Chapter 10
Marcus
There was a knock at my office door. “Well, I’m gone for the night,” Mrs. Baxter said, poking her head inside the door. “You need anything before I go, Sheriff?”
I shook my head, glancing up at the clock. “No. I’m on my way out the door too. Have a good night, Mrs. Baxter.”
“You too, Sheriff,” she nodded.
I listened as she gathered up her things and left for the night. With a yawn I stretched my arms over my head, leaned back in my chair, and kicked my feet up on the desk. Mrs. Baxter always got after me for putting my boots on the furniture, but I didn’t mind. I’d earned that desk.
The phones had been quiet all day, which I was thankful for. Mostly because I’d been thinking about what Xavier had said to me the day before. And thinking about Xavier always left me in a state of flushed, flustered, and anything but flaccid.
I wasn’t proud of how much mental real estate that man was taking up. Three days. I’d known him for less than two weeks, and yet he’d managed to worm his way into my thoughts like some kind of sexy, glitter-wearing parasite.
No strings. No declarations. Nobody has to know.
His words kept replaying in my head on an endless loop. It sounded so simple when he said it like that. Just two adults scratching an itch, helping each other out. Nothing complicated about it.
Except everything about it was complicated.
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to push away the mental image of Xavier kneeling in front of me, those light brown eyes looking up at me with that knowing smirk.
The way his fingers had felt against my skin when he’d taken those measurements.
The way my body had responded to him without my permission, like it had a mind of its own.
Three more weeks. That’s all he’d be here. Then he’d go back to New York, and his high-rise apartment, and his fancy coffee shops…and I’d still be here in Sagebrush, wearing my daddy’s badge and pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
Maybe that was the appeal. The expiration date. No risk of things getting messy or feelings getting involved because we both knew from the start that it was temporary. A distraction, like he’d said.
My phone buzzed on the desk, and I grabbed it without thinking, my stomach doing that annoying flip when I saw Xavier’s name on the screen.
Xavier: I got your suit fitted up. I’ll need you to try it on again.
I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
The suit was a convenient excuse, we both knew that.
But I could ignore the message. Pretend I hadn’t seen it.
Go home, have a beer, watch some mindless TV, and wake up tomorrow having made the sensible, responsible choice.
But when had I ever gotten to make the choice I actually wanted?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I typed back.
Me: I’m still at the office. You can bring it by if you like.
The three dots appeared immediately, indicating he was typing. My heart rate kicked up.
Xavier: I’m already in town. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. This was it. The moment where I either shut this down completely or jumped off the cliff and hoped there was something to catch me on the way down.
I stood up and walked to the small bathroom attached to my office, checking my reflection in the mirror.
My hair was a mess from running my hands through it all day, and I had that perpetual five o’clock shadow that made me look more rugged than I felt.
I splashed some water on my face, trying to calm the nervous energy thrumming through my veins.
What the hell was I doing?
I dried my face with a paper towel and took a deep breath. This was just a suit fitting. That’s all. Xavier was bringing the suit, I’d try it on, he’d make whatever adjustments needed to be made, and then he’d leave. Nothing had to happen.
Except I knew that was a lie. And so did he.
I heard the front door of the station open, and my pulse jumped. I walked back into my office, trying to look casual, like I wasn’t about to crawl out of my skin with anticipation and anxiety.
Xavier appeared in my doorway a moment later, garment bag draped over one arm and that familiar smirk playing at his lips.
Today he was wearing black jeans that should’ve been illegal and a tight purple tank top that left little to the imagination.
His dark hair was perfectly styled, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of some fashion magazine instead of a rental SUV in rural Texas.
“Sheriff,” he said, his voice carrying that teasing lilt that made my stomach clench. “Working late?”
“Just finishing up some paperwork,” I lied, gesturing to my desk where exactly zero paperwork was visible. “You got here fast.”
“I was at Dolly’s having dinner when you texted.” He stepped into my office, closing the door behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the quiet space. “Figured I’d save us both some time and come straight over.”
The door closing felt significant somehow. Like we’d just crossed some invisible line.
“Right,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. “The suit.”
“The suit,” he agreed, but his eyes were locked on mine in a way that made it clear we were talking about something else entirely. “Should I hang it up somewhere, or do you want to try it on right now?”
I glanced around my office. It wasn’t exactly the most private place, but it would have to do. I walked over to the window, pulling the shades down. Then I went and turned the lock on the entrance door before flipping the sign to ‘CLOSED’.
“Don’t want anyone to walk in on us while I’m in my underwear,” I said hastily, trying to sound like I wasn’t doing all of this with ulterior motives.
I watched Xavier’s eyes darken as he tracked my movements around the office, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He knew exactly what I was doing, and we both knew it had nothing to do with modesty.
“Of course,” Xavier said, his voice dropping lower. “Very practical.”
He hung the garment bag on the coat rack by the door, then turned to face me, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. The position made his biceps flex, and I had to force myself not to stare.
“So,” he said. “Are you going to try it on, or are we going to keep pretending we both don’t know why I’m really here?”
My breath caught in my throat. There it was—the moment of truth. I could still back out. Could tell him this was a mistake, that I wasn’t ready, that we should just stick to the suit fitting and nothing more.
But I was so tired of lying. So tired of pretending.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “About the distraction.”
Xavier’s expression softened slightly, though that knowing smirk never quite left his lips. “And?”
“And I think...” I swallowed hard, my heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. “I think maybe you’re right. Maybe we could help each other out.”
He pushed off the wall, taking a slow step toward me. Then another. The air between us felt electric, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure.
“You’re sure?” he asked, and I was surprised by the genuine concern in his voice. “Because once we cross this line, Marcus, there’s no going back. And I need to know you’re not going to panic and run out on me again.”
I thought about that. About what it would mean to let myself have this, even if just for three weeks.
About the risk I was taking with my reputation, my career, everything my father had built.
But I also thought about those trips to Austin, those anonymous encounters in dark rooms where I could never truly be myself or get to know anyone.
Where I was just another body in the shadows.
With Xavier, I could be seen. Even if it was just behind locked doors and drawn blinds.
“I’m sure,” I said, and I meant it.
Xavier closed the remaining distance between us, and suddenly we were standing toe to toe, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand came up to rest on my chest, right over my heart, and I knew he could feel how fast it was beating.
“Then show me,” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. “Show me what you want, Sheriff.”
My hand moved almost of its own accord, coming up to cup the back of his neck. His skin was warm and smooth under my palm, and I felt him shiver at the contact. For a moment, we just stood there, breathing each other’s air, teetering on the edge.
Then I closed the distance and kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, like I was testing the waters after years of keeping myself locked away. But the moment our lips touched, something in me snapped. Years of denial, of suppression, of forcing myself into a box I was never meant to fit in… it all came crashing down.
Xavier made a small sound in the back of his throat, his hands coming up to grip my shirt, and I deepened the kiss, pulling him closer.
He tasted like coffee and something sweet, and I couldn’t get enough.
My other hand found his hip, fingers digging into the fabric of those impossibly tight jeans, and he pressed himself against me with a desperation that matched my own.
I’d kissed men before, of course. In Austin, in those dark rooms where nobody knew my name. But this was different. This wasn’t anonymous. This wasn’t hiding. This was Xavier, with his sharp tongue and his knowing smirks and his ability to see right through every wall I’d built.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his pupils blown wide and his lips already swollen. “Jesus, Marcus,” he breathed. “You kiss like a man who’s been starving.”
“Maybe I have been,” I admitted, and it felt like the most honest thing I’d said in years.
His hands slid up my chest, fingers working at the buttons of my uniform shirt. “Then let me give you what you crave,” he murmured, and there was a heat in his voice that went directly to my dick.
I helped him with the buttons, my fingers clumsy with excitement.
The shirt hit the floor, followed quickly by my undershirt, and then Xavier’s hands were on my bare skin, tracing the lines of muscle, threading through the hair on my chest. His touch was reverent, exploratory, like he was memorizing every inch of me.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to my collarbone. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been not to touch you?”
I groaned, my head falling back as he worked his way down my chest, his mouth hot against my skin. My hands found his hair, threading through the dark strands, and I tugged gently, earning another one of those delicious sounds from him.
“We should...” I started, but I couldn’t finish the thought. My brain had short-circuited somewhere between his tongue on my nipple and his hand sliding down to palm my hard cock through my pants.
“Should what?” he asked, looking up at me with those impossibly dark eyes. “Stop? Because I really don’t want to stop, Marcus.”
“No,” I said quickly, probably too quickly. “I just meant... the desk. Or the couch. Somewhere more comfortable than standing here.”
A wicked grin spread across his face. “The desk sounds perfect, actually. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll make sure to take very good care of you.”