Chapter Ten 2
“So, Audio Siren discovered you?”
Shane snorted. “Oh no. That band never got off the local club circuit, but we did okay enough that I could put a roof over my head. Though I had to share that roof with three of my bandmates to make it work. It was a couple of years later when I realized I wanted more than the club circuit could offer, so I quit and started Audio Siren.”
Wes was watching him with soft eyes and a slight tip of his mouth. “And the rest is history.”
“As they say.” Shane grinned, holding Wes’s gaze, and for the first time in over a decade, a bright light pushed into that dark corner of his mind. As though his past were a diseased tumor that he’d begun to excise .
Their legs bumped together again, and this time, Wes didn’t steer Merlin away.
“Thank you for sharing with me,” Wes rumbled, and butterflies took flight in Shane’s stomach from that rich, deep voice. “I can see it wasn’t easy.”
Shane dragged his gaze away and shrugged. Wes had somehow, just by being who he was, helped Shane begin to free himself from the past. He cleared his throat.
“So, what’s your story?” he asked. “How did you end up on this massive ranch? And just how big is it, anyway?”
“Seventeen-thousand acres.”
Shane whistled. He knew the ranch was big—it had its own airstrip, after all—but it was much bigger than he’d have guessed. Grinning, Wes faced forward as he started talking.
“Me and my brothers lived here when we were kids. We lost our dad in a bar fight when I was four years old, so my mom got a job here working the dining hall kitchen because the apartment above it was included in her salary.” He paused, his gaze going distant, and Shane wondered what memories he was seeing in his mind. “Mason’s dad, Grant, owned the place. Colt and Mason had a thing. Those two were destined to be together from day one. But Grant caught them making out and blew a gasket. He kicked my whole family off the ranch.”
“Wow,” Shane whispered. “That’s a bit extreme. Wonder if he was related to my dad.”
“More likely just products of their environment and upbringing.”
“What happened then? Did your mom know why he kicked you all out?”
“Oh yeah,” Wes replied with a note of pride in his voice. “My mom not only knew, but she tore a strip off old Grant when he came to our apartment ranting about my perverted brother. Mom told him she’d have never taken the job if she’d known what a homophobic prick he was.”
Shane hooted. “Go, Mom!”
“We ended up on another ranch, finally settling in Florida. After high school me, Colt, and Levi all went into law enforcement together. Not long after that, we started with Stonebraker Protection and Investigation Services. ”
Wes pulled Merlin to a halt when they reached a clearing that revealed a large pasture of swaying tall grasses and a small herd of bison grazing nearby. Shane had never seen one in person before, but even from their current distance, the sheer size and power of the prehistoric bovines amazed him. The warm, earthy scent of decaying leaves drifted on the early fall breeze and the sense of rightness, of home, that he’d felt when he’d first arrived hit him again.
“It was twenty years later, just this past summer, when an old friend of ours from our police academy days, and now the sheriff of Havenridge, called us for help. Mason’s dad died suddenly of a heart attack, and some of the locals hadn’t taken kindly to the changes Mason made after taking over. He was getting death threats.”
“Shit,” Shane breathed. He didn’t have to imagine how Mason must have felt then, because he felt that fear now, thanks to his own stalker.
Wes nodded. “The fire between Colt and Mason still burned, and after the dust settled, we all ended up moving back.”
“And the rest is history,” Shane quipped, earning a smile from Wes that made his heart stutter.
Wes glanced at his wrist, then up at the sky as if confirming the time was right.
“I noticed you and your brothers all have the same watch.” Shane motioned toward the fancy-looking thing, full of gadgets. “What’s with the big red button?”
“That’s the bat signal.” Wes winked before steering Merlin back to the trail. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Wes was on edge.
By the time he’d finished giving Shane a mounted tour of the main ranch, followed by dinner at Colt and Mason’s house, and finally driven back to his house, he’d never been more ready for a very long, very cold shower.
He’d been hyper-aware of Shane from the second they’d landed on the ranch—as though having Shane in Wes’s environment had somehow amplified Shane’s presence rather than distracted from it. And then Shane had gone and put on Levi’s cowboy boots and hat. Wes cursed under his breath. He’d thought Shane was attractive before . . .? Not even close. Attractive was too subdued a word to describe Shane Castle. The man was downright captivating.
Not to mention the most pleasant surprise of all: Shane handled horses like he was born to it, and there was nothing sexier to Wes than a man who knew how to sit a horse.
He’d struggled to keep from looking at Shane throughout dinner for fear everyone would know what he was thinking—the same train of thought he’d given Colt shit for with Mason back in June. Wes had no doubt Colt knew what was going on in his head, anyway. He’d fought not to squirm under Colt’s far-too-shrewd gaze, but luckily, Colt hadn’t said anything. As soon as dinner was over and they’d formed a game plan for Shane while on the ranch, Wes couldn’t shuffle them out of there fast enough.
Which he was regretting now that the buffer of his brothers and Mason was gone.
He kicked off his boots and stalked toward the kitchen to stare out the window at the black blanket of night. Momentarily lost about what to do next, Shane’s footsteps on the wood floors spurred him into action. He reached for a glass in the cupboard and filled it with cold tap water.
Shane’s presence behind him was large and looming, sucking all the air from the room. As if to counteract, Wes gulped the water down until the glass was empty. He placed the glass on the counter, considered pouring another cup, but instead stared at the tap, as if the answers would drip from the spout.
“Why am I here?”
Shane’s voice startled him, and he knew Shane had seen the involuntary twitch of his shoulders.
“What?” Wes turned around, slowly. Shane stood on the other side of the island, his hands resting on the top of a bar chair. Wes met Shane’s steady gaze and cleared his throat. “To keep you safe.”
“Yeah, but why am I here ?” Shane waved an arm to indicate Wes’s house.
Wes stood quiet for a minute, his thoughts an incoherent jumble. He rolled his shoulders back. “Because it’s the safest place I know for you to lie low. ”
“Right,” Shane said, his words measured. “But the other morning, after we had sex . . . You were ready to quit and let someone else take over my protection. Then something happened during the band meeting. I know you got an email from my stalker that you haven’t told me about—which, granted, I know I told you to give me sanitized versions—but I know whatever was in that message changed your mind. So again, why am I here ?”
Wes went to run a hand through his hair, surprised to find his hat was still on. He yanked it off, and missing the counter, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He left it there and dug his hands into his hair, fisting them in his short locks while he squeezed his eyes shut. “ Fuck .”
He opened his eyes and Shane was right there, in his space, having had come stealthily around the island. Close enough to see the golden threads in his brown eyes. Close enough to smell the fruity gum on his breath that Shane chewed too often, and the balm of orange and juniper that reminded Wes of sunshine and wind. Close enough to feel the magnetic heat emanating from Shane’s body.
“Because as much as I don’t want to compromise your safety, I can’t stand the thought of not being near you,” Wes confessed, his voice low and breathy, and relief at speaking his truth lifted a weight from his shoulders he hadn’t been aware was there.
And then Shane was in his arms. Shane’s mouth meeting his with a fervency that weakened his knees. A growl rumbled up through Wes’s throat and his lips vibrated against Shane’s. He banded his arms around Shane’s torso and pulled Shane tight to him, so close their bodies practically fused together.
Shane rocked his hips, grinding against him, and Wes’s erection grew painfully hard, throbbing incessantly behind the confines of his jeans. A voice in the back of his mind, tiny and weak, warned that this was a bad idea, but any willpower he’d had before this moment had well and truly fled the coop. He couldn’t deny his body what it wanted, and it wanted Shane with a passion that wouldn’t be contained.
He angled his head and deepened the kiss, drawing a ragged groan from Shane, who returned the kiss with abandon, fueling the inferno already burning inside Wes .
“Come,” Shane gasped between kisses, his hand sliding from Wes’s shoulder, down his arm, and to his hand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He threaded their fingers and tugged.
Wes bit back a whimper as cool air replaced the heat of Shane’s body, but let himself be pulled along, the two of them stumbling toward his bedroom like a pair of drunks. Once inside, Wes spun Shane around and shoved him up against the wall, grinding his hips into Shane. The bed was only a few feet from them, but it was too far for Wes. For Shane too, if the encouraging sounds coming from his throat and the way he frantically yanked at Wes’s zipper were any indication.
What are you doing what are you doing what are you doing ?
The warning chant grew louder with each repeat and cut through his sexual haze. Wes pushed away from Shane and as much as he wanted to, no, needed to close the space he’d just opened, the rational part of him knew it was better for everyone if he didn’t. Shane stayed plastered to the wall, his lips kiss-red and shiny, his hair mussed more than usual, his chest heaving, and desire-laced confusion in his eyes.
“Shit.” Wes took another step back, his legs shaking and heart pounding. “That . . . We can’t . . .”
He spun and stormed from the room before he made things worse by sleeping with his client. His own chest heaving, and cock hard and aching, threatening retribution for not giving it the release it begged for. He stopped at the kitchen island, gripping the edge of the smooth marble slab to keep from falling.
“What am I doing?” he breathed, dropping his head down.
He peered over his shoulder, imagining Shane stretched out on his bed, skin glistening with sweat. He pressed the heel of his hand against his groin, hoping to relieve the tension, but there was only one way that would happen. Smart or not, his hunger for Shane had somehow grown too big for him to handle, even as he fought against it.
Or that’s just your dick talking .
Dick or not, he needed Shane. He shook his head, slammed his warring thoughts into a mental box and locked it. With single-minded purpose, he burst back into his bedroom. Shane was right where Wes had left him—a little dazed but with the pain of rejection lurking in the depths of his eyes. Guilt stabbed at Wes for having been the cause, but Shane’s expression flipped on a dime. He grinned at Wes—a smirk more likened to the Cheshire cat.
“You know you can’t stay away from me,” Shane rasped, and the enticing note in his voice snapped the last of Wes’s resolve.
“Don’t know why I tried.”
He’d make it work somehow. Colt had managed to with Mason, so he could manage with Shane. Easy. But that was for later. For now . . . He pounced. He needed Shane. Needed to feel his skin, to taste it, breathe him in, slide his tongue over the intricate array of tattoos.
Hands flew as buttons were popped and zippers were yanked down until they both lay stretched out on the bed, gloriously naked. Wes crawled up Shane’s body, kissing a trail from toes to groin.
“What have we here?”
There was a small bar of music tattooed below Shane’s navel. But instead of the usual five-line staff, the notes danced on a pulse line.
“Part of the first song I ever wrote,” Shane answered.
Wes glanced up. Shane smiled at him, but there was an edge of melancholy to the lift of his lips. As if knowing what Wes was about to ask, Shane shook his head once and bucked his hips. Message received, but Wes hoped one day Shane would tell him the story. He lowered his head and traced the tattoo with his tongue before working his way up Shane’s torso. Over his pecs. Pausing to tease at the steel bars piercing his nipples until Shane’s whole body shook. Moving up to kiss along the column of his throat, and finally claiming his lush lips.
“Tell me you bottom,” he rasped against Shane’s chin while Shane’s breath gusted over his cheeks.
“Hell yes,” Shane panted.
Wes reached over to the nightstand, yanked the drawer open, and retrieved a small bottle of lube and a condom. Shane watched him with intense focus as he settled back over Shane’s legs and popped the lube lid open.
“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” Shane said. His voice was low and husky and danced over Wes’s skin like a caress.
“If it’s anywhere near how much I want you, then I think I have a pretty good idea. ”
Wes rubbed his palms together to warm the viscous, slippery liquid. With shaky hands he worked Shane open until his body was pliant and he was a writhing mass of need.
“Now, now, now,” Shane chanted with a whine in his voice and fire in his eyes.
Wes rolled the condom over himself.
“Now, now?” He teased.
Shane growled at him in response.
Grinning, Wes took mercy on Shane and entered him, slow and deliberate, his body quivering at the tight heat wrapping around him. Threatening to short-circuit his brain.
A keening moan emanated from Shane that sent a cascade of shivers down Wes’s spine.
“Damn,” Wes rasped as he began to move. “This is . . .” Too much. Not enough .
Shane nodded as though he understood. “Go hard,” he demanded.
Gazes locked, Wes gave him what he wanted, pounding into him harder and faster, until sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped from the end of his nose onto Shane’s chest. Shane lifted a leg to rest over Wes’s shoulder, changing the angle, and tossed his head back as Wes pegged his prostate.
“Look at me.” Wes needed that connection with Shane, which should have scared him. He’d never needed eye contact with his sexual partners or boyfriends in the past, but everything felt different with Shane.
Shane snapped his eyes open, and the breath caught in Wes’s throat. There was the real Shane Castle. Gone was the pretense. Gone were the walls. What remained was unguarded and vulnerable. Real .
You can trust me. You’re safe with me .
The words rattled around Wes’s head, but he couldn’t say them aloud. He could only show Shane what he meant, that he was there, and no matter what happened, he would always be there for him.
Because he cared.
Oh god, he cared too much.
The light changed in Shane’s eyes, as though something had shifted inside of him too—that or Wes was projecting his feelings onto Shane. Either way, the welling of emotion growing beneath his breastbone was too much. He slammed his eyes shut, breaking the intense connection.
“Roll over,” he gasped.
After an awkward maneuvering of limbs ending with Shane resting on his forearms and his ass in the air, Wes was now face-to-back with the massive tattoo he’d caught a peek of that morning in Malibu. With one hand gripping Shane’s hip, he drove back into Shane’s wanting body while he reached for the tattoo with his other hand. His fingers trembled over the fiery-winged horse. The feathers were shiny with sweat but still looked soft . . . Real. He slid his fore and middle fingers over the soft-looking plumage, and for a brief second, thought they were real. Until Shane grunted and rocked his hips, asking for more, and the feathers became skin. Taut and creamy and sweat-slick tattooed skin.
Cursing, Shane shoved a hand underneath his body and jacked himself.
“Close,” he panted. “So close.”
He clenched around Wes, and that was all it took. Wes’s whole body coiled tight, suspended in space for a flash of a second. His release blasted through him like a racehorse rocketing out of the gate. His mouth fell open on a silent shout and he gripped Shane’s hips hard enough to leave bruises.
Spent, Shane collapsed beneath him, and Wes dropped with him—his body draped half on, half beside Shane.
Shane angled his head toward him. His hair damp from sweat and sticking to his forehead, and a sated lift to his lips. “ Dayum , Cowboy.”
“Yeah.”
“I think we traumatized your plants.”
A snort-chuckle escaped Wes and Shane sniggered. His down-turned honey-brown eyes were as unguarded as Wes had ever seen, and a peaceful warmth spread through him that he’d had a hand in putting it there.
He shifted to get more comfortable and grimaced, but Shane must have read his expression wrong because a frown creased his forehead. Wes would have sworn he saw literal Tetris blocks stacking up behind Shane’s eyes. So quick to shut down and wall up, even as Wes understood. Hadn’t he said they couldn’t do this right before falling into bed together? Professionally, what happened shouldn’t have, but it did and no way Wes would regret it.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Wes searched Shane’s eyes, mesmerized as the cloud that had drifted into them cleared. Shane lifted his chin in a haughty tilt, his voice unaffected when he said, “Your call.”
But Wes wasn’t fooled. Shane wanted him there just as much as Wes wanted to stay. He traced a finger along Shane’s jawline, down the side of his neck, and over the wolf and guitar tattoo on his shoulder.
He kissed the top of Shane’s shoulder and rolled off the bed. “Just need to get rid of the condom and clean up a little.”
A few minutes later, Wes exited his bathroom to find Shane lying on his back, legs splayed, and looking for all the world like he belonged right there. Wes held up the cloth he’d dampened with warm water as he crossed the room back to the bed.
“Good man,” Shane said with a teasing grin, as he cupped his hands behind his head. “Don’t miss any spots.”
“Ah, there’s the diva.”
The laugh that rumbled up from Wes’s lungs felt good. Carefree. Sure, he was going to get a dressing down for this from his brothers, Colt especially. But he didn’t care. They’d work it out.
Post-coital ministrations attended to with extreme attention to detail, Wes tossed the cloth toward the bathroom, and settled back down beside Shane.
“Guess you get your way and we’re sharing a bed, after all.”
“It was inevitable,” Shane said matter-of-factly.
Wes agreed with a nod. No point in denying it now.
Shane rolled over onto his side, so he faced Wes. His gaze drifted past Wes. His eyes widened, and he jolted upright. Wes’s heart launched into his throat, blasting him out of his post-orgasmic bliss and into protection mode. He shot out of bed, scanning for threats while reaching for his backup gun in the nightstand drawer.
“You have a guitar?” Shane exclaimed behind him, disbelief ringing loud in his voice.
Wes followed Shane’s gaze and narrowed his eyes. Shoved under the dresser across from his bed was his dad’s old acoustic guitar. Shane wouldn’t have seen it from his standing position earlier. Wes exhaled, long and loud. No threat then—unless Shane asked him to play the damn thing. He crawled back into bed as a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, cleansing the sudden adrenaline rush from his veins.
“Do you play?”
Shane was a world-famous, extremely talented musician, but Wes only tinkered when the mood struck, which was about as often as a blue moon.
“I strum a few chords now and then.” Wes shrugged.
“Hmm . . .”
“You’re on my side of the bed,” Wes teased when Shane said nothing more, but it was true. He always slept on the right side, closest to the bedroom door rather than the glazed patio door.
Shane snorted, but no part of his body moved. “Mine now.”
Yes, mine now .
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” Wes said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence, his voice rough and choppy with emotion. It wasn’t just that he was Shane’s protection, but Shane’s profession was as far from Wes’s as one could get. Shane was fame and bright lights and constant travel, and Wes was . . . Wes. Happy in his cabin in the woods with the company of his family, a few close friends, and the animals that called the land home.
“Yes, you do.” Shane cut into his downward thoughts. “Compartmentalize.”
Shane looked at him, the light in his warm eyes sparkling, and the sound of scattered game pieces clicking together echoed in Wes’s ears. Shane was it. His man, and he was keeping him.