That thought caused him to frown.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at the street outside the truck’s windshield, his calm façade cracked a bit. “Are you feeling more comfortable now?”
“Mostly.”
Qylar eyed him. He wasn’t fidgeting as much, so he’d thought they might be good to go.“Mostly?”
“Do you wear leather pants often?”
Qylar nodded, sensing where this was going. He fought a smile. “On occasion.”
“I don’t,” Kenji said. “These arethe mostuncomfortable things I’ve ever worn in my life.” He writhed in the seat, his pants squeaking with the movement. “I can’t stop sweating in here. How do you not chafe?”
Qylar chuckled. He reached over and caressed Kenji’s thigh. Cheap bonded leather. Of course they were uncomfortable and hot. “It’s all about the quality. A better pair would be more comfortable.”
“It’s not like I had a choice. I’m wearing borrowed gear,” Kenji said.
“I’ll have you out of them as soon as we get home.”
Kenji’s gaze swept to his, heat flashing again.
Home.Not his place—but home.
Qylar brushed the comment aside, sure it was just a slip of the tongue and nothing more.
He focused on the heat in Kenji’s eyes instead of his own misfiring mouth.
Qylar sensed there was a deep well of need burning inside Kenji. Every time he caught a glimpse of desire, humor or anxiety quickly came out to mask it. Did it make him uncomfortable to want—or be wanted?
He’d have to test his theory.
Later.
Once he had Kenji under him.
CHAPTER 3
Kenji strolled into Qylar’s townhouse and gazed around. Not only was the guy hot, but apparently loaded, too. Property in the city was some of the most expensive in the country. A place he’d bet had a water view of the Bay, the Pacific, or maybe even both? That was even pricier. Another wave of anxiety washed over Kenji, and he again felt out of place.
He focused on what he saw to ground himself. The woodwork in the living room looked custom, with lots of built-ins filled with books and curious collectables that drew his gaze. From the looks of it, Qylar was well-traveled. The pieces gave the appearance of being from all over the world.
But the room wasn’t stuffy or museum-esque, either. It did look like it could easily fit in the pages of one of those architectural magazines he found in the waiting room at the clinic. Even so, there was a lived-in feel to the home that made him a little more comfortable.
Its striking cerulean walls reminded him of the deep ocean. Helovedthe ocean. He was never more at peace than when he was swimming.
“Nice place,” Kenji murmured, scanning the dimly lit interior for more clues about the man he was with.
“Thanks.” Qylar dropped his keys into a bowl near the door. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure,” Kenji said.
Qylar walked deeper into the townhouse and flicked on a light. Kenji slowly ambled closer, taking it all in. He stepped around the corner and found a huge gourmet kitchen with new-looking upscale appliances and glittering white quartz counters all around. Kenji was almost certain the massive island in the center was half as big as his rented bedroom.
“I’ve got beer, water, soda, or…” Qylar peeked out of the fridge. “Harder stuff behind you.”
Kenji looked over his shoulder at what was apparently a family room. A massive television, a sectional, and a bar cart took up most of the space there.
“I don’t really do the hard stuff so… I’m not much of a bartender.” Qylar grinned. “You’re free to use whatever I’ve got if that’s what you prefer.”
