Chapter Two
JOE SCRUBBEDone of the hotel towels over his head as he stepped out of the suite bathroom. “I still don’t see why I need a driver,” he said from under the jasmine-sweet folds. “Unless you’ve forgottenhowin your old age.”
He heard Edward grunt.
“I’m used to American roads,” he said. “Evade Inc. has a good reputation, and if Tate drives you, then I can concentrate on protectingyou.”
Joe slung the towel over his shoulders and pushed his hair back from his face with both hands. A trickle of gritty cold water ran down the back of his neck. “You’re overreacting, Edward.” He sat down on one of the low leather chairs in front of the window and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “It’s hardly the first time someone has threatened to kill me, yet here I am.”
“Hmm,” Edwardsaid noncommittally. He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side. “Have you ever given any thought to why so many people want to see you dead, Joseph?”
Joe put his feet up on the ottoman and tilted a sardonic toast in Edward’s direction. “Jealous of my wealth, good looks, and charm?”
“They don’t help,” Edward said with a flicker of amusement. He unbent enough to sitdown on the edge of the bed. “Joseph, you need to take this seriously. These aren’t your dad’s old enemies running their mouths, or empty threats some accountant wrote on his pink slip. I think you should go back to LA. Sort things out with Kristen before it’s too late. Whatever happened, it doesn’t have to be the end of the world, and whatever business you have here, I can handle it for you.”
Thatwaswhat Edward had always done. Joe took a drink of whiskey—sour rye on the back of his tongue. When Dad had been busy, it was Edward who took Joe to the birthday parties of kids who didn’t actually like him and whose parents were scared of his Dad. It was Edward who’d paid off the headmaster at his first school and the one after that.
Edward had been more like a father to Joe than HarryBailey ever had time for. And like Harry, Edward thought that all Joe needed to settle him down was the love of a good woman. Joe supposed that, in a way, they might have been right, although not in the way they thought.
“It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “It’s just the end of me and Kristen. And you’re my chief of security, not my boss. I don’t need you to handle my business. Handle yourown and make sure the letters stop.”
A muscle jumped in Edward’s jaw, a trapped jiggle under grooved skin and a scruff of graying five-o’clock shadow.
“Of course, sir,” he said, a frosty bite to his words as he stood up. “I’ll get on that right away. All I have to do is find out which of the many, many people who dislike you actually want to see you dead. And what about Tate? Do you want meto let him go? Since you don’t think you need him after all.”
Joe licked his lips and took another drink of whiskey as he thought about Cal Tate and, more specifically, Cal Tate’s full, ridiculously pretty mouth. He imagined his fingers hooked in the wonkily knotted tie as he pulled it loose from the overstarched white shirt and his mouth against a sweat-salty neck as he chewed his way aroundthe spray of ink under Cal’s ear.
Joe could feel the flush of heat up the back of his neck, and his cock ached under the sweatpants he’d pulled on for the commute between the suite and the spa.
“No,” he said casually, almost dismissively, in an attempt to disguise that raw flash of reaction. “Since you don’t feel up to the job, he can stay. As long he doesn’t screw up.”
Edward inclined hishead in stiff acknowledgment and turned to leave, but he paused in the doorway and tilted his head slightly toward Joe. “Whatever this is,” he said, “you need to at least tell me, Joseph. There’s only so much I can do if you keep me out of the loop.”
That was true. It was also the point. If Edward knew what Joe was doing back in England, then what he’d do wouldn’t be inclined to help. He’d workedfor Harry Bailey for over twenty years, and his loyalties weren’t going to change now. Neither of them could stop Joe from doing what he wanted, but they could impede him.
“I’m not keeping you out of anything, Edward,” Joe said. “It’s not your business.”
“Yes, sir,” Edward said quietly. “It’s your choice. I have some things to do this evening, but I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked outand closed the door behind him. It wasn’t slammed—Edward didn’t believe in shows of temper—but it closed behind with a firm click. Joe grimaced and leaned his head back against the chair. There was a knot of sour regret in his stomach and nothing to do about it. He could apologize, but he wasn’t going to change his mind, so it would just be empty words.
Moreempty words. Joe smiled wryly as hetook a drink of whiskey and held it on his tongue to feel the burn. Those were what he was good at, after all. He doled out assurances to the executives of failing companies and promises to lovers. Sometimes he even bought into his own patter… until it all collapsed under its own weight and everyone had to face reality. No wonder there was a file full of death threats in Edward’s office.
Thatmade Joe think of Kristen for a second, of her honesty and her expectations. He didn’t want to.
Joe drained the whiskey and thought about his new driver instead—the taste of him and the heavy, muscled bulk of his shoulders under his shirt. He cupped himself through his sweats, thin fabric slick against his cock, as he imagined all that muscle sprawled out and… accessible. His undecided imaginationpainted ink all over the expanse of tanned skin he hadn’t seen and then erased it again until the only ink was the ghost of lines that peeked over Cal’s collar.
It was hard to decide what he preferred. Either way he liked the idea of being the only one who knew what was under that shirt as he watched Cal go about his day.
Joe squeezed his cock roughly and felt the dull throb of it all the wayback into his ass. His breath caught hotly at the back of his throat, and he chewed on his lower lip as he tugged on his cock with short, impatient jerks of his fist.
In his head he saw the flicker of Cal’s eyes again, the quick once-over that lingered at Joe’s thighs.
Before he could think better of it, Joe reached for his phone and flicked through his contacts until he found the Driver detailsEdward had input earlier. He hesitated for a second, his thumb poised over the screen. His mouth was dry, and the awareness of what he wanted was clear and distinct in his head. It wasn’t the one glass of whiskey that made him feel drunk as he jabbed in the message.
“I said 24/7,” he muttered aloud as he hit Send and then tossed the phone aside. “Let’s see if he knows what that means.”
It wasn’tone of his better lies. The truth was in the hot twist of want in his balls, the eager, dizzy edge of anticipation that fizzed in the back of his brain. He poured himself another glass of whiskey—an amber excuse in a crystal glass—and waited.
