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  “How’d you hear about him?” Patrick asked.

  “It usually works the other way around,” Jay said. “He was a parole officer for twenty years. He retired at forty-five and opened the bar, but he’s still got a lot of contacts. He finds people.”

  Patrick seemed to ponder that for a minute, and then he said, “You said ‘all of us’. So that includes you?”

  Jay turned back to face him and met his gaze head-on. “Yeah, he found me. I’d just gotten out of Foothills up in Morganton, North Carolina.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “And the rest of them?” he asked, gesturing around the now almost-empty bar.

  “All of the staff, yeah, even the guys in the band. We’re a motley collection of the rehabbed, the recovering, and the reformed,” Jay said. “We do better some days than others, but at least we’re trying, and Bryan’s big into acceptance.”

  Patrick gave him a puzzled look. “Acceptance….”

  “Taking people where they are,” Jay explained. “Acknowledging the good and the bad and finding a way to use what you’ve learned to help someone else.”

  “It sounds like a twelve-step program,” Patrick said.

  “I guess,” Jay said, “though Bryan’s more of a believer in self-determination than putting it all on some higher power.” He looked up again and found Patrick staring at him, looking bemused. “What?” he asked.

  Before Patrick could answer, raised voices from the corner caught Jay’s attention. The yahoos hadn’t appreciated the early close, apparently, and one of them, a short stocky guy with beefy arms, had stood up and was waving money in Leah’s face, barking something about her taking his goddamn money and getting him his goddamn drinks, goddamnit.

  “Crap,” Jay said, moving swiftly around the bar. Damn it, he’d forgotten about the freakin’ tourists. Truth be told, he’d let himself get distracted. With a silent apology to Bryan for the disruption of what they all considered, oddly enough, their safest space, Jay headed for the corner, only to smack up against a wall of gray T-shirt. Patrick hadn’t had to go around the bar, and therefore had made it to the table a few critical seconds faster than Jay—Patrick, who looked like he’d enjoy nothing more than tossing a drunken tourist through a plate-glass window.

  Jay put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and pressed hard enough to get his attention. “I’ve got this,” he said, his voice low.

  Patrick turned toward him and breathed out sharply through his nose. Jay could practically feel the violence skating just under the surface and wondered what it took for him to back up and let Jay move in front of him. He noticed that Patrick stayed pretty close, though, close enough for him to understand that whatever might go down, Patrick had his back.

  A heady feeling, that.

  Jay moved forward, stepping between the irate customer and Leah. He loomed over the guy, assuming his height alone would give him, at the very least, some psychological leverage.

  “We’re closing for the night,” he said in a tone that he hoped made clear he didn’t plan on hearing any argument about it, deftly taking the cash from the man’s hand. “Do you need change or does this include a tip for your server?”

  The guy flushed. “What kind of pissant bar closes at eleven?”

  “This one,” Jay said firmly. “Try the Underground if you’re still thirsty.”

  One of the other men at the table stood up, and it looked like things might escalate, but then Jay felt Patrick step in closer behind him, his chest brushing Jay’s shoulder, close enough that he could feel heat radiating against his back. Again, the pull of him created a barely conscious urge to lean back and let Patrick take his weight, to see what it felt like when Patrick let go of some of that iron control. He’d never experienced anything quite like it, never met anyone with a presence so dominant that it made everything else pale in comparison.

  What Jay felt as an almost irresistible sexual charge from Patrick seemed to elicit a very different reaction from the customers. As one, they stood, and the ringleader muttered, “Keep it,” as he motioned the others toward the door.

  After the door closed behind them, Jay lifted his hands and said, loudly enough to carry, “All right, move along, folks. Nothing to see here,” drawing a good-natured laugh from the remaining customers. To Patrick, he said, more quietly, “Thanks.”

  Patrick gave him a short nod. He seemed almost disappointed that no fracas had ensued. “Like you said, you had it under control,” he said. “You didn’t need my help.”

  “Still,” Jay said, extending his fist for Patrick to bump. “I appreciate it.” Then he handed Leah her surprisingly generous tip with a smile, saying, “Sorry, sweetie. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

  Leah took the money and tucked it in her pocket after giving Patrick a nervous glance. Then she stretched up, kissed Jay on the cheek, and said, “It’s not your fault the world’s full of assholes.”

  As the rest of the patrons settled their tabs and moved to the exit, Jay called good night to a couple of regulars, split the bar jar tips between himself, Chloe, and Leah, and handed Kenny the check Bryan had left for him. Patrick went back to his barstool, his long legs braced on either side, and watched. He didn’t seem inclined to leave, either, but unlike the rednecks from the corner, Jay didn’t have any intention of evicting him. Leah gave him an anxious look over her shoulder as she pulled on her coat, but Jay waved her off with a smile.

  And then they were alone. It might have been a little too soon for Jay’s peace of mind, but his body vehemently disagreed.

  He removed the taps off two empty kegs and cleaned them carefully before attaching them to the new kegs lying in wait. As he did so, he said, both to fill the silence and to level the playing field of information since he felt like he’d coughed up his fair share, “I haven’t seen you in here before. Are you new to the area?”

  Patrick swallowed the last of his beer and answered, “Just visiting. I drove down from Charlotte this morning.” He paused for a minute and then continued, his voice sounding scratchier than ever. “I’m with the police department there. We’re part of a joint investigation with Atlanta PD and the Highway Patrol, an interstate thing.”

  “I knew you were a cop,” Jay said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I thought either that or military,” Jay said, ticking off the options on his fingers.

  Patrick nodded. “Marines,” he said. “Six years.”

  Bingo.

  “It sounds like you spent the whole day talking,” Jay said, indicating his throat, wondering what kind of joint investigating the two departments were doing. Given the proximity of both Atlanta and Charlotte to “Drug Alley”—I-85 ran southwest to northeast between the two cities—he probably wasn’t looking into a B&E or petty larceny.

  “Interrogating,” Patrick corrected.

  Images flashed through Jay’s mind. Heaven alone knew what he’d have admitted to if Patrick had been the one putting him through the interrogation paces during his misspent youth. He knew what the atmosphere was like: testosterone so thick you could smell it across the room. Posturing, threatening, cajoling, intimidating—all things he himself had faced at the hands of the Graham County Sheriff’s Department. From the vantage point of his own experience, Jay had never once considered that it might not be any easier to be the person asking the questions. But this man stood on that other side, turning into whoever he had to be to get answers.

  “You here for Topher Merriweather?” he asked.

  Patrick shrugged, but the way his eyes lit told Jay that the answer was yes.

  He searched for something noncommittal to say, but what came out was, “So did you get your man?”

  Patrick let the double entendre slide by with just a quirk of his lips. “I know good and well the son-of-a-bitch did it. Tomorrow, I’m going to break him.”

  So it’s not over, Jay thought with a shiver. Patrick couldn’t let go yet. He couldn't let go of the battle-hardened part of himself, the so
ldier's unrelenting grit, the determination to get the job done. No wonder he’d been so eager to take on Leah’s asshole customers. His intensity, his virtual silence since walking in the bar, and the heat of his self-containment were all signs of a man trying to maintain a face for the game. For all Jay knew, the real Patrick was nothing like this hard, focused, sexual magnet. For all he knew, the real Patrick joked around with his friends, grinned at the drop of a hat, and remembered the 911 operator’s birthday. Or maybe he was looking at the real Patrick. One precious few had the privilege of meeting. A man stripped of courtesy and artifice. Stripped to his essential nature.

  Stripped.

  The last thought nudged Jay to action. Neither of them had tried to pretend coyness. Despite the complications inherent in the mix of a cop with an ex-con, the heat between them seemed simple enough, more easily acknowledged than ignored. The time had come to act on it. Jay had bucked authority for years, distrusting it in all its forms: school, home, church. But maybe he’d just been meeting the wrong kinds of authority figures. Maybe in certain situations, with a certain kind of man, he could come to appreciate what surrendering offered him.

  “Want to give me a hand?” Jay asked, indicating the empty kegs on the floor.

  “Sure,” Patrick said, pushing off the stool and coming around the bar. As he got closer, Jay had to consciously stand his ground. How long had it been since he’d looked up to someone? Patrick was even bigger close up—taller than Jay by an inch or so, with a bulkier build and broader through the middle, with longer legs. A soldier’s body, Jay thought again. And he let the subversive pull lead him, surrendering caution.

  Patrick lifted the keg to his shoulder in an easy stroke and raised his eyebrows at Jay, as if to say, “What now?”

  “Back to the office.” Jay hoisted his own keg and led the way to the tiny office he shared with Bryan. They dropped the kegs to the floor inside the office door, and Patrick pushed the door closed with his foot, shutting out the empty bar outside.

  Jay turned to face him, his arms quiet at his side, waiting. His insides started to melt, already yielding.

  “Do you want to do this?” Patrick asked almost in a whisper, advancing on Jay, prowling up to him, not letting Jay’s gaze leave his.

  Jay nodded.

  “I need to hear you say it.” Patrick stopped within arm’s reach, his voice a throaty purr in the enclosed space.

  “Yes, I want to do this.” Jay responded to the implied order, his heart tripping in his chest at both the audacity of Patrick’s assumption and his own easy acquiescence. Patrick needed something; an outlet, a surface to absorb the body blow of pressure he was under. And Jay had gotten good at giving people what they needed. Especially when it coincided so beautifully with what he wanted. So he agreed, with his voice and with his body, which he offered to Patrick with a small—and very male—smile.

  Patrick pounced.

  He shoved Jay back against the door, pinning his arms high overhead. Then Patrick just stared at him, and Jay could feel those eyes move over him. The heat from Patrick’s body leaped between them, and Jay felt a prickle of sweat in the middle of his back and between his legs. Patrick held him with a careful grip, not hurting him, just holding him tight enough that Jay knew not to move.

  The leashed ferocity aroused him terribly. His cock pressed insistently against the unforgiving fabric of his trousers, creating a friction that felt so good it was almost painful. Jay moved his hips forward, seeking Patrick’s body, seeking a hard surface to rub against, but Patrick held himself away, watching Jay’s hips make shallow thrusts toward his, repeating the motion back to him but not allowing their bodies to touch. The evocative dance made the pressure behind Jay’s eyes burn even hotter. Breathing through his mouth, he leaned forward, setting his teeth on Patrick’s jaw.

  A groan forced its way out of Patrick’s mouth through clenched teeth, a feral sound of pleasure, a reward for Jay’s surrender. He pushed his jaw toward Jay, encouraging him to bite. Jay clung to what little control he could, sternly warning himself not to mark the man—he did, after all, have to go back to work tomorrow—and settled for gnawing lightly on the tight skin just below his ear.

  Patrick released his arms abruptly and pressed his body into Jay’s, giving Jay room to move his mouth down Patrick’s throat, and giving them both good solid surfaces to thrust against. Seizing the opportunity, Jay wrapped his arms around Patrick, letting his hands learn the broad planes of Patrick’s back, the roundness of his ass and the strength of his thighs. Patrick leaned back far enough to take Jay’s mouth with his, and Jay felt a hot, bold tongue stab into his mouth, staking a claim without ever saying a word. As still and quiet as he’d been all night, now Patrick moved and moaned, as if he’d been freed from a cage by Jay’s touch.

  “I’m not… Jesus,” Patrick gasped out as Jay took his ass in both hands and started grinding their groins together. The length of Patrick’s cock strained against Jay’s hip. Rough and ready, that defined Patrick. He made Jay feel the same way.

  “You’re not what?” Jay mouthed into Patrick’s neck, tasting salt and soap.

  “Prepared. I didn’t plan….” Patrick’s voice trailed off again as Jay found a rhythm that suited him. Patrick braced his arms on the door and let Jay writhe up against him, holding firm while Jay beat an erotic tattoo with his body.

  Even now Patrick had control, Jay thought with the part of his brain still capable of rationality. Even now he could hold his body still and think about protection. He admired Patrick’s willpower even as he did his best to disarm it.

  “Condoms,” Jay panted, pointing over Patrick’s shoulder. “On the desk. Bryan’s idea of a cookie jar.” He could have said more. He could have told Patrick that the night he’d planned on losing his virginity, he’d gotten arrested for stealing a Pontiac Grand Prix, or that the two-year stretch in Foothills Correctional Institution hadn’t exactly been a trip to the prom complete with limo. He could have told Patrick that the partners he’d had since he got out numbered in the single digits, or that under Bryan’s patient regard he’d become careful—relentlessly, religiously careful—and he felt the crack in his armor widen the longer Patrick stood there, watching him implacably. He hadn’t had a partner besides his own right fist in months. They could have pleasured each other in any of a dozen ways, but Jay wanted to get fucked, and Patrick seemed to want to fuck him. They didn’t need to say it out loud to make it true.

  Patrick pulled back and looked at him, his eyes narrowing as he stilled. Then he looked over at the desk, huffing an approving sound before turning back to Jay.

  “I still need something,” Patrick murmured into Jay’s ear before attaching his mouth to the lobe and sucking strenuously. Jay stood it as long as he could without coming, then pushed against Patrick’s chest, pushing harder when it became apparent Patrick didn’t feel much like moving.

  “Just a minute, hang on,” Jay soothed, sliding out from under Patrick’s arm and going to Bryan’s desk. He tossed a condom from the cookie jar to Patrick, who caught it one-handed, and then he started rifling through the drawers. He looked up at Patrick and felt his gut clench. Patrick had one hip cocked, and he had braced himself against the doorway with one hand high up on the jamb. A hectic flush stained his cheeks and his tousled blond hair stood on end. He stood with his legs apart, as if anything else would be unbearable, and Jay could see his erection plainly through his jeans. He could also sense Patrick holding onto his control by the sheer force of will alone.

  He finally just upended the middle drawer onto the floor, scrabbling through the contents until he grabbed a tube of aloe vera gel, holding it up in triumph. “Got it.”

  At the sight of it, Patrick reared his head back, shook himself, and came toward Jay. He reached for Jay’s shirt, pulling the tails out of his trousers and stripping it off him, tossing the shirt casually onto the desk. Jay trembled at the look on Patrick’s face. Not with fear—there wasn’t anything about Patrick that frigh
tened him now—but with spiraling, unraveling hunger.

  Patrick put his hand out, as if he’d touch Jay’s chest, but his breath came in sudden and harsh, and instead, he took Jay by the arm and turned him, so he stood with his back to Patrick.

  “Lean on the desk,” Patrick whispered, and Jay complied, his heart racing, trying to catch his breath while he still could.

  He felt Patrick’s presence behind him, heard Patrick stripping off his own shirt, then the heat of Patrick’s chest pressed against his back. Hairless, smooth, hot skin blanketed his back, the hard prick of Patrick’s nipples a welcome focal point in the hazy arousal he felt. Time stretched and snapped while they stood there, Patrick leaning his weight against Jay’s bare back, both of them dragging out the pleasure and anticipation as long as they could before their bodies decreed they do something, something else, something more.

  Jay moaned when Patrick grasped his belt, and his knees shook when Patrick slid Jay’s zipper down and reached in to take his swollen cock in hand. Patrick pushed Jay’s pants and briefs down his thighs, but didn’t try to take them off. The picture this painted for Jay—of the two of them in Bryan’s office, leaning half-naked against the desk where Bryan paid his bills—had him thrusting again, forward into Patrick’s palm, backward against his heavy groin.

  “God, Patrick, please,” Jay crooned, bracing himself harder against the desk, willing Patrick to hurry, not even complaining when the hand left his erection.

  The cool slide of the gel between his ass cheeks made Jay shudder. A coated finger worked its way inside him, not gently, but not rough enough to hurt, either. It felt as firm and focused as the rest of Patrick, and the minute Jay relaxed, another finger joined the first. Jay leaned over further, resting his forearms on the desk as he had earlier in the bar, and thrust his ass back toward Patrick. It was the position of a supplicant, but Jay didn’t care. All that mattered was having the sharp intensity of Patrick inside him, where he could take it in and give it back.

  Each long stroke inside him felt like the best lay he’d ever had, only better… as if his willingness to take the rough energy Patrick offered freed him to experience pleasure with a wantonness his own control usually didn’t allow. Three fingers penetrating made him groan with pain until Patrick brushed against his prostate, then they felt just fine. Patrick slid his other hand to Jay’s nipples and played there roughly, just the way Jay liked. Anything lighter wouldn’t have been enough. How could Patrick already know his body so well?