Page 53 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Cassidy

Hearing the clink of glass in the front room, Cassidy was out of his chair before he even thought about it.

Free had cc’d him on the email to his bosses. He’d been reading his preliminary system notes from Xander’s property break-in, plus the text messages copied to the studio security detail.

He was glad he always kept a packed duffle bag with the essentials and a laptop in the trunk of his Mustang, because his emergencies never allowed for him to swing by his house first.

He’d been staring at the messages for ten minutes, anger sitting restlessly in his chest like a loaded weapon, when he heard the commotion in the front room.

Xander stood at the bar shaking hard enough that the vodka bottle in his hand tapped against the rim of the glass as he tried to pour.

Cassidy saw the spill across the counter. Xander’s shoulders were hunched, skin flushed, his eyes closed tight.

He hurried across the room and reached over him, stopping his movements before Xander could pour another glass.

“Enough.”

The words came out rougher than he’d intended, but Xander didn’t fight him.

The bottle slipped from his loose grip, and Cassidy set it out of reach. He braced his other hand on the edge of the bar to keep from putting it where he shouldn’t.

He’d changed into soft black lounge pants and a thin black tank top. So when Xander leaned back into him without warning, he felt it everywhere.

Xander surrendered his full weight against Cassidy’s chest and let out a tortured moan.

Every muscle in Cassidy locked. He’d taken bullets with less impact than that sound.

Christ.

Xander’s body fit against him with delicious ease, warm and trembling, the scent of expensive vodka and soap rising from him.

He’d been touched plenty in his life. Hit…grabbed…torn apart then patched back together. But this was so very different. This was desperate need. Craving.

He hadn’t had a man in his arms, a mouth against his, strong hands reaching for him in too many years. He’d buried himself in work, and daily routines, to forget about the lack of comfort and closeness in his life.

Xander tipped his head back, brushing his temple along his jaw.

Cassidy lifted his hand, hovering near Xander’s waist, close enough to feel the heat coming off him but far enough away to pretend he still had control.

Xander moved his head slowly, grazing his temple back and forth against his stubble.

He lowered his face, brushing his nose along the hair behind Xander’s ear. His pulse was beating fast on the side of his throat, too frantic for him to ignore.

“Please,” Xander whispered.

His restraint slipped enough for a low groan to leave him.

Cassidy should’ve stepped back, taken a cold shower, called God to put another man in the room and stop whatever was happening between them before he ended up looking like a fool.

Instead, he laid his hand against Xander’s hip and slid the other around his waist.

Xander’s body softened into his touch, and Cassidy had to close his eyes for one difficult second.

This was dangerous.

Not because Xander was so much younger than him, and not because he was super famous, not even because Cassidy was now assigned to protect him.

It was dangerous because Xander’s affection could easily be mistaken for something else.