Page 1

ONE

2009

Ineeded the job to be over so I could go home.

The realization was sort of amazing because I loved New York. Any reason to visit, to eat in Hell’s Kitchen, walk through Central Park, or soak up Times Square at night was good. So the fact that I couldn’t wait to leave told me something important.

And it had everything to do with Aaron Sutter.

I’d thought I knew all about beautiful men. I’d slept with enough of them. Gym bunnies I screwed in clubs, twinks on their knees in alleys, and guys I took to hotels that charged by the hour. I never bothered if they weren’t gorgeous. But not one of them could hold a candle to the billionaire.

Billionaire?

Yes. Without question. I’d looked it up, and there was no doubt. When Forbes said you had money, you had money. Not that I cared. It made no difference. I was already willing to take care of him, be the guy—his guy—the one he could count on. That he was in the closet too had been my big, flashing neon sign that I was finally in the same place with another person. It was scary and astounding at the same time.

Whenever I met a guy someplace besides a bar or a club, they were all about having me meet friends, go for drinks with them, and basically letting it be known I was gay. Thing was, I couldn’t do that. I was a police detective in Chicago; being out and proud was not an option if I ever wanted to move up. And though I knew one detective who had done it, he hadn’t stayed on the force, instead becoming a federal marshal. I’d kidded myself for a short time and thought that was the way I wanted to go as well, but I liked being a homicide detective, bringing closure to people’s lives, finding and punishing those responsible. I really wanted to keep doing what I was doing, and the fact of the matter was, so far I had not found a guy important enough to pick over the job. The one long-term relationship I’d had—two years of my life—had ended over my not being an out and proud gay man.

The moment I’d met Aaron Sutter, though, a warning bell had gone off in the back of my head. I knew just from talking to him for a few minutes that the only way to be with him was serious. He was not a quick fuck; he was the guy you made a home with. Strangely, that didn’t scare me. My fine-tuned flight reflex never kicked in.

It didn’t hurt that he was stunning to look at. With his lean, muscled frame, sharp-angled features, and bright blue eyes, I wanted him instantly. When his turquoise gaze met mine, a throb of desire made my chest tight, and it was hard to remember my name. My whole life, I’d been such a sucker for beauty, but halfway through dinner with mutual friends, I had known the truth. It was more. I would do anything to spend some time with him, any that he would allow.

I liked the way the man talked. The sound of his voice—the resonance, the husky quality of it, decadent and sexy. His laugh was good, deep, not timid or quiet. More importantly, he was funny and sarcastic and quick with the barbs. He was smart, and considering brains were even hotter than looks, I was a goner.

“Wake up, Stiel,” Shelby Quint commanded through my earpiece. He was in charge of the operation and was kind of a dick.

Jerking out of my thoughts, I looked across the room to the entrance of the club. “Head in the game, everyone. Evanston’s coming in now.”

I was covering the back door, so there was no way out for the mob enforcer once he came in. The two men he had killed in Chicago and the three here in New York would put a needle in his arm if he didn’t roll over on his boss. Everyone thought he would die before he gave up any names, but I knew a coward when I saw one.

Once this was finished, I could get on a plane for home, and when I was in my own place, I’d call Aaron Sutter and ask if I could see him.

I really wanted to see him.

After the first time we’d spent the night together, I’d had to get on a plane the next morning. Skipping the shower before I left was my choice. The idea of carrying him around on my skin all day had been so very needed.

“You don’t want to shower first?” he teased, a lazy grin on his face as he watched me from where he lay sprawled across his California king.

“No,” I said, my voice hoarse, because just looking at him—at his skin covered in marks I’d put there, at his swollen lips and sleep-tousled hair—made my heart stop. “I wanna smell like you a little longer.”

“Oh,” he said, obviously caught off guard.

It had been wild when we hit the door of his place the night before.

The second the lock clicked, we were wrestling off jackets and shirts.

Aaron grabbed lube and condoms off a table by the wall and pushed them at me before his hands went to his belt. He almost lost his balance when I shoved him forward, but recovered enough to stop from going face-first into the wall.

“Hold still,” I growled as I came up behind him, grabbing his hip to make sure he didn’t move.

“Yes,” he promised, palms flat on the black-stained wood, head leaning against his bicep, his breathing rough and shaky.

I shoved my briefs and jeans to my knees, rolled on the condom, and flipped open the cap on the lube.

“Duncan,” he cried, and I liked my name all garbled with yearning.

Shucking off his underwear and jeans to his ankles, I reached around and fisted his cock with a lube-slicked hand, slathering my sheathed dick with the other.

“Please,” he begged, his voice ragged and low. “I want you in me.”