Chapter Ten

“Asshole,” Shane quipped without heat.

Pretending to be serious while smiling wasn’t easy, but he couldn’t help it when faced with such a long-eared cutie. He should be annoyed at Wes, Colt, and Mason for teasing him, but the fuzzy little burro was just way too precious for him to be mad at anyone for anything.

Joker nudged him again, looking for more treats, and Shane was more than happy to oblige. He laughed when Joker licked his palm clean of any crumbs. “You know how lovable you are, don’t you?”

Wes pointed to a tall chestnut warmblood with the kindest eyes Shane had ever seen. She had a crooked, lightning-bolt-shaped blaze and one hind sock. A horse where his feet wouldn’t drag on the ground when he rode was more his size.

“That’s Spice Girl,” Wes said as he approached Merlin and slid the halter on. “She came here as a Humane Society seizure, same time as my brothers and I arrived. Levi ended up adopting her.”

“I didn’t peg him for a Spice Girls fan,” Shane said, his mouth tipped up in a grin.

Wes frowned a moment before his brows lifted. “Oh, the band? Yeah, no.” He chuckled. “Her name was Spice, but Mason always called her Spice, girl. Like how he calls the dogs Marley-girl and Diesel-boy. Spice Girl stuck.”

“So, she’s Spice, girl, not named after the Spice Girls,” Shane repeated. “Got it.”

Wes lifted his chin. “Think you can halter her?”

“Pfft. Please.” Shane scowled at him as he walked over to the big mare. He paused a few feet away to make sure his energy was calm. “Hello, Spice Girl. ”

She flicked her ears forward as he held out a treat for her. She approached and took it gingerly from his hand, her velvety muzzle brushing his palm. He slipped the halter over her nose and behind ears, fastening the buckle under her cheek. Wes was watching when he turned around, his expression somewhere between surprised and skeptical.

“What? Did you think I’ve never been around a horse before?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Shane snorted. “There’s more to me than meets the eye.”

“So I’m learning,” Wes’s voice was lower than usual, and Shane felt the rumble of it in his bones.

Desire fluttered in his belly, both annoying and exciting, and his skin flushed with heat from head to toe. He wanted to stay mad at Wes, but his body had other ideas. This was not going to work, him staying at Haverstall, around Wes in his natural environment twenty-four-seven. Seeing sides of Wes that made him long for more, for something he couldn’t have.

Wes opened the gate and motioned for Shane to exit ahead of him, but his feet were rooted to the ground. More like he needed to center all his focus on cooling his libido before he tried walking. Wes tilted his head.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane squeaked. Jesus, how embarrassing . He cleared his throat. “Yeah. All good.”

He forced his feet to move, looking straight ahead as he passed Wes, otherwise he’d jump him right there in the open, and headed for the barn.

“There are crossties along the aisle, between each stall,” Wes said behind him. “Take her to the middle one.”

Shane led Spice Girl inside and stopped at a set of crossties midway, as instructed. He clipped her in and took a few seconds to regulate his breathing so he could be chill around Wes. He turned to find Wes watching him with a thoughtful expression on his face. Ugh . Why does he have to be so damn sexy ?

Wes tipped his chin over his shoulder, indicating a doorway at the end of the laneway.

“Tack room is over here. ”

Shane followed him into a large room and focused on the once familiar smells of leather and linseed oil, rather than the allure of spice and sandalwood that he would forever associate with Wes. A wall of shelves held a collection of tote boxes on them, as well as various equine paraphernalia—some neatly arranged and others splayed about haphazardly.

“Each horse has their own grooming brushes and hoof picks,” Wes said as he grabbed a purple tote from the shelf, with SG written in thick black marker on the front and handed it to him. “These are Spice Girl’s.” He pulled a worn oval-shaped purple rubber brush with rounded teeth from the box. “This is a currycomb. We use it first to remove dirt and dander.” He replaced it and pulled out a wood-backed brush with blue bristles and a leather strap over the back. “This is a body brush”—Wes glanced up and frowned—“what?”

Shane snatched the brush from Wes’s hand and dropped it in the tote. “I’ve got this.”

Maybe a little more aggressively than he should have, going by Wes’s raised eyebrows and searching eyes, but Wes didn’t say anything. He turned to the perpendicular wall and reached for a bridle that hung on the lower of two rows of bridles and hackamores.

“I assume you know what this is?”

Shane managed not to roll his eyes. Just. He collected the bridle in his free hand as Wes turned to the far wall, where saddle racks jutted out in two low rows. He pointed to a western saddle with SG written on the front of the rack.

“That’s her saddle,” he said, and as Shane opened his mouth to say that his hands were full, which was kind of obvious, Wes added, “We’ll drop the tack boxes off first and come back for the saddles.”

This time, Shane rolled his eyes. He exited the tack room ahead of Wes and dropped off the brush kit and bridle by Spice Girl before going back for the saddle.

“Oof,” he gasped when he lifted it off the rack. He’d forgotten how heavy a western saddle could be, especially a ranch saddle. The thing weighed over forty pounds. He glanced over his shoulder, grateful Wes wasn’t in sight to see him struggle, and adjusted the saddle on his forearms so he could carry it easier .

Levi strolled into the barn as Shane set the saddle on a collapsible wall rack where Spice Girl was tethered, the thick thud of Levi’s boots echoing on the concrete laneway. He carried a pair of boots in one hand and a cowboy hat in the other. Spice Girl nickered as he approached.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted the mare and to Shane, he said, “These ought to fit you, since we’re about the same size.”

Nothing fancy, with the white stitching on the tan-colored cowboy boots fraying in the creases of the toe box, but then, they didn’t need to be. Not for riding ranch horses. “Thank you.”

He sat down on a trunk that rested in front of the stall to swap shoes. The boots fit better than he’d have guessed and were surprisingly comfortable.

“Right?” Levi grinned and sparkling light glinted in his eyes. “Fit like butter, don’t they?”

“I don’t remember cowboy boots ever fitting so well.”

Levi held out the hat. He winked. “I hear you prefer black.”

Shane chuckled. The hat was black felt with a black, stamped leather band and silver buckle set. He placed it on his head and adjusted it over his brow, striking a pose for Levi.

“What do you think?” he teased, infusing his voice with an extra touch of affectation. “Am I working it, or am I working it?”

“Working it.” Levi laughed, easy and unguarded, and Shane found himself laughing along with him. “Pretty sure you know it, too.”

Shane glanced over Levi’s shoulder to catch Wes watching them, his mouth set in a flat line and his face tight.

“What do you think, Wes?” Shane slid into a quick cowboy two-step, surprised that he remembered dance moves he hadn’t made in over a decade.

“Lo-looks good,” Wes stammered and then resumed brushing Merlin with laser focus.

Shane looked back at Levi, who was grinning. Shane had a feeling the man hadn’t missed a thing.

Levi ran a hand along Spice Girl’s neck as Shane picked up the currycomb. “Wes told you she came here as a rescue, yeah?”

“Yes. ”

“She’s a sweetheart and will do just about anything you ask of her, so respect that. I don’t know how much riding experience you have . . .?”

“It’s been a while, but I grew up around horses,” was all Shane said. The details of his sordid past weren’t for public knowledge.

“Good. Keep a light but steady hand on the reins and don’t kick with your heels. Use your legs and squeeze. She must have been an upper-level show horse at one time because she’s super responsive to the slightest cues.”

“Got it.” Shane moved to her other side. “I’ll treat her like the queen she is.”

Levi paused, as though he was having second thoughts about letting Shane ride his horse.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I have to get back to work. Have a good ride.”

“Thanks.”

“See ya later, bro,” Levi called out to Wes, who grunted in response, and strolled from the barn.

“What’s up with you?” Shane asked after a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air.

“Nothing, why?”

Shane shrugged, even though Wes wasn’t looking his way to see it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous of your brother.”

Wes paused his grooming and scowled at him. “I am not jealous.”

“Uh-huh.” Shane couldn’t help smiling as he finished grooming his horse. Wes was one hundred percent jealous and knowing that put a skip in his step. Maybe being stuck on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with Wes wouldn’t be so bad, because staying mad at him was clearly not working.

With the saddle blanket in place, Shane prepared himself to hoist the saddle up onto Spice Girl’s back. A part of him wanted to impress Wes with his horsemanship, rusty as it was, more than not wanting to look like a fool for not having any at all.

Saddle on, he reached under Spice’s belly to grab the cinch, ran the leather latigo strap through the buckle ring, back up through the front rigging ring, repeating the motion twice, and paused .

“Do you need help?” Wes asked.

Heat marched over Shane’s cheeks. One second, he was saddling up his horse like he’d never stepped off his home ranch, and the next, his mind had gone blank.

“Nope. Just . . . Trying to remember which way this goes.”

“Over, behind, and through the middle,” Wes said. “Like a tie.”

Shane snorted and shook his head. How had he forgotten that? It was the easiest knot to do—same as a suit tie, not that he ever wore suits. He ran the latigo strap through the buckle and rigger rings once more before tying the knot and adjusting the slack. His memory of bridling a horse was as strong as in his youth.

“Ready to go?”

Wes approached, Merlin following, and pulled the fender back to check Shane’s cinching job while Shane glared at him. He got that very few people knew where and how Shane had grown up, and it shouldn’t be a surprise that Wes would check his work, but it still rankled. He bit back a knee-jerk comment and instead smiled.

“Did I do good, hoss?” Shane teased, dredging the southern accent he’d worked hard at burying.

Wes had the decency to look abashed when his gaze met Shane’s. Questions danced in his summer-storm blues, but he cleared his throat and said, “This way.”

He led Merlin past Shane and Spice Girl and toward the barn exit without looking back.

Wes didn’t say anything when they mounted up, but he kept a watchful eye on Shane just the same, and for the first minutes of their ride, neither said a word. Wes guided them across the courtyard and over the wooden bridge they’d crossed earlier in Levi’s truck. Hooves thudded rhythmically on the thick, worn planks while the river flowed lazily below them. On the other side, Wes steered them north, where they picked up a trail just past the outdoor arena that followed the winding river, wide enough for them to ride two-abreast.

“This is the Laramie River,” Wes said, waving an arm toward the crystal-clear water. “About eleven miles of it runs through the property.”

“Do you fish?”

“Nah, I find it boring,” Wes said with a grin .

Shane hadn’t fished since his dad had taken him on a father-son bonding camping trip when he was ten years old. He didn’t remember much more than being horrified when his dad caught a trout and smashed its head with a rock. He shoved the memory aside and looked over at Wes, whose gaze bounced away. A light flush crested his cheeks.

“Go on,” Shane said after a few more minutes of silence. “Ask me.”

Wes slanted a sideways glance at him. “How is it you know so much about horses?”

Shane stared ahead while he gathered his thoughts. Orange and yellow leaves drifted from the aspen and birch trees that formed a protective canopy over the meandering trail, littering the ground like breadcrumbs. The fall sun filtered through like a million little spotlights, dappling the white bark of the trees, while the river burbled a soothing soundtrack.

He’d never told anyone about his history. Not even Jonas or Sonia knew anything about his life before his first band. Even that was glossed over. He’d told them he was “discovered” by them when they’d overheard him singing. Where exactly they’d overheard, or why he’d been singing in the first place, he’d never divulged.

He took a deep breath and loosed a long exhale, the fresh mountain air giving him a shot of courage. “I grew up on a ranch in Texas.”

Wes’s head swiveled around, eyebrows raised and jaw dropping. “You were a cowboy ! How does anyone not know that?”

Reading between the lines, Shane got the impression Wes was more surprised that he didn’t know, given his super sleuth digital skills.

“Because I did a good job of burying it.” Shane shrugged. “You didn’t think Castle was my real last name, did you?”

“Sounds real enough.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Shane took another deep breath. Here we go . “My folks had a huge spread. Nowhere near as big as this ranch, but it was up there. We raised cattle and chickens, and my mom showed pleasure horses.”

“That’s why you know your breeds so well.”

Shane nodded. He loved horses. Always had, but not a single person outside his family knew that. Even they didn’t know the extent of his love for the majestic animals. He’d wanted to learn dressage, but his dad would have never allowed it. “ Men ride cattle horses ” was his dad’s mindset. But Shane had left his passion and Olympic dreams behind when he’d sloughed that era of his life.

“So, what happened?” There was a note of apprehension in Wes’s voice, as though he knew the story Shane was about to tell, and really, he wasn’t far off the mark. His tale was, unfortunately, far too common.

“I knew I was different from other boys, but I kept that to myself.” Shane shifted in the saddle. His butt was going to feel this afterward. “Texas and macho men, and all that.”

Wes nodded. “Been there.”

“So . . . I was around sixteen and had a raging crush on one of the hands. Hugh. He was a few years older and always paid attention to me. In hindsight, I realized I was like a little brother to him, but in my teenage hormone-driven brain I thought he felt the same as I did. So, of course, I made a pass at him.” Shane shook his head and chuckled, but the sound was derisive. He remembered how his palms had sweat as he looked up at Hugh with all the naivety of youth, his heart pounding with anticipation—and the way Hugh’s mouth had screwed up into a scowl after Shane confessed his feelings. “He didn’t take it well. Actually, he didn’t say anything at all. Just looked at me with disgust and walked away. I thought that was the end of it, but he’d gone and told the rest of the hands because after that every single one of them steered clear of me, sneered, slung derogatory comments at me under their breath, and”—he air quoted—“ accidentally tripped me or pushed me into walls and fences. One even spit on me.”

Wes cursed, hard and forceful, surprising Shane. Wes had been nothing but easy going the whole time Shane had known him. Even when Shane pissed off, he kept any outward signs of his anger locked down.

“Now I understand your aversion to cowboys,” Wes said, his voice strained and the words tight. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Shane tipped his hat. Infusing a healthy dose of sarcasm into his voice, he said, “I’m not even at the best part yet. ”

“I’m not sure I can hear more without wanting to go down there and ring a few bells,” Wes said, and a lightness bloomed in Shane’s chest that Wes was upset on his behalf.

The corners of his mouth lifted. “Keep saying things like that . . .”

Their legs rubbed together, having not realized how close the horses had moved to each other, and Wes swallowed visibly. A pang of loss fluttered through Shane’s chest when Wes guided Merlin over to open a gap between them again.

“Anyway,” Shane continued, surprised that he was not only sharing his past with Wes but that he wanted to. Whether it was Wes himself, riding again, or the simple catharsis of letting go, the weight of his past lifted off him with each word, drifting away like the colorful fall leaves fluttering on the breeze. “Didn’t take long at all for my dad to catch wind of what was going on. He kicked me out. Disowned me. I ended up living on the streets in Houston, singing for food money on street corners. And before you ask, no, I did not turn tricks, because no way in hell was I going to let dirty old men use me to get their rocks off.”

Wes held a hand up in surrender. “Even if you did whatever you had to do to survive, I wouldn’t judge.”

Shane narrowed his eyes but relaxed under Wes’s guileless gaze.

“One night when I was packing up, a group of long-haired, leather-clad guys approached. I thought for sure I was in for a serious beat down, but they’d heard me singing and asked me to join their band. That was the day Shane Castle was born.”

“So, Audio Siren discovered you?”

Shane snorted. “Oh no. That band never got off the local club circuit, but we did okay enough that I could put a roof over my head. Though I had to share that roof with three of my bandmates to make it work. It was a couple of years later when I realized I wanted more than the club circuit could offer, so I quit and started Audio Siren.”

Wes was watching him with soft eyes and a slight tip of his mouth. “And the rest is history.”

“As they say.” Shane grinned, holding Wes’s gaze, and for the first time in over a decade, a bright light pushed into that dark corner of his mind. As though his past were a diseased tumor that he’d begun to excise .

Their legs bumped together again, and this time, Wes didn’t steer Merlin away.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” Wes rumbled, and butterflies took flight in Shane’s stomach from that rich, deep voice. “I can see it wasn’t easy.”

Shane dragged his gaze away and shrugged. Wes had somehow, just by being who he was, helped Shane begin to free himself from the past. He cleared his throat.

“So, what’s your story?” he asked. “How did you end up on this massive ranch? And just how big is it, anyway?”

“Seventeen-thousand acres.”

Shane whistled. He knew the ranch was big—it had its own airstrip, after all—but it was much bigger than he’d have guessed. Grinning, Wes faced forward as he started talking.

“Me and my brothers lived here when we were kids. We lost our dad in a bar fight when I was four years old, so my mom got a job here working the dining hall kitchen because the apartment above it was included in her salary.” He paused, his gaze going distant, and Shane wondered what memories he was seeing in his mind. “Mason’s dad, Grant, owned the place. Colt and Mason had a thing. Those two were destined to be together from day one. But Grant caught them making out and blew a gasket. He kicked my whole family off the ranch.”

“Wow,” Shane whispered. “That’s a bit extreme. Wonder if he was related to my dad.”

“More likely just products of their environment and upbringing.”

“What happened then? Did your mom know why he kicked you all out?”

“Oh yeah,” Wes replied with a note of pride in his voice. “My mom not only knew, but she tore a strip off old Grant when he came to our apartment ranting about my perverted brother. Mom told him she’d have never taken the job if she’d known what a homophobic prick he was.”

Shane hooted. “Go, Mom!”

“We ended up on another ranch, finally settling in Florida. After high school me, Colt, and Levi all went into law enforcement together. Not long after that, we started with Stonebraker Protection and Investigation Services. ”

Wes pulled Merlin to a halt when they reached a clearing that revealed a large pasture of swaying tall grasses and a small herd of bison grazing nearby. Shane had never seen one in person before, but even from their current distance, the sheer size and power of the prehistoric bovines amazed him. The warm, earthy scent of decaying leaves drifted on the early fall breeze and the sense of rightness, of home, that he’d felt when he’d first arrived hit him again.

“It was twenty years later, just this past summer, when an old friend of ours from our police academy days, and now the sheriff of Havenridge, called us for help. Mason’s dad died suddenly of a heart attack, and some of the locals hadn’t taken kindly to the changes Mason made after taking over. He was getting death threats.”

“Shit,” Shane breathed. He didn’t have to imagine how Mason must have felt then, because he felt that fear now, thanks to his own stalker.

Wes nodded. “The fire between Colt and Mason still burned, and after the dust settled, we all ended up moving back.”

“And the rest is history,” Shane quipped, earning a smile from Wes that made his heart stutter.

Wes glanced at his wrist, then up at the sky as if confirming the time was right.

“I noticed you and your brothers all have the same watch.” Shane motioned toward the fancy-looking thing, full of gadgets. “What’s with the big red button?”

“That’s the bat signal.” Wes winked before steering Merlin back to the trail. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Wes was on edge.

By the time he’d finished giving Shane a mounted tour of the main ranch, followed by dinner at Colt and Mason’s house, and finally driven back to his house, he’d never been more ready for a very long, very cold shower.

He’d been hyper-aware of Shane from the second they’d landed on the ranch—as though having Shane in Wes’s environment had somehow amplified Shane’s presence rather than distracted from it. And then Shane had gone and put on Levi’s cowboy boots and hat. Wes cursed under his breath. He’d thought Shane was attractive before . . .? Not even close. Attractive was too subdued a word to describe Shane Castle. The man was downright captivating.

Not to mention the most pleasant surprise of all: Shane handled horses like he was born to it, and there was nothing sexier to Wes than a man who knew how to sit a horse.

He’d struggled to keep from looking at Shane throughout dinner for fear everyone would know what he was thinking—the same train of thought he’d given Colt shit for with Mason back in June. Wes had no doubt Colt knew what was going on in his head, anyway. He’d fought not to squirm under Colt’s far-too-shrewd gaze, but luckily, Colt hadn’t said anything. As soon as dinner was over and they’d formed a game plan for Shane while on the ranch, Wes couldn’t shuffle them out of there fast enough.

Which he was regretting now that the buffer of his brothers and Mason was gone.

He kicked off his boots and stalked toward the kitchen to stare out the window at the black blanket of night. Momentarily lost about what to do next, Shane’s footsteps on the wood floors spurred him into action. He reached for a glass in the cupboard and filled it with cold tap water.

Shane’s presence behind him was large and looming, sucking all the air from the room. As if to counteract, Wes gulped the water down until the glass was empty. He placed the glass on the counter, considered pouring another cup, but instead stared at the tap, as if the answers would drip from the spout.

“Why am I here?”

Shane’s voice startled him, and he knew Shane had seen the involuntary twitch of his shoulders.

“What?” Wes turned around, slowly. Shane stood on the other side of the island, his hands resting on the top of a bar chair. Wes met Shane’s steady gaze and cleared his throat. “To keep you safe.”

“Yeah, but why am I here ?” Shane waved an arm to indicate Wes’s house.

Wes stood quiet for a minute, his thoughts an incoherent jumble. He rolled his shoulders back. “Because it’s the safest place I know for you to lie low. ”

“Right,” Shane said, his words measured. “But the other morning, after we had sex . . . You were ready to quit and let someone else take over my protection. Then something happened during the band meeting. I know you got an email from my stalker that you haven’t told me about—which, granted, I know I told you to give me sanitized versions—but I know whatever was in that message changed your mind. So again, why am I here ?”

Wes went to run a hand through his hair, surprised to find his hat was still on. He yanked it off, and missing the counter, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. He left it there and dug his hands into his hair, fisting them in his short locks while he squeezed his eyes shut. “ Fuck .”

He opened his eyes and Shane was right there, in his space, having had come stealthily around the island. Close enough to see the golden threads in his brown eyes. Close enough to smell the fruity gum on his breath that Shane chewed too often, and the balm of orange and juniper that reminded Wes of sunshine and wind. Close enough to feel the magnetic heat emanating from Shane’s body.

“Because as much as I don’t want to compromise your safety, I can’t stand the thought of not being near you,” Wes confessed, his voice low and breathy, and relief at speaking his truth lifted a weight from his shoulders he hadn’t been aware was there.

And then Shane was in his arms. Shane’s mouth meeting his with a fervency that weakened his knees. A growl rumbled up through Wes’s throat and his lips vibrated against Shane’s. He banded his arms around Shane’s torso and pulled Shane tight to him, so close their bodies practically fused together.

Shane rocked his hips, grinding against him, and Wes’s erection grew painfully hard, throbbing incessantly behind the confines of his jeans. A voice in the back of his mind, tiny and weak, warned that this was a bad idea, but any willpower he’d had before this moment had well and truly fled the coop. He couldn’t deny his body what it wanted, and it wanted Shane with a passion that wouldn’t be contained.

He angled his head and deepened the kiss, drawing a ragged groan from Shane, who returned the kiss with abandon, fueling the inferno already burning inside Wes .

“Come,” Shane gasped between kisses, his hand sliding from Wes’s shoulder, down his arm, and to his hand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He threaded their fingers and tugged.

Wes bit back a whimper as cool air replaced the heat of Shane’s body, but let himself be pulled along, the two of them stumbling toward his bedroom like a pair of drunks. Once inside, Wes spun Shane around and shoved him up against the wall, grinding his hips into Shane. The bed was only a few feet from them, but it was too far for Wes. For Shane too, if the encouraging sounds coming from his throat and the way he frantically yanked at Wes’s zipper were any indication.

What are you doing what are you doing what are you doing ?

The warning chant grew louder with each repeat and cut through his sexual haze. Wes pushed away from Shane and as much as he wanted to, no, needed to close the space he’d just opened, the rational part of him knew it was better for everyone if he didn’t. Shane stayed plastered to the wall, his lips kiss-red and shiny, his hair mussed more than usual, his chest heaving, and desire-laced confusion in his eyes.

“Shit.” Wes took another step back, his legs shaking and heart pounding. “That . . . We can’t . . .”

He spun and stormed from the room before he made things worse by sleeping with his client. His own chest heaving, and cock hard and aching, threatening retribution for not giving it the release it begged for. He stopped at the kitchen island, gripping the edge of the smooth marble slab to keep from falling.

“What am I doing?” he breathed, dropping his head down.

He peered over his shoulder, imagining Shane stretched out on his bed, skin glistening with sweat. He pressed the heel of his hand against his groin, hoping to relieve the tension, but there was only one way that would happen. Smart or not, his hunger for Shane had somehow grown too big for him to handle, even as he fought against it.

Or that’s just your dick talking .

Dick or not, he needed Shane. He shook his head, slammed his warring thoughts into a mental box and locked it. With single-minded purpose, he burst back into his bedroom. Shane was right where Wes had left him—a little dazed but with the pain of rejection lurking in the depths of his eyes. Guilt stabbed at Wes for having been the cause, but Shane’s expression flipped on a dime. He grinned at Wes—a smirk more likened to the Cheshire cat.

“You know you can’t stay away from me,” Shane rasped, and the enticing note in his voice snapped the last of Wes’s resolve.

“Don’t know why I tried.”

He’d make it work somehow. Colt had managed to with Mason, so he could manage with Shane. Easy. But that was for later. For now . . . He pounced. He needed Shane. Needed to feel his skin, to taste it, breathe him in, slide his tongue over the intricate array of tattoos.

Hands flew as buttons were popped and zippers were yanked down until they both lay stretched out on the bed, gloriously naked. Wes crawled up Shane’s body, kissing a trail from toes to groin.

“What have we here?”

There was a small bar of music tattooed below Shane’s navel. But instead of the usual five-line staff, the notes danced on a pulse line.

“Part of the first song I ever wrote,” Shane answered.

Wes glanced up. Shane smiled at him, but there was an edge of melancholy to the lift of his lips. As if knowing what Wes was about to ask, Shane shook his head once and bucked his hips. Message received, but Wes hoped one day Shane would tell him the story. He lowered his head and traced the tattoo with his tongue before working his way up Shane’s torso. Over his pecs. Pausing to tease at the steel bars piercing his nipples until Shane’s whole body shook. Moving up to kiss along the column of his throat, and finally claiming his lush lips.

“Tell me you bottom,” he rasped against Shane’s chin while Shane’s breath gusted over his cheeks.

“Hell yes,” Shane panted.

Wes reached over to the nightstand, yanked the drawer open, and retrieved a small bottle of lube and a condom. Shane watched him with intense focus as he settled back over Shane’s legs and popped the lube lid open.

“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” Shane said. His voice was low and husky and danced over Wes’s skin like a caress.

“If it’s anywhere near how much I want you, then I think I have a pretty good idea. ”

Wes rubbed his palms together to warm the viscous, slippery liquid. With shaky hands he worked Shane open until his body was pliant and he was a writhing mass of need.

“Now, now, now,” Shane chanted with a whine in his voice and fire in his eyes.

Wes rolled the condom over himself.

“Now, now?” He teased.

Shane growled at him in response.

Grinning, Wes took mercy on Shane and entered him, slow and deliberate, his body quivering at the tight heat wrapping around him. Threatening to short-circuit his brain.

A keening moan emanated from Shane that sent a cascade of shivers down Wes’s spine.

“Damn,” Wes rasped as he began to move. “This is . . .” Too much. Not enough .

Shane nodded as though he understood. “Go hard,” he demanded.

Gazes locked, Wes gave him what he wanted, pounding into him harder and faster, until sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped from the end of his nose onto Shane’s chest. Shane lifted a leg to rest over Wes’s shoulder, changing the angle, and tossed his head back as Wes pegged his prostate.

“Look at me.” Wes needed that connection with Shane, which should have scared him. He’d never needed eye contact with his sexual partners or boyfriends in the past, but everything felt different with Shane.

Shane snapped his eyes open, and the breath caught in Wes’s throat. There was the real Shane Castle. Gone was the pretense. Gone were the walls. What remained was unguarded and vulnerable. Real .

You can trust me. You’re safe with me .

The words rattled around Wes’s head, but he couldn’t say them aloud. He could only show Shane what he meant, that he was there, and no matter what happened, he would always be there for him.

Because he cared.

Oh god, he cared too much.

The light changed in Shane’s eyes, as though something had shifted inside of him too—that or Wes was projecting his feelings onto Shane. Either way, the welling of emotion growing beneath his breastbone was too much. He slammed his eyes shut, breaking the intense connection.

“Roll over,” he gasped.

After an awkward maneuvering of limbs ending with Shane resting on his forearms and his ass in the air, Wes was now face-to-back with the massive tattoo he’d caught a peek of that morning in Malibu. With one hand gripping Shane’s hip, he drove back into Shane’s wanting body while he reached for the tattoo with his other hand. His fingers trembled over the fiery-winged horse. The feathers were shiny with sweat but still looked soft . . . Real. He slid his fore and middle fingers over the soft-looking plumage, and for a brief second, thought they were real. Until Shane grunted and rocked his hips, asking for more, and the feathers became skin. Taut and creamy and sweat-slick tattooed skin.

Cursing, Shane shoved a hand underneath his body and jacked himself.

“Close,” he panted. “So close.”

He clenched around Wes, and that was all it took. Wes’s whole body coiled tight, suspended in space for a flash of a second. His release blasted through him like a racehorse rocketing out of the gate. His mouth fell open on a silent shout and he gripped Shane’s hips hard enough to leave bruises.

Spent, Shane collapsed beneath him, and Wes dropped with him—his body draped half on, half beside Shane.

Shane angled his head toward him. His hair damp from sweat and sticking to his forehead, and a sated lift to his lips. “ Dayum , Cowboy.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we traumatized your plants.”

A snort-chuckle escaped Wes and Shane sniggered. His down-turned honey-brown eyes were as unguarded as Wes had ever seen, and a peaceful warmth spread through him that he’d had a hand in putting it there.

He shifted to get more comfortable and grimaced, but Shane must have read his expression wrong because a frown creased his forehead. Wes would have sworn he saw literal Tetris blocks stacking up behind Shane’s eyes. So quick to shut down and wall up, even as Wes understood. Hadn’t he said they couldn’t do this right before falling into bed together? Professionally, what happened shouldn’t have, but it did and no way Wes would regret it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Wes searched Shane’s eyes, mesmerized as the cloud that had drifted into them cleared. Shane lifted his chin in a haughty tilt, his voice unaffected when he said, “Your call.”

But Wes wasn’t fooled. Shane wanted him there just as much as Wes wanted to stay. He traced a finger along Shane’s jawline, down the side of his neck, and over the wolf and guitar tattoo on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of Shane’s shoulder and rolled off the bed. “Just need to get rid of the condom and clean up a little.”

A few minutes later, Wes exited his bathroom to find Shane lying on his back, legs splayed, and looking for all the world like he belonged right there. Wes held up the cloth he’d dampened with warm water as he crossed the room back to the bed.

“Good man,” Shane said with a teasing grin, as he cupped his hands behind his head. “Don’t miss any spots.”

“Ah, there’s the diva.”

The laugh that rumbled up from Wes’s lungs felt good. Carefree. Sure, he was going to get a dressing down for this from his brothers, Colt especially. But he didn’t care. They’d work it out.

Post-coital ministrations attended to with extreme attention to detail, Wes tossed the cloth toward the bathroom, and settled back down beside Shane.

“Guess you get your way and we’re sharing a bed, after all.”

“It was inevitable,” Shane said matter-of-factly.

Wes agreed with a nod. No point in denying it now.

Shane rolled over onto his side, so he faced Wes. His gaze drifted past Wes. His eyes widened, and he jolted upright. Wes’s heart launched into his throat, blasting him out of his post-orgasmic bliss and into protection mode. He shot out of bed, scanning for threats while reaching for his backup gun in the nightstand drawer.

“You have a guitar?” Shane exclaimed behind him, disbelief ringing loud in his voice.

Wes followed Shane’s gaze and narrowed his eyes. Shoved under the dresser across from his bed was his dad’s old acoustic guitar. Shane wouldn’t have seen it from his standing position earlier. Wes exhaled, long and loud. No threat then—unless Shane asked him to play the damn thing. He crawled back into bed as a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, cleansing the sudden adrenaline rush from his veins.

“Do you play?”

Shane was a world-famous, extremely talented musician, but Wes only tinkered when the mood struck, which was about as often as a blue moon.

“I strum a few chords now and then.” Wes shrugged.

“Hmm . . .”

“You’re on my side of the bed,” Wes teased when Shane said nothing more, but it was true. He always slept on the right side, closest to the bedroom door rather than the glazed patio door.

Shane snorted, but no part of his body moved. “Mine now.”

Yes, mine now .

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” Wes said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence, his voice rough and choppy with emotion. It wasn’t just that he was Shane’s protection, but Shane’s profession was as far from Wes’s as one could get. Shane was fame and bright lights and constant travel, and Wes was . . . Wes. Happy in his cabin in the woods with the company of his family, a few close friends, and the animals that called the land home.

“Yes, you do.” Shane cut into his downward thoughts. “Compartmentalize.”

Shane looked at him, the light in his warm eyes sparkling, and the sound of scattered game pieces clicking together echoed in Wes’s ears. Shane was it. His man, and he was keeping him.