterone. And you know the sizzling rumours about his... size..." Charlie chuckled. "But don't worry, I won't lay a hand on your merchandise, as delectable as he may be. Thou shalt not covet a brother's sexy husband and all that."

I was taking another gulp of my drink and I sputtered. Giving him one of my death glares, I whispered fiercely. "Will you stop that! Why do you guys keep on calling him mine?"

The man was undaunted and calmly continued. "Darling, how could he not be yours? Even a blind man would see that." Charlie commented. When the drinks arrived, he paid and took a quick sip before he answered, "Well, he might not be gay now but if Straight Hunk Boy ever had the urge to swing our way, I bet he'd swing your way, first."

"Yeah, right." I snorted in disbelief.

"Darling, if I didn't believe that he was utterly straight, I'd think the man was sweet on you the way he dotes on you."

"Dote?" My eyes widened. "What? That's impossible."

"Why impossible, Doubting Sue? He goes out all the way in the rain to buy you those damned chocolates that you love, drives to the city and queues for three hours just for that stupid hardcover you wanted. And then there was that time when.." Seeing the look on my face, he stopped. "Oh My God. That's what it is. I had some idea of it but I never knew it was true. God, I love to be confirmed in my suspicions!"

Running my hands down my face to search for evidence, I gaped. "What's true?"

His hands suddenly grabbed me and shook me a little. "You really do love Big Dick Straight Vanilla Hunk Boy, don't you?"

"I..I.." I gaped and alarm bells started ringing in my head. "I-I don't.. I don't.."

As he looked at my stunned expression, Charlie's smile only grew wider and wider. "You can't even bring yourself to say it. Just repeat after me. You love him!"

"Love who?"

That deep voice behind us had us both squealing in fright and we turned to see Paul standing watching us. Flustered, Charlie stuttered a hello while I sat there agape. How long had the man been standing there? Had he heard everything? Why did he just stand there smiling? I was about to scream and run if he hadn't just grinned that Cheshire cat smile of his and extended his hand in greeting to Charlie. Soon they were chatting away while I stood there staring. He didn't seem to have heard what we said. Which was a relief.

"Hey, I gotta go. Have to hit on some hot hunk for tomorrow's breakfast. See you guys." He mouthed lovebirds behind Paul's back but I shot him the finger which made him laugh as he made his jaunty exit.

As Charlie had babbled incessantly about his intrepid exploits earlier, I had been somewhat silent during their conversation. From the quick glances that Paul occasionally shot my way, I was starting to get a little worried that he might just have heard a little more than what I'd hoped.

Downing the last gulp of his beer, Paul sighed. "I think that's enough for my first introduction to gay life." He smiled and gave my hand a squeeze. "Want to go?"

The sudden body contact had me pulling my hand away on reflex but the man had anticipated it and he held on tight. He made no comment but his eyes spoke volumes. Unfortunately, I simply couldn't decipher him today and I quickly mumbled my assent. "Yeah, it's getting late. Let's go home."

It was only three blocks down from our apartment and the evening was cool and crisp. As we walked back to our place, we started talking. Well, that is he did the talking while I listened, my whole mind in a whirl. What had just happened? I was utterly confused and I felt as if I'd stepped into some gay Twilight Zone. Was this some kinda insane rebound stage that he was going through? The thought occurred to me again. Was he on drugs?

"And the judge said... Adam!" he grumbled in exasperation.

I glanced up and realized that I'd been caught staring - at his great lips no less and my face flushed. "W-what did you say?"

Pausing in his stride, he leaned closer and whispered in his sexy purr, "Fuck me hard up the ass."

"What?" Did the man just say what I think he just did? Did he sound this irresistible in bed? Stunned, I goggled at him. "What?"

Satisfied that he had made his point, he quirked a smile. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said."

What he'd just said was still ringing in my mind and I could hardly pay attention. Visions of his amazing gluts swam in my mind. "Yes, I have. You mentioned about the MacMurphy case and the verdict today."

"I stand corrected. But something's on your mind. Want a penny?"

"Cute." I smiled. "No, Paul, it's nothing."

"Nothing?" He raised one of his eyebrows in disbelief, a skill that I had always wanted to imitate. "I know you. And I know nothing. That's not it. C'mon, tell Father Paul. You know you can tell me anything."

That was true. Usually I could tell him anything but not this. How could I tell him that I wanted to throw him down on the nearest flat surface and bite that irresistible spot on his neck? That tonight had been.. incredible. The events might have totally baffled me and knocked me for a loop but I couldn't help enjoying the fact that he had been mine for the night. "It's just some patient that I've been seeing."

My answer left him looking dubious but he evidently decided not to pursue the thought which had me sighing with relief. When he put on that lawyer cap of his, he could interrogate the hell out of me. "I know you're lying through your teeth but I am having too nice a time to argue. Adam, I had a really good time tonight."

I wonder which part he had liked. The part where he pretended that he had lost his keys down my throat and was searching for it? "It was nice," I answered non-committally.

We were nearing our apartment building and he stopped just outside the main entrance. There was that almost shy look on his face again. "We should do it again next time, Adam."

He stood there in the crisp autumn wind, his dark hair mussed up, his blue eyes looking soft and earnest. Yet again, I found my throat was all choked up and I could barely manage a reply. Another date? I doubt my heart could take another date. God, stupid me for falling for a straight man. I could have gotten a puppy instead. "Yeah, that would be nice."

There was a puzzled look on his chiseled face and a disappointed frown in his eyes but I figured I must have been mistaken. We both remained silent as we entered the building and all the way upstairs. The 'date' that we had been on had left me feeling a little awkward and I felt bad at giving him the impression that I hadn't enjoyed myself when I had. His silence made me feel worse and I wondered whether he was mad at something. At me?

As we got off the elevator and started down to our apartment, I stopped him just outside. "Wait, Paul."

He paused and stared quietly at the hand I'd placed on his chest. There was that unusual look in his eyes again.

If I had more courage and bravado - perhaps more brazen like Charlie - I might have run my hands down his chest and felt up more than just his incredibly well-molded pec but I didn't. Instead, I slowly lowered my hand. "Paul, I did enjoy myself tonight. More than I ever thought I would." Trying to make light of the situation, I smiled at him and gave him a punch on his arm. "In fact, I think you're the best date I've had in months. After all, you haven't felt me up yet."

His somber expression was transformed by his quick grin. "Is that an invitation?"

"Take it any way you want it, Donovan." I laughed and gave him a friendly shove as I started searching for my keys.

But as I dug around my jacket for the apartment key, I felt a sudden movement behind me. I barely caught my breath before I found myself shoved against the locked door and a pair of heated blue eyes boring deep into mine.

"Damn it, I can't stop myself. Prepare to be felt up." Those were the last words I heard before the impossible happened again.

Those lips came down on me again and I found I couldn't resist him. My brain might have said no but my body simply wanted another pulse-pounding, adrenaline-burning explosion. And this time as promised, his hands came into action too as they roamed all over. I didn't mind much, I was doing pretty much the same.

Pulling away, Paul stared at me, his blue eyes flashing with some light that I'd never seen before. "Adam, show me how men make wild animal love."

It sounded like I was hallucinating big-time but faced with 200 pounds of male muscles pressing me hard against our apartment door, I knew it couldn't be a dream. His words and the look on his face reverberated in my mind weakening my resolve.

I was a weak man. Faced with the man that I have loved for so long and the words that he had just said, I melted like butter under a hot knife. How could I resist?

It had to be the best sex ever. Mind-blowing. If I had to rate it, I would have to make a new scale since a mere 10 seemed much too mediocre. A gleeful smile crept up my face. And I'd finally confirmed for myself the rumours about Paul's size. They were right.

As the morning light crept in the windows, I looked down on the hairy, well-muscled arm across my chest and I smiled fondly. Attached to it was the man that I loved. Amazingly, he looked as good in the morning as he had last night. Another point to hate him but it was true. Hair gently mussed from last night, heavy-eyed with sleep and with that gentle half-smile on his lips, he looked like he'd stepped off a billboard advertisement. Fuck, he couldn't even have the decency to wake up looking like a mess - like every other normal man did. Shaking my head in mock disgust, I trailed my fingers gently down his arm. If only Paul were to wake up with me every morning, it would be perfect.

But as reality slowly kicked in, I looked down at the arm and felt myself starting to choke in panic. The horror of what had just happened set it. It was Paul. What's going to happen to us? This is a mistake. After all,
a) he's totally straight
b) he has never stayed with a single partner longer than 6 months
c) he was my best friend! What had I done!

Reasons and excuses ran through my head. Perhaps I could just say that last night meant nothing to me and gently let him slide back into his sweet vanilla hetero life. Or I could admit that it was a freak combustion of our hormones. Or that I'd drugged him or something. After all, there was no way Paul could ever love me! It must have been a dream. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and I tried to make a run for it. Charlie would house me till I could find another state to live in.

I would probably have been hallway across the room and about half my journey to the next state if that same brawny, muscular arm hadn't twisted itself around me like a vine and held me in place.

"Adam?" His voice was still sleepy and sounded more than a little grouchy. It took me but a moment to remember that Paul had never liked waking up in the wee hours of the morning. "Where do you think you're going, Doc? It's still early."

Okay, that term was even worse than babe. As I gritted my teeth in preparation for a scathing reply, he pulled me even closer. "W-what the hell are you doing?"

The sleepy smile on his face turned smug. "I know you, babe, and I know how you think."

Now, that irritated me. Struggling was useless and a waste of energy since the man was bigger than me, taller than me, stronger than me - and way better at wrestling than me. But I just had to try. So it was that in seconds I was pinned underneath over 200 pounds of naked male muscle and trying very hard not to get aroused by it. "Let me up, Paul." I said it my meanest voice.

Trying to act oblivious, he flashed me his most innocent grin. "Aw, shucks honey, I thought you loved to have me on top. You sure couldn't get enough of that last night."

Seeing the growing anger on my rapidly reddening face, he sobered down and said quietly. "Look, I know what you're thinking. I know that -"

"You don't know. You don't know what I'm thinking so just stop saying that." Good God! Did I sound peevish?

"Wanna bet?" He gave me a superior smirk that I wish I could have wiped off that darned handsome face. Had I said he was gorgeous in the morning? No, I was wrong, he was an ornery bastard in the morning.

Seeing the frustration on my face as I continued struggling, he laughed. "Babe, you are brilliant. Sometimes, I am amazed by the things that go on in that brain of yours but sometimes, well, sometimes, I think you think too much."

Think too much! I'll give him too much thinking, the musclebound, testosterone-powered Neanderthal!

Before I could make a proper retort, he pressed one of his hand against my lips. Well, I might have hated him right now but I couldn't help thinking, God, those hands. "Give me five minutes, Adam, and just listen."

"Look, I know what you're worried about. This is not a one time event for me. I have thought this through, Adam. This isn't just a wave of drunken, hormonal impulse." Stopping me again before I could speak, he continued. "You want to know why I broke it off with Angela. It wasn't me. It was all her. She said that it was clear that I was meant to be with someone else. And you know who she was talking about?"

A whole bevy of Paul's previous bimbettes paraded in my mind and I was at a loss. "Uhh.. Yasmine Bleeth?"

He grinned. "Smart-ass. No, it was you."

I gaped.

"Yeah, it knocked me for a loop at first but you know what. She was right. The reason I haven't been doing well in any of my relationships recently is because I have already given my heart to someone else. And stupid of me, I just didn't realize it. Even when I was going out with Angela, I would compare her.. well, to you. Weird as it may sound," he admitted with a chuckle. "So when we broke it off, she told me to face up to myself. And well, guess what! I did."

Catching my hand in his, he spoke softly. "Babe, I love you. More than anyone else in this world. Maybe even from the first day that I saw you. This is not some act of impulse or some insane, drunken fit. I planned this. I wanted this to happen."

For once, I had nothing to say.

As the shower sprayed across my face, I felt a little more like myself. My eyes strayed to the bathroom door and I sighed with relief when I noticed that it was still locked. For a minute, I thought Paul would really barge in as he'd threatened earlier. It was a picture of how different we were. After Paul's shocking revelation earlier, I had been utterly shell-shocked and struck dumb. Which was the total opposite of him. After his sudden revelation, the man had just laughed and offered - with a teasing wink - to soap up my back during his regular morning shower.

At that moment, his innuendoes hardly registered in my head as I was still trying to assimilate what he had just said. In barely minutes, my whole life had been turned upside down. The man I loved was... attainable. More than attainable. He claimed to be in love with me too. The very idea was mind-boggling. An earthquake with a Richter scale of 9.0 wouldn't have fazed me at that moment.

Recognizing my stunned expression, Paul just chuckled and had given me a friendly nudge as he went for his shower. Only when he stomped downstairs to prepare breakfast like he did everyday did I decide to make a dash into the bathroom. Locking the door for security.

Especially after he threatened to break in to ravish me.

Not that I minded being ravished by him. It was those earth-shattering words. Logical person that I am, I couldn't believe that someone could do a 180 degree turn and suddenly decide that they were in love. It was crazy. It was insane. It could only happen in wacky romance novels!

As I washed my hair, I promptly came to the conclusion that the break-up with Angela had clearly affected his mind.

As usual, he had whipped up something that smelled wonderful in the kitchen. While I might hate him for some of his sterling qualities, I loved the way the man cooked. While I continued my ongoing struggle with the concept of cooking and could barely manage instant noodles, the man could do something wonderful with just some flour and eggs - a virtue which I blessed his mother, Mrs Donovan for.

"I brought in the papers." Turning around from the kitchen counter, he gestured to the table. "Take a seat. There's some waffles on the table."

The waffles were golden, hot and looked incredible. Being roommates for so long, Paul knew that waffles were my weakness. Eventhough I was annoyed at the man, I simply couldn't resist taking a bite. Pulling the plate closer, I began to see the analogy between the food that the man cooked and the man himself. I certainly couldn't resist biting into Paul either. As I took a deep bite and wallowed in the taste, I simply couldn't help muttering, "This doesn't mean anything, you know."

"Just shut up and eat." Seeing the mutinous look on my face, he smiled, leaned over and squeezed my hand which made me yelp. "Adam. I love you."

The three little words still shook me a little but I managed to steel myself. So, the man looked undeniably cute wearing the thick blue apron I'd given him with the cliched Kiss The Cook emblazoned across his broad chest and the soft, puppy-dog look in his eyes still made my knees turn to water. But it didn't mean anything, I told myself sternly. This was a temporary delirium brought upon by traumatic stress.

Absentmindedly munching through the waffle, I was busy trying to find out what was behind his recent declarations but I simply couldn't find a valid reason. I started wondering whether Charlie had slipped something into his drink. "Stop all that. It's not funny, Donovan."

"It's not supposed to be funny at all. I love you. I love you. I love you," he recited blithely in a teasing sing-song manner, his warm smile growing wider. "You know something. I bet if I say it enough, you'll start believing me. And maybe you'll start saying the same."

He might be making fun of me but I figured he might as well have the truth. After all, who was I kidding. I'd always maintained that sex should only be between two adults who clearly cared for each other and to do otherwise would cheapen it. The man knew that and he probably knew I wouldn't sleep with him if I hadn't cared for him.

Putting down my half-eaten waffle, I decided to tell it to him straight. "You don't have to say it anymore. I love you all right! I've loved you for a long time now. Probably since the first time I saw your cute ass down the hallway. I love you so much I could probably burst. Are you satisfied now?"

I don't think I've ever seen that smile on his face before. It was as if someone had just told him he'd won the damned lottery. "I already know that. Once I got over being utterly blind, deaf and stupid, I realized that you loved me."

The warmth in that smile, the glow in his eyes, staggered me and I hastily looked away, afraid to meet his gaze. "So now that you've dragged that confession out of me, counselor, stop bugging me!" Stuffing the waffle into my mouth, I snatched up the papers and prepared to leave.

"Leaving so soon?" As I made a move to leave the table, he quickly caught my hand. "Now that I've got you, babe, I'm not letting you go that easily."

Knowing it was essentially futile, I didn't try to struggle this time. "You don't really love me, Paul. You're under the spell of some bizarre hallucinogen. Breaking up with the heavenly Angela must have also addled your brain some. Take it from a professional, go take a break, do something incredibly macho, full of testosterone and heterosexual - go watch some football or something - and then go to bed. Give your mind some time to rest. You'll feel better later."

My armchair diagnosis had him laughing out loud. "God, you are one stubborn bastard. I thought that telling you would solve everything. I never counted on this. I should have guessed that you'd be as perverse about this too."

"Yeah, perverse old me," I muttered. Everything I said didn't seem to have an effect on the smiling man in front of me. Seeing that he was about to say something, I cut him off. "I'm already late for work. We'll talk later, okay."

The look on my face gave him pause and he quietened down with a near exasperated sigh. "All right. We'll talk later. But it still won't change my feelings for you."

As I started up the stairs to my room, he came over and stood at the bottom holding on to the banister, shaking his head. "Damn, mother always said I'd regret using my looks to charm people, that I'd get my come-uppance one day when I finally fell in love. God, she is always right! I fall in love and the man thinks I'm doing drugs!"

With that, he went into another uncontrollable paroxysm of laughter which annoyed me further so I took myself off into the room to change.

Looking around for tall, dark, handsome men who could waylay me on the way to work, I quickly made my way downstairs with my briefcase in tow. Knowing how stubborn the man was, I doubt he'd let me go without at least making some kind of appearance at the door. As I usually left later for work, I figured he wouldn't be able to catch me on my way out.

I was wrong. Standing silently at the door with a disapproving frown was the man I'd been trying to avoid. A tall, broad, immovable man. Talk about an impassable barrier. "You're not sneaking off on me, Adam Sung."

Obviously having broken off while changing to catch me, he was wearing tan cotton slacks and his maroon red Oxford shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open revealing his pecs and his amazing washboard abs. My hands itched to touch him so I stubbornly shoved them into my pants.

The quick movement hadn't escaped his notice and he smiled. "You know, you are allowed to look and touch now."

The man certainly wasn't this witty when he wasn't trying to be gay. "Very funny, Donovan."

"I try my best." He answered with a quick bow.

As I made a move to leave, he leaned forward and shut the door. "Look, I know this came as a surprise to you. Believe me, I took two weeks to get over the surprise too. I could have eased you into the subject but I just couldn't wait. We've already waited for so many years. Why wait any longer?"

As usual, he made everything sound so dry and logical. I was starting to hate lawyers. Especially handsome ones with great suits.

"This sudden change of heart is giving me... I need some time to think things straight." The irony of thinking straight made both of us smile. "You know what I mean, Paul."

"I've never straight out lied to you about anything, Adam, and you know it."

I acknowledged the truth of this with a nod. "No, you have never lied to me."

"Then believe me when I say this." He pulled me gently into his arms and I let him. "I love you, Adam Sung."

I was still in a daze when I left for work. Partly from his heated goodbye kiss. Could that be called a kiss? It was practically sex - only without the penetration. Although his hot, probing tongue did a pretty good attempt.

Shaking my head to dismiss that erotic thought, I tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. There seemed to be some kind of numbing fugue coming over my mind and I could barely think. All I could see was Paul's handsome face as he whispered those words. Three words and it meant the world to me.

How could I tell him my fears? I had waited so long for such an... unbelievable thing to happen. I had hoped and dreamed but never imagined that such an impossibility could happen. Imagine waking up to find that your wildest dreams had suddenly come true. I just didn't know if I could handle it if he suddenly up and changed his mind again! What if he suddenly woke up and decided that he wasn't trying to be gay anymore? As melodramatic as it may sound, that might kill me. And yes, even with his flaws, I loved him. I even loved him for trying to act dumb to annoy me at times, occasionally being a total slob and for being a stubborn, persistent SOB. Yeah, warts and all.

Wouldn't Charlie love to hear this latest development in my life... The turbulent lifes and times of Adam Sung.

As I checked my pocket for my keys, a piece of paper fell out and I bent down to pick it up. Paul's neat, well-rounded writing was obvious - a far cry from my own impatient scrawl - and I read it which made me smile.

Stop doubting me. I love you. See you tonight.

I smiled and folded the paper neatly and put it next to my heart. Who knows. Maybe I was starting to believe him.

My Marine

2009-02-19T07:08:00.000-08:00

"Fuck you!"

Of course as usual that was my fondest wish come true but I certainly hadn't imagined it happening this way. Being crushed against the cabin floor by a hard, sweaty Playgirl fantasy come true with wild passion in his blue eyes, his muscular, hairy arms trapping mine above my head while he ravaged me - it sounded incredible last night while I lay hidden in a desert tent wet and dreaming but the reality couldn't have been more different. Sure, the man was hot as hell, hard as steel and rank with musky man-sweat but he obviously didn't have any plans to fuck me hard on the desert floor. More's the pity since I certainly wouldn't have resisted if he had had any such ideas.

But with my luck, this particular stud was more likely to flatten me for running away from him for the second time in the past two days. It was just my luck to finally get a gorgeous Marine with the body of a god and the face of an angel, a living, breathing Ken doll with muscles to boot - and to have him wanting to tear my head off. Could God tempt me any more?

But a pretty face didn't mean that would make me anymore amenable to his wishes. Initially when he'd come into the make-shift infirmary in Kandahar, he'd been all shiny smiles, aw-shucks-how-ya-doin and general good will. Oozing charm - and a more than healthy dose of testosteroney sex appeal, he could get anyone to agree to anything. Except insane contrary little me. Just because Marine Ken flashed that winsome smile at me and made his orders sound like a favour didn't mean I had to follow them. "Let me up!" I yelled at him. Yelled needlessly, I thought to myself as I seriously doubted that he would listen since I'd deliberately done the opposite of everything he'd said since we met. But I reminded myself that it was all for a good cause.

Lieutenant Commander Michael Muldoon was no idiot and he stared back coolly. The earlier rage that had fueled him as he'd torn down the door seemed to have left him and he replied calmly. "And have you knee me in the balls again, Doc? Not fucking likely."

Like I had any other recourse earlier. After all, the man stood at least 6 inches taller than my own 5'8" and he outweighed me by at least 50 pounds. All of it hard, testosterone-fueled muscle. Sure, I could have put up quite a fight but frankly speaking, when he'd broken down the cabin door with his bare hands, I knew I didn't stand a chance. One quick thump from those fists would have knocked me over.

The fact that I'd managed to knee him in the groin was luck all by itself. Just hope those big balls weren't too impaired. That would totally spoil my midnight dream tryst.

Much too late, I put on my Boy Scout, choir-boy look and pleaded for some shred of sympathy from the big bad SEAL. "I promise I won't run away again."

The disbelieving snort he gave in response didn't bode well for me. "Not good enough, doc. The last time we did this you gave me the same promise. Sorry if I don't hold you to that."

"I had no choice," I said quietly. Although I knew it was of no use I continued struggling under him. Although I knew it wouldn't make much of a difference since I was all tied and trussed up. Damn the man knew his knots.

"Stop." Cursing softly, he bore down hard against me and trapped my legs under his heavy thighs. Crushing me with his weight his dark, handsome face came right next to mine and he glared at me, barely inches away. "We're not going through that argument again. How many times do I have to -"

Putting up a struggle was obviously not one of my best ideas. His very proximity had my breath catching in my throat - and my dick which remained ever hard in his presence started weeping precome. Damn. Just a quick accidental turn and I'd be able to brush my lips against his. Press hard against those amazingly firm yet soft-looking lips, run my tongue past the gentle curve of his lips up to the dent made by the deep dimples that bracketed his smile. Then down that heroic jaw to rub against his bristly stubble. The man continued complaining about my inequities while I ran my gaze down his powerful neck and wondered what he'd do if I bit him right under his collarbone. If only he'd just stop talking long enough for me to stick my tongue down his throat.

"Damn it." Those dark eyes flashed. "Are you listening at all?"

His voice stunned me and I managed to croak out a reply. "They were going to kill her. I couldn't possibly -"

His strong hands crushed mine in a sudden rage. "You ran through enemy fire into a bloody fucking camp to save a three year old girl. And nearly got our asses fried in the process."

As he turned to take another deep, fortifying breath, his stubble brushed against my freshly-shaven cheek and I felt a quick tingle. His warm breath burned against the tip of my ear and he surprised me again. Who'd have ever guessed. Mr Macho Marine and sweet, fresh minty breath. Made me wanna swallow him whole. "You didn't have to come after me. I told you guys to leave."

"Sorry but I didn't get that particular memo, doctor," he answered dryly, gritting his teeth all the while. Would you know it, the man had perfect teeth. Did they manufacture him in some dream god-hunk Marine camp? If they did, could they pretty please send me one?

Sure, that attitude of his stank to high heaven but damn it, I'd still let him fuck me. It was amazing how a year in the wilds of Afghanistan without any sex could turn me into some stark-raving sex maniac. But then again, I'm sure Michael Muldoon could make a straight-laced missionary nun renounce her vows just with one look from those smouldering yum yum bedroom eyes. Marine Ken with sex appeal. "No one asked you to come over here to get me."

"I'm sorry but you're wrong there. The President himself ordered your recovery and I'll be damned if I'll let you botch this chicken-shit op up."

"I was perfectly fine here. Uncle George didn't have to-"

"The fact that you call the most powerful man in the world your uncle answers everything." For the second time he bared his teeth again. I could have sworn that he rained spit on my face as he answered. "You were not fine. You're an American citizen in enemy territory. An idiot, brainless do-gooder who decides to drop by fucking Afghanistan to be a humanitarian!"

The quick barrage of fury left me non-plussed and before I could piece together a decent rejoinder, he'd flipped me over his shoulder in a quick, practised move. Like I hardly weighed anything more than a feather. While I'd always hated macho he-man posturings from my ex-boyfriends, I had to admit that this time it gave me a weird, forbidden thrill. Like the first time I'd used a whip and chains on a man. Though I made sure I hadn't left a mark, it had been secretly thrilling to wield that much power over someone. Biting my lip, I wondered briefly whether I had some closet Marquis de Sade tendencies. My brain was already weaving various X-rated fantasies where my Marine Ken was trapped naked and helpless under my power.

Silently, he picked up my things with his other hand and slipped out into the night. As we moved away from the make-shift cabin, I looked back up and ventured a question - my voice reduced to a mean whisper. "Hey, where are you taking me?"

My question didn't stop him as he continued. "Someplace safe."

"Untie me and I'll walk." Although I had to admit, the view from up here was spectacular. His broad, powerful back forming a perfect V with his spine forming a deep valley through the center. And that butt. That perfect, award-winning Muldoon butt looked even better up close and I had to swallow an urge to bite. Hard. Twin, spectacularly sculpted globes of tight, firm male ass with deep dents at the side, just about the size of a man's hands - the perfect size for me to hold on to as he fucked me till my head caved in.

"No."

Although I could have followed that amazing butt anywhere, that didn't mean he had to know that. "It would be -"

"No."

"Muldoon." Although the idea of him carrying me sounded like heaven especially since my feet were killing me, I knew it was impractical. Though I was smaller in build, I certainly was no light weight. And with my cock hard as a steel rod in my pants, it wouldn't be long before he felt something. "Don't be ridiculous. I must weigh a ton. We'll move faster if you -"

The quick smack on my butt silenced me.

The shock in my voice was evident - as was the sudden burst of feeling that shot straight into my cock. "D-did you just spank me?"

"Why?" Turning to me, his grin flashed white in the dark. "Did you enjoy that, honey?"

The very fact that I most certainly did enjoy that certainly didn't give him the rights to do so. Though if he'd just tear off those cammies and give me a quickie, I'd certainly let him do whatever he liked. Right here. Right now. "Untie me and I'll show you how much I like it."

In answer to my dry reply, his deep chuckle reverberated through his body. "Baby, perhaps later. We don't have time for kinky stuff right now."

"Fuck you."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said quietly.

For a moment the world shifted and I stilled. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Shifting to adjust my weight, he grunted. "You know what I mean."

And I knew that I did too. Since the day he'd burst into the infirmary tent with his blatant, earthy curses and guns ablazing, he'd had me all hot and restless for a taste of that hard, sculptured grunt bod. Hardly an hour went by that I didn't think of crawling up to the man and feeling up what lay between his powerful thighs. From what I'd managed to scope out, it seemed as if the good Lieutenant had quite an arsenal packed into his cammies. Though I certainly wasn't a size queen, I couldn't help but wonder what a man could do with artillery that size. Yum.

What did this macho marine think about that. As optimistic as I am , I doubt he'd be amused that I wanted to lick him slowly from head to toe. And back again. Sure, being proud and militantly gay was great in any other context but being tied up, helpless and in his care, I didn't care to be beaten up by a musclebound homophobic punk in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly the idea that the man carrying me was more than 6 feet of pure beef and muscle chilled me more than a little. Was he going to stake me out in the middle of the desert?

It took a good five minutes or so before I managed the next two words. "You know."

"About you being a card-carrying faggot?" he replied.

"Yes."

"Yeah," he grunted in reply.

That gave me a moment's pause as I digested the idea. Marine Ken knew I was gay. Knew all along probably since I hadn't said anything. Did he know that my dick was hard right now too? Although it was almost pitch dark, I could see the outlines of a dark shack hidden in the deep caverns. If he wasn't heading that way, I certainly wouldn't have seen it at all.

My silence had him continuing. "The whole Team Sixteen knows. It's not exactly a state secret."

"No." It certainly wasn't a state secret. Anyone who cared to look up my resume would find that I sat on the helm of several gay and lesbian organisations.

That left me something to think about and I remained silent for the rest of the journey. That night in the Kandahar camp, we'd all slept together, huddled together in the bitter cold of the night. And all the time, they all knew that the doctor was a practising homosexual. All that time when I thought I was perfectly safe with my lewd, X-rated fantasies of a no-holds-barred SEAL orgy, they were probably keeping their eyes peeled for one of my roving hands. After all, 8 gorgeous, incredibly well-built guys trapped in one warm, cosy shelter in the dark under the light of a candle. It was practically a sleazy gay porn film come to life. Of course in my fantasies that night Muldoon was the main star, the super flexible, randy stud with the 10 inch dick who took on all comers but the rest of the guys certainly hadn't been slouches. The hunky, broad-shouldered blond Loot was equally agile and had performed quite admirably that night too. Not to mention the dark-eyed Captain.

Did they spend the whole night worrying that I'd play grab-a-dick? The idea had me smiling as I pictured those hard-bitten, cynical grunts piss-assed scared that I'd pinch their cute asses. It took several minutes for the idea to sink in before I could speak again.

"That night.. you all knew..."

My answer was a grunt as he brushed aside some brush and stones to reveal a door. He stepped close to the dark shack and shoved open the door. "Mi casa es su casa."

Carrying me inside, he left me in a heap at a corner. The shack certainly wasn't the Ritz but I saw the makings of a fire close by with several bags in a corner which I guessed to be provisions. Unsatisfied with his earlier answer, I pressed again. "You knew?"

"Yeah." Seems like the man read my mind again. He flashed me a quick grin. And I had to admit that the man was a real looker. Apart from that incredible physique that was out of one of my anatomy textbooks - not to mention rivalling some of the hottest Playgirl centerfolds, the man had an amazing face. Deep-set bedroom eyes the colour of a tropical sky, a perfect unbroken nose and amazingly soft-looking, sensuous lips. So far he kept those sexy lips in a tight, angry sneer but no one could deny that those lush curves were meant to be smothered with kisses. Perhaps he knew that and tried to hide the sweet promise of those lips from me.

My close perusal hadn't escaped his notice and he raised a dark eyebrow. "Like what you see?"

The question was made with no rancor in his voice but I still found it a little hard to believe. For a moment I almost decided not to answer but I simply had to know. "Is this a trick question?" I turned to look at him to find him poking at the small fire he'd made at the corner of the shack. Marine Ken certainly looked as if he knew what he was doing.

As the flames grew, the light fell across those male underwear model cheekbones, making him look somehow younger and more vulnerable looking, those thickly lashed eyes gentler. Alarmingly deceptive. "Relax. We don't do fagbashing nowadays, Doc - not on rainy Mondays anyway. Perhaps tomorrow night." His smile widened. "If it's not raining."

The amusement in his voice surprised me but one could never be too sure. "Kid all you like but I thought that -"

Glancing around in response to my question, the man didn't pause a beat but continued looking into his bag to rustle around. "That we'd go crazy and stomp on your ass the first chance we could possibly get?"

The way he put it made it sound silly and I looked sheepish. "Yeah, something like that?"

Removing a few bags of ingredients, he moved over to the fire and pulled out a small pan. As he mixed in the various spices, he briefly turned to me and gave me a sly wink. "Look, I'm not speaking for everyone in the team but for me it's no matter to me how a guy gets his rocks off. Seems like that should be his own damned business and no one else's. Whether you get hot over a dick or a cunt, it's a personal choice." Breaking off to fan the small fire, he shrugged in dismissal. "Though why you'd prefer a stinky guy when you could have a soft, sweet-smelling female is beyond me."

"We're weird that way." For a man I'd labeled a rednecked homophobe cowboy, I was amazed at this surprising turn of events. What next, supporting women's lib and burning bras? Would he tell me next that he wore a tight sexy marine uniform and stripped to a G-string at the local bar every other weekend? That last idea definitely held some appeal - as I imagined those hard, glistening muscles and a G-string with the stars and stripes emlazoned across - and I felt myself getting hard again. The man would earn a fortune if he did just that. Even now, I was tempted to throw a few bucks his way just for looking so good in dust-grime-matted cammies. God, why did I keep falling for unavailable guys like that? Did the gay fairy have a personal vendetta against me?

The amazement in my face was obvious and it compelled him to reply. "Don't look so surprised, Cam. We don't even own slaves on the fields, no more."

"Ha ha."

"Anyway, more gay men would mean less competition for the rest of us fellas." The idea had the marine laughing softly. "So go ahead and fuck each other."

The weather had gotten chilly and I was glad for the warmth the small fire provided. "Progressive ideas. You amaze me. Next thing you'll tell me you read Keats too."

"Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy -"

The quote stunned me again and I stared. Muscleboy quoting Keats. It was such a mind-boggling idea that it bore some looking into. The man certainly couldn't be reading English Lit 101 while going 'duh' in the football field, could he?

Mixing rice and bits of unknown powdered stuff into a bowl, the good Lieutenant prepared dinner for the both of us. Unlike most of my gay friends who could whip out gourmet meals, I had difficulty finding a dinner fork much less cook. The gay gene must have mutated somewhat when it reached me. From the looks of things though, it looked as if our SEAL boy was adept at everything. Could he adapt to the hundred million variations of the Gay Karma Sutra as well? That tight, agile body sure looked as if it would be very flexible.

"Yeah, us cowboys do read once in a while. Big letters, pretty pictures in them books." Ambling over playfully to my corner, he carefully released my knots.

"Asshole," I mumbled out as I gingerly rubbed my slightly chafed wrists.

Putting the pan over the fire and watching closely, Michael paused to send me a teasing look. "That's what I got - a real nice one too - but wishin' ain't gettin'."

The very fact that he'd made a joke about it surprised me and it made me laugh. "Get over yourself, Muldoon."

"You're saying you don't want to get it on with this?" Flashing me a 1000-watt smile that melted my knees, he playfully flexed his biceps not knowing that I'd have dragged him down for a nasty, dirty shag in a New York minute starting with a quick nibble on those perky tits, dark, mocca coloured penny sized nipples crowning the crest of his hard pecs. Or perhaps he knew? Did the man like to play with fire? Just give me a few more minutes and I'd be risking a fistful of Muldoon by leaping on the man trying to tear down those tight-fitting cammies with my teeth.

But I've always been an ornery guy. "In your dreams."

"That's me. Hot muscle and sex in one dreamy package." The amused glint in his eye assured me that he was pulling my leg again.

"Stop that," I ordered. "Where did you get your degree?"

It was an easy question and I knew it would draw out an almost automatic response. "Har-" He paused and stared into the fire. "Damn."

"Harvard?"

There was surprise in those big baby blues but he managed to cover it up nicely and continued coolly. "Nah, what made you think I got anywhere close to college anyhow?"

Crawling over to the fire, I arranged myself in a cross-legged position opposite him and gave him my best glare. "You don't fool me this time, cowboy. You went to Harvard?"

Seeing that he couldn't fool me any longer with his innocent 'aw-shucks' cover, he grinned. "Yeah, they had a fund for dumb ole cowboys. Got me a bunch of cool degrees, neatly printed on paper and everything."

The dry way he replied had me remembering our argument this morning. My earlier scathing comments about his mental faculties and the obvious signs of inbreeding in his bovine/simian ancestry had obviously stung his thick hide more than I had thought. "You're still burning about my dumb country hick comment this morning."

His answer was simple. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. I certainly didn't mean it."

Using a small spoon to toss the rice around in the pan, he just gave a shrug. "No prob. It's a common misconception."

It obviously disturbed my tough SEAl boy more than he cared to admit and I was actually pleased to note that the man wasn't just shiny muscle and macho idiocy. Sure pretty boys with nice bodies were great to look at but once the eye-candy novelty wore off, it got boring. "But they're all wrong, aren't they? You're definitely more than another pretty face."

"You think I've got a pretty face?"

Trust the man to hit on the one thing that would embarass me. That had certainly slipped out without thinking and I tried to hedge. Rolling my eyes in response, I sighed. "Does it matter?"

Sure, all my questions had him staring elsewhere while poking at his fire but start on his looks and all of a sudden I've got his whole attention. Moving away from the fire, he smiled at me, bending those mesmerizing blue eyes on me. "Sure it does. I need to bolster my confidence after you dealt that terrible blow to my IQ. And heck, I'm not pretty. Devastatingly handsome. Drop-dead gorgeous.. not pretty."

As he lay out some snacks on the floor, I grinned back. "Get over yourself. So Muldoon, what did you do in Harvard?"

"Apart from getting laid? Getting it on with hot snotty Boston chicks who wanted a real taste of Montana beef?" His voice carried a faint hint of a sneer that had my spine tingling. Did the man possibly know that this Boston dude wanted some beef too? And from the looks of things, Montana had produced some pretty superior A grade beef in this gorgeous fella.

Controlling my insane urge to bite his neck - where do I get this weird thoughts from - I looked down at the snacks and tried one. "Yes. What else did you do there? You couldn't be fucking off 24 hours a day."

"Got a degree in Electronics and Literature."

"Devastatingly handsome with brains. So why aren't you hitched up with some... god-danged filly and a herd of colts?"

He grinned in appreciation. "No one's managed to get their brand on me yet. And they're not likely too."

"Why not? Don't you want to bring up 21/2 kids in some suburban home with white picket fences?" Muldoon sure looked the type. Sure, he might have a body and face made for sin but he seemed to be a good olde country boy at heart. Or was that his ruse?

The look on his face was pure horror and I grinned. "Sorry, that doesn't appeal."

"How about a 200 hundred acre ranch with a variety of farm animals and assorted rambunctious kids?"

"That's a little more like it. But not right now. I've still got a ways to go before I think of settling down."

"You can drop the nasal twang."

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "But you love it so much, don'tcha honey?"

"Bastard."

The man laughed and I shook my head. Damn him, I should have known. Mr Walking Orgasm couldn't have a laugh that would put me off him for the rest of my life, perhaps some whiny, hyena-like cackle. No, the man had a deep, resonant, even sexy laugh, the kind that sent a shiver up my spine in response.

Taking a look at me from under his heavy brows, he smiled slyly. "I think you've sworn more in these past few days than you've ever had in your entire life, haven't you?"

"You're a fucking bad influence," I said tartly.

He gave another one of his infectious laughs.

As we waited for dinner to come to a broil, we kept on trading barbs and exchanged stories. Who would have guessed that Mr Hunky Hicksville had travelled almost as many places around the world as I had. And beneath that country boy charm, he had a nasty lil sense of humour behind it. Perhaps at that moment, I should have wound up the conversation. If he became a tad more irresistible, I couldn't be responsible for my actions. Smart, funny, devastatingly gorgeous. Why was I being punished with this? Leaving the bowl on the floor, I took refuge at the farthest corner away from him. "So what are we gonna do here?"

"Wait around till morning." Peering out the small window that was left to us, he gazed silently into the dark. "We're relatively safe here till then."

Since he didn't mention what his next plans were, I safely concluded that his team must be close by. "Team Sixteen is still around. Still think you guys should have left me there. Now, don't go frothing at the mouth again, but I was pretty safe."

"I wasn't frothing."

"You were. Like a rabid dog." I couldn't resist pointing out gleefully.

"I won't argue that point since I was that mad." His blue eyes narrowed. "Sure, we would have loved to have dumped you there to roast but we couldn't very well leave the prominent physician in that shit hellhole. After all, he saved some SEALs in other tight situations before."

About five years ago, I'd been involved as a civilian member of a team in Bosnia. All I remembered were ashes, blood and vulnerable, lost children. I was surprised that he knew but then again, this man had managed to surprise me all day long. "I am afraid to ask how you know that."

A warm smile curled up his lips. "Ben Reilly. One of the men you saved was my buddy during Hell Week. That's one of the reasons why I haven't thumped you one yet."

The grumpy smile he sent me had me laughing. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Enough about me." He took a moment to check through the food and stirred some extra spice in. Figures that he'd like it hot. "So what's an insanely wealthy doctor like Dr. Cameron Kincaid doing in these parts? Shouldn't you be out trolling for meat in WeHo instead? Dancing around clubs in Ibiza and such?"

Though he said the word wealth, I could sense that my wealth didn't impress him in the slightest. Which although admirable - was qute a pity since I would have given quite a bit for a piece of meat like him. "Looking for hot dick in all the wrong places?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Leaning back on the wall, I smiled reminiscently. "Would it surprise you that I did all that five years ago. One mad fling after the other with no thought to the consequences."

Munching some of the rice, he shrugged. "Nah, you're a pretty good-looking guy. And with your megabucks, I'm sure you're hot stuff. If you go for that kinda thing."

I laughed. "You can bet many guys go for me." It sounded terrible once I'd said it and I tried to retract the statement. "I mean, the guys.."

"I get the point." He put out his hand to stop me. "What made you change?"

It wasn't a story that did well for my reputation but I remembered that day as clearly as it had been yesterday. The dirty, stained sheets, the stranger snoring next to me. "Had a wake-up call one day when I woke up - and realized I had no idea where I was! Boozed up, high on god knows what and totally confused about who's bed I was in. I couldn't imagine how I'd gotten to such a stage. So that's me, wild, kinky partyboy extraodinaire. Not so great after all, huh."

"Actually, you impress me."

All the fawning compliments I'd received before didn't mean as much as these words. Which in turn gave me a surprise. "Me? You're not still mad at me for jeopardizing everyone."

He eyed me speculatively. "Don't remind me."

I smiled.

"I still think it's a fool idea to be tramping around in the middle of nowhere. Obviously God didn't give you much in the way of common sense but I gotta say... there are only a handful of men who would run through what you did last night without peeing in their pants. Even I'd be a lil freaked out inside. But you walked through the place as cool as cucumber like some guy taking a stroll down 5th Avenue." Finishing his sentence, he suddenly stretched, giving me an awesome display of incredible male physique. Biceps, triceps, pectorals, lats - all came into play as I watched in silent awe. If only Lieutenant Commander Michael Muldoon had dropped by medical school, I'd have paid much more attention at Human Anatomy.

As I tried to roll my tongue back between my teeth - and not where I wanted them to be which was between the deep valley of his pecs, I looked away. "Believe me. I was shaking with fright and praying hard that one of those bullets wouldn't blow my brains out."

Muldoon sent me a wink. "As I said, I am impressed."

"You'd have done it without breaking a sweat, I'm sure." The idea of sweat and Muldoon had an unusual heat building up in my pants. It was easy to imagine him working in the fields, wiping the sweat off his forehead, even as it dripped down his hard, rippling pecs. God, I'd have tumbled him in those fields for sure.

Turning to me, he gave me a wry smile. "Doc, I'm brave. Not stupid."

That made me laugh. And luckily drew me out of my lurid fantasies of licking Muldoon's incredible heaving six-pack as he moaned helplessly in some barn / hayloft of my imagination. In my mind, I had almost reached the dick of my dreams. Could it possibly be the horrific 10 inches that I'd imagined?

The dinner was sizzling already and the scent almost made my stomach growl. "In a minute or so, you'll taste Muldoon Du Jour and you'll go down on your knees." Giving me the plate, he looked up at me in anticipation, his blue eyes wide.

The idea of having a bite of Muldoon definitely made me wanna go down on my knees but I doubt that was what he meant. Taking the plate of rice he offered, I took a tentative bite and felt heaven. Oh My God, I must marry this man. He looked like a god and cooked like a dream. Could that factory he came from manufacture some gay Marine Ken version?

Slurping up the rest of the soup, I couldn't help but tease him a little. "By the way, you're still pretty."

With a glint in his eye, he snarled at me. "Take it back, Doc."

"Pretty boy. Shiny muscles. Toothy smile. Could probably audition for a boy band. Or an A & F commercial."

The growl was warning enough.

His reflexes were amazing and in a second he had me on the floor, those powerful arms pinning me to the floor, those hard pecs rippling above me. My tongue was a moment away from taking a quick slurp.

"Surrender, lil man," he grinned.

Surprisingly, not all his dreamy looks nor his sexy butt got me going all the way but one look at that mischievious, almost boyish grin, the irresistible twinkle in his eyes had me revving up my engine without thinking of the consequences. Before I could have stopped myself, I raised my head and kissed him hard on the lips.

It was quick peck on the lips although I sure as hell wanted more. But I knew I couldn't. The man hadn't even shown the smallest interest. Even as I pulled away, I could feel his muscles tense and his hands moved away from me. His hands curled into fists and I wondered how much a plastic surgeon could cost.

For the moment however, we both remained silent. In the desert, silence was just that. I could practically hear the sound of his breathing, deep, slow and laboured. His eyes were closed and his handsome face was expressionless leaving me in doubt whether he was going to tear my head off - or even more terrifying, he'd fulfil all my X-rated orgasmic dreams. Heaving a deep sigh, he rested his forehead against mine and looked at me. The expression in those deep blue eyes were unfathomable but I knew that I could drown in them. Satisfied that he had my attention, he spoke softly. "You want me, don't you?"

The evidence was pulsing hard against his own thigh which would leave any of my arguments pointless. Even so, being pinned to the ground by 200 pounds of sex, muscle and man was more than I could bear. Trying to sit up, I signaled for him to move away. "Mike.."

"No." The man shook his head stubbornly. "Don't lie to me. I've seen you checking me out. You've been hot for me since Kandahar."

How could I possibly lie when I was hard as hell for him? Just move one inch closer and I'd gobble the man up. Bite on that sexy lower lip.

"Yeah, looking at me like I'm some hot piece of Marine beef. Wanting to eat me up with those eyes."

His voice held a hint of a sneer that had my heart coming to a standstill. Was this the thumping that I'd anticipated earlier? Perhaps this insane scheme was some kinda homophobic SEAL torture - dangle the gorgeous hunk bait in front of the gay man and then break his kneecaps if he did anything.

"Are you going to beat me up now?"

"Shit." The look on my face was telling and the man had the gall to laugh. "Doc, I am not gonna hit you."

"Then what is this?"

"I don't know. I've never felt like this but I... "

Swooping down on me, he captured my lips in a hard, blistering kiss. His lips felt fucking amazing. Struggling for a moment, I shifted my head and mouthed out loud, "What the hell are you doing?"

He grinned. "Don't ask. I sure as hell won't tell."

Bonnie Prince Charlie

2009-02-19T06:54:00.001-08:00

Prince Charlie wasn't having a good day. His last breakfast muffin had been crushed by rampaging trolls, he'd torn his shirt battling evil knights, had his eyebrows singed by a raging dragon and now at the end of his harrowing trials, he found himself facing a man in a four-poster bed. "Hmm. You're not a princess."

The man himself didn't seem at all surprised to find him there. Uncoiling himself from a stack of heavy tomes piled up on the bed, he sat up and smiled. "Good of you to notice. No."

Prince Charlie paused at the foot of the bed. "Huh. That is a problem."

"I don't see why. Thanks for the rescue by the way. Breaking the door in such a manly fashion was definitely an eye-opener. Do I get to kiss you now?"

"No!" Stunned by such a notion, the prince recoiled. Kissing Oriental men with golden skin and slanted almond eyes didn't seem to be part of the slay-and-rescue mission, no matter how alluring those dark eyes might be.

Far from being insulted by Charlie's vehement rebuff, his smile only grew wider. "Not very princely but it's alright. I'm Tze."

"Hello. I'm Prince Charlie from Burgundy kingdom."

"And you slayed the dragon and climbed up a tower. Not bad. I see a promising future for you."

"I was sincerely hoping that future had a princess lying in wait with wilting rose in hand."

"Ah, a romantic."

Despite being trapped in a tower with a PMS-ing dragon, Tze didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Being a helpful kinda guy. Charlie felt compelled to point it out. "Wait. Isn't your life in peril? Don't you want to leave?"

"In a moment. You see, the fire-breathing dragon at the door was certainly a bother but I had an excellent library at my disposal. I was halfway through my thesis in fact. Just took a short breather to go through some classics."

Checking through the pile of books, the prince picked one up at random. "Macchiavelli's The Prince."

"Good read. Excellent points. I couldn't have written it better myself." Then Tze let out a little chuckle. "A pity he never had the time to put them into practice."

Dropping the book back on the stack, Prince Charlie took a quick glance around the luxuriously appointed bedroom. "So the rumour that a nefarious sorcerer is living around these parts is patently untrue?"

"Preying on women and little children? Yeah, it's all too true. Look there." Tze climbed off the four-poster and gestured over at a frozen statue.

With his quick review, Charlie hadn't taken note of the statue amongst the other fineries. He turned again. "Good God."

Chuckling again, Tze playfully bopped the statue on the nose. Frozen forever with a shocked expression on his ashen face, the wizard Nefario wouldn't be coming back anytime soon for his cup of tea. Too bad the unfortunate sorcerer had underestimated Tze's skills and resource. "Unfortunately I smashed the potion on his face too late to ask where he left the keys to the tower. Leaving me stuck up here with a guard dragon outside. Guess we'll never know where he kept his keys."

Ever the helpful guy, Prince Charlie held a brass key ring out. "It was hanging around the dragon's neck."

"You're certainly resourceful." Tze smiled. "I knew the letters would come in handy."

"What letters?" Filled with suspicion, Charlie dug around in his pockets and drew a sheaf of papers out. "This letter?"

Taking the letters into hand, Tze nodded as he flipped through several painstakingly penned pages. "Yes. Ah, you seem to have found one of mine. An epistolary achievement."

"But this is from a princess in distress! Claiming to be held prisoner by an evil wizard."

"Well it got your attention, didn't it? I doubt you'd have ridden ventre a terre to my rescue if I hadn't mentioned the princess bit."

Charlie stammered. "That.. that's false advertising!"

"You can sue me later. I'll give you the name of my firm." If Tze had wondered earlier whether a little animation might improve Charlie's perfectly chiselled visage, he had it confirmed now. Those blue eyes practically blazed with indignation.

"So you could have left this place anytime?" Bloody hell. And he'd lost his eyebrows for this?!

"Not without the keys." Tze shrugged. "The situation wasn't desperate though. Fortunately the wizard left a well-stocked larder so I'd have been good to go for quite a while. And I had my books to finish."

"Well consider yourself rescued. You may leave now."

"You're not going to make an honest man out of me?"

"No!"

Yes, Tze had heard about this old-fashioned prejudice back home. Some of the Western Kingdoms certainly weren't as open to sexual experimentation and alternative sexuality. But Tze had also been quick enough to catch the thoughtful look Charlie had given him earlier. "Burgundy always had a strict moral code. So very rigid and conservative. Dullards."

Stunned by the accusation, Charlie was quick to deny. "We're not! It's just.."

"Whatever. Let me get a few of my things." Tze headed to the closet to get his things together. "So could I stay over by your kingdom for a while?"

The Prince looked troubled. "Yes, but.."

Noting his hesitation, Tze turned around with a gleeful smile. "Wait, is your kingdom plagued with internal strife and a squabbling nobility eager to topple the rightful king?"

"What have you heard?"

"All wishful thinking."

"Well the people are restive, the nobles are fighting, my father is ailing - and my brother has his eye on the throne..." Charlie bit his lip. "He wouldn't make a good king. James is not a good man."

Neither am I, thought Tze but he didn't say that.

This was great. Charlie wouldn't know this but Tze was known in the Kingdoms as the troubleshooter Prince. Back in his homeland, clearing corruption, plague and insurrection in dozens of devious Machiiavellian ways had given Tze plenty of scope for his evil genius. But once he'd placed his eminently just elder brother rightfully on the throne, Tze had found himself growing bored. Unfortunately everlasting peace and tranquility throughout the lands didn't offer the prince opportunity to utilize his scheming wiles.

Grateful for the help his younger sibling had generously given, the new king was all too ready to bestow on Tze a generous portion of the land, dubbing him the Duke of Lanzhou with a sinful pension to boot. It was a project that the energetic prince threw himself into with much gusto - so much so that in three months, the capable, ever-efficient Tze had already single-handedly turned around the vast country estate - previously rundown by errant irresponsible landlords - with a projection of tripling his investments in the next quarter.

Which left him bored. Again. He needed a project that was worthy of his brilliant mind. For a while, vanquishing evil sorcerers and rescuing damsels in distress seemed the way to go.

But now he had a handsome prince with a tragic kingdom. Certainly worthy of his vicious management skills.

"...and I was hoping that a rich heiress would help my case, perhaps pay off our crushing debts therefore pacifying the hostile Council and..." Charlie trailed off into silence, his sensual mouth set stubbornly in a grim line.

"Have no fear, Charlie. I have a plan."

Pausing in his tortured contemplation, Charlie looked up in suspicion. "You do?"

"Well, not at the moment. But you can rest assured that I will come up with one." Sick king. Bad heir. Lousy nobles. For someone brought up in the mystical courts of the East with their cunning intrigues and hidden agendas, it was practically child's play. Tze figured he'd have it all sewn up in three months maximum.

"You look scary now."

"No worries. I don't bite. Not unless you ask me to."

Prince Charlie blushed to his roots.

He looked adorable. Those puppy-dog earnest blue eyes. That shy, slightly embarassed grin. Tze smiled. The plan was looking better and better. Bag a prince. Win a kingdom.

Some fairy tales might come true after all.

Practical Magic

2009-02-11T22:03:00.000-08:00

It wasn't everyone who sympathized with a movie character but I did. After watching X-Men for the third time, I totally empathized with the poor red headed telepath who had her head literally battered with the thoughts of others. After all, I knew exactly the burden she was under. It wasn't easy having other people's thoughts pounding in your head all day long.

There was no one else in mine right now. Far from going crazy, I didn't hear voices when I stood in my kitchen alone. If I concentrated hard enough though, I might get some vibes here and there but I'd learned early on not to press too hard. Like the proverbial Pandora's box, some thoughts were better left untapped and I'd learned the hard way that some things were better left alone. Taking up the half empty coffee cup I'd poured earlier to accompany my mini movie marathon, I crossed from the living room down the hallway to the kitchen.

Another point of similarity that I had with the telepath was the crazed wolverine that was after me. Something I'd better shove to the back of my mind if I wanted to maintain my sanity. It was already tough enough trying to keep other people's thoughts out without obsessing about a certain dark-haired bonafide hunk with an insane murderous side to him. Didn't I have any problems on my plate already?

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I lived in solitude so far out of town. It couldn't technically be called a town since the small town boasted only 1000 citizens at last count. Hicksville, Nowheresville, Clayton had called it in frank derision. A zealously dedicated city boy, he didn't care much for small communities. But that was just the way I liked it. Unlike my last apartment in New York where I had at least a dozen other tenants on the same floor as me, my closest neighbour now lived more than a mile away. Close enough for a yell if I ever needed their help and yet far enough not to burden me with their incessant invading thoughts. Every once in a while in the spirit of neighbourliness, Mrs Johnson would come by with a freshly baked pie and I reciprocated by occasionally babysitting for their youngest, boisterous little Luke. It was no hardship caring for the youngster whose thoughts were as bright and innocent as the summer sunshine.

Spying from the kitchen windows, I could just see the top of the Johnsons' cottage as I washed the coffee mug. Such enforced solitude would drive practically anyone insane but it suited me far better than living in the midst of a crowded city. That was one early experiment in my youth that had turned out a disastrous failure. Granted though it had been years before I'd gained the mastery and experience I needed to handle my burgeoning powers. Since I'd gained some measure of control over my abilities, living in the city now certainly wouldn't have much effect on me but I figured caution should be the operative word here.

With my heritage, it hadn't come as a surprise that I'd develop some powers that would seem extraordinary to normal human beings. Compared to some of the more bizarre powers supernaturals could receive, having telepathy seemed like a pretty good deal. It certainly beat getting incinerating hands or green horns on the head. Coupled with the magic I'd inherited from my mother, they packed quite a lethal combination. There were no traces of psychic abilities in any of the branches of the family and yet I had them in spades, a genetic fluke born of two disparate yet similar races.

Sorcerers and witches. Quite literally especially when it pertained to my history; the Montagues and Capulets of the supernatural world. And following the routine of that well-known romance, I had been the product of the love between Romeo and Juliet. Not that my mother would ever see herself in the humiliating role of the tragic heroine. Once she'd foreseen the disastrous consequences of my remaining in the hands of my father's family, she'd made a disappearance worthy of Houdini himself. If they even had an inkling of her intentions, the Cabal certainly wouldn't have let a direct scion of one of their own escape without some form of retribution but my mother hide herself well - and my father helped her do so.

My mother's elder sister, Hester, a high-ranking member of the Coven, had elected to come with us into hiding and together, the two sisters had brought me up in relative obscurity of Black Falls. Ironically, the tragedy that would befall us came not as a result of their unholy tryst but of something else entirely.

It had been two months since my aunt had died and my mother left close to dead. Slaughtered was more like it. Slashed and torn to pieces by a creature born of legend yet one that I'd seen with my very own eyes. Hester Blackwell hadn't had much of a chance dealing with what she had. Protective crystals and spells to light candles at home didn't hold up well to the sharp claws of a werewolf. Anyone else would scorn the existence of such a creature of nightmare as the fodder for trashy tabloids but who was I to disbelieve? The son of a witch and a sorcerer.

Even now, I found it hard to believe the events that had rocked my well-ordered life just recently. Trying to escape the reach of the Cabals, my mother had brought us to a small town on the edge of nowhere, opened up a small bookstore and cafe to sustain our activities. Aunt Hester had gone into publishing the town's small paper with a small weekly column of her own on the various usage of herbs and spices. Hester's Pestle, she called it. Till about two months ago, we'd lived in relative obscurity, far away from the all-seeing eyes of the Cabal.

As I moved back to the living room, I noticed the small scrapbook I'd kept detailing the events after Aunt Hester's gruesome death. It didn't take long for the tabloids to catch hold of such titillating news. News of her sudden mysterious death scattered all over the front pages had brought my father knocking on my door with a cavalcade of his men. It seemed that he had kept close tabs on me since the day she'd walked out the door - and she'd sent letters for every month of the year about our progress. Together they'd made a pact that he would never contact or find us - and he'd kept his side of the bargain as faithfully as she had.

Against my will, almost kicking and screaming, he'd dragged us both home to New York. In that city, the powerbase of his Cabal, they were inassailable. The Sopranos, I called them... and my own father was the Godfather. Laughable though the term might be, it was all too chillingly true as I soon found out.

One would imagine that my brothers would not be pleased to welcome someone new to the family, someone who could possibly take away a generous chunk of their billion-dollar pie but I'd clearly underestimated the value of blood ties to these people. Encroaching bastard foundling I might have been but I was still blood. Not only had they welcomed me with open arms, they'd been all too eager to thrust me into a role that I had no intentions of claiming. Brought up by a mother who regularly championed various environmental causes close to her heart, planted her own organic vegetables and made scented candles for sale in her small store, it was small wonder that I balked at the idea of joining a wealthy, multinational corporation that thrived on materialism and exploitation. Of course that didn't mean that some of them hadn't enjoyed the task of persuading me to join the dark side as I called it.

Yet it was that very same wealth that had placed my mother in the care of the best hospitals and she was even now recuperating in one of their expensive facilities. I placed the scrapbook back down on the table and picked up the bookmark I'd recently used. My father's calling card. No, I wasn't being entirely fair to him. Father had been kind to me, although it soon became clear to me that he was as baffled by me as he probably had been by my mother. There was love there, still new to the both of us and it unsettled me more than it did him. For Antonio Morelli, I'd always been his son, no matter the length of time that had separated us making us almost strangers to one another.

I smiled to myself as I imagined my parents together right now. No doubt they were arguing as they had done the first day my father had come knocking on the door. Circumstances back then might have kept them apart but that certainly didn't mean there wasn't a palpable spark between the two. It was difficult trying to imagine my mother being in love again but my father's presence had certainly lightened some of the grief she'd felt at her sister's passing.

Another card slipped out from the pages of the scrapbook and as I leaned down to pick it up, I felt a slight shiver. This card was solid matte black with gold letterings etched across the plain border. Stylish and yet almost spartan in its simplicity. Clayton James never felt the need for fancy stylings when he already made a pretty good impression all by himself.

Despite my earlier misgivings, I had to admit that he had made an impression on my heart. The first of my father's envoys after my aunt's death, he'd remained unerringly attached to my side till a few days ago when I'd managed to give him the slip. Leaving him hadn't been that simple for me. I certainly hadn't been immune to his dangerous good looks and his masculine charm, a fatal error when it came to an ambitious man like Clayton. Staying there with him by my side started feeling like torture especially when I found myself falling helplessly in love with him. Better that I get some space between us to reorganize my thoughts.

There was an electric tingle at the base of my neck long before I heard him coming. Some would call it a hunch or a gut feeling. There was no way in hell I'd call it a psychic flashback or some such thing. That belonged on the colourful pages of a comic book and skintight spandex didn't do a thing for me. Although it's hard to explain exactly what I felt, it feels like a warning. Just imagine the feeling you get when you feel someone's watching and multiply that by a hundred. That would be close to what I was feeling now. But not only could I sense someone approaching my front foor, I could see his thoughts, his feelings, occasionally his intentions... and if I probed deep enough, I could even literally see through his eyes.

That wasn't what I needed today. Without a doubt, I knew who my unwelcome visitor was. Although his footsteps didn't make a sound on the rustling leaves and it sounded almost as if he was floating through the brush, yet my mind was already flooded with him.

Clayton James made an impression wherever he went. It was easy enough to bring his image to my mind. The flash of wily green eyes with deceptive secrets hidden deep inside. The handsome, too-gorgeous-to-believe matinee idol looks, a point of embarassment for him. The quick dimpled grin, with just a touch of wickedness mixed in to balance his boy-next-door looks. The tall, rangy, athletic build that had haunted my fantasies more times than I could possibly count. The faint hint of his cologne, the odd combination of musk and sandalwood. Was it any wonder that I had those scents permeating my home?

In the late nights at home, with his scent in my bedroom, it was easy enough to imagine those strong, powerful hands running down my naked torso. It wasn't hard trying to imagine that beautiful, powerful physique naked and covered wih sweat in my bed, all that pent-up passion and energy focused solely on pleasure as he forcefully thrust his way into... Obsessed was what I was... ever since Clayton James had come into my life. Now that was a man who could make spandex look good. The fact that I was the one keeping him at arm's length for various reasons - and that he was perfectly willing to become my sex toy as he once put it only made it that much worse for me.

In spite of my protests, my heart started beating a quick staccato as it always did whenever he came into the room. I hesitated for a moment, dropping his card back into the scrapbook. There was a sudden urge to flee but that would have been cowardly, something he would no doubt blame on my non-confrontational witch's blood and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The quick, impatient raps on my door would inevitably turn worse if I didn't answer fast enough. After our last encounter, it wouldn't surprise me to have him tearing down my door with his bare hands. Tossing the scrapbook onto the couch, I hurried from the living room to the foyer. Whispering the words to an unlock spell, the doors flipped open smoothly. The last time I'd been here, I'd managed to oil the hinges to the door, killing the eerie squeak that had amused my mother each time she visited. She'd claimed it the perfect door for a witch's house.

"Certainly took you long enough!"

Unlike the first time he'd come knocking, the slick, cagey businessman in Brioni's wasn't standing at my door this time. Instead, he was dressed in scruffy jeans, boots and a heavy leather jacket that had seen far better days. His square, well-proportioned jaw was surprisingly unshaven, showing the rough bristles of a five-o-clock shadow. He looked mean, angry and irritated, his dark green eyes snapping at me under their heavy lids. Clayton the Thug, I called it, a guy you certainly wouldn't want to mess around with and if I hadn't known the man, I'd have thrown the door shut, bolted the door and run for hiding.

Even then, I had to fight the crazy urge to run my tongue across his stubborn jaw. Despite the fact that my mind threw up red flags around him, my traitorous body certainly knew what it wanted. Just like the proverbial Pavlovian reaction, the sight of him turned me on, sending the blood rushing down to my loins. Inevitably, the persistent hard-on that I had whenever he came within twenty feet of me surged to life. Damned good-looking bastard. Did he even know that the scruffy, unshaven look with the mean eyes suited him just as much as the clean-cut, stylish Armani-suited look? Then again, place him in a garbage bag and the man might make it look good even.

Left standing at my porch hadn't improved his mood any. He wasn't foaming at the mouth yet which I gathered to be a good sign but perversely, I couldn't resist needling him a little. "This is certainly not your usual look. Your butler got the day off?"

Irritated, Clayton made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded almost like a growl before he replied tersely, without a hint of humour in his voice. An obvious overload of testosterone had given him a low, sexy voice, a thrumming bass that still sent unbidden thrills down my spine for various reasons I didn't want to think about. "Bastard left a mark on my shirt with the iron so I killed and ate him. Was that very wrong of me?"

It was difficult to know whether he was really pulling my leg so I disregarded what he'd said. After all, I'd seen the man in a rage, he was capable of damned near everything. Following his example however, I dropped my voice an octave in reply. "Clayton."

"John." Temper was boiling at the edges and a muscle started twitching at the edge of his jaw. "I drove for four fucking hours. You gonna invite me in?"

"What are you doing here?" As he tried to take a step in with only a dismissive grunt for a reply, I moved to block the entrance which I later figured was a markedly futile move since he could easily toss me aside if he'd wanted to. From personal experience, I knew that the hard, sculpted muscles straining under his tight tee wasn't only for show. Add his natural God-given strength to the preternatural given by God-knows-who and he packed quite a literal punch.

"I'm here to enjoy the scenery."

Since it was obvious that there was nothing he loathed more, I tried again. "Clayton."

Far from showing any irresistible urge to knock me aside, he offered me a nasty little sneer instead. "That's the way you usually greet your visitors? What the hell happened to hospitality? How the hell you keep your business running is beyond me."

"Not a problem." Insensibly stung by his comment, I offered a tight smile. Just like my father, Clayton didn't approve of my shop as they called it. They certainly hadn't made it a secret that they would have much preferred I give up my little enterprise and returned to the eminently respectable family business of maiming and hacking other unruly demons. "Buy a fucking candle and I promise I'll play nice."

"Obviously staying out here in the boondocks didn't improve your mood any. Always said it's unnatural for a body to stay so far out in the woods, even the bloody drive puts me out of sorts." Seeing the obvious irritation mounting in my eyes, the sneer faded away replcaed by a slow, wicked smile. Watching me seethe, his smile only grew wider as his brilliantly green eyes glittered with unholy amusement. "Maybe this would help, honey."

A kiss wasn't exactly what I was expecting and I only had a brief glimpse of his amorous intentions before Clay was squashing me flat against the doorway. It was another thing that he did extremely well, and I could feel my knees buckling as his lips and tongue worked in tandem to slowly drive me insane. I tried to make a protest but his lips pressed fiercely agaist mine, robbing me of my breath. Struggling to cry out, I could only choke as his tongue tangled with mine. His warm breath burned against my cheek and when I placed my hands on his slim waist, his large hands held them tight and drew them up to his broad shoulders. Not content to remain where they were, my adventurous fingers worked their way up to the tangled black curls on his head and he let out a deep, throaty sigh that brought me back to reality.

Just in time, I wrestled myself off the doorway and shoved him off, almost toppling myself to the floor in the process. It was like pushing a brick wall away and he didn't even budge an inch.

"Damn, now that makes the drive totally worth it." The steely anger in his voice had melted away, replaced by sheer male satisfaction. Fanned to life by our brief interlude, the evident fiery lust in his eyes only made them all the more green, flashing wickedly in the fading light. As if enjoying the taste, he licked his lips ever so slowly. "Yummy. Chocolate chip cookies?"

I'd baked a batch earlier and taken a few. Obviously there was a trace on my lips. Or somewhere down the back of my throat. "Stuff it, Clayton."

"I knew you were a closet sweet tooth. Baked it yourself too, I bet. All you witches are the same." Pleased with his joke, he laughed, the earlier aggravation forgotten for a while. "Sexy homemaking honeys."

Mercurial disposition. That was Clayton to a T. Beating up street toughs one minute, laughing heedlessly the next.

Although, it was patently obvious that kissing managed to soothe the savage beast. Good to note if I were faced with an insane, rampaging Clayton again although I certainly wasn't going to try that cure anytime soon. No need to tempt myself more than necessary. All my very valid reasons for avoiding him melted away when faced with the sheer hard reality of the man himself. When his excellent lips were planted against mine, with that firm, muscular physique pressed urgently against mine, it was hard to think of him as the opportunistic, scheming bastard that he was. All I could think of was his chiseled torso, naked and glistening with cum and sweat, the smooth, glowing golden tan forming a splendid contrast against the plain white Egyptian cotton sheets on my bed.

Tilting his dark, handsome head to look at me, he stated quietly. "I missed you."

Just perfect. Disarming me just before I was tempted to cut into him for making that biased comment about witches and baking. How did he ever find the perfect words? It had to be the smarmy lawyer just hiding underneath that sexy, irresistible bad-boy veneer. "Don't allude to feelings you don't feel, Clayton."

"Bitchy lil witchy, aintcha." He just smiled as I growled at him. "No doubt you believe I'm some kinda idiot hick, you're trying to get me mad enough to leave but that won't work with me. I told you before that I was here to stay, didn't I?" Clayton watched me contemplatively, the look in his beautiful eyes stirring up memories I'd have preferred to forget.

He'd said those very words the first night at the hospital. After the attack, my mother had been rushed into emergency surgery and I stood for unbearable hours in the waiting room, silently watching the snowflakes drift by that cold November morning. In a matter of weeks, my life had been turned topsy-turvy, my aunt was dead, my mother close to that state and I'd gained a motley crew of sorcerous hoodlums for family. Not privy to my chaotic thoughts, my father had fallen asleep from exhaustion half an hour earlier. Yet Clayton had stood by my side all night long, content to remain silent beside me. There were no words to soothe me and he offered none, except for his company.

It was these treacherous thoughts that had me wanting to throw myself into his arms like the foolish witch that I was, when I should be avoiding him like the Spanish Inquisition.

"You don't have to speak like a country redneck, Harvard boy."

"Why not?" A wicked grin spread across his handsome face. "It irritates you like hell, doesn't it? You know what, maybe I should give you another kiss."

As he tried to tug me close, I whispered one of the arcane incantations I kept ever ready as part of my arsenal. Ever since the attacks, I'd come to the realization that it was better to be safe than sorry. The repel spell I'd learnt recently knocked him back barely two feet but it sufficed for my current needs.

Not a man to be so easily thwarted, there was a dangerous flash of his green eyes that promised retaliation but creditably, he managed to get it under control. "Now you're just trying to get me mad."

It would have been more prudent to have kicked him out but I wouldn't lay any dependence that he would have remained outside. Although he could easily slip into the suave, civilized role of the family lawyer, Clayton had shown that when it came to me, he went just a little crazy. I wouldn't put it beyond him to rip the door of the hinges and walk calmly in. "Just shut up and come in, Clayton. I'm getting cold standing here." Too late, it occurred to me that he'd already gotten a foot in despite my earlier misgivings. Just one of the benefits of being a good kisser.

As I stepped aside to let him in, he paused as he walked by and said softly. "I meant what I said earlier. I've missed you. I would have come earlier if your father hadn't stopped me."

Obviously hadn't managed to stop him for long since I'd come back just three days before. Just time enough to get some of my things in order and to clean up the mess I'd left behind the last time. A rampaging werewolf did more damage than I could imagine. And the shedding was hell on the carpets.

Clayton showed no inclination to shed on my carpets however. Instead, he hung up his leather jacket, battered beyond recognition, on the tidy row of pegs behind my door. Underneath the heavy jacket, he wore a plain black tee with the sleeves torn off. Obviously not every man could pull off that look but Clayton certainly could. My covetous gaze slid down his heavily muscled arms to his splendidly sculpted torso before I could help myself. The tight blue jeans he wore only served to highlight his best assets, curving appreciatively over the high, tight curves of his buttocks and down his long, well-muscled legs. Despite his obvious character flaws, no one could deny that he was one magnificent piece of work.

As he turned around, he caught my roving eye before I could turn away but thankfully, he didn't say anything. It was some time before I could maintain my composure and the flush had faded from my cheeks. It was one thing to have him think that I was lusting after him, and quite another to have him catch me checking out his ass.

Trying to control myself around him, I showed him the way into my living room. Lost in the admiration of his fine physique, I'd failed to notice the briefcase he'd carried in. It made an incongruous sight, the muscled thug in jeans and the neat, leather briefcase. "Come in and have a seat."

"So sweet, so polite." Twice I'd seen it to day and I had to admit the man had a sexy sneer, no doubt about it. A contemptuous curl of his full, sensuous lips and a brief glimpse of straight white teeth that made me want to chomp hard on them. "You gonna offer me some tea with crumpets?"

Most people associate sinister black cats and midnight blood rituals at dark eerie cemeteries with witches but that couldn't be farther from the truth for most of the witches that I knew. Morning herbal teas, civilized book discussions, Laura Ashley dresses, those were the hallmarks of the Coven that I knew. Sure, I hadn't leaned towards the flowery printed dresses but in my Oxfords and plain khaki Dockers, I looked as much a suburban witch as the rest of them. The Stepford Witches, Clayton called us.

It was an obvious jab at the witch side of my family and I promised myself that I wouldn't rise to the bait. "Would you rather I dropped some wolfsbane into your tea, Clayton?"

"That's more like you, John." It wasn't the first time he'd come into my home but he certainly hadn't had the time to look around that first time. Since I was getting strangled at that time, I didn't blame him for not taking the scenic route. Entering the living room, he looked around the surroundings, a quiet, almost gentle smile curling up his sensuous lips. "Although I have to admit, your place looks a little spartan. Quite unlike what I'd pictured for you."

A few chairs and fragile items had been broken during the fight and I'd tossed them out leaving the room oddly bare. The sense of loss was still new but it would certainly come to light after a while as I started cataloguing what I'd lost. "I cleaned up some stuff earlier so.."

His easy smile disappeared and a hard look came into his deep-set eyes. "Should have broken his damned neck earlier."

"The timing was fine by me." Since Allen had my life in his hands at that time and was planning to end it, Clayton's intervention had certainly been timely enough. "You won't hear any complaints from me."

With a short, harsh laugh, he shifted his probing gaze back to me. "You drive me insane, you know that? I'm not usually the psychotic maniac you always see but seeing and thinking of you just drives me crazy. Before I came, I actually promised myself that I'd try my best to restrain my temper. Actually tried to calm myself on the way here, counted to ten and all that shit. Guess it didn't work out all that well." Almost like a little boy, he aimed a rueful grin at me.

I must have snorted. Imagining Clayton James keeping his temper in check was a ludicrous idea. Incredibly, I had an image of Clayton crosslegged for an hour of meditation in an incense-filled room and had to swallow the urge to laugh. Not only would he scorn such prissy methods, he'd probably tear the place apart after an hour out of sheer boredom.

My disbelief was patently obvious and he was obliged to make a token protest. "Really, John. Hell, I'm a calm, collected kinda guy, the friendliest guy you'll ever know. Just ask anyone..."

"Yeah, that must be what all your good victims say before you bash their skulls in." Since he didn't seem to have any friends apart from the bunch of goons hired by my dad, I only had to smile. No doubt he'd be pleased to know that his faithful employees either held him in tremendous awe or were deathly terrified of him. A mere handful had incredibly vivid images of Clayton at work that left me stunned myself but I always managed to pull back before I could see more. Faced with such brutal imagery, I tried to explain it away as something absolutely necessary in his line of work but a pacifist myself, I still couldn't condone some of his more violent practices.

"Well, that's something else entirely." Always quick on the uptake, Clayton had evidently picked up on the underlying censure in my tone. Trying to make light of the situation, he tried for a teasing smile. "And what would you know about all that?"

"I've seen them."

His dark brows flew up for a moment in surprise before they settled down in a worried frown. Knowing first-hand the extent of my powers, he accepted my explanation without demur. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me? I only do what has to be done, John, and unlike some of my more bloodthirsty cohorts, I certainly don't derive any satisfaction from what I do." Beneath his heavy dark brows, his vivid green eyes were shuttered for once and his lips drew together into a tight line as he spoke. "If you think I enjoy torture, I can assure you that I.."

I stopped him before he could go on. That was another conversation we weren't going to have since I had no rights to question his methods. Who was I to even think of asking him to explain? And knowing his silver tongue, it would be simple enough for him to sweettalk me into agreeing that bashing a few heads together for the greater good was acceptable practice. "Don't. There is no need to offer me an explanation." If I thought he'd just quietly agree, I was mistaken.

"John." Catching hold of my arm, he held tight before I could walk away in retreat. "That's where you're wrong, and you know that."

"Clayton, you're my father's employee. That is all that's between us, although evidently you think..."

"Bullshit!" He spat out in outrage. The sudden fury had melted away the guarded look in his eyes, and the glare he shot at me was full of bright green fire. "And don't fucking lie to me. Since we first met, you and I have had this amazing chemistry, this spark between us..."

A spark would have been an understatement for what I'd felt when he'd come into my life. "Time out, Clayton. We're not going into that."

"That's what you said the last time." Reining in his temper with some difficulty, he stood back and watched me quietly, the internal war in his green eyes quite evident. A surprisingly vivid image of him throwing me down on the floor in a rage of lust came to me and I realized they weren't my thoughts, but his. Anyone with the right instinct would have been repelled but I felt a distinctive thrill shiver down my spine, straight to the groin. "I don't give up easily, John, you know that. After all, you should know better, you've read my mind before." There was hurt palpable in his voice, and more than a hint of accusation.

It was the one mistake I'd made early in our relationship. Reading minds were my forte and it had been that way since I was a teenager. With my curious heritage, the magic in my blood was a given and both my mentors delighted in them, teaching me the history, the ways and the magic of their craft. The fact that I could read minds as well turned out as an unwelcome surprise to my Aunt Hester, a sign of my sorcerer's bad blood as such an unlawful intrusion into a person's thoughts were an anathema to her, but my mother simply took it in stride. Although she tried her best to help me deal with my burgeoning abilities, it was ultimately my harrowing experience away from Black Falls that gave me the tools I needed to harness my powers.

Nothing could have prepared me for Clayton however. Up till now, his intentions were unclear to me, vague, blurry impressions were all I got from him. The man had a mind that was as slippery and mutable as he was in person, a fluid, almost tangible montage of feelings and thoughts that confused my persistent interrogations. The one time I'd managed to probe deep enough, it had been my one and possibly only time. There was a savage, almost primal lust, something marvellously wild and uninhibited, lurking just beneath the surface - beneath that cool, passionless exterior, the sleek Italian suit and the Bruno Maglis that I'd erroneously associated with him in the beginning. The unusual blend of primitive passions and dispassionate logic had confused me for some time till two weeks back when I'd received a significant eye-opener.

Power, position and money was what drove him. From the little I knew about him, what I'd inadvertently gleaned from some of his words and actions, I found that couldn't fault him for that. A troubled childhood roaming the streets in search of food and sustenance, a father who regularly shattered his bones and a mother who drank herself into a stupor. Harsh words and daily beatings certainly didn't help nurture a child's growth, and it only made him all the more determined to leave all that behind as he grew older. It was a miracle that he'd survived, and become the man that he was today.

What I didn't like was the fact that he didn't have any qualms about using me to get what he wanted. Since we'd met, he'd hinted more than once at a deeper relationship and each time, I'd managed to avoid his propositions. It was difficult to decide whether he was really in earnest or if it was another ploy to gain an upper hand in the Cabal. After all, he'd made no secret of the fact that it would have been quite a coup indeed to have gotten the favourite bastard son of the boss back into the fold. Apart from that, there was also the fact that I had considerable powers of my own, and I'd gained a certain reputation of my own in the supernatural world after my last debacle.

When I'd first learnt of his duplicity, I'd gone against my own tenets and impulsively violated his privacy. Although I'd only managed to brush across the surface of his mind, I'd gotten a brief glimpse of the man behind. What surprised me most was finding out that instead of being repulsed by what I'd seen, I'd been hopelessly intrigued. "Clayton, reading your mind doesn't leave me at all reassured about you, or your methods."

"Fair enough." Evidently it was the answer he wanted since he nodded and walked away. Walking over to the couch for a seat, his curious gaze swept over the DVDs and the scrapbook I'd dropped there. Whatever he was going to say about it he kept to himself. Instead he started digging around in his briefcase and pulled out a heavy envelope.

As I took the seat beside him, he flashed that charming smile that made my knees go weak, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. "Here. Take a look at this. Your father wanted you to have a look at this." All traces of his pseudo Southern twang faded away as his voice picked up a smooth businesslike cadence. Who was the real guy? The laid-back Southern cowboy? Or the slick business shark in Italian suits? Or was he the wild, crazy-eyed man who had come bursting into the dark cell-like cabin weeks ago to rescue me?

Weighing the envelope in my hands, I watched him with some suspicion. "These aren't some dirty pictures of my dad and his mistress or something, is it?"

"Trust you to think of that." He chuckled appreciatively before giving me a wicked wink in reply. "Just look and find out, honey."

"Very funny. And stop with the honey business." Instead of finding pictures of Clayton in several compromising positions, I found a brass plaque with my name on it with several photos inside. I didn't need him to tell me that they were the offices of the family firm back in New York. "That's my name."

"Yeah, it's for your space at the main office, just right next door to mine. You see.."

Slowly, I collected the pictures and placed them back inside. "Cosy." Another ploy to get me back in the business. A little weak but I guess it was the best my father could think of at such short notice. Nothing like dangling a golden carrot as a lure.

Getting into the spirit of things, he started to wax enthusiastically. "You'd better believe it is. It's the corner office with some of the most amazing views of the city. For you, we could have the best interior designers in and..."

"Fuck."

A glimmer of a smile lit up his dark, handsome features. "Sure, that comes later. There's an interconnecting door between our offices, I specifically asked for that, and I have a very comfortable leather couch."

"Smooth operator, aren't you?" I said sarcastically. There was no need to tell him that Clayton James and a leather couch were certainly great incentives for me to return. The man knew that he looked good, and he definitely knew of my attraction to him which is why he used that shamelessly during our dealings.

"I have to be, especially when I'm dealing with a slippery customer like you." Boldly, he placed a hand on my thigh, and I felt the palpable heat of it jump straight to my groin.

"Me? I think you've got it all wrong."

"I'm not the one who scurried away from New York." He leaned towards me on the couch, running his right hand slowly on the top of the sofa. "What the hell happened? You suddenly left without telling me. I didn't like it."

There was a quick flash of his dark green eyes, a telltale sign of his temper. Rumours of a Raging Clayton had been evident the moment I'd stepped into the offices of Bad Demons Corp but I'd dismissed their thoughts as mere exaggeration since how could this smooth, charming angel-faced hunk be the devil they claimed? It wasn't long however before I found myself confirming their vastly unflattering description.

Clayton certainly kept his bubbling volcano of emotions under a very tight lid since that hair-trigger temper hadn't been evident the first time I met him. My first impression as he'd walked in had been a slick, charming shark of a lawyer and then as he caught my eye and smiled, my heart stopped. There was no trace of precognition in my abilities that I knew of and yet in that first moment, I'd gotten a sudden, spectacular jolt, like a bolt of electricity through my heart. A brief flash of what could be flitted through my brain, so fast that I could barely grasp the idea. In the nightmarish hell that my life had suddenly turned into, he walked into it looking like an angel, all those jet-black curls rioting around his handsome head, the innocently green eyes under the thick dark lashes, the sexy bad-boy physique slicked up in Italian suits. The crazy, spinning, topsy-turvy world I was in came to a sudden stop and righted itself the moment he came into it.

An angel who'd saved my life. But that was all before I'd seen the photo frame in his office. It was the one thing keeping me from tumbling him down on the couch as he'd imagined earlier. Pursuing married sexually-ambivalent men with a green-eyed boy wasn't in my agenda.

Cautiously, I nudged his hand away from my thigh. "I didn't think I needed to make a full report of my activities to you, Clayton."

"No, you're not my employee. You're the man that I ..."

I hastily stopped him before he could finish what he was about to say. Having him here knowing he was untouchable was enough without a full confession of his feelings for me. "What are you actually doing here? You couldn't have come all the way to hand me something you know full well I'm gonna say no to. There's no way I'm going to join Bad Demons Corporation and you know that."

My reply left him looking almost insulted. "Need you even ask? You think I only want you back for the good of the damned company? I've come for you. Come on, you can't mean to stay here forever, this lil speck in the dust." He gestured outwards and I could see in my mind's eye the sleek lil Italian sportscar he'd parked outside. A boy's toy and I'd told him as much before. If he could only have seen it, Clayton would certainly have derided the old, banged-up pick-up truck that I drove to work. Sooner be caught dead in it, he'd say.

"You're gonna get mud on that pretty little toy of yours," I warned him.

"It'll wash." Under the black T-shirt, his broad shoulders lifted in a small, dismissive shrug. "And anyway, I'm sure you could always wiggle your little nose to make it disappear."

The reference to the blond witch on a television series certainly didn't amuse me. Since we'd met, Clayton had come to realize that bringing up stereotype witches was an endless source of irritation for me. "Look, you didn't have to come all this way. Since she's getting better, my mother sent me home to get a few things. I certainly didn't scurry away as you so nicely put it. I've just got some work to do over here, check some inventories for the shop, handle some of the orders."

"You know that's not what I mean." Clayton protested. "You can't seriously mean to stay here after all that has happened."

If he'd asked me that a few weeks back, I'd have jumped at the opportunity to return to New York with him. "You know, I don't think another vicious werewolf's gonna stop by in Black Falls. Looks like we've already filled out our quota for the year."

"From what I hear, your mother's not likely to leave New York anytime soon. Even with the treatment she's getting, she's gonna need some physical therapy for a while and ..."

"I know all that but I have my work, my store is here. The doctors haven't exactly said for how long but I've thought of commuting back and forth, and..."

He stopped me in the midst of my long explanation which I was grateful for since I hadn't thought it through yet. "Look, I've spoken to your father about this. The Cabal would be willing to reimburse all your expenses. You enjoyed staying in the brownstone we have there, you can certainly have it. And from what I've heard, there are stores to be had in New York."

"My little enterprise competing with all the other stores in New York? Try your snake-oil charm elsewhere, Clayton. You aren't going to win me over that way."

Refusing to claim defeat, Clayton pouted those sexy lips. "I don't mean to go until.."

"You're gonna howl and bite me if I don't go?" The comment was a low blow but I was simply running out of ammunition. It would be so simple to leave everything and go with him but there was the matter of a small green-eyed boy in a photo frame and his misguided father. Having an affair with the misguided yet incredibly sexy father would be a terrible, unforgivable mistake and I had to repeat it to myself like a mantra.

Caught by my words, he flushed vividly crimson in anger and his hands curled into tight fists. General comments on his affliction always managed to strike a nerve and it would only take moments before those fists turned to claws. To everyone else in the firm, he was the Iceman and yet with me, I could prick him so very easily.

"That was wrong of me, I shouldn't have said that."

Surprised by my sudden unprecedented generosity, he watched me curiously. "That's very diplomatic of you, John."

It was getting dark even as we sat there talking and I realized that a drive back - even with that snazzy car of his - would have him reaching New York in the wee hours of the morning. Looking back, I realized that I'd cooked enough for two. Some form of precognition perhaps. "Clayton, since you are here, then you might as well stay for dinner."

"You just apologized and now you're asking me for dinner?" Leaning forward on his seat, he watched me curiously, his green eyes narrowed slits in his dark face. The sudden turnabout in the topic - and my unaccustomed good humour - had made him suspicious. "What? You trying to pull my leg here?"

"It's getting late, it's getting dark, and I've seen for myself the crazy way you drive. You're staying here tonight." I would certainly enjoy doing something other than pull his leg but I figured such inappropriate comments would only enflame his lusts. And he was only too willing to give in to that. "It's the least I could do for the man who saved my life. And my mother's."

That only succeeded in rousing his ire and his stern eyes narrowed. "Don't insult me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, you know that."

"I don't know that." He looked as if he was about to argue the point but I quickly cut him off. "We'll have that talk later. Go get some of your stuff in here first."

"Witches are all so strict. Guess I don't have to ask how you know that I have a travelling bag in my car." Rising from his seat, Clayton moved towards the front door. Then as if he recalled something he turned and looked at me, raising a dark inquiring brow. "Where.."

"You're not sleeping in my bed."

"Hey, I never said anything." Turning back from the door, he looked back with a pleased grin. "So what are we having for dinner?"

For all his wicked ways, Clayton had surprisingly simple needs. Sex and food satisfied him usually and a combination of both would have been irresistible. Of course all I was gonna offer him was food, no matter how lusciously sexy he might look in jeans and a tight T-shirt.

Although I might gripe a lot about the outdated stereotypes associated with witchcraft, there are some that I could only wish were true. For instance, it would have been great to be able to twitch my nose and have a sumptuous, four-course meal appear before me perfectly set on the table. That simply wasn't true however since I still had to peel, slice and dice the essentials all by myself. And cook them. Fortunately, although she had an unnatural obsession with greens and a healthy diet, my mother was a wonderful cook who managed to channel most of her love of cooking to me.

Unfortunately, witches' magic was mainly practical. Starting a blazing inferno was simply out of the question but I could light the candles through magic. And I could certainly raise the flames on a stove.

Judging by his enormous appetite, small salads and vegetarian lasagna weren't going to satisfy his tastebuds. With his carnivorous genes, Clayton leaned heavily towards protein - and lots of it. Of course with the ravenous metabolism his genes had given him, he could swallow a mountain of fried, fatty food and still remain as fit and slim as ever. Damn him.

What were my real intentions for inviting him to dinner? Bringing Clayton in was akin to opening the hen house to the wily fox and I'd been the fool of a chicken who'd swung the door wide open. Yet something had loosened my tongue enough to offer up an invitation. Maybe it was the fact that after his long drive, Clayton looked tired, frustrated - and for once, almost sweetly human despite his matinee idol looks.

Never one to tolerate waiting, the man himself stalked restlessly around the kitchen as I stood preparing our dinner. A quick shower while I was preparing dinner had taken the edge off somewhat - and he even managed to be reasonably civil while I cooked his dinner. There had been one crazy impulse to jump into the shower with him but I managed to suppress such ignoble thoughts but it didn't stop me from imagining Clayton soaping himself up in my bathroom. Turning myself into his lucky soap certainly wasn't in the scope of my powers but on that day, I wished I could. Trying to be of service, he'd offered to help earlier but seeing his ineptitude in the kitchen was painful to say the least and I quickly banished him to the role of eye candy which suited him far better.

Observing me from his safe perch by the kitchen window, Clayton smiled. "I didn't know you cooked."

"You don't know many things about me." Picking up the mittens, I reached down and pulled out the pie I'd prepared earlier. A sign of precognition knowing he'd arrive? Alone, I certainly wouldn't have been able to finish all this food by myself and yet, I'd prepared a veritable feast.

The small smile just curling up his sensuous lips grew wider. "I'm certainly learning a lot about you today, ornery bugger."

It was the longest time we'd spent together without interruption since we'd first met. Earlier, we'd had rampaging werewolves, crazed sorcerers - and what had to be the worst, relentless media hounds who knocked on my door day and night. There hadn't been the time to sit back and think over our murky relationship till I'd returned to Black Falls to pick up the threads of my old life.

Even then, his lies and deception couldn't face up to the fact that he had endangered his own life to save mine. And the fact that he had the most gorgeous green eyes I'd ever seen. In the light of the evidence I'd uncovered about his past, it was difficult to see how I could still feel this uncommonly strong attraction towards him. Some odd, indefinable force drew us together in spite of the various reasons I had for us being apart. So apart from avoiding Clayton as far as I could, it was obvious that I still hadn't made up my mind which way to go in regards to Mr Sizzling Hot Sorcerer.

All I knew was that my dinner would knock the man's socks off. The pie was settling beautifully and I now had to see to the lasagna I'd heated up from earlier. It would have been enough for an invading army but not for Clayton. For him, I had another whole chicken roasting in the oven. "I didn't travel for miles to get a no. I didn't come all the way here to Black Falls to see the man who's been saying no to me since the day we first met. Who's the ornery one now?"

Leaning back on his haunches, he smirked at me. "Hell and here I thought you'd be impressed by my tenacity. I hear it's a good trait to have in a boyfriend."

For the past hour, the earlier sly innuendoes had progressed to become blatant hints. Patience wasn't one of his good traits and he was this close to forcing a diamond ring on my finger - whether I fucking liked it or not. "Clayton."

"John?" He replied in the same minatory tone, giving me a wicked grin and a wink of his vividly green eyes.

Standing on her daily pulpit, Holy Aunt Hester always preached the fact that the sorcerers were the irreclaimable sinners and after the inquisition, the witches were supposed to repent and show them the right way. What did it say about my vaunted witches' morality now that I wanted to sin around with a married heterosexual sorcerer? No doubt if Miss Hester Blackwell somehow caught wind of this sordid affair, she'd be spinning around in her grave.

Taking a chance, he came off his perch and walked towards me, his canine nose sniffing. "Smells good."

"It's my mom's lasagna. Won the baking award in Black Falls three years in a row." Digging into the tray, I spooned out a bite to try. Oddly enough, the recipe had been in my family for generations despite the fact that there had been no Italian blood in my family - that I knew of anyway. The closest I'd gotten to Mediterranean heat was Clayton James.

"Sweet." Almost reverently, Clayton took a deep breath as his lips moved close to my neck. Barely inches apart, the man stood close enough that the sheer heat from his solid body was almost palpable. "But I'm not talking about the food."

Fatigue and frustration might have gotten him riled up earlier but he'd certainly gotten his silver tongue back. Clayton had moves and he made them now as those eager hands of his slipped smoothly around my waist to draw me close. "Move aside before I..." I started the words to a spell just as he hugged me tight from the back.

"But darling." Clayton whispered slyly to me. Before I could make a reply, he started planting soft kisses on the back of my neck, heading towards the edge of my jaw. "Your little spell won't work on me twice."

Given such a challenge, I tried to finish my chant only to have him spin me around and plant a kiss on me. Warnings about fire hazards flew out my head as he ran his wonderful lips across mine. One sizzling Clayton James kiss and I went from outrage to outrageous. Drawn in spite of myself, my free hand reached around his broad shoulders, drew down his powerful flanks to that perfect ass.

As I got one hand on what had been termed the hottest ass in Demon Inc, he let out a deep, appreciative chuckle. "Guess I don't have to say grab my ass, huh."

It was the perfect splash of cold reality but I didn't jump away as I should have. Slowly easing my way out of his embrace, I nudged him meaningfully on the hard curve of his pecs. Damn they were really hard. "Clay, you wouldn't want to pull that again. I'm cooking your dinner and you just don't know what I could accidentally put into the soup."

"Wolfsbane again?" Clayton stepped away at the last moment, leaving me intentionally breathless. "Poison in a witches' brew and here I thought you hated cliches."

From the counter, I aimed a glare over my shoulder at him and flicked my spoon at him. A hasty ramble of words came from him and the sliver of tomato sauce hung in mid air between us. For a man who hadn't been weaned on magic since birth, his speed and delivery was impressive to say the least but I certainly wasn't going to tell him so. Unfair as it might sound, magic seemed to come to him almost naturally.

Still the sight of the floating tomato sauce had me smiling. "Could have frozen Allen and saved us a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Doubt my teeny weeny spell would have worked on a 300 pound werewolf." He replied ruefully, unconsciously rubbing his newly clean-shaven jaw. "And I doubt I could keep myself from wanting a go at him. Seriously wanted to wreck that bastard's piss-ugly face especially after he suckerpunched me that one time."

That certainly explained the crazed bloodlust in his eyes when he'd burst into my house. According to the witches' Good Witch Glinda tenets taught to me by my aunt, I was supposed to eschew all maiming, stabbing and killing, to do my best to protect the innocents, but that one time in the woods of Black Falls, I'd slipped, allowing Clayton to do what he did best, and I'll be damned if I was going to be sorry for it.

"Hope your arm's feeling better."

Surprised at my mention of that harrowing day, he replied quietly. "Don't worry about that, we heal fast enough." Lifting his left arm, he flexed and allowed the golden-tanned, well-toned muscles to ripple tantalizingly for a moment. I had to tell myself that the thrill of desire running down my spine was simply admiration for a well-made machine and not pure insane, come-fuck-me lust.

I certainly didn't fool Clayton. The sudden flare of colour in his green eyes confirmed the fact that he did know what I was feeling and as he stepped nearer again, I hastily turned back to the stove.

"Oh, look, the chicken's done," I exclaimed as I flipped open the oven door. Turning around with the chicken in my hands, I found myself almost face to face with him.

"You're done. I'm not." Batting the sauce in the air away, he tugged at my sleeve gently, pulling me towards him. Red hot platters wouldn't hurt him in the least but I was still tempted to give him a sting. "Look, I know you witches love the non-confrontational, no-balls pacifist tactics but avoiding the issue isn't going to solve anything. You know we had something going ..."

With the chicken plate between us, I stepped up to him, my dark eyes daring him with a challenging look. "You want confrontational?"

"Yeah?" Totally unafraid, he grinned tauntingly.

"Blasted demon whoreson. Then take this damned chicken to the fucking dining table. Confrontational enough for you?" Smashing the tray of chicken on his face would be fun for me but it would make the time I'd spent preparing it a waste, and the unconventional bastard might just lick it off his face anyway.

"You are one crazy witch." A low, appreciative laugh came from him. Instead of harping again on the issue of our nonexistent relationship, he received the plate with a gentle half-smile. "You know what, I could actually get used to this."

So could I but I wasn't actually going to tell him that.

The issue of where he was going to sleep hung at the back of my mind. Sure, I had bedrooms to spare in the house but room and board wasn't the problem at hand. Rather than trying to avoid him, the problem was actually keeping me from walking over to his bed, like one of those stupid television virgins who insist on walking blindly to their doom. My own unwavering lust notwithstanding, I also had his unnatural animal lusts to contend with. The fact that his dirty little mind was replaying various little sex montages was oddly disturbing to say the least, and more than a little arousing. Perverted demon boy had obviously attributed an unparelled flexibility to my hapless spine in his sex soaked dreams since I seemed to submit to various back-breaking moves without complaint.

His large, powerful hands gripped the edge of my hips, forcing me down on the dark oak expanse of the table. The heat and the force of his erection drew theateningly across the tight cleft of my naked buttocks and I let out a soft, throaty moan - of pleasure or of distress I couldn't tell for sure. As I inevitably struggled for dominance, he let out a rough, almost guttural laugh before he leaned down on me again, his lips biting down hard on the edge of my ear before travelling downward along the edge of my jaw.

The vivid images planted in my head left me almost breathless, with a heavy ache in my groin, and this time, I turned to him, a touch of barely concealed irritation in my voice. "Not on the dining table, Clayton!"

Surprised at my sudden change of mind, he paused with the tray he was holding. Confusion reigned in his features. "Huh. What? You want to eat somewhere else?"

Realizing that I was referring to something else entirely, I backpedaled hastily. That's the problem with mind-reading, sometimes it's a little hard trying to dissociate the dangerously erotic porn movie going on in his imaginative head with what he was actually saying. How he could have such lusty debauchery playing in his mind while he went on calmly around in his work was an amazement to me. "It's nothing. The table's fine, I just meant.."

"Ah." His dark head swung back to me and he smiled almost roguishly. "Reading minds again? What can I say? You're pretty inspirational, babe, and the dining table looks like it could hold up under our weight."

"Just dinner. No table sex."

"No problem." Clayton acquiesced easily. "The bed would do fine for me."

"Pervert. And stop thinking in those terms."

The roguish grin on his handsome face widened. "I can't help it. You make me hard."

There seemed to be no decent reply for that since his words drew several uncomfortably arousing images and I maintained my silence instead. His deep, teasing laughter followed me all the way back to the kitchen as I made my hasty retreat. Content to remain on his own, Clayton didn't return to bug me and left me alone in the kitchen for some time, dreaming up devious ways of poisoning him. There was no way in hell I'd stoop myself to his level by playing his inane games but it was endless fun imagining him groaning and writhing in pain on the floor from purgatives.

When I finally returned to the dining room with the final dish, I realized that Clayton had obviously kept himself quite busy rummaging through the cupboards. There was an ancient buffet hutch by the dining table where my mother used to keep what we called her fancy dining stuff and it was obvious that Clayton had managed to find her treasure trove. Fortunately, the monumental disaster that was Hurricane Allen had swept by the living room and the study, demolishing almost everything in its wake but somehow managed to swerve past the dining room. Belgian lace tablecloth lined the massive oak table, lovely Delft porcelain ware lay neatly arranged for a cosy twosome at one end and he'd placed an iron wrought candelabra complete with long, tapering candles in the centre. I certainly couldn't accuse Clayton of not knowing how to set a scene. Obviously Demon Lawyers 'R' Us had classes dealing with table dining etiquette.

It was obvious that he was still looking for something else however and finally perplexed, he turned to me. "Where the hell do you keep your matches?"

"Never had any. Watch and learn." I smiled. A small, simple incantation had the candles around the room flaring up to lend a warm glow to the dining room. If it looked just a bit romantic, I kept that to myself hoping that Clayton wouldn't notice too.

Trying to hide the effect would teach me to underestimate Clayton. As he took his place at the table, there was a secret smile on his face. "The perfect ambience."

"Gotta make a guest feel at home," I ad-libbed quickly, taking my seat beside him. Scooting my chair to the other end of the table seemed like a safer alternative but Clayton would certainly have a choice comment ready for that cowardly act and I remained unhappily glued to my seat.

"Ah, the 2005 Martha Stewart Witch Guide."

I picked up my fork and waved it at him. "No jokes, you promised."

"A truce then." He laughed and then decided to start on his meal by tucking into a piece of lasagna. Nothing like distracting the man by waving food in front of him. Biting into his first piece, Clayton leaned back and let loose a rapturous sigh. "Damn but you're an amazing cook. Sweetheart, I'd marry you for that lasagna alone."

The flattering compliment on the food was welcome enough but not in the sly way he'd said it. Amazing how he actually managed to turn compliments on my cooking back to his single-minded, relentless mission to win me back. Trying to keep my tone as light and breezy as possible, I just shook my head in reply. "You're way too easy then."

There was no flippancy in his voice however when he paused to look me straight in the eye. A gleam came into his beautiful eyes as he gave me a half-crooked smile. "What can I say? I'm always easy when it comes to you, John."

Letting him know that such sudden sentimentality - no doubt mellowed by the food in his growling stomach - was turning my knees to water in seconds and indirectly wearing down my resolve wouldn't be a prudent move on my part. And yet when I gazed into those dark green depths, I felt like casting all my antiquated notions into the wind and fall into his strong, two-timing arms.

"You wanted to know more about me, didn't you? We never did talk about what you saw."

Clayton said it so matter-of-factly while he bit into a chunk of chicken that it took me a moment before I realized what he'd just told me. There was certainly no forgetting what had happened that night but despite my avid curiosity, I didn't want to bring it up before he was ready to tell me anything. Gorgeous amateur sorceror transforming into a hairy, sharp-fanged werewolf right in front of my eyes wasn't something I'd expected of him and the image of the skin and muscle literally tearing apart before my eyes had been etched into my memory for weeks after.

"I know what it was, Clayton, although I can't exactly claim to understand what happened."

Almost cautiously, he slowly laid down his spoon and watched me. A shadow of a smile crossed his handsome face as he started to speak. "Well, actually I believe you're the second person alive who's seen it." There was distinct flash of his green eyes, an almost imperceptible golden tint that I'd seen that night weeks ago.

"I venture to guess my father's the other one."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Was that a veiled threat?"

He looked almost hurt for a moment. "John."

"Okay, I have to admit that was a cheap shot. I take it back."

Pleased that he'd managed to get the better of me, he spooned up some soup and smiled beatifically at me. "You know what the bastards who call themselves my parents called me when I was a kid? They called me El Diable. The little fucking Devil."

"What?" I stared at him. There were times when provoked by one of my admittedly hair-brained ideas, Aunt Hester would start preaching about the Bible and the fate of the wicked, unrepentant sinners but even then she would never have categorized me as the Devil himself. And certainly not when I was a child. "Your parents called you that? Surely they didn't mean it."

"Much as I would love to pander to your all-American Norman Rockwell notion of family, they actually meant it." Clayton chuckled but there was a low, hollow ring to the sound.

The way he said it left me in no doubt of the truth of the matter and yet despite the cold, dispassionate tone he used, I realized that there was some hurt still left. The ugly wound might have been scabbed over but my bringing up the topic must have scraped the wound fresh again. "Clayton, you don't have to tell me anymore."

As I tried to pick up my fork again, he reached over and held my hand, clutching it tight enough to cause some discomfort. Sometimes he obviously still didn't know his own preternatural strength. "John, you wanted to know about me? If that's what it takes, I'm telling you everything."

"Look, Clayton, I don't have to know everything and..."

"Just listen," Clayton begged, watching me intently. As he started reciting the story, he released my hand. "Hell, Clayton isn't even really my name. At least I don't think so. I can't remember anything from my childhood, anything less than 7 years is a blur to me. I remember vague faces and colours but I don't remember who they are. I don't know who my real parents are, don't even know where the hell I came from. The Garcias found me. Why they took me in I'll never know but I once read a note from my real father. More a threat than anything else and obviously they bowed down to his wishes. They fed and clothed me but that didn't mean they loved me. I wasn't an angel, I'd admit it but they didn't help much. The slightest wrong had Raul's large fists flying at me and the alcohol binges made the fists come faster and harder. Maria, his wife wasn't much better, fearful of me and cursing my name to heaven. Made crosses at me each time she saw me, said I was tainted by the devil whatever that meant. It took some time before I got smart enough to keep him from using me as a punching bag and I left."

He told his story matter-of-factly as if he'd read it in a book some years ago. A horribly twisted fairy tale that he barely recalled. Passionless and clinical, and yet I could see the bleakness in the suddenly dimmed green eyes as he spoke. The earlier spark of fire had faded out of his eyes as he told me some of his experiences. There were times when I suspected that he watered down the story a little for my benefit, especially after seeing the growing horror in my face. No, his past still haunted him but he obviously didn't let it overrule his thoughts and actions.

As he came to the end of the story, Clayton released my hand, letting it go and I flexed my fingers to test the joints. It didn't surprise me now that Allen's head had snapped just as easily under those powerful hands. "Sorry for that. It actually took me a while before I got out from them. Who knows, I must have felt some sort of gratitude for the bastards but I just couldn't stand being knocked about anymore one day so I left. Just took the little that I had and ran. Barely in my teens still, a scrawny lil kid even then and didn't even know where the hell I was going. Changed the name my parents had give me, tried to be someone else. Thank God your father found me."

A rich, successful Cabal CEO based in New York just walking by the streets of Miami to find a wandering street kid by luck? Such a providential move certainly warranted suspicion. Knowing my father's foresight and calculated strategies, he'd probably been keeping an eye on the promising Clayton for several months before making his move. Keeping that thought to myself however, I only shook my head with sympathy. "Clayton, I can't imagine what you went through then."

"That's all in the past now." He smiled easier now, a more genuine smile now that he had unburdened himself. "Look, I don't want your pity. I just want you to know where I'm coming from. Perhaps you never wanted to hear this from me before but.."

Even without scanning his thoughts, I sensed he was moments away from declaring himself and I reached up my hand to stop him. "Don't, Clayton."

Quick as a snake, he reached out for my hand and brought it down to the table again, holding it tight in his hand. Although he relaxed his hold a little in deference to my weark, inferior self, it was turning out to be a habit. "Stopping me from saying it doesn't make it any less true. I'm telling you all this because I'm in love with you."

"You've known me barely two months or so," I said calmly even though my treacherous heart had given a quick leap at the meaningful words. Since he was the more volatile of the both of us - and there were already early signs of his temper appearing on the scene, it was left to me to keep a rational mind. Sure, kissing him would certainly soothe the wild beast and contain the problem but I didn't plan to start such a disturbing trend in our twisted relationship. Unless I had no choice of course. It seemed to be ironic that I'd spent years looking for that special someone and now that I had found a spectacularly gorgeous stud who loved me, I could only resort to kissing him as a last resort. As he showed no signs of blowing up yet, there didn't seem to be any need to do so.

"And half the time, I was trying to escape from vengeful werewolves in search of a main course and oily mafioso bothers who want me to join the dark side." Speaking of such incidences as if it was commonplace would be ludicrous just six months back and I realized how far my life had changed. Back then, I didn't have sexy sorcerers who turned into raging wild beasts once a week over for dinner no matter how luscious they might look in tight jeans. "And you were the perfect combination of both."

"Ouch." Lifting his hand in a quick salute to my jab, Clayton smiled ruefully. The vivid green was back in his eyes, gleaming and so green a shade to seem almost inhuman, as he'd shed his vulnerable, confiding side as easily as he'd left his humanity behind when he'd changed. "No, I'm not denying that less than two months is hardly time enough to make a lifetime commitment but well, I don't know how it is but I knew you were the one the moment I saw you walk out of the door."

"It was the adrenaline and the heat of the moment..." My heart stuttered from what he'd said and I found my tongue finally giving up. How the hell do you deal with such simple sincerity. He could have prettied it up with sweet words and poetry - I'd certainly seen him in action with that treacherous silver tongue at work - but he didn't try all those practised moves on me. I started to stand but he caught my hand in his. I would have known better than to have tried breaking free. With that strength, it would be a cinch for him to snap my wrist with just a squeeze.

"You can explain it all away but it doesn't change what I feel. Belittling my feelings for you hurts. It hurts, John."

Who knew those unnaturally green eyes could hold so much grief. Legend had it that wolves mated for life and I felt my heart stop for a moment. "Clayton."

"John, why are you fighting this?"

"It hurts even more that you're using all your charm to persuade me to stay so that you'll get a leg up in the Cabal." I'd never been at my best caught in a corner. It came sputtering out before I could stop myself. Many times before, I'd come close to revealing what I'd seen and heard and yet in respect and appreciation for what he'd done for me, I'd kept it silent till now.

"What th-" It was as if I'd turned and slapped him hard as he recoiled from my accusation. "That's what you think of me? You think I'm a fucking toad-eating asshole who'd stoop to such low tactics? I can do better than fucking the boss' son." The apparent grief melted away as his green eyes flashed an early warning.

Since I'd already gotten this far, I didn't see any reason to keep what I knew a secret. "Look, I saw you in the living room talking to my father. You don't have to carry on this charade any longer than you have to, my father thinks the world of you and..."

To prove his point, he practically leapt over the table as he loomed threateningly over me. Any other witch would have cowered under that stare but the foolhardy witch that I am, I retained my position, refusing to budge an inch. "I knew that, heard you coming in from a mile away. Such a clever little eavesdropper! Perhaps you should have stayed longer to hear the rest of it. Or perhaps you'd rather read my mind and find out for yourself." The hell-raising fury he was famous for was evident now, rising in palpable waves from his body. "What's wrong with wanting you to stay with the Cabal? I wanted you close to me and that's one of the few ways I could see to keep you near. The other was tying you up and tossing your stubborn ass into my car but that wouldn't have gone down so well with your father. You certainly wouldn't have stayed for me, you were so damned insistent on returning to Black Falls and your damned so-called life."

"I don't want.."

Clayton didn't allow me a chance to explain myself but cut me off with a rude grunt. "I'm not finished, John. You might have heard me promising your dad to find a way. What the hell's wrong with that? Your father saved me when I was lost. I'd do anything for him and having you back in the family was one of the few things he'd wanted for so long. Was it wrong for me to get that for him?"

I stared at him. His seething anger drew a spark of my own and I started getting angry in spite of my self.

"Answer me, John. Look at me. Why should I bother lying to you? Sure I had other motives for wanting you to stay but that doesn't mean I love you any less."

Finally it was time to show my trump card and goaded by his belligerence, I decided to confront him with it. "Clayton, look, I saw the picture of the boy in your office. Don't even try to deny that he's your son."

"I won't deny that."

And he didn't need to. When I'd looked into the photo, I knew I'd seen love. The little boy's face was unmistakeable, the perfect miniature of his father who held him close. Those wicked green eyes, the rough shag of glossy black curls, the impish smile. No one would looked at it could deny the fact.

He remained quiet for a moment and I stood up, slowly gathering the plates in silence.

As I came back from the kitchen with the tableloth, he was still sitting there watching the table in silent, rapt contemplation. Turning to go, he caught my hand and urged me to sit. "John, you've got it all wrong. Take a seat, please."

Anger would have raised my hackles but I was certainly no proof to the entreating look on his face. "Tell me."

"I was going to explain it to you earlier but... hell, how do I say this but yes, he is my son. Let me give you the short summary on this. I was married before. It was years ago, I'd tried... hell, I know I love men now but back then, I'd hoped that all those dirty thoughts and ideas would fade away if I just got married." Clayton laughed quietly, shaking his head in remembrance. "Had all these hot guys doing all sorts of dirty things in my head. Almost went crazy thinking that the Garcias were right and I was tainted by the Devil. Your father would have helped me then but I had to get away, be by myself for a while. In that time, I met a woman. Just a slip of a girl actually, her name was Luisa. We were happy together, she loved me... gave me a son. It didn't last for long since she died from... an accident two years after we'd met."

An accident? There was something more that he wasn't saying about his wife but I figured that he would tell me in time so I kept quiet. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"John. Before you came into my life, I'd already sworn that I'd try to keep you by your father's side, by force if you will but once I saw you, everything changed." He looked straight at me, almost daring me to look away. "They say wolves mate for life, John. I really tried my best to love Luisa, she was lovely and sweet and yet, I couldn't return her love in kind. I thought it was a flaw in me, a fucking deficiency planted by my upbringing. But when I saw you, I knew then why I couldn't love Luisa. I was waiting for you, my mate and she wasn't the one. I swear I wanted to tell you all this before but then you left in such a hurry."

Once he'd explained it all, it all made perfect sense and tied up all the loose ends about Clayton that I'd wondered about.A red flush of shame burned my cheeks as I wondered what had made me leap to those terrible conclusions in the beginning. There was still the werewolf mystery that bugged me but since it was still obviously a source of pain for him, I decided not to dredge it up yet. The combination of werewolf genes and sorcerous powers were unique, and he was certainly the first such supernatural I'd seen. Some secrets however were best left buried. "I'd made my own conclusions about you by then, Clayton, not all of them good. And I found myself still liking you despite all the evidence in front of me."

"Irresistible, eh." He couldn't quite hide the grin of satisfaction on his face.

"Conceited jerk." I chuckled. "It wasn't exactly running away. I just wanted some space, wanted to get some distance between us to think."

"I honestly wanted to tell you about Sam, my son, but I found that I couldn't. To just dump you with all the information about my life when we'd just met seemed a little too much. And you've got to admit that we didn't exactly have the time to hash things out."

I replied almost flippantly. "Well, a crazed werewolf was after me. Not exactly the time for tea and chit-chat."

"And we know how you witches love the herbal tea."

"Hey, don't knock it."

"And now? Where do we stand?" Clayton said softly.

It was a loaded question indeed. After what he'd just revealed, the insane, insensible urge to leap impulsively into his strong arms was there, stronger than ever, but so was the cautious witch side of myself that remained irrationally wary of him. "We'll see how it goes. Let's just say your chances are very good." Deciding to give my conscience a rest for the day, I took his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. Evidently, it was more than enough and he flashed a warm, grateful smile in return. "What if I still wanted to stay here in Black Falls?"

That was even better than he'd expected and he grinned with satisfaction. "Well, take a look here." Getting out of the chair to rummage in his bags in the living room, he searched for a minute or two as I watched him. Damn, he was one extremely fine looking man, all hard muscle and testosterone, masculine curves and planes that was showcased perfectly by the simple jeans and shirt that he wore.

Thoroughly aware of the greedy looks he was getting, Clayton glanced over with a devilish smile and winked his green eye at me. "Hot stuff!" As I maintained my dignified silence, he let out a low chuckle and continued his search. Returning to me with an envelope in hand, he handed it to me, urging me to open it.

"This can't be another join the Demon Mafia newsletter?" When he shook his dark head, his eyes dancing with wicked mischief, I finally relented and opened the envelope. It was the deed to the land behind my homestead. Slowly placing the documents down on the table, I lifted up my gaze to meet his. "You bought all this land?"

His explanation was simple enough and he shrugged as he gave me an answer. "Sweetheart, a wolf needs a place to run. Can't very well run in circles around your small house. That would make me look like a damned fool."

Simply put, it was momentous. Clayton James shifting to Black Falls was akin to Carrie Bradshaw moving to the deepest interiors of Utah to take up knitting. Almost incredulous, I stared at him wondering whether it was one of his hoaxes. "You're moving to Black Falls? You're not serious?"

"You're not the only stubborn bastard here. It took me damn near three days to acquire the land deeds but yeah, if that's what you want. Staying out here would be good for me. Beats the hell out of driving out of the city to change. Doesn't mean I like it - and I'll still try to talk you into staying in New York." He warned me with a persuasive grin.

"Clayton James ruralizing? Repairing fences and sheds? Driving a pickup truck to the neighbourhood store and the weekly crafts fairs?" It was difficult to imagine. Slick city kid spending a simple life in Black Falls? It had to be his little version of hell.

He winced. "Please. Don't remind me."

I laughed, gave in to my earlier impulse and kissed him.

Navy Blues

2009-02-11T18:26:00.000-08:00

It is getting late. Sensible folks would have already gone to bed hours ago. I can see my neighbour's house down the road, the lights turned out 2 hours ago. If anything, Mrs Miller was defiitely sensible.

But I am not sensible. Sitting out alone in the moonlit porch, huddled against the cold in a bomber jacket, teeth chattering as I bite into my secret stash of pistachios. I have never been sensible if that's at all possible. If I was, would I have involved myself in a relationship that could never last?

A cold, blustery wind blows through the dark, shaded lane and gold, red leaves flutter through reminding me that it was already near the end of fall. And that we'd met less than a year ago when the leaves were still green, fresh and innocent with new, vigorous life. Isn't it funny how six months could change a person?

Even his name could bring a shiver down my spine. Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb. Tall, dark and definitely All-American handsome. It doesn't matter what uniform he wore, he looked great in all of them. But I fell for him the minute I saw him in those crisp navy whites. And those shiny gold wings. It had to be those wings. There had been the grisly murder of a Navy officer in a back alley and I'd been the reporter covering the story. Needless to say, the slick Commander managed to interrogate me out of my story - and out of my boxers.

I had never been with another man before Harm. What had happened then had been as unprecedented an event for me as it must have been for Harm. Sure, I'd been a liberal and as open as any man could be but I'd never done anything with a man before. No experimenting in college. No circle jerks even. And Harm had confided in me that contrary to popular belief, not all men on carriers and submarines engage in such activity.

But it was good. Oh God, it was. And with practice, we became even better if that was possible. Did we know then that we'd last this long? Would we have not done what we did if we had known? What had begun as a one-night-stand / fling had somehow dragged on into weeks. Into months. Perhaps I thought too much. Delved too deep into the matter. For sure, Harm didn't seem to have any qualms about our relationship. There had been no talk of feelings or anything permanent in our relationship. As far as I knew, he probably found me an engaging recreational outlet whenever the need hit him.

No, I was being mean. I probably meant more to him than that but I doubt Harm had ever envisioned a future with me. Since the beginning, we'd drawn our boundaries. We'd been two straight guys who temporarily used each other for sexual release. No frills. No fuss. The fact that we continued doing so and we didn't seem to be tiring of it hadn't come up in our discussions.

But the fact was I was coming to realize that our relationship meant more to me than just weekend fucks whenever Harm had the time. Without realizing it, I found that I was slowly thinking of him whenever he was gone, missing him whenever he went home, awaiting his return with such anticipation. And it wasn't only his hard, solid body and the great sex that I missed. I was starting to miss his smile, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled at the beginning of his smile, the way he whistled as he fiddled around with my car, the way he folded his clothes neatly - like every good little sailor did. Of course having a perfect ass helped too.

When I caught myself doodling caricatures of Harm, I realized that I had it bad. Somehow or rather in the midst of our relationship, I'd fallen hard for Harm, gotten addicted to his particular brand of love. Stupid of me. There is no future in this relationship. There can't be. I've tried to work it out in my head a million different ways, but it always ends up in heartbreak in one way or another.

Turning gay was a hurdle by itself although coming out of the closet wouldn't be much of a big deal for me since my parents were as supportive as they came. The fact that they were also big-time, reknowned tree-loving liberals and were right now campaigning to stop more logging also helped some. Being gay certainly wouldn't affect my new career as a political cartoonist. It could even give me more material to lampoon.

But it would have adverse effects on Harm's career. Don't ask. Don't tell. But what if someone asked. I doubt Harm would be able to keep silent.

"Thinking deep thoughts, Thane?"

Dropping my bag of pistachios in surprise, I quickly looked up. Harm hadn't changed before coming over. Did I mention that I had a thing for men in uniform? Dressed in his navy whites and a blinding smile, he looked wonderful. And I quickly realized those shiny gold wings don't only work on women.

Jumping out of my chair, I gave him a playful salute. "Lieutenant Commander Rabb, sir!"

"You're slacking, civilian." Putting on what I called his serious face, Harm crossed his arms over his broad chest and gave me a menacing frown for a moment. Then a teasing glint came into his eyes. "I think a punishment is in order."

He moved forward, determination written all over him but I stop him. "Harm, let's eat first."

"That's certainly an idea." The devil came into his smile. "And, baby, have I got something for you."

Trying to push 200 pounds of male away is not easy business as I found out. I might as well push a wall. "Not that, Harm. That wouldn't even cover an appetizer."

"Ah, a challenge." Already backing me up against the front door, he leaned closer and nipped the corner of my earlobe. "An appetizer, eh? That's not what you were saying last week, babe."

As I was busy struggling with a zippy reply, he decides to shut me up with a kiss. Our first kiss a lifetime ago had been awkward as we'd tried to adjust our heights, adjust the fact that we were both men and couldn't decide who would initiate and who would follow. It only took less than a day for Harmon Rabb to make it perfect. The man did everything well. This was no exception. The freezing temperature was forgotten as I felt those warm lips against mine, with the faint taste of the beer Harm loved and the taste of the man himself, felt the beginnings of a stubble brush sexily against mine, felt Harm's thick, hot cock burning against my thigh. Did I say appetizer? He was a fucking buffet. And I was a starving man.

But just as I reached for his belt buckle, the man had the audacity to pull away and lean back. My eyes immediately went to his erection which was obviously tenting up in his pants. God, I wanted that. When he didn't make another move, I quidkly looked up to see the glint of mischief in his eyes and his smug grin. "Only an appetizer, huh."

"Bastard." I swallow hard.

The man laughed at my discomfort. "You're right. We'll take care of that later."

"There'll be no later, flyboy."

"Don't make me prove my point, civvie." Harm threatened me with another daring grin. Running down the steps, he went to pick up his duffel bag. As he bends over, I had another look at his perfect ass. I can't believe how much he turns me on.

Standing back up, he catches me staring and gives me a grin. "Give me ten minutes and I'll whip something up in the kitchen," Harm offered.

It was a tempting offer for the man could definitely cook and Harm always made for some very nice rear views in my kitchen. But not this time. "No, Harm, I already prepared dinner. And you look beat."

"Yeah I am beat." For a moment, he looked almost grateful but as if remembering something, he turned to look at me suspiciously, "Wait. You prepared dinner?"

"With my two hands."

His green eyes narrowed pointedly. "Not one of your crappy fruity-nutty things."

It was time for me to get insulted. "That was muesli, flyboy."

"Crap is crap no matter what you call it." He grinned.

It was definitely not the time to get into another food lecture and I let it pass. "Nah, for you, I made meat-filled, artery-choking pizza with sinful large chunks of sausages and pepperoni to boot."

"Yum," he replied, licking his lips with relish. My eyes flicker to his mouth. To his tongue that was sweeping over his thick lips. Seeing my intent gaze on him, he shook his dark head. "You missed the window, Thane. You've already got me dreaming of pizza."

"I was not thinking of that."

"You're lying." Throwing his duffel bag over his wide shoulder, he strode into the house, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. It was almost second nature for me to look around to see if anyone was around. "But I'll let it pass."

As I squatted down on my porch to pick up my forgotten pistachios, Harm turned back and gestured to his bag, "Gray, you don't mind if I take a shower first?"

"Take your time. I'll get dinner heated up." Intent on finding the runaway pistachios, I replied and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

"Hey, Thane. Heads up." Hearing his raised voice, I looked up and saw a bag flying across the air to land at my feet.

"I know how much you like it." He tilted his head and gave me the smile that I loved. "Have a snack while I shower."

With a sharp salute, the Commander went bounding up my stairs two steps at a time. Slowly sitting down on my porch, I picked up the new bag and smiled to myself. California Pistachios. The man knew the way to my heart.

It was times like these when I knew for certain that I loved him. God, even while he was eating pizza, I felt like licking the melting cheese off his hard, naked body. Disgusting? Kinky? Well, I certainly never had such thoughts before Harmon Rabb stepped into my life. He was a corrupting influence. And I didn't know how I was going to let him go.

Putting down his half-eaten slice, Harm looked at me askance. "You're staring again."

"I know."

The beginnings of a blush burned his ears. "Do I have pepperoni on my teeth?"

Yeah, right. Pepperoni wouldn't dare stay in those pearly whites if Harm didn't allow them to. The man was a neat freak and it showed. In the twenty minutes he'd been in my house, he'd swept and tidied up the living room, filed my magazines according to height and rearranged my kitchen cupboards. His clothes were now hanging neatly in order in the bedroom closet and he had his socks perfectly rolled into his commissioned shoes. Did the Navy know that they were making perfect husbands?

He has changed into jeans and a black pullover. It looks great on him like everything else does. I watch him, and want him, and not just for sex. But that seems to be the goal here - well for Harmon Rabb anyway. I wish it could be more.

"Thane!"

"Yeah?"

"Stop staring." There was clearly a blush on his face now and it pleased me to see that I could make him blush. "What is it?"

Saying I love you seemed out of the question since Harmon Rabb hadn't come here for that. No strings. No ties. Nothing to complicate matters. That's what flyboy seemed to want. I certainly couldn't divulge my secrets right now so I came up with the easiest answer I could give. "You are one good-looking man, Harmon Rabb."

His face burned. "That is still not going to earn you that last piece of pizza."

Shrugging, I pushed the plate towards him. "You can have it. I'm full to the brim."

My easy acquiescence had him looking at me suspiciously. "Are you feeling okay?" He sounded concerned. "You buy me pizza, you buy me beer, you give me the last piece. No health crap, fruits or nuts in between. You call me good-lookin'. You sure you're alright?"

I flashed him a glimmer of a smile. "It's nothing."

"You sure?" Wiping his hands on the napkin, Harm leaned forward and squeezed my hand. Only a large amount of restraint on my part allowed me to keep from snatching it away. "You seem different today, Gray. Anything you want to tell me about?"

Trying to make light of the issue, I decided to go on the offensive. "Commander Rabb, you don't have to take care of everyone."

He smiled but his eyes were serious. "Mr Thane, you are definitely not 'just everyone' to me."

His words were sweet, just the thing I'd expected him to say and it made my heart stutter. But I knew he probably didn't mean it the way I wanted him to. "You're only saying that to get lucky."

"You know me too well," Harm admitted with a low chuckle and went back to his pizza. But as he took another bite, he asked me again. "Seriously, Gray. Tell me what's bothering you. You know you can tell me anything."

"Seriously Harm, don't worry about it." Standing up, I go around to the fridge and had another can of beer for myself.

The man was persistent. Swivelling around on the chair, he folded his arms and looked at me earnestly. "You know, I am not only a good fuck, Thane. The ladies tell me I'm a good listener too."

I laughed at his comment and shook my head. "Not now, Harm. Right now, I just want you to finish your dinner and make good on that promise you made earlier."

"You're avoiding the question again," he complained and I wondered whether he'd continue asking questions. But then Harm flashed his sexy smile and casually dropped his pizza to the plate. "So I'm gonna have to interrogate you properly, Thane. You're gonna be hoarse from screaming when I'm finished with you."

"You're all talk, Rabb."

"Ah, another challenge."

Remind me never to challenge Harm again.

I hadn't even had time to remove my shirt. Which was my loss as Harm had torn it in half. The buttons were happily adorning the steps up to my room. As usual, I think I achieved another world record in lovemaking. Harm was certainly getting better each time and he was already amazing the first time. His heavy, satisfied weight pressed down against me and I could feel and hear his deep, easy breathing. The room is filled with the scent of men and sex. The scent of Harmon Rabb.

Part of me wanted him in me again. Wanted to feel Harmon Rabb filling me deep inside again. And part of me realized that if I did that, I'd probably never let him go. I'm going to miss this man. This wonderful man. With that sweet, sexy smile. That laugh. That way he has of butchering songs in the shower. The way he always sets aside at least one dish of crappy fruity-nutty stuff for me although he hates it himself. And I solemnly wondered whether I'd ever feel the same way for someone again.

There was no time like the present to find out. "Harm, I think this has to end."

Opening one sleepy eye to peer sideways at me, Harm mumbled out an assent. "Well, that's true for another five minutes anyway. I need time to recharge. I am not a machine, you know."

"Harm." I struggled and pushed against his arm pinning me to the bed. "I am talking about this. I don;t think we can go on like this."

"No, we can't." Harm nodded in agreement. "That's why we need to rest. If we went on, I'd be dead."

"Rabb."

The man chuckled softly and shook his dark head. "I just had mind-blowing sex and you're trying to talk to me about something serious."

I had to admit that I was the King of Wrong Timing but since I'd brought it up, I figured that I'd better end it quickly or I'd lose the nerve. Or worse, I'd get addicted to Harmon Rabb again.

When I remained silent, Harm sighed loudly and rolled over on his back, releasing me. "OK, let's talk. What's on your mind?'

"This can't go on, Rabb."

"You called me Rabb twice."

"Yes."

"This must be serious."

"It is."

He sighed again. "What can't go on?"

Unable to look him in the eye, I stare at the ceiling. It wasn't morning yet but the moonlight came through the bay windows to cast unusual shapes on the ceiling. What a weird thing to finally appreciate when I was letting go of the man that I loved. "This relationship. This whatever we're having here."

The words register slowly in his mind as he props himself up on his elbow and watches me carefully. "Yes?" He was cool, calm and logical. I hate that.

"How long can this go on? Where do you see us going, Harm?" God, I sound like a woman!

"So this is a nice way of dumping me, is it?" he answers quietly, looking down at his hands. Clenching and unclenching, I wondered whether those strong fists would land in my face anytime.

My hand moves up his arm and he flinches. "Harm, I am not dumping you, as you put it. I am just telling you why we can't work out."

"You could have sent me a telegram. What did you invite me here for? A good-bye fuck?" he asks, still not looking at me.

His voice was still as calm as if we'd been talking about the varying weather conditions in Boston. Obviously, I'd not expected a fireworks since Harm probably didn't put as much emotional baggage into our relationship as I did but I didn't expect to be speaking to an emotionless robot either. "Harm, you're not thinking. This thing between us can never work. It's perfectly fine for me to be.. well, to be flaming gay, dance in the Mardi Gras or be whatever I want to be."

"You're dumping me for dancing in the Mardi Gras." Moving his focus away from the rapt observation of his hands, he turned to stare at me silently.

There were no signs of violence in him but I tensed in preparation. After all, Harmon Rabb had taught me the values of being prepared if anything. "Yes. No! That's not what I meant. I can be whoever I want to be and it doesn't affect me that much, But you can't, Rabb. Think of the repercussions. What would they think of Lieutenant Commander Rabb if they found out he was fucking a man?"

My words seemed to be garnering an effect and his lips twisted into a frown. "You're doing this for me? And I suppose I should thank you for trying to save my career?" His eyes were cool and he spoke gently.

His lack of feeling was getting me worried. This was from a man who could expound passionately for hours on every little issue known to man. "No. I'm doing this because I'm not worth you losing everything you've worked for."

"A job isn't everything," he stated slowly.

"For you, it is."

Did I mention that he was emotionless? I was miserably wrong and I'd somehow inadvertently tripped Harmon Rabb's fuse. It was a wonder to see. The man didn't move a muscle but in a moment, waves of anger literally rolled off him. "Who the hell made you the guardian of me, Grayson Thane? From the last I remembered, I am still a sane, responsible adult capable of making my own decisions!"

Now I knew why Harm usually spoke quietly. It made him even more scary when he raised his voice. "Think about it, it's not worth losing your job over a few harmless country fucks, Harm."

His eyes flared, shooting blue fire and I thought of running for cover. "Harmless fucks? You think that's all there is to this! Just a way to get my friggin' rocks off?"

"Damn you, Thane." Moving slowly to lean over me, he gritted out. "If I wanted a quick fuck, I'd have knocked up any of the two-bit whores in Washington trying to feel up a man in uniform. And I could have gotten it FOC too. Do you think that's all I wanted from you?"

It was more plain-speaking than I was prepared for and I was surprised to see it coming from the clean-cut, all-American Lieutenant Commander. With his background in the navy, I certainly hadn't expected him to be an altar-boy but since I'd known him, I'd rarely heard him swear at anything. Then again, as good natured as he was, I'd rarely seen him this angry. Except that last time when he'd almost beaten up the convicted rapist six months ago. It had taken Mac, Gunny and I to pry him off.

This was a side of Harmon Rabb that I rarely saw. And God, as crazy as it sounds, he excited me.

When I remained silent in the face of his fury, he reached out and pulled me up by the front of my shirt. Eyes flashing, he sneered at me - the man had one damned sexy sneer. "Just a fuck! How dare you turn our.. relationship into some tawdry one-night-stands?"

Stubborn to a fault however, I stood my ground - well actually leaned back further - and prayed I wouldn't end up in a stretcher. "You certainly haven't given me reason to think otherwise, Harm."

Tightening his grasp on my shirt, he pulled me closer. "You want a reason? Let me give you a reason."

He'd once admitted that it took him five minutes to recharge. I was ready to testify that he needed less than that. Was he taking some pills?

"How was that, Grayson Thane?" Harm murmured into my ear before pulling away to raise himself up to stare at me.

Looking down at me, his handsome face barely inches from my own, every part of his hard physique pressed against mine, I could barely breathe - much less answer his question. The unbridled sex had obviously calmed him down so I managed a nod. "That still doesn't change.."

Shushing me with an index finger to my lips, Harm shook his head. "Not this time, Thane. You lie there and listen. Please."

I realized that when a 200 pound male was stretched over me with his hard dick throbbing against my abdomen, any logical thought that I possessed tended to slide down south. It was my one fatal weakness. Knowing me as well as he did, Harm probably knew that too.

Satisfied that he'd gotten my attention, he looked at me earnestly in the eye. "I love you. You think I come over here just for a hot fuck?" Seeing the shock on my face, he smiled and traced a line across my lower lip and down the angle of my jaw. "Damn it, Thane. It's hard for me to put it into words sometimes but... I love you. I never thought I'd be saying this to another man but it's true."

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. As my mind reeled from his admission, I found it hardto even manage a barely coherent answer. "Uhh.."

"I love you, you tree-loving, pistachio-munching Democrat fool," he stated a little more insistently.

Well, that was telling me. And I didn't love trees all that much. But the man wasn't finished with his ultimatums.

"You're not going to dump me for my career. You do that for the good of Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb's career again and I'll kidnap and hog-tie you to my bed."

That sounded like an idea. Just give me a wordprocessor to write and I'd be in heaven. Shaking my head violently in denial, I tried to give him a final warning. "Harm, I-"

Sensing that I was about to protest, the commander rolled his hips, causing his hard erection to nudge against mine. My breath caught at my throat. God, he was big.

Flashing a knowing smile, Harm chuckled. "Shut up, Thane. Just repeat after me."

When the man gave me that smile, I couldn't resist anything. "What?"

"I will not leave Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb for such a fucking stupid reason as he is quite capable of handling his own affairs as he sees fit."

I was about to give another protest but the man certainly had his own ways of persuasion and I grudgingly repeated what he said. "I will not leave Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb for such a fucking stupid reason as he is quite capable of handling his own affairs as he sees fit."

Pleased with my performance, he nodded. "That's good, Thane. You'll make Sergeant yet."

I took a deep breath. "Are you finished being angry, Harm?"

For a moment, he closed his eyes and seemed to be making his mind. Then he gave me a teasing wink and replied an affirmative. "Yes."

"Then.." I sighed and decided to take the leap. "I love you too, flyboy."

The admission evidently surprised him but as he recovered from the surprise he smiled and pulled me close. "Ditto for me, babe. Look, I understand why you're worried. I love my job, Thane. And I love you. That's never gonna change."

"Then.."

Wrapping his arms around me, he rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw against my neck. "Let me handle things myself. Do you trust me?"

Put it that way, how could I possibly say no? "Yes."

"Then let's get some shut eye. I need my sleep."

As he pulled away, I gaped. "That's it? You're just gonna roll over and sleep?"

"You had any other plans?" His smile flashed white in the dark.

"It's been five minutes, sailor."

His smile widened.

Mr Darcy

2009-02-11T18:17:00.000-08:00

I remembered where I was. The last week had been spent on a medical
conference - an update on the latest ERCP findings and I had been invited
as a guest speaker. On the last day, I found myself roaming the streets
of London. I remember going into a club - and evidently drinking a little
too much, judging by the kickboxing duo knocking out my eyeballs.
Recalling the last time I went on a binge, I wondered what had kicked off
this irresponsible round. Being irresponsible, and taking one drink too
many, certainly wasn't something that I often indulged in.

It was barely morning in London and the morning light was streaming
through the large windows of my hotel room. Even that faint light caused
me to wince as I slowly stretched and rose from the bed. There had been
some thoughts of checking out some of the bookstores on Charing Cross but
I doubted that I could stand it without a thick, heavenly cup of coffee
first.

"Good morning, doc."

The sound of a man's voice beside me had my heart skipping a beat, a low,
seductive baritone with a hint of lazy laughter that rang a tinny bell of
familiarity in depths of my fugue state mind. It took a moment for my
brain to digest the novel notion that there was someone in bed with me.
The fact that it was a man wasn't a real problem considering the fact
that I was a raving homosexual with raging adolescent needs, although I
was already in my early thirties. Until recently however, I had never
acted on those baser urges and maintained myself on a strict diet of
hard, obsessive work which had gotten me to the top of my career. Of
course I still had the occasional slip-ups, like the arrival of the hunky
UPS man every other week giving rise to lurid fantasies that necessitated
a quick escape to the relative privacy of my office.

Negotiating my head to tilt in the direction of that voice, I carefully
opened my eyes. It was something that I had never expected and the sight
had my heart beating madly in my chest. A startling vision of masculine
beauty greeted me, blue eyes, black hair, stubbled jaw, model-handsome
looks. Under my scrutiny, one thickly lashed blue eye winked playfully at
me.

My reaction was almost instinctive. Letting out a squeal - a hopefully
manful sounding one, I leapt off the bed, dragging the duvet along with
me. Compared to the shock at finding a man in my bed, the sudden
disorienting dizziness that accompanied my escape barely made a dent. For
the past week, I'd remained solitary so how the hell had I managed to
find a roommate? A quick flash of murder and robbery flashed through my
mind but I dismissed it. It took a few seconds before I could manage a
reasonably coherent answer as monosyllables were all I could come out
with. "W-Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

Wincing under the quick barrage of accusations, he blinked slowly in
confusion. "Mark."

That certainly didn't help clear things up for me. Even as I racked my
fogged-up brain for his identity, flipping madly through the neverending
galleries of gorgeous, perfectly tanned gay porn stars that I kept hidden
in my laptop, all that came to my mind Mark who? As stunningly handsome
as he was, I'd certainly remember him. "How did you get in here?"

Waking up to a nervous breakdown was certainly getting the sleeping hunk
up earlier than he'd expected. Rubbing his free hand over his eyes, Mark
grinned lazily, flashing a row of even, brilliantly white teeth. "A
little too late to ask that, isn't it?"

"A little too late for what?" The timbre of his deep voice stirred
something in me, something that brought to mind a memory that I simply
couldn't catch hold of. I closed my eyes as a montage of wild, erotic
images flashed MTV-like across my brain. "What did you do? Or more to the
point, what did I do?"

He pulled his head back slightly in stunned surprise, looking at me as if
I'd just dropped from another planet. "Don't you remember.. oh, shit, you
were pissed drunk last night and you don't remember."

"Remember what?" I demanded in a slightly raised tone and then winced
painfully as my head spun. As Mark sat up in the bed in concern, my eyes
widened in shock as the sheets shifted revealing a naked hip. "Oh my God,
you're naked!"

"So are you, sweetheart," he pointed out helpfully.

The information froze me to the spot as I slowly cast a glance around the
bedroom, finally taking in the after effects of last night's drunken
binge. Judging by the ruins, it was painfully obvious what had happened
last night. My shirt hung forlornly from the lamp and my pants had been
shed by the bathroom. A pair of boxer briefs, not mine, lay crumpled
beneath the sofa. The suggestive flash from the shiny foil wrapping on
the desk had me groaning in disgust.

"And there's no need to be shy, I've seen you in the altogether."
Unconcerned with the fact that he was naked, he drew his legs up and
rested his elbows on his knees. The quick shift and flex of the sculpted
muscles on his taut, powerful torso had my libido roaring to life. The
golden-smooth, practically hairless chest was sculpted and powerful, with
slab-like pecs capped with dime-sized nipples the shape of dark candy
kisses that looked succulent enough to make my mouth water. Sensing my
scrutiny, he cocked his handsome head to the side and aimed a sly grin my
way. "And by the way, you look hot."

The palpable heat in his brilliant blue gaze stripped me. Taking a
nervous step back, I clutched the duvet to my chest like a terrified
Victorian virgin and stammered out a reply. "Why... naked... why.."

Being left bare naked except for a few strategically placed pillows
certainly didn't embarass him although I had to admit he obviously had
nothing to hide. Hard to be painfully shy when one had 6-foot-3 inches
and 210 lbs of rock solid, sculpted muscles and sinew for a body. The
delicate play of the tight, corded muscles beneath his strong arms and
pecs as he shifted on the bed had the blood pumping straight to my groin.
Guessing the effect he had on me, Mark or whoever he was raised a dark
brow. "I don't know about you but I usually take off my clothes to have
sex. But if you've got a better way, I certainly wouldn't mind trying."

"You? Me?" Flustered, this time my voice squeaked.

"Yeah." He lifted those broad shoulders in a careless shrug.
"Incidentally, those words were actually joined together last night. In
more than a dozen ways I might add."

"Oh my God. I cannot believe it."

"Believe it, sweetheart." The man was finding it amusing obviously - and
really got into it. Rubbing the back of his hand over his stubbled jaw,
he chuckled. "Actually, you picked me up."

"I?" Still disbelieving, I stubbornly closed my eyes. It was only
slightly more than a year that I'd admitted to myself that I was a raving
homo and here I was, with what I would have termed a one-night-stand. No
one who knew the quiet, conservative doctor who worked endless hours
could imagine me picking up tricks in Soho. Even with the evidence lying
in front of me, I found it hard to believe myself. "I must be dreaming."

His laughter was deep and appreciative. "Feel the thick cum sticking on
your thighs? That's mine, not yours."

Acknowledging the truth of what he said, my eyes widened and I shifted
uneasily. Crude comment naturally but still the truth. It amazed me that
I'd had the balls to pick this guy up. Not only was he stunningly
gorgeous in the flesh, there was a certain raw charisma and sexuality
that exuded in waves from him and I was certain that he drew everyone's
attention wherever he went. Usually hot guys with such stellar looks left
me tongue-tied and foolish, leaving me speechless as I stared dumbly at
their glorious beauty. They didn't leave me with cum trails sticking on
my skin.

Furthermore, there was something vaguely dangerous about him, a certain
something wildly intense around his eyes that spelled danger. Coupled
with the battered leather jacket and dirty jeans thrown on the chair, he
was the epitome of the bad boy, the kind of man I usually steered clear
of. Sure, rough trade bad boys sent my heart thumping but I knew better
than to play with fire of that kind.

A quick grin briefly crossed his lips. "For such a smooth talker last
night, you seem to have lost your tongue."

It still boggled my mind that such a man had been persuaded to return to
my hotel room with me. An unwelcome thought came to me as I came to
realization that such good looks certainly didn't come free. Smiling
nervously, I stuttered, "A-are you a .. hustler? Am I supposed to pay
you?"

The accusation earned a quick bark of laughter from him. "That's the
first time I've been accused of that but trust me, you wouldn't be able
to afford me, River."

Tracing the line of his spectacular physique down his trim waist to the
magnificent posterior with my hungry gaze, I had no choice but to agree.
Succulent Grade A prime beef, that was Mark what-sis-name and it was true
that I certainly couldn't afford to buy his time.

Gesturing to me with his hand, he dipped his dark head in a nod. "What
are you doing standing all the way there? Trust me, I don't bite."
Pausing for a moment in thought, he added with an impish smile, "Although
you did, by the way."

A memory flash of a hard, well-muscled shoulder came to mind, the sharp
red imprint of my teeth, and I shook my head to dispel the thought. "What
exactly did I say last night?"

"Three lines, sweetheart." With a half-grin, he held up three fingers in
emphasis. Strong, elegant hands with nicely manicured nails, hands better
suited to the artist or musician that contrasted powerfully with the
dirty stubble, the forearms pakced with muscle and scuffed jeans.

"Three lines? That got you into bed?" The infectious grin on his dark,
tanned face had me grinning in response and I could feel the hysterical
bubble of laughter rising. Time and again, my friends would warn me that
my wicked sense of humour would be my inevitable downfall and I figured
they were right. Head soaked in alcohol, in bed with a stranger and I
felt like laughing hysterically. "Were you drunk?"

"Motherfucker." He looked almost insulted. "After a pint? I should think
not."

The slight slip of his rough brogue into something that hinted of
upper-class posh went passed me as I tried to assimilate the information
he was giving me. "Oh My God."

"That sounds familiar." His blue eyes narrowed into heated slits as he
flashed another wicked grin. "Yeah, I believe you said that last night
too."

The implication of what he said had me colouring up to my ears. "What
exactly did I say?"

Not only was he tanned and gorgeous, it irritated me to see that he was
so perfectly chipper in the morning. Shiny, wide-awake grin, brilliantly
blue eyes, fresh, glowing skin. In perfect contrast, waking up early in
the morning had always been a chore for me, even with the help of java.
In combination with my overdose of alcohol last night, I looked like an
unmade bed, my head felt like it was wrapped in wool while the man in my
bed had the temerity to look as fresh as a daisy.

"First you told me I was the best-looking bloke in the bar."

That was an easy one. Chances were high that he'd be the best-looking man
in most places. "I bet you were."

"Thanks," Mark replied with a playful grin. "It wasn't the first time
someone tried that line on me, I've been hit on before, but you were
different."

Different? With his breathtaking looks, the man must have been hit on
more times than I could possibly imagine. What could a patent amateur
like me have to offer that dozens of handsome tricks and barhoppers
couldn't? At my best, I would be described as average with average looks.
Sure, I worked out and kept my body tight but it was nothing compared to
some of the droolsome hunks I'd seen, and definitely nothing in
comparison to Mark. "Different? You've got to be kidding. How so?"

Recalling the memory, he laughed. "Well, the way your tongue suddenly
invaded my mouth was different."

That did surprise me since it had been a long time since I'd dated any
man, and even longer since I'd stuck my tongue down any man's throat.
Replacing my nonexistent social life with piles of work had managed to
fill the gap but it still left me wanting more. A night in with my
five-fingered date was satisfactory at most times but it couldn't replace
a warm, heavy body beside me in bed with hot hands and an even hotter
dick.

Cautiously, I made my reply. "Wait, my tongue was in your mouth."

"Your hand was in my pants too," he informed me helpfully.

Try as I could, I couldn't help my eyes darting down to what he kept
hidden beneath the sheets. It didn't show all that much but from the tent
at his crotch, there seemed to be something substantial growing down
there. It actually didn't at all surprise me that someone would want to
stick their hands in his pants to check out that impressive bulge. Moving
my gaze up to meet his, I encountered his knowing smile and a suggestive
wink that had me backing up a step. "My God, how much did I drink?"

"Enough," he admitted begrudgingly. "I believe you were downing pints
like it was the last day on earth. I was watching so I know."

His words caused me to stare at him. He was watching me that night?

Losing his train of thought, Mark muttered softly, "Now, where was I? Oh
yeah, then you asked me where I was going that night."

"Yeah?" The man was clearly enjoying himself with my predicament and I
started to smile despite myself. WIth the dull throb in my head, it was
all I could do. "And what did you say?"

Keeping his intent gaze on mine, Mark chuckled softly as he ran a hand
through his dark hair, smoothing down the tousled curls. I'd always
envied guys with those glossy black curls that seemed to glow with a life
of their own while I was stuck with straight hair. "I think I told you I
was going home which was the truth since I had some work to do that night
but you weren't having any of that. Then you corrected me by saying that
I was going to fuck you that night."

"I said that," I muttered disbelievingly, shaking my head all the while.
Those brazen words seemed to have come out from some alien who had
possessed me.

"Yes."

"And you fell for that?"

"Sure I did." As he turned, the sheets fell to reveal even more of his
naked torso, falling down to his lean hips and I couldn't help ogling
him. Michaelangelo couldn't have found a better David, this man was a
fine piece of work.

"That was the look that got you into trouble in the first place." There
was a twinkle in his blue eyes again as he reached out to tug my hand.
Unresisting, I let myself be pulled closer to the bed but kept my other
hand clutching the duvet to myself. In an inebriated state, it was
obviously easy shedding all my clothes in front of Mr Perfect Body but in
the light of day, there was just no way in hell. Who the hell would drop
their trou in the face of such perfection?

"I cannot believe I did all that. Pick guys up in bars? I can't even get
the guts up to talk to the hunky UPS guy!" I protested firmly. And
speaking of the hunky blond, even that stud paled in comparison to Mark.
As I tugged my hand away, Mark held on tight and we had a short tug of
war before he finally relented and released me.

"Trust me, you had plenty of witnesses in the bar - watching you feel me
up." With a wicked grin and the devil in his blue eyes, he added in way
of a compliment. "Great technique by the way. Novel."

"Oh My God." Gesturing from him to me, I stammered again. The implication
was obvious but I had to confirm the fact. "We had sex?"

He chuckled. "Isn't that a foregone conclusion? And in many different
ways. You even made me blush a few times."

"Me?" What he was telling me sounded like someone totally divorced from
the person I was. Getting drunk, picking up some handsome stranger in a
bar, having anonymous sex in a hotel room. I couldn't even pay the water
bill a day late. Even my trip abroad was neatly planned out on a
notebook, cross-referenced for everything I could possibly need, every
emergency that could happen. Obviously I hadn't counted on anything like
this remotely happening.

Wrapping the duvet around like a sarong, I gingerly seated myself at the
foot of the bed, as far away as possible from him. From what I'd gathered
from the night before, I obviously didn't have any control when it came
to him. The safe position I took only had Mark giving me a look of frank
amusement.

"Yeah. Let me tell you what else we did." Leaning over to me, he
whispered into my ear a position that stunned me.

The palpable heat of his big body surprised me almost as much as what
he'd just suggested. The heat, and his musky scent, redolent of the night
before, had my glands humming even without the explicit image he had just
put into my head. "I-I can't do that. Only Russian gymnasts and..
flexible guys with no spines can do that."

Evidently the astonishment on my face was telling enough that he let out
a laugh. "Well, I don't know what came over you last night but you sure
managed it. Surprised the hell out of me, that's for sure."

"Are you kidding me?"

The disbelief in my voice wasn't exactly a deterrent and he only lifted
his dark brows in challenge. "You want a repeat? I don't know if I can do
it again but I certainly wouldn't mind another go at it."

Lifting my hands to my eyes, I shaded them. If I looked up, no doubt I'd
see a pair of laughing blue eyes again. "You find all this terribly
funny, don't you?"

Finally taking pity on me, he let out a manful sigh. "River, I don't know
about you but I had an amazing night. I had a man who gave me some
incredible sex and an interesting chat afterward. A pity you don't
remember it but we can always recap later." Giving me a flash of a smile,
he let out a barely repressed yawn and slowly eased out of bed. "Now, I
need a shower."

"That's it?" I sputtered out. As he got out of the bed, it didn't help
that he'd just flashed me what had to be the most perfect ass known to
man. Hard, perfectly round mounds of steel with what looked to be silky
smooth, unblemished skin and I had the urge to reach down and cup them in
my hands, wondering whether they'd make a perfect fit. Although I tried
to keep my gaze strictly at neck level, it was difficult not to give in
to the impulse to look again.

The look in his eyes left me in no doubt that he knew what I was thinking
but although his lips did curve up in somehing resembling a smirk, he
thankfully made no comment. However as he paused before the bathroom
door, Mark aimed a hot blue stare at me. "Stop looking, doc, unless you
want the recap now."

"I got totally drunk in a foreign city and wake up without a memory of
last night with a man I know nothing about." As my voice grew higher, I
noted my growing hysteria and the fact that I was just this close from
bursting into giggles. There was nothing remotely funny about my
situation and yet I found myself close to cracking up. It certainly made
me wonder what my old psych professor would say about this.

"You know my name," he pointed out helpfully.

"That's all."

His voice lowered to a low, intimate growl. "Well, you know me in the
most intimate, biblical sense."

From the relative safety of my bed, I eyed him carefully. "I would punch
that smirk off your face if I weren't smaller than you - and feeling
nauseous."

"I should have known you'd wake up fighting, especially after you'd
warned me about that."

"Warned you?" My eyes goggled at him. "What the hell..."

"Yeah, you told me you'd wake up in a pissed mood, angry at yourself. My
rambunctious little fighter." Still looking as pleased with himself as
the cat that caught the canary, he narrowed his glance at me, his smile
full of wicked glee. "Remember the chat I mentioned? We talked in between
bouts. I learned a few interesting things about you."

Alcohol was a deadly combination for me and I recalled spilling
everything about myself one drunken night during high school and I never
repeated that mistake. My classmates still talked about the night Chen
spilled the beans. Till now. The number of secrets I could have revealed,
the amount of crap I could have babbled had me sinking back into the bed
and I wondered whether I could bury myself back in another bottle. "Oh,
shit."

"Yeah, you talked a lot. Didn't stop me liking you though, lil bundle of
neuroses."

"Shut up."

Hiding in the safety of the bathroom, I readjusted the towel I'd wrapped
around my waist and stared at myself in the mirror. Apart from the
bloodshot eyes, the mussed up black hair that stood up on end, I seemed
to be the same man. But if what Mark had said was the truth, I had just
had sex with a man. A gorgeous, sexy man at that. The more I repeated the
thought in my mind, I started grinning like a fool. I just had sex.

The door swung open and I turned around staring. "What the hell are you
doing?"

It was amazing what a plain white tee and jeans could do for a man like
that. Plain and tight, they hugged the contours of his muscular,
drool-inducing physique, showing it off to perfection and I could see why
I'd recklessly stuck my tongue down his throat without thinking. Mr 'I'm
Mark' looked as sinful as Chocolate Decadence and damned if he didn't
know that. Reading the admiration in my eyes, he only grinned. "Please
don't stand on ceremony. I'm just leaving."

"Not a problem," I replied, as nonchalant as I could with only a white
towel to hide my modesty. After all, it was only a drunken
one-night-stand and I understood perfectly. Sure the thought did sting a
little but hey, he was a gorgeous guy, hell there must be tons of guys
out there he hadn't slept with. With that fantastic chest and those perky
tits, he must have guys coming out of the closet everywhere to nibble on
them.

"You're staring at my chest again. I am more than just nice pecs. Eyes
up, doc." Nudging my chin up with his fingers, he forced me to meet his
coolly amused gaze. "I doubt you'll be fully conscious for another few
hours and I need to freshen up so... tea at 4? I'll be waiting."

I was all prepared for a nice walking-out speech but not for this.
"What?"

"Isn't it obvious?" From my chin, his hand streaked up my cheek and he
smiled when I shivered in response. "Even while you were getting all
boozed up, I kept my eye on you. Neat lil guy in a spiffy suit drinking
like a sailor on leave. And then you just got off that stool, headed for
me and stuck your hands down my pants... what the hell, I like you."

"You like that?" He was plainly one fruit short of a bunch. Liking a sex
maniac who got drunk and attacked him in public?

Mark only shrugged and shoved his own hands into his pockets, his dark
eyes lit with amusement. "Yeah."

"You're a sick man but I'm still drunk enough to like that. Tea?"

"You wanted scones, I'll give you scones."

Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, I recalled mentioning
something like that. It seemed so quintessentially British. Scones and
cream. My brow furrowed. "What exactly did I say last night?"

"Lots," he added with a secret smile. "You want to know more, we'll talk
at tea. Here's my card."

Slipping a card out of his pants, he handed it to me and I held it
blindly. "We're going for scones?"

"And tea. Don't make me wait."

Giving me an upchuck on my chin, he turned around and was gone. Mouth
agape, I kept my gaze on his retreating back and then back down at the
card. What I saw there made me reassess what I knew of the man.
Gilt-edged, classy and excessively formal, and totally unlike the
rough-edged man who'd just walked out my door. The name on the card
stunned me even more. Lord Marcus Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Manhattan Men

2009-02-11T18:06:00.000-08:00

Humiliating. That was what it was. To be laughed at by the man of your dreams - especially after presenting him with your proposition. As usual, I should have known better than to have trusted Francis Joseph Ricci with this.

"I just love this! Wait a minute, let me get this right." Casually folding his beefy arms across the expanse of his broad chest, Frank stood still for a moment and flashed a singularly sinister grin at me. As if trying to understand what I had said, he slowly gestured to himself and then to me. "You need me. You, Michael Wu, you need me."

"Shut up!"

So it was one of the most bubbleheaded plans that I had ever come up with. Give me a break. It was not my best plan as yet but it was the best that I could come up within the space of six hours. Which was roughly about the time I had taken yelling, panicking and generally freaking out after I received the fateful message from my parents telling me about their imminent arrival. As usual my spontaneous parents - who had obviously never heard of an invention called a telephone - didn't bother in the least to give me a week's preparation in advance but had sent an sms just before boarding their flight at the airport. Had it ever occurred to them that I could have had other plans?

I doubted it. It certainly never occurred to them that their son, the dutiful Michael Wu, could have any other priorities in life apart from his work. Sure, they knew that their younger son was a scandalous homosexual who practised deviant, unspeakable acts - though I certainly hadn't been doing any of those for an unspecified amount of time - but that certainly didn't mean that I couldn't provide them with a grandson to please the ancestors. For some odd reason, my parents simply couldn't fathom the revolutionary idea that being openly gay and getting married to a woman didn't exactly mesh well. The fact that my elder brother had already done his duty by providing a son - therefore relieving me of that particular role - was also lost to them. Ever since their retirement, it seemed as if the two insane workaholics had pooled their relentless ambition into a single goal - trying to get me settled down - with or without my consent.

Despite my protests and fervent reminders that I was gay, they persisted in inviting this and that lovely girl into my life. Somehow Mrs X's daughter would be travelling by and stopping over in town, desperately in need of some obscure Chinese delicacy that only I could find. Could I possibly...? Before they could wave their list of single available Chinese women in my face again, I blurted out the closest excuse I could find. Asking Frank to be my pretend boyfriend was not my primary intention. The intention was just to get them off my back - and let me get back to my own life. At that moment, it certainly had never occurred to me that my parents would want to come over to inspect their prospective son-in-law.

"Don't make it more than it is." The man hadn't stopped smirking and I glared at him. "It is just for a day. At the most for three days."

"This certainly messes up your plans, doesn't it?" he grinned evilly. "Sweetheart. Baby. Hot stud."

"Fuck you."

"From what I've heard, we've done that before."

God, Frank Ricci as a boyfriend. Not that any red blooded gay male - or het female for that matter- wouldn't have hot fantasies of having Frank Ricci for a partner. A lover. A very hot one-night-stand. A quick, hasty ten-minute fuck in a stalled elevator. One look at the man was evidence that God might possibly lean our deviant way.

How else did a man look so sinfully good? Shoulder-length jet black hair framed a face that would drive a sculptor scrambling for his tools. High cheekbones, thickly lashed eyes the colour of a clear blue sky, a finely carved nose, thick, sensual lips that were now curved in a teasing half-smile as he looked at me. Add that to the incredible hard muscled, zero-fat body that had graced the covers of International Male not too long ago and you had quite a package. Six feet and more of unadulterated testosterone-splashed male. Hard torso. Heaving pecs. Tight abs. Bubble-butt. Big dick. The works. Yeah, the man was a definite winner in the gene pool stakes.

Even right now with that smug smile on his face - that I was frankly more than tempted to plant my fist in, I still felt the irresistible urge to throw him down on the nearest flat surface and have my way with that hard, tight body. Life certainly was unfair at times. Why did he have to be that beautiful? Though beautiful wasn't the word for him. It smacked of feminity and that was one thing Frank wasn't. He was all Man with a capital M. Ever since the first time we met, I'd been battling the insane need to drag him into a dark corner and find out if the rumours about his... burgeoning assets were true.

After all, what did I possibly have in common with the reputed richest, most sought-after gay bachelor in New York? He certainly wouldn't have had anything to do with a struggling lawyer just starting out his own two-bit firm - like me. My whole life was carefully, meticulously planned - with the firm ruthlessness of a lil general, my friend Amy once said - and I liked it that way. For me, planning was key and I hated surprises.

But nothing could have prepared me for the man that fate dropped in my lap. Our paths wouldn't even have crossed if it hadn't been for that faulty elevator in my office building that fateful evening almost six months ago. From the moment he first offered me a lewd proposition in that elevator, we had clicked. Funny how that happens, the moment when you knew that someone was a kindred spirit. In that short time, he'd grown to become one of my best friends, if not the closest. Plainly platonic due to my insistence.

Of course that certainly didn't stop Mr Ricci from throwing out his tempting lures. From the moment we met, he had poured on his considerable charm trying to get me in the sack and I continued refusing him. It had become almost a game with us and my stubborn refusal had become almost a instinctive, knee-jerk reaction. Though God only knows, I had to bite my tongue from moaning out a surrender each time. All my friends wondered at my turning him down since it seemed as if half of New York was lining up at his door waiting. Even saintly Amy had admitted a need to fuck him just to get over the need - who cares if he was gay?

How could I possibly explain? It definitely wasn't from any lack of feeling. If anything, it was from way too much feeling. God knows the man was wonderful and it would be damned easy to fall for him - a disastrous sin that I feared that I already had committed. After all it wasn't only his looks, his smile, his shiny, rippling muscles that drew me. In time, I grew to realize that there was much more to that shiny facade that Frank showed to the world. The world saw a sexy, charming playboy, a ne'er-do-well who jaunted from one high society party to another, carelessly spending his inheritance. But I realized that his image only hid the brilliant mind and the hard-working ethic behind the flashy smiles, that savvy business acumen that had managed to increase the personal wealth he had inherited more than three-fold at last count. No one saw the sweet man who volunteered at the orphanage each week, who played hide-and-seek with the children. Nobody knew of the immense amount of money that he gave away to charity. No one saw the man who visited a crochety aunt in Central Park West each week with a basket of Godivas and torrid bodicerippers. All they saw was a fucking sex machine with lots of dole to throw around which was a pity since underneath it all, he was something wonderful.

And that terrified me even more. Without a doubt, I knew that if I started on that first step towards a relationship with him, I'd end up with a broken heart. The man was a heartbreaker and even before I'd met him, I'd heard of his reputation. Who hadn't? Everyone in the building, heck, half of Manhattan had heard of the charming, sexy owner's reputation. Love 'em and leave 'em. Although I'd never really spoken to any of his ex-lovers since they were notoriously tight-lipped about Frank, everyone I knew knew someone who knew someone who knew one of his ex-lovers. And from all the rumours, it seemed that the streets of New York were literally strewn with the wrecks of his former lovers. I had no intention of becoming another notch on his extremely battered bedpost.

My curious gaze crept up to his rooms upstairs as I wondered about the state of his boudoir. It wouldn't have surprised me at all if the man had to add another bedpost just to accomodate newcomers. For convenience, his bedroom probably had a revolving door.

After the space of five minutes, the man still hadn't stopped laughing and it started to get annoying. Giving him a quelling frown, I pointed out, "Well, since you find it so damned funny, I'll ask Dec then."

"What?" His laughter came to an abrupt stop and for a moment the man looked almost insulted, his blue eyes flashing. "Ask Dec the weenie to play me?"

Knowing that a blow to his ego was something that he couldn't withstand, I shrugged. "Since you don't want it, I don't have much of a choice."

"I never said I wouldn't do it," he hedged.

"So you will do it?" I asked.

"I never said that either," he answered non-committally.

Turning his back on me, he walked by the floor-length windows and looked out in contemplation. It afforded me a spectacular view of New York - and his aforementioned bubble-butt encased in tight jeans and the fact that I was more interested in the curves of his ass than the gleaming spires of New York irritated me. "Tell me quick, Frank. I don't have all day to play around with this. I've got to get a pretend boyfriend fast. ASAP. My parents are dropping by tonight!"

Rocking back on his heels, he looked across his shoulder and frowned. "Tell me again why you're doing this."

Leaving the drink he'd shoved at me earlier on the kitchen counter, I stalked over to where he was standing. The scent of his cologne wafted to me and I was immediately intrigued. Spice. Heat. Male. What was it with this man? At times, he could irritate me like hell but he could still arouse me at the same time. The sexy pest, I could call him. "Listen close, Ricci, cause this is the last time I'm gonna explain." I said patiently. "You know Amy, my best friend -"

"Good God." He leaned back and eyed me with horror. "You mean, I am not your best friend?"

"Frank."

The man laughed. "Okay."

"You know how my parents are always after me to get attached. Even after I'd told them I'm gay," I reminded him. It was the story of my life. Months ago after agonizing about telling them, I'd finally come out to my parents and my family. Surprisingly, they took it quite well especially since I'd half expected tearful recriminations and threats of leaping from the nearest tall building. To my utmost surprise, my mother had just nodded knowingly and my father had given me a short warning on safe sex. To be on the safe side, I'd escaped before he'd started giving out a pack of Trojans. "Well, they are starting think that it might be a phase. You know about the infamous matchmaking scheme. Well, they've gone overboard, they are giving Amy hints that we should get attached. Amy and me."

"You know, your parents might be on to something." Eyes narrowing, he looked closely at me. "I am starting to think that too. You haven't dated anyone - as in someone with a Y chromosome - in months." he commented with a grin. "Are you sure you're gay? Maybe it really was a phase."

"Knock it off, asshole," I said dryly and gave him a gentle, playful shove. Under the white cotton shirt he'd pulled on earlier, warm, hard muscles came alive under my fingers and I reluctantly pulled away. "Well, anyway, after months of nagging, I finally gave in and told them I had a live-in boyfriend."

"Aha, you lied," he pointed out with a gleeful smile. "Lil boy scout Michael Wu finally told a lie. Didn't know I'd live to see the fucking day."

"Can it, Ricci." Restraining my urge to hit him again, I shoved my hands in my pockets. Not that it would do any good if I did sock him one since I only reached up to his shoulder. Were all assholes tall? "Damn it. Yes, I lied."

"And you picked me," he gestured to himself with his thumb.

The wide smile on his face was extremely suspicious but I continued hurriedly. "Yes, I picked you. It was the first name that popped into my head. After all, you were my closest friend in town, you're gay and you were not seeing anyone at that time. After all, you'd dated plenty of guys, slept with plenty and ..You were.." I had to face the truth. He was the man I'd chosen first and what a Godawful mistake that would be. Tall, dark, oversexed Italians with dicks the size of Long Island and the libido of an alley cat certainly didn't fit into my plans of a thriving firm, charming suburbia and happily ever-after. Trying to imagine Frank in domestic repose boggled my mind. Sure, his apartment looked like something out of a homemaker's dream but I suspected that the IKEA-inspired dream was the combined effort of his super-efficient housekeeper, Rosa and his interior designer.

Sensing my growing discomfort, he stopped me. "Don't spoil it, Wu."

Taking a quick rest, I breathed a sigh of relief. God knows, I couldn't tell him the real reason why I picked him. Did big dick and a body made for sex count as a valid reason? "I never expected them to drop by so I never really thought that lie would come out. Until this morning."

"When they told you they were planning a visit. And they spoilt all your pretty plans," he nodded knowingly. "There goes your busy schedule for the week, Mike. Did you write them down in your PDA?"

"Yes. And stop smirking, Frank," I warned him. "So I need a fake boyfriend pronto or they'll sic another good, virtuous Chinese girl on me again." The note of panic in my voice was all too real and I knew Frank would understand. Especially since he'd had to rescue me from at least two of those unfortunate 'dates'. Remembering the last incident, I had to smile as I thought of the outlandish story he'd spun to get me out of that predicament.

"So that's your newest plan." Taking a quick stroll around the living room expanse, he returned to his chair and sat down with his head thrown back. Closing his eyes, he pretended to give it some consideration for a moment before nodding his acquiescence. "Fine, I'll do it."

"You will?" His easy acquiescence should have made me happy but it made me suspicious instead. After all, I knew this man far too well to believe that he'd do anything out of the sweetness of his heart. That bright, helpful smile didn't fool me any. Francis Ricci didn't do anything for free - not for me anyway. What was going on in that gorgeous head of his?

"Yeah, for one day, I'll be your hot Italian lover, your toy-boy, your trophy husband, your -"

"Frank!" I felt however that I should warn him. "My parents aren't gonna be pushovers, you know. You will be interrogated to hell."

"Don't worry about that, Mike." He smiled, the slow, sexy smile that always caused my temperature to rise, a fact that he probably knew. "After all, sweetheart, I managed to charm you into my arms, didn't I?"

"You wish." Still amazed at his quick compliance, I had to make sure. "So you'll do it?"

"You know I do have my conditions," he said quietly.

Aha, that clinched it. I knew Frank wouldn't agree to my proposition that easily. But I certainly hadn't prepared anything as a barter so I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. "I'll wash your cars."

Frank's left brow went up. "I have a mechanic who does that."

"I know. I will.." What the hell did you give the man who had everything? A sudden inspiration came to me. The man never could resist it. "I'll cook for you. Your favourite lasagna. Promise!"

"I.. " He closed his eyes in homage - my lasagna was my best bargaining chip with him - and he remained silent for a moment. Then shaking his dark head vehemently, he replied, "You almost clinched the deal but no."

"Then what do you want?" Some dark, perverted part of me had already weaved some explicit X-rated ideas that involved the both of us and a flat surface but I prayed that he wouldn't ask that of me. Not only would that blow up in both our faces, I doubt our friendship could survive that encounter. One quick slip between the sheets and it would be bon voyage for me.

"I haven't thought about it yet actually," he admitted ruefully, biting his full lower lip. Resting on the arm of the settee, he leaned back and his jacket flung wide open to reveal his tight white T-shirt. My gaze was immediately drawn to the dark, chocolate coloured male nipples perched on his hard swell of his pecs.

Giving myself a hard shake, I reluctantly pulled my gaze away from his delicious torso and looked back up at his face. There was a knowing smile on his face that I tried hard to disregard. "Won't you do it just for old time's sake?"

"Old times?" His eyebrow went up again. I hated that trick of his. "When did we have .. any times.."

Looking at that all too earnest face, I started having doubts. "Actually, I think I-"

As I fumbled over my words, he suddenly stood and moved towards me. Leaning forward so that his face was barely inches from mine, Frank growled. "Come on, do you want me to do this or not?"

His warm breath burnt my cheeks and he was close enough that I could practically breathe him in. The scent of Ricci and sex started tantalizing me. If he'd just come closer, I could just bite on that pouty lower lip. "Y-yeah, but I know you, Frank Ricci. And there's something brewing in your head!"

Obviously taking pity on me, he pulled back a little and grinned innocently at me, blinking his deliciously thick lashes with seeming innocence. "Moi?"

"Yes."

"My lips are sealed." Seeing my doubtful expression, he smiled reassuringly. "But you can always interrogate me. The cuffs and whips are in the store room."

That was a vision that I didn't want in my head. Whips, chains and a naked, writhing Italian hunk was something my pounding heart probably couldn't take. Even now, I could imagine his torso, the sleek, finely muscled proportions, the smooth, golden tan, the lightly furred male nipples capping his firm pecs. The quick slash of the whip across his rippling back. My breath caught and I could barely make a sound. Was that a whimper?

Guessing the direction of my thoughts, his voice dropped to a low, sexy purr. It was his fuck-me voice, the voice that haunted me during the night. "Yeah, just think about it. Make me scream, Wu."

An alarm bell started ringing in my head. Hot man alert! At some other time with any other man, I'd probably have shed all inhibitions - and my clothes too - and had a wonderful fucking time. But not with this man. He meant too much. And it'd probably last until just after he comes. So before I gave in to what would be a huge mistake, I quickly made my exit with the flimsiest of excuses after pushing Mr God-damned-Irresistible away. Picking up my jacket and downing my drink, I was out his door in a New York minute before he could even recover from his surprise to stop me.

But not before I caught a glance at Frank Ricci standing at his doorway, his eyes burning with desire and a burgeoning erection snaking down his blue jeans. Oh God. As usual, part of me was pleading to stay and have at least a quick bite. Just one good taste to ease the hunger that had been burning in me ever since Ricci first dropped into my life. Even with only thoughts of him in my head, my cock was already hot, hard and trying to break free from my pants. But I was a practical man and that practical side forced me to ignore my darker, X-rated desires. "D-dinner. Be early or face my wrath. Come at 6."

"Will you promise to punish me if I'm late?" he whispered, his voice still husky with desire.

"In your sick lil dreams, Ricci."

His teeth flashed in the dark of the hallway. "See you tonight, Wu."

His rich laughter followed me out into the streets and I knew that I'd be spending at least half an hour alone in the bathroom with my own sick lil fantasies.

Checking on my shirt, I made sure that it was crease-free. Didn't want my mother muttering silently about the state of disrepair that I'd lived in ever since I'd moved out. Adjusting the collar in the hall mirror, I smiled at my reflection. I didn't look too bad for a man of 29. Preening for a while, I noted that I still had my full head of black hair. My body was still trim, I had my fair share of muscles and filled out my clothes very well indeed. Although I certainly couldn't aspire to the realm of stud godhood like Ricci, I wouldn't have - how did the saying go again - thrown myself out of bed for eating crackers. Sexy, adorable, I'd been called. It would have to do.

My shirt was neatly tucked in, my pants perfectly creased. The fragrant red wine chicken was already done, the pork legs and yam sliced up and ready to be served, the herbal soup was being kept warm in the slow cooker. Perfectly timed. Just as I was about to turn around to check out my butt, the doorbell rang. My dark eyes narrowed until I heard the deep voice calling my name.

The man was always right on time. That was one thing I liked about him. Okay, one of the many things I liked about him. As I swung open the door, he stood there at the foyer and struck a playful GQ pose, all the time grinning at me. "Reporting for duty, General Wu. How do I look?"

Tall, dark, handsome and grinning cockily at me, he looked incredible. On any other man, black jeans and that tight turtleneck sweater would look great. On him, it looked positively sinful. For once, I saw no use in trying to hide my admiration. "You look good enough to eat and you know it, Ricci."

"Really?" He flashed his wicked grin. "Then, why aren't you taking a bite?"

"Get back, tiger." Giving him a nudge as he came closer, I answered back flippantly. His scent tickled my nostrils again and I could feel the beginnings of an erection pressing down my thigh. It seemed to be an occupational hazard whenever he was near. "You'll break my diet."

"Fuck that." Flicking my hand aside easily, Frank pressed forward, pushing me against the closet door. "That's not a diet. You've been having a self-imposed starvation with meagre sprinklings of boring, unattractive men."

Which was miserably true. How could I date anyone when I kept on coming back to Mr Wonderful himself - who for some twisted, perverted reason known only to him - insisted on waiting for me when I came home from a date! How could any ordinary man possibly hold up to Frank Ricci? Ricci was a sinfully rich, devastatingly sweet, orgasm-inducing chocolate mudpie, the kind that could only do you good and definitely the kind you'd regret the morning after. After years of denial, I certainly wasn't going to break my diet for that.

I made a half-hearted protest for form's sake. "They weren't so bad, Ricci."

"Please." Giving a disgusted snort, he sneered, his lips quirking up in a damn sexy sneer. "That jerk Robert and that weenie Dec. That limp dick, Steven. When are you ever gonna date a real man?"

Not one to be intimidated, I countered stare for stare. "You see any around, Ricci?"

It was a direct challenge and I knew he wouldn't back down. Eyes flashing, he moved forward and cornered me against the door. The length of his hard, sculpted physique pressed against mine and my breath caught. A different glow had come into his eyes, a glow that I could only describe as predatory. I'd seen it used on other men before and I always thought that I'd be immune to it. I was wrong. One look from those devil eyes and I was all ready for some hot man-lovin'.

"You want me to show you how much of a man I am?" he whispered, his firm lips barely a hairsbreadth away.

I knew how much of a man he was. He didn't have to show it to me because it was pressing down my hip, hot, pulsing and... thrillingly large. Faced with the reality of a hard piece of meat burning down my hip, I was about to throw my diet out the window and devour the feast of masculinity being offered to me when the doorbell rang. And my sanity returned.

"Ricci. The doorbell." My voice practically croaked when I spoke. For the first time, I was glad that my parents had the knack of coming at an inopportune time. The times that they had interrupted me from achieving the big O were legend.

His lips quirked up a little. "Fuck that."

"It's my parents."

The look in his eyes changed and he took a step back, releasing his hold on me. What I always termed as his devil-smile returned. "Your parents won't always be around, little man."

For old time's sake, I invited Amy over. Not only was she the apparent victim of my parent's matchmaking attempt, she was also my best friend. A slim, petite 5'4", Amy Chang perpetuated the myth of the gentle, submissive Chinese beauty, her delicate features and thickly lashed sloe eyes charming the hell out of the gullible men in New York before they realized that behind the silky white skin and the gentle manners was the original Dragon Empress who fully intended to rule the roost. As a result of her inability to find a suitable mate who could withstand her, she remained resolutely single.

It took barely minutes to explain before Amy fully understood what was going on between us. A few minutes before the fallout, I'd called her to brief her on what's happening. Loyal friend though she was, Amy Chang couldn't resist a few juvenile jokes at my expense. "Frank and Michael sittin' on a tree."

"Nothing's going on between us so stop it," I complained in a furious whisper.

The meeting with my parents had gone on without a hitch. Seeing that Frank was keeping my parents well entertained in the living room, Amy pulled me aside into the hallway. "I couldn't help it. You two look so great together. And here I thought you'd finally got the balls to leap into the sack with Mr Hubba-hubba Ricci."

"Well, try helping it. He's only doing this as a favour to me. A huge one at that." Angry at myself, I shoved my hands in my pants in frustration. "And knowing him, I bet I'm gonna pay in spades."

A sly smile lit up Amy's delicate features. "You sure Frank doesn't want to remain in that role forever?"

"Stop that." Looking to see if Frank had heard, I confirmed for myself that he was still telling one of his many amusing anecdotes and started hurrying Amy down to the kitchen.

"Hey, what's the hurry!" Amy giggled. "The hunk's behind us."

"Amy!" Running my hands through my hair, I sighed. "C'mon, Amy, you and I know it's never gonna happen. Me and Ricci, we're a disaster waiting to happen. One, I don't want it to ever happen. Two, the man only wants a satisfying romp in the hay, the sink or the next flat surface he finds. Heck, he'd fuck anything in pants if he could. Once the deed's done, we'll be over and I don't want that. I bet the word relationship would have him screaming out of the house."

"You're such a liar! 'I don't want it to happen'," she mimicked my voice and gave in to another fit of giggles. "C'mon, we're talking about Frank Ricci. Even knowing he's gay, I'd jump his sexy bones in a sec. Any woman in New York probably would."

Seeing that she wasn't going to stop, I tugged her into the kitchen. That's for telling your friend your secrets. Since we were kids, we had been friends but ever since she found out about my ... feelings for Frank, I'd seriously reconsidered having her as a friend. Putting on my fierce face, I growled at her. "Stop it, Amy."

Wiping her eyes, Amy let out a gurgle. "Oh, you love the man so much it's driving you totally daft."

"Shut up," I gritted out.

Sensing that I was in earnest, she subsided. "Why don't you just admit it to him? I bet he already knows. Frank's not stupid, you know. Big dick and cute ass aside, he strikes me as a highly intelligent creature."

"Stop it." My best friend ogling the man I loved certainly wasn't an edifying thought and stupid me, I couldn't help feeling jealous. Since Frank had popped into my life, I had been plagued by the demon of jealousy almost daily. With his meltingly good looks, Frank drew the attention of women - and men everywhere he went and I'd be standing beside him, slowly eaten up with jealousy. Each time a pretty girl batted her eyes at him, each time a cute guy gave him his number, I felt like pissing all over Frank Ricci, pinning my name on his chest, marking my territory. The man was slowly, inexorably pushing me towards madness and there was nothing I could do about it.

Leaping up onto the counter, Amy made herself comfortable. "You should just go tell him."

Eyes narrowed, I leaned back onto the kitchen counter. "Tell him what? That I've been secretly in love and lust for him since we first met? That I want to tear his clothes off and fuck him on the kitchen table? That I have been dreaming of stripping him and licking him from head to toe?"

"Hmmm.." Biting her lip, she tilted her head in serious consideration. "You could rephrase that but the gist of it is fine."

"You know why I can't tell him," I said quietly.

"And you know how absolutely stupid those reasons are. How could a guy as smart as you be such a moron about this!" Shaking her dark head in frustration, she gave me a quick bump on my head with her palm. "Wake up, Wu. Stop your God-damned planning and take a chance on the man. He obviously cares for you more than a bit. Why don't you give him a chance?"

"Because I don't want a quick fuck in some dark doorway. I don't want to be Mr September or whatever the month I'm being fucked in. I'm not your typical gay man who just wants multiple orgasms with multiple men. I want him to stay, Amy. And I know damned well he won't." We'd gone over this same issue time and again. And each time, I found myself wanting to give in. After all, having him for a month or so was better than never having him at all - and my willpower could only last that long.

"Stop putting yourself down, Wu." She caught my face in her hands and gave me a soft peck on the cheek. "You're a wonderful man - a little wacky at times not to mention a crazy planner - toss that damned diary away, by the way - but still wonderful and I bet Frank can see that too. Don't sell yourself short."

I gave her a warm hug. "Nothing like my own cheerleader."

I should have known that no one could resist Ricci. Although the first meeting had been less than auspicious, I knew that I shouldn't have underestimated him. It took barely minutes for the renowned Ricci charm to work its magic.

For myself, I thought I'd never see it happen but within minutes, Frank had managed to charm my father into submission, wrangling a trip for the both of us to the family beach house. For a man whom my parents thought of as a deviant pervert who tried to seduce their darling son, it was amazing how easily he managed to change their perception of him. At one time, it looked as if my father was ready to sign adoption papers. It took another five to ten to persuade my mother to part with one of her recipes, something I thought I'd never see in my lifetime. And here, I thought my tough, no-nonsense mother was immune to charm and flattery. Her familiar laughter filled the air as she gave Frank a quick, fond pat on the cheek.

As if sensing my frustration, he glanced back at me and tossed me a teasing wink. I glowered in return but as he immediately went back to his obviously riveting conversation with my mother, I kept my nasty comments to myself and stared daggers at his broad back instead.

Sitting at my other side, Amy grinned cheekily. "Must be frustrating to see, huh."

Obviously I couldn't hide my annoyance but I schooled my features into a calm smile. "What?"

"You don't have to lie to me." Leaning over, she whispered to me, "Seems like Frank's managed to charm both your parents. In barely seconds. My, my, my, the man certainly licked the damned Blarney Stone."

"Lying snake," I muttered grumpily.

Giving me a gentle nudge under the table, Amy raised a questioning brow. "What is it? I thought you'd be happy that your parents obviously love him."

"Not too much!" I replied in a stage whisper. Picking up my glass of wine to hide my expression of displeasure, I turned to Amy again. "I mean, talking about cooking? C'mon, since I've known him, I have never seen the man even light a fire, much less cook! What is he going to do with her rice-wine chicken recipe anyway?"

"You're just jealous 'cause he's got your mom wrapped around his finger," she remarked wisely.

"Damn right I am." I glared balefully at him. As far as I know, the only cooking Frank Ricci did was in the bedroom and it certainly didn't need any homemade recipes that I knew of. Certainly none of my mother's.

The man was a veritable monster and had to be stopped. Pasting a fake adoring smile on my face, I moved my attention back to him and said as sweetly as possible. "Frank."

Turning away from his conversation with my mother, he smiled at me. If he could patent that look on his face, Frank could make another million easy. It looked almost like love and I was staggered. How could any man possibly look that sincere?

"Yes, darlin'?" That deep voice was positively dripping with love of the sweaty, bodice-ripping type. The man was obviously a better actor than I thought. And where had he stolen that slight 'Gone With The Wind' Southern drawl from?

My voice finally returned and I managed a croak. "Frank, could I have a word with you in the kitchen?"

Giving a helpless shrug and a nod to my parents, he shifted in his chair. "Sure, if I get a kiss in return."

While I wavered over my answer and had my parents looking curiously, the man took action in a way I'd never expected. Before I could open my mouth to respond, he'd managed to find a sure way to shut me up. The feelings that coursed through me as Frank's strong arms closed around me and his lips pressed tentatively against mine were indescribable.

Once he was certain that I wouldn't bite his tongue off, the man really got into his work. Good God, was that his tongue? If so, I wanted to have it bronzed. It was our first kiss and from the man that I loved. Though I knew it wouldn't last, I wanted it for that moment and greedily clutched his black hair to pull him close. Some men kiss like butterflies, barely a brush of the lips. Some men kiss like they want to swallow you whole, practically sucking the breath out of you while their tongues invaded with military precision. They all should have taken lessons from the master.

But while I was still busy enjoying his masterpiece, the man pulled abruptly away. Still unsatisfied, my hands reached to catch ahold of him and he grinned wickedly at me, waving a minatory finger at me. "We've got company, darlin'."

Oh My God! Even without seeing anyone's expression, my ears turned red and I heard Amy's shocked giggle. I could hardly bear to look at my parents' reaction. What was I thinking? Making out with Frank during dinner with my parents! Eyeing the man himself balefully, I muttered in a voice only he could hear, "Asshole."

"You love me anyway," he quipped with a ready smile. As if suddenly noticing my severe embarassment, Frank took over the situation with aplomb. All the while there was a glitter of unholy humour in those dancing blue eyes. "Uhh.. excuse us, would you? I think dessert's about ready."

The smooth excuse he'd blathered out managed to clear our way as we made our escape into the kitchen. All the while I kept my hand perched on his as he dragged me out of the dining room.

As soon as we were out of earshot, I caught his sleeve and pushed him against the kitchen cabinet. My anger managed to surprise him as I'm sure I'd have never have managed to push him around. "What the hell was that?" I said sotto voce.

"Huh?" The puzzled expression on his face only infuriated me.

"You know what I mean."

"I see." The light of understanding came into his eyes and he nodded knowingly. Leaning over to take out the spoons, he smiled and whispered back to me. "I see what you mean. You may have forgotten what that was but that was actually a kiss. Very pleasurable actually. Two lips meet at a certain pressure and..."

"Shut up." Those lips so close to mine were far too tempting and I gave him another quick shove. "Why?"

"Why?" Carefully folding the spoons into the cloth napkins, he paused as if in thought. Then Frank suddenly turned on me and caught ahold of me, his large hands gripping my forearms tightly. "Because if you were mine, Michael, I don't think I'd be able to stop. And frankly, at that moment, I couldn't resist."

The sudden serious tone in his voice stunned me for a moment but then I shook my head. Evidently, Frank took the things that he did seriously and he'd obviously decided to give his all to this play-acting. "OK."

"Anyway, I love kisses." he kidded.

Another thought that I didn't want in my head especially since I could easily imagine kissing my way down Frank's naked body. Pressing wet kisses down the broad expanse of his back, following the smooth curve of his spine down to his impressive gluteals. "Whatever. But no tongue."

He grinned in response.

After the dishes were cleared and my parents had gone for a late-night show with Amy, I finally made it back upstairs to my apartment after sending them off. It was easy enough to say that dinner had been a smashing success. After all, my parents had hit it off with Frank - heck, they clearly adored Frank Ricci and he'd readily offered to show them around the city starting tomorrow. It should have made me feel guilty at my deception but all I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief. All I had to do right now was to find an excuse for Frank to miss his appointment with them. After all, I doubted very much that he'd want to continue in this charade for more than a day.

Quietly opening my front door, I walked down the hallway to the living room and saw Frank standing alone by the windows, next to the window seats. My own apartment certainly didn't have the spectacular view that he had but at least it wasn't directly facing another block of apartments. He was looking more serious that I'd ever seen him, his handsome face sober and stern as he stared out the window at the streets in front of my apartment building. A glass of wine in his hand completed his ensemble and I had to admit that he looked quite a sight standing there brooding to himself. A dark, sexy modern Heathcliff.

It was times like this when I wondered whether I really knew him at all. The laughing, flirting man that I knew certainly wasn't this sober, serious guy, the man who was known in Wall Street as the man with the Midas Touch. The man who wheeled and dealed successfully with the sharks of commerce.

Hearing my approach, he looked up, the stern look fading away, replaced by a soft smile. "Are they gone?"

Since I had arranged for the late-nght show and confirmed the arrival of the taxi, I could confirm the fact that they wouldn't be returning. "Yeah, they loved you. I doubt they could ask for a better son-in-law. If they could, they'd exchange their own son for you. Thanks."

"No problem." Lifting his glass of wine, he took a quick sip. "Your parents are great."

That was something that I'd never doubted. They might be as spontaneous and reckless as they come but they were wonderful parents. Although they had been disapproving of my alternative lifestyle previously, they had warmed quickly when they had met my supposed life partner. Of course I seriously doubted anyone else would have managed to gain their approval in such a short time. "Yeah, I know."

Gently placing his glass on the window sill, he turned to face me with a sharp glint in his eye. "But it's time to pay the piper."

I knew that time was here and I steeled myself. What humiliating thing did he have planned?

Seeing the defensive look on my face, he laughed. "Don't worry. It won't hurt. Much."

"What do you have in that diabolical mind, Ricci?" I was aprehensive now and it probably showed. Deciding to sit while he told me of his diabolical plan, I made myself comfortable on the seat facing the windows. "Nothing illegal in fifty states, okay."

That quick charming smile flashed for a moment before he turned serious again. Turning away from me, he stood up and paced up and down along the windows. "Mike, we've known each other for almost six months now."

That sudden comment threw me off and I wondered where he was going with that. "Yeah, what about it?"

Stopping his slow pacing around the room, he paused and looked at me closely, his deep blue eyes pinning me to the seat. "Do you find me at all attractive?"

It was the question I never seriously thought he would ever ask. Was the answer ever in doubt? The windows were behind him and they made the perfect backdrop for him, standing there looking strong, handsome and incredibly earnest. My heart stuttered. "Yes, of course I do. Everyone does. What does all that have to do with.."

"I'm getting to that." He waved me off. For the first time since I'd known him, Frank Ricci looked almost unsure of himself. Filled with nervous energy as unlike the calm, confident man I thought I knew.

Evidently deciding to take another stroll around my room, he started moving, talking to me all the while. "We've known each other for six months. Ever since that first day, we've clicked. I know we have. Perhaps it is different for you but I don't think I've been as close to anyone as I have with you. I've shared with you some things that I've never even told anyone. Shared feelings that I've never thought I had. You wonder what I'm getting to? It's simple, Frank, I am very interested in you."

The last words echoed in the stillness of the room. I didn't even want to think about that. Was he going to make another pass at me tonight? After all that had happened, I doubt I could resist him tonight. Just one lascivious wink and I'd have leapt at him like a lust-crazed nympho.

In his relentless journey around my room, he came to another stop, this time just a few feet in front of me. Going down on one knee, he met me at eye-level, his blue eyes searching mine. "Look, all I'm asking for is this. Give me a chance, Wu." he said softly. "Just one chance."

"A chance?"

My innocent look didn't exactly fool him. He looked at me quietly. "Don't pretend you don't understand me."

The man knew me far too well. My hands were starting to tremble and I hid it under a pillow. "This is very sudden."

"It is not and you know it," he answered matter-of-factly. "If I'd had my way, we'd have been busy these past six months banging each other's brains out."

The vision had my pulse leaping. "Get real."

Sensing my own nervousness, he leaned forward and gave me his 1000-watt smile. "Don't you find me attractive?"

"I think you already know that answer, stud boy." He was so close that I could just stick my tongue out and lick his full bottom lip. As I didn't want to face such temptation, I leaned farther back into the sofa.

The smile didn't fade. "I do know that you find me attractive. That's why I find it hard to understand why you keep telling me no. I knew my reputation scared you off so I decided to give you time to know me first. To see that I wasn't quite the bastard I was reputed to be. I think you should know me well enough by now."

For a moment I stared in surprise. While I'd always thought of him as a pretty intelligent man, I never really expected him to notice that I'd had a crush on him as wide as Nebraska. It was clear that he'd known all along so I didn't find it hard to speak plainly. "You aren't a bastard but your reputation doesn't lie all that much. I don't want to be another notch on your bed, Ricci. Your Mr Monday or Mr-Weekend-Fling or something. The man you dump the morning after."

"It's not going to be that way," he said in protest.

"Bill. Andrew. John. Steven. TJ." From memory, I rattled off several names I'd heard linked to his. Funny, come to think about it. It wasn't that long a list but then again, I couldn't name all the nameless men he'd probably fucked before. And according to the rumours, the numbers were legion.

It certainly wasn't a point that he would ever admit. "Fine. I admit that I haven't been very good at relationships. For the record though, I dated all five men and only slept with three of them." Frank confessed, spreading his hands wide as if showing me he had nothing to hide.

"Only three in the past few months?" I said skeptically.

His blue eyes flashed. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not the playboy man-slut you guys think I am. If I fucked around with that many men, I'd be dead exhausted and worn down to a nubbin in no time."

"How should I know? I certainly haven't seen it." The words left my mouth before I realized I'd put the thoughts into words and my face flamed.

Seeing that I hadn't stopped him yet, he decided to take the advantage and pressed forward. "I've given you plenty of opportunities to find out. I assure you though, it ain't no nubbin."

Even now, there was activity going down in his ample crotch and I could definitely see that it wasn't a nubbin. Not that I could help it, the man's jeans were so tight, I could already trace the outline of his hard cock snaking down his left leg, backed up by a pretty hefty package of balls. My mouth watered and I could already picture myself down on my knees freeing his package with my teeth on his button-fly.

Oh God, this wasn't going well. This wasn't supposed to happen. At the end of this farce, I was just supposed to shake his hand farewell and let him leave footloose and fancy-free as he always did... certainly not indulge in fantasies about Frank's ample endowments. Shaking my head to dispell his charm, I looked back at him and promised to maintain my gaze above his neck at the least.

He had noticed the direction of my gaze earlier and flashed me a ready grin, his eyes dancing. "Do I meet your rigid standards, Michael?"

His smug smile pricked my ready temper. "Yes, I know you've got a big dick, Ricci. I have always known - and so do half the male population of New York."

"You know that's not true." As calmly as possible, he flatly denied it though I could see the heated sparks of the Ricci temper flaring behind his heavy-lidded eyes. Usually extremely cool-headed, he kept a bubbling pot of emotions seething just underneath the surface. Since I'd known him, I'd seen the Ricci temper explode at least twice. Each time, I had been within the disaster area but I had thankfully remained unscathed since I had not been the recipient.

"I've seen the men you date." And died of jealousy each time they came by, all slicked up, gorgeous and oozing with sex appeal. Determined to rattle him, I decided to go for broke. "When was the last time you had sex?"

"Define sex," he challenged me.

I let out a groan.

Seeing my predicament, Frank decided to take pity on me. "Six months ago."

"Six months? You're joking." It had to be a lie. Hadn't I see him with that hunky heartthrob not too long ago? And not too far back, with the blond Swede with the biceps? "But you dated that model, Marcus barely a month ago!"

"I'm glad you noticed but it wasn't a date. It was business. He's endorsing some of my products and I took him out to finalize our deal. We had dinner. He offered more. I refused. We went home. In separate vehicles, I might add." Seeing my surprise, Frank leaned back on his haunches and raised a dark brow. "Why are you surprised? As I said, I don't exactly have sex on a daily basis, or several times a day like you guys would like to think. I'm not some inexhaustible sexual animal, Michael."

His proper, dignified speech ended with a wolfish smile and the now familiar flash of heat in his blue eyes. "Though I could be. With the right man."

His sweet words had me melting and I shook my head. "It's not that simple."

Letting out a sigh, he dragged his hand carelessly through his glossy black curls. "Look, all those men - not that there were all that many - it's all in the past. You can't throw my past affairs at me. I wouldn't say they don't mean a thing to me but I will say that they're definitely behind me. In the past six months, I've looked at no other man but you. That's the truth, Michael."

The sincerity in his voice was something that I couldn't dispute. Since I'd known him too, I'd never seen him lie outright to my face either. Sure, the man might be a shark in the business but he could never tell a straight lie to his friends since he had never felt the need to lie. Racking my brains to recall, I suddenly realized that it just might be true that he had't seen any one else and I felt my heart constrict.

"Trust me?" His big blue eyes pleaded with me and he held out a hand to me.

Leaning forward, I caught hold of one of his large hands. Though his hand was larger and stronger than mine, my hand fit in perfectly. "Frank, I do trust you - or at least I am trying to. But it's not only that. What would happen to us?"

"You worry too much," he remarked, giving my hand a warm squeeze.

"What if we didn't work out? I don't.."

My stammering only led to him laughing at me. "What if the world were to end tomorrow? What if my stocks were to go tumbling down and leave me penniless? What if you turned straight? What if my hair were to fall out?" Gently mocking me, Frank replied in a sing-song manner. "What if!"

The teasing failed to make me smile. "But I-"

Without warning, he suddenly pulled me into his arms. And though I put up an initial struggle, he held tight and those steel-like bands he called arms didn't budge even a little. I decided to let him have his way - for the moment at least. My acquiescence made him smile. "Look, there are too many what ifs in the world for us to worry over, my lil worrywart. I know my track record with my relationships hasn't exactly been the best but then, I've never felt as much for them as I do you. I'm willing to give us a chance. Why won't you? I thought you wanted to be more of a risk-taker like me."

A moment ago, I'd put my hands up to at least maintain a distance between us but now they were pressed tight against the solid wall of his pecs. And I found that I didn't want him to stay far anymore. "I don't want to risk something as important as our relationship, Frank."

The answer evidently pleased him and he ran one hand up my spine, making me shiver. "It's not a risk, I promise you. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, a house in the suburbs with white picket fences and a dog named Boo. Not yet anyway. I just want us to have more than friendship. We've come this far, isn't it time to see if we might have something more?"

"But-"

"Let me finish," he said in his low, commanding voice which I'm sure had his various lowly minions in Ricci & Co. leaping to obey. Contrary as I was, I was tempted to do just the opposite but the gentle look on his face stopped me. That look of love had come back into his face, the look I'd seen earlier during dinner. Oh God, it wasn't an act. "Let me raise the stakes for you. I've waited so long to say this but maybe it's time you heard it from me. Michael, I -"

It was the words that I'd wanted to hear but I stopped him, pressing my finger on his lips. Having the words spoken would change everything between us. "Don't."

Gently pushing my hands aside, he spoke firmly and quietly, his gaze intent on mine. "No, you listen. I love you, Michael."

The words hung in the air, almost palpable between us. If I could reach out and hold those words for eternity, I would have. It was more than I'd ever dreamed of. And so unbelievable I expected to awaken from this weird dream. "Y-You don't."

"Arguing even now. Stubborn bastard," he muttered with a shake of his head. Seeing my mulish expression, he sighed and pulled his hands away to shove them in his pockets. "Look, Michael, we've been living in each other's pocket for the past few months. We're practically living together. If you're not in my apartment, I'm in yours. It was calculated on my part since I do want to be with you and I want people to know we're together. Everyone can see it. All our friends can see it. Why can't you see? Is it so hard to believe that Frank Ricci could have a heart after all?"

The sudden sadness in his eyes was more than I could bear and I laid a hand on his brawny forearm. "Frank.."

He turned to look at me. "Just say yes. Try it. It's not that difficult. Forget all the worries, all the doubts. Don't think with that damned logical brain of yours. It's very simple. I love you. I want us to be together."

And I realized that it wasn't all that difficult. A flash of realization came to me. The man of my dreams was mine for the asking. Just like that. A man who'd planned for the past six months, who'd even dreamt of a house in the suburbs and a pet. There was still the niggling worry about the future but I pushed it aside for now. Since when had I ever failed in one of my plans? Damn it, like everything else, I'd make it work! I'd make this relationship work.

So for the first time in my life, I decided to let fate have its way. After all, fate had gotten me this man. "You do realize that if you ever stray, I'd come after you and that big dick of yours with a very sharp machete?"

His blue eyes widened with surprise at my answer but he rose to the occasion with remarkable calm, even grinning foolishly at me. "Planning to keep an eye on me?"

My eyes narrowed in warning. "Under lock and key if need be."

It was obvious that I was giving in and he couldn't help smiling. It was the best smile yet. "I wouldn't take any less."

"It's not that easy, Ricci." My conditions weren't over yet and slowly, I went down on my knees next to him and rested my hands on his broad shoulders. "The white picket fences scare me to hell and the dog has to change its name. I couldn't live with a dog called Boo."

"When you make up your mind, you're scary." Tilting his head to look at me, he shook his dark head. "Anything else?"

"That's it. And Frank? Yes."

"Really?"

My arms went around him and this time, I pulled him close. All 6 feet plus of sweet, wonderful manhood. My hands roamed the large, firm expanse of his back assuring myself that this was real. "Yes, dummy. Let's take a chance. I want to see where this leads. By the way, you're still on probation though."

"Spank me hard if I go bad," he murmured as he leaned closer. His dimples sprang to life, bracketing his wicked smile.

His male scent filled me and I drank in deeply, sighing as I did so. Sure of their destination, my hands crept down the curve of his spine to rest on the perfection of his tight glutes. They were just as incredible as I'd imagined. "You bet your sweet ass I will, Ricci."

"I'm counting on that." His whispered words sent a thrill to me even as his lips did a number on my earlobe. "You're trying to fit me into your plans now, aren't you?"

It was my turn to smile. He knew me well. "I love you, Frank."

Pulling away to look at me, he nodded quietly. "I know."

"And you'd better live up to my expectations tonight."

He smiled, the devil in his eyes. "You bet your sweet ass I will."

And that was the last thing we said for the next little while.