Page 42 of Fool Me Twice
He took a deep breath and tried to re-center himself. Find his lost balance. No, not lost. Stolen. He closed his eyes and thought of the task ahead, the job he had to do, the clues he had to find and the puzzle he had to solve. He had no time to fall apart. Not now.
The fight outside came to an end, the sea of people moving as one as the current spectators left the warehouse and a new group took their place.
Like a tide, synchronized as they traded places. A dance.
Hart stared, trying to pick out individual faces in the mass, trying to focus on details so he’d forget his own body and the reactions Cane woke in him.
Hart spotted a tall, thin, light-haired man slinking through the crowd, looking completely out of place. His face was partly hidden by his shoulder-length hair, but Hart noticed him glancing around, a little melancholy, a little lost. He moved with everyone else, but it looked like he hadn’t learned the dance just yet. Like he hadn’t been practicing long enough.
He gave the impression of innocence surrounded by darkness. His shine muted and discolored.
“Who is that?” Hart asked, pointing.
Cane followed his finger, getting his face way too close to the finger for it to be necessary. “Light hair? Looks like arm candy?”
Hart frowned at the description and fought back the surprising and aggressive jealousy in his chest. “Yes. The man with light hair.”
Cane smiled. “Something wrong with my other descriptor, sweetheart?”
“Who is he?” Hart repeated, refusing to be baited.
“Exactly who I said he was,” Cane said, finally stepping away from him and allowing him to breathe. “Arm candy. To whoever wants to buy him for the evening.”
Hart startled slightly, looking back down and seeing a man suddenly pull the guy onto his lap. “Is he… Does he work for you?”
Cane grunted. “I don’t dabble in that sort of work. He makes his own business. Isn’t permanently tied to any crime boss I know.”
“He’s alone.”
“He won’t be for long,” Cane said. “Once the walking ATMs are in, someone will buy his attention.”
“Right,” Hart said, turning away from the window and regretting it instantly when he found Cane finally putting on a shirt.
He bit down on his lip viciously to stop himself begging him to just keep it off. To stay half naked and tattooed and warm by his side even through his protests. It was sick. He was sick. The way he wanted Cane to push even as he protested. The way he needed it.
“Problem?” Cane whispered, pausing with his shirt bunched under his armpits. Those dark eyes were practically glowing with understanding, getting their hooks into his soul and tearing.
Hart tasted blood as Cane’s abs flexed. The dim light of his office made the shadows on his body more pronounced. He looked like the beast Hart knew him to be.
“No,” Hart said, harsher than he intended. So unlike him.
But so like the Hart Cane knew.
“I can stay naked,” Cane offered.
Hart whipped around again, face burning, but the word no evaporated on his tongue. He couldn’t get it out, his body refusing to cooperate. Cane had left a hole in him last night—something ugly and hungry, yawning open and ragged. It was showing now. Calling out desperately.
Fill me, fill me, fill me!
He closed his shaking hands into fists and shook his head.
Calm.
Peace.
Hart had control over his vices. He could manage himself. He couldn’t need… He couldn’t want…
No.