Bonds of Denial (7 page)

He waited for two players to skate past the bench, their shoulders grinding into each other, sticks battling for ownership of the puck, before he leaned over to Rock. He got close to his ear and stopped to inhale his cedar-sage scent. “Thank you.”

Rock hung his head, his chin tipping toward Carter as he sat back. There was a small smirk on his lips that held a promise of what might come after the game.

A promise that Carter sincerely hoped he meant to keep.

People flowed past them as they emptied from the stadium, their excitement muted after the last-minute goal by Detroit to steal the game from the Glaciers.

Rock turned to Carter and tried to get his mouth to say what he wanted. He’d been building up the words for almost the entire game and now he couldn’t get them out. Like normal, he felt like a fucking buffoon. What had possessed him to say that to Carter? He’d never told another man he was hot. Ever.

“It was a great game,” Carter said. “Too bad they lost.”

“Thanks for going with me.” Of course he’d gone. Rock had paid him to. The thought crushed the rising tide of possibilities that had been growing within him throughout the game. He checked his watch and debated what to do with the last hour of their time.

“Did you have anything else in mind?”

That could mean so many things. A drink at the bar. A cup of coffee. A fuck. Yeah, he’d love to do all of those things with Carter. But which one did Carter mean? Most likely the last one. It wasn’t like Rock was full of stimulating conversation.

He tucked his hands farther into his pockets and stared across the walkway, his gaze landing on nothing. “I got a room at the hotel down the road.”

There was no reason for his pulse to race like it was. It wasn’t like the man was going to say no. Yet his heart was beating with a force that mirrored the end of a ten-mile run with a fifty-pound pack on his back.

“I parked in the lot up the street.” Carter motioned back toward the bar where they’d met earlier that night. “I can meet you there.”

He mumbled the name of the chain hotel. “Not as fancy as last time. Room two thirty-one.”

“Hey.” Carter stepped closer and for once Rock didn’t care what the strangers walking past them thought. He let the proximity of the man wrap around him. “The game was great. I’ve had fun tonight.” He cocked a smile. “As long as the room doesn’t have cockroaches or bedbugs, I’m good.”

Rock stared into those amazing blue eyes and wanted to believe everything the man said. “You have a thing against bugs?”

“A big thing,” Carter said, his smile filling out to a full grin. “And I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”

The chuckle that flowed from Rock’s chest went a long way in loosening the agonizing unease that had descended upon him as soon as the game had finished. “I’ll protect you.”

“Yeah.” Carter’s gaze skated down his body and up before it held on Rock’s. “I bet you can.”

Oh, man. Rock ducked his head and shifted his feet. It was an ineffective move that did nothing to adjust his growing erection that was pinched in his jeans. He pointed toward the parking garage. “I’m parked that way too.” He glanced at Carter. “Should we go?”

The three-block walk was made in silence. His brain refused to think of anything except what was coming, and that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. But was he supposed to? Did Carter expect him to tell him what he wanted? What to do?

Christ
. He was lost. There was no data or intel that would help him here.

“Stop stressing,” Carter said as they neared the parking garage.

“Easy for you to say.” Rock’s mumbled reply was automatic and he wanted to suck it
back in as soon as it was out.

“Maybe. But you control the situation.” Carter stopped and waited for him to do the same. His eyes were dead serious when he spoke. “I’m walking blind into a room with a man who’s fifty pounds heavier than me and obviously trained in military combat. I’m just as vulnerable as you, just in a different way.”

Rock studied him for a moment, the words slowly penetrating his thick wall of worry. “So why do you do it?” It was the same question he’d asked Tyler, but Carter’s answers seemed more important. Vital.

Carter released a small scoff and shook his head as he pivoted away. “Does it matter? You get what you want. That’s all you need to worry about.” He started to walk away, his strides harder than before.

“Shit.” Rock hurried to stop him. He grabbed his shoulder. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.” Carter’s muscles were tense under his hand, but he couldn’t release him. What if Carter kept on walking and didn’t come back? The real fear of that happening pushed Rock to bumble on. “You don’t have to…It doesn’t matter. I…Damn it.”

He dropped his hand, revulsion curling in his stomach. He’d screwed up again. How messed up was he that his stupid words could run off a man who was being paid to be with him?

The hard shell he’d lived behind forever closed around him as he waited for Carter to walk away. He drew his shoulders back, lifted his chin and prepared to meet the scorn that was sure to be in Carter’s eyes if he bothered to turn around.

Cars passed by in a steady line of headlights from the garage entrance, the bright glare cutting over them with a harsh flash that reminded him that to Carter, he was just one of many. He kept forgetting that, and then he went and reminded Carter of exactly that.

He wouldn’t blame the man for dumping him here.

His abs contracted when Carter slowly turned around. His hands were tucked in his pockets, his head tilted as he contemplated Rock. The darkness hid the expression in his eyes, but the gentle smile went a ways in allowing Rock to breathe. “You really are new to this, aren’t you?”

The question seemed out of place, and he wasn’t exactly sure what Carter was referring to, but it didn’t really matter since his answer was the same on all fronts. “Yes.”

“Are you sure about it?”

“What?”

“This. Me. Where we’re going.”

“God, no.” The honest answer shot from him and he sucked in a deep breath. “I mean…yes. With you. I think.” Shit. He sounded like a confused teenager.

He did want it. Yet if he thought too hard or long about what they were going to do, the blinding fear came rushing back to attack his will. He didn’t want to think about it. It was just supposed to happen and it had been about to happen until he’d opened his floundering trap.

Carter cupped a hand around Rock’s arm and moved them into the shadows. The foot traffic had died down, leaving them with some semblance of privacy. He stepped closer until there was just an inch of space between them. Rock was certain that if he took one deep inhale, their chests would touch and he really wanted to feel the man pressed against him again, but he could barely breathe.

The seriousness on Carter’s face was edged by a slight frown. “What’s your story?”

Rock shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just like yours.” He tried to back away, but Carter tightened his hold and followed each step until Rock’s back hit the solid cement wall of
the parking garage.

Carter scanned his face, his knowing eyes seeming to catch all of Rock’s secrets. He pressed forward, his lips grazing over the line of Rock’s jaw as he spoke. “Maybe it does.”

The shudder that raked down Rock’s spine lit up every need held bound and contained within him. The smooth surface of Carter’s leather jacket was cold against his palm. When had he gripped Carter’s arm? If he turned his head, would Carter kiss him?

He smelled so good—rich and musky. What would he taste like?

Rock yanked his mind back to what Carter had said. A single question tumbled out. “Why?”

A long breath of warm air trailed up Rock’s neck and his head tipped back, giving Carter more room.

“Because this…” Carter nipped at the tender skin, the sharp pinch causing Rock to suck in a much-needed gulp of air, “…what is building between us is not just a fuck.”

A fuck.

“Get a room, faggots.” The cutting jibe ripped across the cold air and tore through the hazy fog Rock was drifting in. “Butt-fuckers should be exterminated.”

“Do you got a gun?” a seconded voice slurred. “We could start now.”

Rock shoved Carter away.
Shit
. He scanned the sidewalk, stepping forward, fists drawn and ready. The assholes wouldn’t harm Carter. The blood pounded in his ears as a quiet focus descended.

Just down the street was the stumbling retreat of three men. Their drunken laughter drifted into the darkness and one of them glanced back, pausing long enough to flip Rock off. Another round of slurred digs followed, and Rock was moving before he thought about it.

“Hey.”

The firm hold and tug on his arm stopped him. He spun around, ready to pounce, only to find Carter’s calm face filled with concern and worry.

Carter held his gaze, not backing down or away as Rock got his temper under control. After a moment, he lifted his hand to smooth his fingers over Rock’s frown, the touch effectively eradicating the tension that had pulled across his forehead.

“They’re only words,” Carter said, his voice low and soothing. “They can’t hurt us.”

Rock worked his jaw, the remains of the adrenaline rush humming through him. He sniffed and tried to focus on the feel of those soft fingers stroking over his brow. “Words might not, but fists can.” He raised his fingers to the long scar that marred his face, only to yank them away the second he felt the hard ridge. He should step away, especially after the reminder of how exposed they were, but his feet didn’t move.

Carter’s gentle fingers drifted from Rock’s brow to the start of the long path of his scar. Rock jerked away the second they fell on the ridge.

Carter froze, but he didn’t move his hand. He stared at Rock and waited until a long exhale was pushed from Rock’s lungs before Carter rested his fingertips on the scar once again. It was tentative, uncertain and too intimate for their location. “How’d you get this?”

Backlit by the glow of the garage lights, Carter’s face was in shadow. He didn’t need to see the man’s face to hear the honest concern in his voice. It was like he knew the story without Rock having to tell it.

He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to block the instant flash of memory that called up the dark, dirty alley behind the dive bar in some unknown town in Europe. A place he never should’ve been. The scent of spices and rotting garbage filled his head and he swallowed back
the bile that burned in his throat.

“It wasn’t from the military, was it?” Quiet words stating a fact that no one else had bothered to guess. There’d been a few in his army unit who had known it’d happened off duty, but those men were far away and had never dug into the truth. “Don’t ask, don’t tell” was deeply ingrained.

Rock gave a single shake of his head. He couldn’t speak as the slow descent of Carter’s fingers tickled along his jawline instead of over the curve of his cheek where they really were. Even after the cut healed, his nerve endings were completely screwed up.

“Gay bashing.”

It was a soft observation that stabbed Rock’s chest. He reached out and grabbed the first thing he touched. He clenched onto the solid strength of Carter’s hips, the rough bite of denim morphing to the soft cotton band at the bottom of his jacket. Carter was solid. Here. Strong.

“Is this why you hide?”

He couldn’t open his eyes, which only made every other sensation more intense. The repeated slide of fingers over his cheek that came through on his jaw. The warm press of breath that breezed past his face. That intriguing scent of Carter’s cologne that overpowered the lingering smell of filth from the garage.

After a long moment, he managed a small shrug. “It’s one of many things,” he whispered, his words raspy. The admission seemed to suck away the last of his strength. He tilted forward, that small movement met by a quick step, and the hard frame of Carter was pressed against him.

Oh…shit. It was too much and nowhere near enough.

Carter wrapped his arms around Rock’s shoulders, and Rock nearly shook with the feelings that thundered through him. Even with their many layers of clothing, Carter’s heat reached him. It blanketed Rock in a thick veil of compassion and understanding that he’d never had before.

He tilted his head until his cheek rested against Carter’s. Skin on skin, even that little bit was enough to light a fire within Rock. Why did this man, this practical stranger affect him so strongly?

“I’m such a pussy,” he croaked, but he didn’t push away.

The rumble of Carter’s chuckle coursed over Rock’s ear. “That is not the word I’d use for you.”

“No?”

Carter shook his head, the smooth brush of his cheek scraping softly against the faint trace of Rock’s beard stubble. The man wasn’t much taller than him, maybe an inch at most, but it was just enough to give Rock the sensation that he was the one being protected right then.

“What would you use?” he dared to ask.

Carter eased back just enough to meet Rock’s gaze, his arms still snug around Rock’s shoulders. “There are too many words and not enough time to describe you completely. And there is still a lot I don’t know.”

But did he want to know more?

Rock couldn’t bring himself to ask that question. He wasn’t prepared to hear a negative answer or for Carter to walk away.

His attention drifted down to the firm lips that were within his reach. The icy air swirled around them, the cold nipping at his ears to balance the heat that was causing him to sweat.

It only took a small lean. The littlest of sways before the chilled heat of Carter’s lips were pressed against his. Rock closed his eyes and savored the silky feel beneath his own lips. It was
brief, chaste and overwhelming.

He pulled back and braced his forehead against Carter’s, his breath coming out in short pants that were a blend of the embarrassment and desire that battled within him once again. Those wonderful lips of Carter’s were just a hair away, but he couldn’t make himself lean in for another taste. The first was too perfect to ruin.

It was another long moment before Carter finally cleared his throat and stepped away. Rock let him go, but he ached to tug him back.

The silence held between them. Carter searched him, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. A second later he was digging into his inner coat pocket to pull out his phone. “What’s your number?”

“What?” Rock gave his head a shake and tried to follow.

Carter glanced up, brows raised, thumbs poised over the phone screen. “Your number. What is it?”

Rock rattled it off, too confused to question the man’s actions. His own phone buzzed, and Carter’s grin told him who it was before he pulled his phone out. Sure enough, the text was from Carter.
Meet me at Shirley’s Café at 10 tomorrow morning
.