“Take him home, Fallon. I want to talk to Hayashi.” Since Jules had arrived in his own vehicle after running some errands for Mrs. Sharpe, Kisho had no excuse not to stay.
“Don't wanna go,” Tersch grumbled, and nearby patrons froze. The beast began to surface.
Not good.
Fallon laughed. “You have to. Ava warned me to have you back no later than midnight.” He lowered his voice. “And Olivia promised a treat if I brought you back at least a little sober.” A light sparked in Tersch's eyes.
“Nice one, Fallon,”
Kisho projected as loudly as he could. He was never quite sure when Fallon could hear him, because Fallon often shielded himself.
“Poor guy. I hate to see him like this. Olivia will make it better. She'll draw his pain.”
“Think she'll let me have a piece of that ass?” Tersch asked.
“You play the sympathy card, she'll probably blow you,” Fallon murmured. In a louder voice, he added, “I love that woman. Now come on. Time to go home.” Tersch left without protest.
Leaving Kisho alone with Jules.
Damn. Here it comes.
Jules sighed. “It's like I can read your mind. You don't want me grilling you, but I'm going to.” After a moment, he continued. “Come on, man. You can't tell me you didn't think I'd want to know what the hell's between you and Morgan. I smelled you all over him.” Jules took a swig from his bottle and paused. “I didn't mean you had to do him for the info.” Jules looked uncomfortable, and Kisho wanted to sink through the floor. This was why he'd never fully come out to the team. He wanted to be a part of them, not some “fag freak.” He'd heard enough negativity growing up, and again in the navy from men who didn't know what he was. Such rampant homophobia had begun to taper off due to the gradual acceptance of gays, but the prejudice was still alive and kicking, in the military especially.
Jules and the others were men's men. Like his father had been. Strong alpha-types that women fell head over heels for. Jules stood a few inches taller than Kisho's six-two, had muscle tone a bodybuilder would envy, and an arresting face with eyes that glittered like diamonds. The total package of male beauty, integrity, and resolve made him a natural leader and friend anyone would be lucky to have.
“Dude, talk to me.” Jules placed a hand over his, stilling the tapping fingers he hadn't realized he was drumming.
Before Kisho could respond, a pair of snickering drunks shoved into Jules. “Oh, look, the
boyfriends
are talking.”
Making matters worse, the bartender behind them frowned and took a step closer. The brawny guy tending bar had been quiet but observant, and Kisho realized he would be the one to watch. The drunks he could easily handle, but the bartender probably had a bat or gun handy.
Not a big deal, but he could do without the attention.
Thankfully, tonight wasn't all that crowded. The sooner he shut these two up, the sooner he could leave the bar, and hopefully, this discussion, aside.
“Look,” he began.
Jules interrupted by removing his hand from Kisho's. He turned and punched the loudmouth in the face. The guy dropped like a stone, unconscious. “Anything else you pricks wanted to add? I'm all ears.”
The other drunk stammered his apologies and dragged his friend away with the help of another guy.
The bartender approached, and Kisho prepared to take him on.
“Nice punch. Whatever you want, it's on the house. So what can I get you two?” The bartender waited and winked at Kisho.
“Nothing else for me or my friend. Not
boyfriend
, friend. But thanks.” The bartender withdrew a pen from his pocket and scribbled on a napkin. He pushed it at Kisho. “Call me,” the big guy said before he moved to the other end of the bar.
Beyond humiliated, Kisho walked away as fast as he could manage without making it obvious. He left the place and looked around the parking lot for Jules's truck, his world disintegrating around him. “
Not boyfriend, friend
,” Jules had said. God forbid anyone mistake Jules for being gay.
Jules swore behind him. “Dammit, hold on a minute.”
Kisho froze when Jules grabbed his arm and swung him around.
“What the hell's wrong with you? First Tersch, now you. I swear, if Fallon freaks on me too, I'm out of here.”
The word “freak” made Kisho cringe, but he cleared his throat and apologized. “Sorry. I just don't know what you want me to say.”
“I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to be okay.” Jules nodded to his truck, and they walked to it together. “I'm not sure what the hell is going on in that mind of yours, Hayashi. But I don't want you to do anything you don't want to with Morgan. I mean, yeah, we need to know as much as we can about Delancey. But you know, there are other ways to get it than screwing the guy. I never meant you had to actually go through with anything.” Jules made it sound distasteful, and a measure of shame flooded Kisho.
“Stop it, right the fuck now.” Jules leaned close, suddenly angry. “Your aura is all over the place. I can't read emotions, but I can read pain. What the hell did Morgan do to you? I'll kill him, I swear it.”
Jules took a step away, and Kisho stopped him. “Wait. It's not what you think. I—” He took a deep breath. “I was with him. I pushed it; he didn't. It's okay.” It wasn't at all, but Kisho didn't like the look in Jules's eyes. He couldn't let his team leader hurt Morgan because he was too afraid to tell the truth. Yeah, Morgan had started it, but Kisho had been far from saying no.
“Ah, okay, then.” They got into the truck and sat in silence. “I'm not telling you what to do.
I mean, I am, but… Fuck, I hate this touchy-feely bullshit. Bottom line is, you're mine. Every damned one of you Circs is under my protection, and I won't let anything happen to you, all right?” Jules's beast growled his affirmation, a rumble of warning, of acceptance.
Kisho stared straight ahead, afraid if he glanced at Jules, Jules would see him fighting to remain in control. Hell, his mother had died when he was two. His father had died just a few years after he'd found him. The only family Kisho had left were his team. They meant everything to him. He couldn't bear the thought of losing any of them. And Mrs. Sharpe wondered why he didn't like to see into the future. A future where everyone that mattered to him turned on him?
Where he died? Where Jules died? Christ.
“All right?” Jules asked again.
“Yeah,” Kisho answered, his voice hoarse.
Jules started the truck. “Good. 'Nuff said. Now let's go home and try to weasel more info out of Mrs. Sharpe. That woman knows more than she's saying.” And Kisho would know more if he stopped being such a pussy and tried to
see
again. “I'll help, Jules. I'll find out where the bastard is hiding. I promise.” A glance at Jules showed him smiling. “I know you will, Hayashi. You never disappoint.” When Kisho arrived home, he walked into the kitchen to grab a quick snack and saw Ava, Morgan, and the Keisers—Melissa, their cook, and Jack, her husband and handyman—playing cards.
“Hey.” Morgan acknowledged him but didn't look up from his cards.
“Later.” Kisho left the group and went upstairs. He undressed and moved to his bed. And froze.
There, on the pillow, lay a white rose, devoid of thorns.
He flushed in confused pleasure but told himself Ava had left it. Or maybe Olivia. She could sense emotions. Maybe she'd sensed his troubles and sought to provide subtle comfort.
The next day he rose, dressed, and joined a much better-looking Tersch and Fallon on a fact-finding mission. They returned two days later with some leads on Delancey that Jules would find interesting. Exhausted from the trip down to New Orleans, then the Keys, Kisho wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. At least working their asses off to chase down word on Delancey hadn't given him much time to think about Morgan.
He paused at his bed, where another long-stemmed white rose lay across his pillow. He picked it up and waved the floral scent under his nose. But as he did, he caught a hint of orange—Morgan.
His beast perked at the smell, and the fragrance stayed with him as he fell asleep.
The rest of the week passed in a confusing blur. Each day, Morgan found some excuse to spend time with him. But the cagey bastard never made a move. The sexual tension between them increased, to the point where Kisho felt the itch to touch Morgan at every opportunity.
Morgan sat next to him and read a book while Kisho listened to classical music in the mansion's conservatory. When Kisho retired to his room to write in his journal, as he did most nights, Morgan made excuses to hang around: He wasn't tired. His bed didn't feel comfortable.
Tersch annoyed him.
Idiot that he was, Kisho never refused Morgan. Most of the time they spent the hours not talking. While he should have been pumping Morgan for answers about Delancey, Kisho spent his time trying to control his beast and the crazy attraction he had for the brawny merc.
Who the hell could concentrate when two-hundred-plus pounds of prime male sat in the same damned room?
The obvious answer would be to fuck Morgan and get the need out of his system, but a strange fear held Kisho back.
Five days after their first “grappling” in the gym, Morgan knocked on Kisho's open door.
“Yes?”
Behind Morgan, he saw Tersch giving him a thumbs-up and nodding at Morgan. Then Jules dragged Tersch back into his own room and slammed the door shut.
Morgan shrugged. “Just thought I'd see what you're up to. I spent the day making new contacts and stirring up old ones. Something's bound to shake free sooner or later.” Sitting at his desk, Kisho looked up at Morgan and closed his journal. He'd been stuck on a new word for “green” to describe Morgan's eyes. So far, he couldn't find anything better than emerald to do Morgan justice.
“What are you writing?” Morgan asked.
“Nothing.” Kisho shoved his journal into his desk drawer.
Morgan stepped inside and closed the door behind him without taking his eyes from Kisho.
“You weren't at dinner tonight. And I haven't seen you at the gym much.”
“Wasn't hungry. And I've been busy.” Busy avoiding the man his team leader has asked him to cling to like glue. He flushed with shame, needing to prove, if not to himself, then at least to his friends he could be trusted to get the job done. “What about you?” Morgan walked toward him, the glint in his eyes dangerously appealing. Danger, arrogance, and a dominant aggression filled his steps. Kisho could almost taste the hunger the man projected. Morgan stopped right next to his chair, his groin at eye level.
Kisho swallowed hard and forced himself to look up to meet Morgan's gaze.
“I've missed you, little fox.”
Kisho couldn't help looking down at Morgan's erection straining his jeans. Despite the blustery weather, inside the mansion, Morgan favored T-shirts that clung to his solid frame. He was built like a Circ caught mid-
change
. Strong, powerful, lethal.
“Wh-why do you call me that? I'm not little.”
Morgan smiled, and his lids shuttered his expression. “Not little at all.” Kisho's cock shoved against the nylon of his shorts. He should have been embarrassed, but in the time since he and Morgan had pleasured each other, he'd been unable to think of anything else. Hell, he'd come in his sheets twice after particularly hot dreams. Something about Morgan stirred his hormones all over the place.
He'd thought the mating heat had finished. Or maybe Olivia and Fallon were to blame for this constant sexual need. A newly mated Circ pair could be causing all this.
A loud bang followed by a groan from the other room distracted him.
“Your friends don't seem bothered about getting it on.” Kisho swallowed loudly, wishing he had the nerve to get up and walk out. He needed relief from this pressing ache, but for the first time that he could recall, he didn't want his friends. He wanted no one but Morgan. “I told you before, Circs are different. We do what we have to.”
“So why aren't you over there with them right now?” Morgan whispered and stepped closer. “Why aren't you
changed
and raging with the others?”
“Why do you care?” He shifted in his seat and stifled a groan when his cock rubbed against his shorts. Shit, he could feel the wet spot growing.
Morgan's hands went to the snap of his jeans…right in front of Kisho's face. He unfastened them. The slow slide of the zipper sounded overloud in the sudden silence of the room. Kisho couldn't breathe as he watched Morgan shove his underwear down to showcase a mouthwatering cock.
Morgan held it in his hands and stroked the moisture beading at his slit over his crown.
“I'm hard and wet. Want a taste? Or don't you want your little friends to know what you really need?” the bastard asked, lowering his voice so Tersch and Jules in the other room wouldn't hear.
Kisho struggled to break free from the mesmerizing sight of Morgan's arousal. “You need to go.”
“Make me,” Morgan dared and licked his lips.
Kisho's breath caught in his throat. “I can kick your ass from here to Canada, merc.” Morgan grinned. “Then do it. Or are you too scared to try?” He wiped his finger through his slit, then held it toward Kisho. To Kisho's shock, Morgan wiped the moisture over Kisho's lips.
Automatically licking it off, Kisho felt his beast roar at the male's conceit. But the damned creature refused to appear.
“Come on, baby. Suck me. You know you want to.”
Never before had Kisho lost his ability to
change
, and the loss now scared the hell out of him, because he was glad of it. He didn't want to throw Morgan out. He wanted to please him, then take his pleasure in Morgan's own mouth.
“That's right. You're mine now. All mine, my little kitsu.” Large hands reached for him, powerful hands dragging him closer to his destiny.
The familiar sense that he'd already seen this vision came to him, but then Kisho was beyond caring. He groaned and leaned forward, needing to taste. The minute he sucked Morgan's cock deep, everything within him settled.
“Oh yeah, baby. It's been so hard staying away from you.” Morgan thrust his fingers through Kisho's hair to hold him tight. Then he began thrusting in his mouth, short bursts of need that drew Kisho into a frenzy.