Chapter Seven

Shane Castle, the rock star, was putting on a brilliant performance, and Wes couldn’t take his eyes off him. Wes stood in the wings of the sold-out concert in Columbus, Ohio, mesmerized. In complete awe. Shane ran from one end of the stage to the other like a force of nature. Fans nearest the stage stared up at him with wide eyes, spellbound, and Wes knew why. The way Shane channeled through music through his body was a thing of beauty. His every movement was precise, yet effortless. Graceful. Evoking a desire in Wes that simmered just below the surface, growing stronger with each performance.

Every time Shane took the stage, Wes found it harder to pull his eyes from him, harder to keep Shane from burrowing deeper under his skin, harder to stay on his side of the professional line.

Wes had always thought the phrase “sex on legs” was a ridiculous cliché, but holy hell, watching Shane up there in his element, he finally understood the term. Shane was sex on legs.

Wes imagined all that exquisite energy and limber body applied a different way—a less clothed way, just him and Shane and a bed. Or any surface.

Jesus .

He had to stop thinking about Shane in any other context than as his protectee. His job. He dragged his focus from Shane, throat thick as he swallowed, and scanned the crowd for threats. The audience was an undulating flurry of flushed faces and pumping fists. How was he ever going to pick out Shane’s stalker in that frenzy?

Shane raced across the stage, dropped to his knees, and slid along the polished wood surface. He came to a stop a dozen feet from where Wes stood in the wings. Their gazes locked, and Shane grinned. No, he beamed at Wes. And Wes felt an answering grin of his own tug at his lips. He flattened his mouth.

The spotlights followed Shane, his exposed skin glistening with blue, red, orange, and green beads of sweat. He wore a black sleeveless shirt with silver grommets that ran the length of his torso, front and back, which was laced with long, thin black leather strips.

Wes had helped him lace up the back of that shirt in the green room before show time, and the moment had felt intimate in a way Wes hadn’t expected. Or wanted. Rather than lace Shane up, he’d wanted to unravel him. Both figuratively and literally. Now, the laces were coming undone, and Shane’s shirt was falling open. One silver nipple ring, flickering under the changing lights, winked at Wes.

Shane jumped to his feet with the agility of a panther. The knees of his skin-tight black leather pants shredded. Without missing a beat, he launched into the song’s chorus. His voice was hauntingly beautiful, smoky with a pinch of grit . . . Bewitching in a way that released a kaleidoscope of butterflies in Wes’s chest. And the things Shane’s vocal range did to him . . . From a deep bass that reverberated in Wes’s bones to a piercing high that sent shivers racing up his spine. The man’s voice was an aphrodisiac.

Wes fisted his hands and dragged his eyes away from Shane— again —with far more effort than it should have taken.

Ever since their time together in Malibu, Wes had been trying his best to keep his distance—not the easiest thing to do when he needed to keep Shane in sight every waking minute. But he couldn’t erase the memory of how close he’d come to kissing Shane. How much he still wanted to. That Shane was his protectee and his life literally depended on Wes doing his job properly was becoming a challenge. Part of him wanted to call his brothers for their help to get his head back on the job, but he didn’t want to deal with the admonishments he’d be sure to get. Colt would throw Wes’s own words right back at him, when he’d given Colt shit for sleeping with Mason while Mason was a client.

Especially now, after the publicity stunt photo with Shane’s ex and subsequent warning from Shane’s stalker. Every time they turned down the hall to Shane’s hotel suites, Wes tensed, expecting to see a new package in front of the door. But as per his request, one of Isaac’s team stood sentinel .

The waning cry of Jamie’s guitar signaled the end of Audio Siren’s regular set. With their instruments set down, Shane and his bandmates scattered across the front of the stage, high-fiving outreached hands. Jamie and Daryl threw a few guitar pics into the screaming crowd and Wish held her drumsticks up in a “who wants them” motion. Hands reached for her, like the goldfish Wes had as a kid rushing toward the surface of the tank at feeding time.

Wish lobbed the sticks, which were rabidly swallowed up in the melee. Tonight, a few fans were going home with special souvenirs they’d cherish for years to come. Even Shane, who deftly caught several pairs of panties, jockstraps, and a few bras that admiring fans had thrown onto the stage. Wes had always wondered if those people were stripping down right there on the crowded floor, or if they’d brought extra specifically for Shane. Mostly the latter, Wes had learned after Shane had teased him about there being phone numbers written on some of them.

With a final thank you and bow, the spotlights dimmed, and the band exited the stage toward Wes. He stood back, making room for the hyped members as they crowded at the bottom of the stairs. They hooted and hollered, chests heaving with exertion and excitement as they high-fived each other and regaled Wes and Jonas, who had been standing next to Wes watching from the wings, with antics from the audience. Jonas had been bouncing on his toes after getting feedback on the ticket sales. Wes knew the concert would be sold out—Audio Siren shows always sold out—but the dynamic ticketing strategy had driven up prices following the Shalex publicity stunt.

Shane’s gaze connected with Wes’s, and an energy passed between them. There was no missing how the air crackled around them and pricked at his skin.

With a wink, Shane turned and ran back onto the stage with the rest of his band for their encore. The roar that erupted from the audience rolled over Wes like a stampede of wild horses. He swore the ground shook under his feet. The rock and roll world wasn’t for him, but he couldn’t deny the frenetic energy of it was exciting. How it connected twenty-thousand people into a single being was nothing short of magic .

After two extended encores, the band made their final exit from the stage. Shane came down the stairs and stopped in front of him. His face flushed from exertion and his eyes alight with excitement from the thrill of a great performance. Shane’s entire body vibrated like a live wire, doing all kinds of funny things to Wes’s insides. Part of him—the part that knew better but didn’t care—wanted to reach out and feel that electricity race through his veins and bones. Listening to the part of himself that knew better and did care, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“That was amazing,” Shane exclaimed.

You are amazing . Wes startled himself. Out loud, his voice was gruff when he said, “Let’s go.”

Shane gave him a sideways glance and a tip of his head, but said nothing as he moved past him. The heat from his body embraced Wes like a living thing. Wes closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath. Eyes on threats, not Shane’s ass, he chided himself as he fell into step off Shane’s right heel.

Shane bounced ahead with Daryl and River, and the three of them chattered animatedly about the show, talking over one another. With Shane otherwise distracted, Wes found it easier to focus on his task—scanning doorways and alcoves and hallways for threats—even as he knew it wouldn’t last.

Two hours later, back at the hotel, Wes watched as Shane morphed from rock star Shane to regular Shane. It was more than the removal of his makeup and rings and earrings. More than the change from leather and artfully distressed jeans to sweats and T-shirts. There was a subtlety Wes doubted anyone else ever noticed—or had the opportunity to get close enough to notice—in the way Shane’s shoulders lowered, the way his face softened, and how the warm brown of his eyes somehow settled. Wes didn’t know when he’d begun to look forward to the daily transformation, but he liked that he got to see both sides of Shane. More than he should.

“Why are you acting so grumpy tonight?” Shane pulled a bottle of water from the suite’s mini fridge.

“I’m not grumpy,” Wes grumbled. Frustrated was what he was, and he had no interest whatsoever in telling Shane why.

Shane snorted. “Right. ”

He tracked Shane from the corner of his eye as Shane crossed the room. The crisp scents of orange and juniper following in his wake, reminding Wes of Malibu sunshine. Shane sat on the couch facing him and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Wes felt Shane’s gaze on him—intense, scrutinizing. He did his best to ignore Shane and focused on his laptop, which he’d been staring at unseeing while trying not to watch Shane.

There was a whole slew of notifications in Shane’s personal email account, most of which Wes quickly dismissed after a cursory scan, but an email from Your1andOnly made the hairs on the back of his neck rise just from seeing the name alone.

Wes darted a glance at Shane, whose attention was now focused on the phone in his hand. He was grinning. Probably more fans sharing their “ Shanesley shipping” stories. Shane had shared the name on this social media, against Wes’s advice, and the fans had eaten it up like rabid dogs. Another problem in the black box of Wes’s growing interest in Shane was that he found he didn’t mind Shanesley so much anymore. If he was honest, he kind of liked their names shipped. Even as he knew how things like that out there could trigger Shane’s stalker. Could make Wes a target. But better Wes than Shane. That was his job, after all.

With a quick mental shake of his head, Wes took a breath and clicked on the message.

No “ My dearest Shane ” salutation this time.

The opening sentence read: I warned you. No one touches you but me! Look what you made me do !

Wes rocked back at the attached photo, unprepared for the image that took up the full screen. Unprepared for the dead, empty eyes staring back at him. He shifted in his seat and glanced at Shane, who was still, thankfully, engrossed in his phone.

In the photo was a young man lying on what looked like a kitchen floor. A puddle of dark red blood pooled around him and followed a geometrical path through the recessed grout of the gray tiles that framed his still body. Deep, ragged wounds tore his bare chest open. His throat slashed. Wes knew instantly the perpetrator had acted in a fit of extreme rage. This crime was personal. But how did Shane’s stalker get their hands on a crime scene photo ?

Wes looked closer and his lungs froze mid breath.

The dead man in the photo was Alex. Shane’s ex-boyfriend—the one in the photo Shane’s record label had released for a publicity stunt to drive up dynamic ticket sales.

A curse slipped between Wes’s lips.

That wasn’t a crime scene photo the stalker had somehow gotten a hold of. No. The perpetrator took that photo. Which meant Shane’s stalker was the killer.

Wes scrolled down and another line of text appeared. It read: By the way, your bodyguard can’t protect you .

The next photo turned Wes’s body cold. His stomach clenched and his mouth went dry.

The shot was of him and Shane, and could only have been taken from inside Shane’s Malibu condo. Wes remembered the moment as clearly as if had happened only seconds ago and not more than a week—when they’d almost kissed after watching the sun setting over the ocean.

Below the image the stalker wrote: Nothing can or will keep us apart. We are meant to be together .

Shit, he needed to forward this to Isaac and call the police. He typed a quick message to Isaac, hit send, and reached for his phone.

“Tell me that isn’t real!” Shane demanded. His voice shaky, and his breath a hot wave over the back of Wes’s neck.

“Jesus!” Wes launched from his chair. Heart racing as adrenaline crashed through him. He’d been so engrossed in the email that he hadn’t realized Shane had left the couch to stand behind him—with a clear view of Wes’s screen.

Alex was dead.

Murdered.

Brutally and horrifically.

Fear, sharp and cold as ice, coursed through Shane’s veins. His chest constricted, and his heart banged around inside the cage of his ribs like a wild beast hellbent on escape .

He should never have crossed the room and looked over Wes’s shoulder. He should have stayed where he was on the couch, and let Wes share an edited version of the email with him. Without photos. But when Wes’s expression tightened and his complexion paled, and then the guttural curse that he’d let loose? Shane had felt compelled.

He should’ve listened to his better senses.

The image of Alex sprawled on the floor haloed in blood would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“No, no, no,” he keened. His body trembling as he stumbled backward. Blood pounded in his ears like the percussive explosions of Wish’s blast beats on the drums. “Alex can’t be dead. That—That isn’t real.”

Sympathy swam in the blue waters of Wes’s eyes. It was real. Shane’s psycho stalker had killed Alex.

Alex was dead.

Shane patted his pockets for his gum, coming up empty. Fuck. Fuckityfuckfuck . Where was his gum ?

A little voice in the back of his mind recoiled that Wes was there to experience his panic attack, that Wes would think less of him for it, but the sharp, piercing panic clawing at him overrode rational thought. He spun around, gaze skittering over every visible surface for the sight of that telltale bright yellow package. But nothing. His breathing increased, harsh and shallow, and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Little pinpricks of light flashed in his eyes as his vision narrowed.

“Son of a bitch,” he rasped.

Arms as strong as steel wrapped around him from behind and held him tight. He froze for a second, until a spicy suede scent enveloped him.

Wes .

Wes held him still in an iron grip. Held him together. The only thing that prevented him from shattering apart. Wes whispered words into his ear, but Shane couldn’t make out what he was saying. All he heard was a deep, rumbling baritone that flooded into him like liquid gold. Smooth and warm and soothing, letting him know he was safe .

“I’ve got you,” Wes was saying as the panic eased, his voice like a spotlight chasing the dark away. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The heat from Wes’s body pressed tight against his back, engulfing him.

Wes repeated his promise until Shane’s tremors lessened, and the tension leached from his body one labored breath at a time. The fear and the horror didn’t fully dissipate, but they subsided into a dull murmur in the background. He was safe with Wes. In Wes’s arms, the stalker, the horrifying email, and the image of Alex lying in a pool of his own blood didn’t exist.

Shane sank into the security and comfort of Wes’s solid form, taking his first full breath since peeking over Wes’s shoulder. He let his head fall back and settle in the crook of Wes’s neck and closed his eyes.

Minutes passed that might have been hours while Wes held him. Shane focused on the steady rise and fall of Wes’s chest. On the heat that emanated from Wes and rippled over his skin. On the soothing scent of spice and suede and sandalwood that settled his nerves. On soft spoken assurances that Shane was safe.

“I got you,” Wes whispered again, his silken lips hovering over Shane’s cheek.

And Shane felt the vow to his very soul. He knew without a doubt that Wes would always be there for him. That Wes wasn’t like the cowboys he’d known before. Was nothing like Hugh.

Shane shivered, releasing a sigh that grated over his vocal chords. All the fear the stalker brought to him. The anger and guilt churning in his gut for what happened to Alex. What might happen to him. And deeper, older, the bite of rejection and sting of resentment from his youth that had clung to him all these years, dissipated into the air with each exhale.

And still Wes held him.

Feeling a little more himself, he turned in Wes’s arms and slipped his own around Wes’s torso. Face to face, chest to chest, crotch to crotch. Wes’s breath ghosted his face like the gentle brush of a downy feather. This close, Wes’s eyes were like the sea after a storm—steel gray and frost blue and as choppy as the ocean. But Shane didn’t fear drowning in their depths. Instead, he saw a kind of peace there that he’d been looking for his whole life. An acceptance, admiration, and a desire that made his belly flutter.

“Sorry for losing it there,” Shane said. His voice felt raw, unused.

Wes shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry you saw that.”

“It’s real, isn’t it?”

“Looks that way, but I’ve forwarded it to Isaac.” Wes watched Shane, his gaze searching for what Shane didn’t know. “He’ll follow up with the police in Los Angeles.”

Wes raised a hand and brushed Shane’s long bangs from his face. The edges of Wes’s mouth quirked. There and gone.

“Feeling better?” Wes asked, his deep voice soothing.

Shane leaned into him with a sigh.

Don’t let go .

“Yes,” he said into Wes’s chest, tightening his arms around him. “Thank you.”

Wes seemed content to hold on to Shane as long as he wanted, and he wanted to hang on forever.

But as the adrenaline from his scare subsided, he grew more aware of how good it felt to be in Wes’s arms like this. How comfortable—how right —he felt pressed up against Wes, and his pulse quickened for another reason. He leaned back and stared into Wes’s alluring eyes. He needed to focus on something good to counter what he’d seen.

Shane slid his tongue over his lips, not missing Wes’s sharp intake of air as he followed the motion. His gaze turning hungry. Wes wanted him. Shane knew it right down to his marrow, and the feeling was one hundred percent mutual.

How he’d gone from trying to annoy Wes so much he’d quit, to wanting him so badly that his every nerve ending burned for him, Shane didn’t know. He didn’t have the bandwidth to decipher that puzzle. All he knew was how much he wanted Wes, cowboy boots and Stetson hat and all. His whole body screamed for Wes. To be touched, ravished, owned by him.

His muscles grew taut, and his groin tightened with anticipation. He shifted his hips, mouth-watering at the pressure of his growing erection against Wes’s answering hardness. A thrill arced through him, knowing that Wes wanted him just as much .

Shane tipped his chin up, his mouth a breath away from Wes, whose chest rose and fell, as though he’d just come in from a run.

“You know you want to kiss me,” Shane whispered, but he wasn’t teasing this time.

“ Shane ,” Wes warned—or pleaded. His voice strained sounding. “Not a good idea.”

“Bad ideas are the best,” Shane purred.

Wes didn’t move, didn’t open the space between them, but he shook his head slowly.

“Professional dynamic notwithstanding, you just had a serious shock and a panic attack,” Wes said, being annoyingly reasonable.

Shane furrowed his brows. “I’m not some fragile thing, Wes. I know what I want and what I need, and what I need right now is you.”

Wes dropped his forehead to Shane’s, and squeezing his eyes shut, he cursed.

“Please, Wes,” Shane begged, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I need you. I need you to kiss me.”

A deep rumbling growl emanated from Wes that sounded more like pain or frustration than desire, but before Shane had even a second to think on it, Wes’s mouth was on his. The ground tilted. He was falling where he stood, but it didn’t matter because Wes’s arms still banded tight around him. Nothing mattered beyond this single toe-tingling moment and Wes’s all-consuming kiss. Everything that had happened prior to this moment ceased to exist. Nothing mattered beyond the bubble of Wes’s arms and the press of his lips and the sandalwood-spice scent of his solid body.

Shane opened his mouth and snaked his tongue over Wes’s and Wes dived in deep. Tasting him. Claiming him. And Shane was there for every thrust and parry. His tongue danced with Wes’s in an erotic choreography that was at once both excitingly new and comfortingly familiar. Shane grappled at Wes’s back for purchase, tugging Wes’s shirt from his jeans to find smooth, hot skin. Wes’s needy groan vibrated through Shane’s whole body, shaking every last worry from his veins. His knees weakened as the kiss grew more intense, more demanding. Had anyone ever kissed him like that? With such abandon and need and desire? No. Not even close. This felt like the first true kiss of his entire life, and it was beyond magical. Beyond anything he’d ever imagined and more. He had no words for how much more. No way to articulate the emotions running through him, but he could show Wes.

He rocked his hips harder into Wes, grinding against him. Wes gasped, breaking the mind-bending kiss.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he growled on a whisper, his lips brushing Shane’s as he spoke.

“Not yet,” Shane managed, closing the sliver of distance between them.

Wes responded with an urgency that made Shane’s heart sing. Between grunts and groans and gasps for air, Shane had the sensation of moving backward. But he was too lost in the feel of Wes’s body against his, Wes’s arms trapping him, and Wes’s mouth playing him like a maestro to give it any more thought.

Until the breath whooshed from his lungs as his back connected with the wall.

“Sorry,” mumbled Wes.

Shane shook his head. The only thing Wes had to be sorry for was not doing this sooner.

“Don’t stop,” he croaked. “Please don’t ever stop.”

“Never.”

Shane ran his hands over the hard planes of Wes’s back and the muscular glutes of his ass as they rocked into each other. The thought crossed his mind to move this to the bedroom. To strip down and see Wes in all his beautiful naked glory, but the delicious friction on his crotch demanded his full attention. Wes pushed Shane’s sweatpants down to free his cock, taking it in his strong, callused hand.

“Yes,” Shane hissed.

He reached down and wrestled to get Wes’s jeans open, that damn belt being more trouble than it should be to undo. Finally free, he stroked the silken, heated skin of Wes’s throbbing cock. The weight of it heavy in his hand. Fuck . He was so close already, but he couldn’t slow down. Not with the way Wes was working him, playing him like a fiddle, drawing everything inside his body to that one central point of touch. Release was the only way out.

He growled into Wes’s mouth, rocking his hips forward so their cocks kissed. Wes wrapped his large hand around them both—his grip strong and determined as he jacked them together. Faster and faster. Shane’s body vibrated, tension drawing him tight as a bow. Building, building, building to a swirling crescendo. The bow snapped. His orgasm ripped through him with a ferocity that took him off guard.

Shane threw his head back against the wall, shouting his release until he was gasping for air. Each breath scraped against his throat, harsh and grating.

A keening sound that didn’t belong to him reached his ears. He opened his eyes and watched Wes’s face contort, his mouth falling open as he shuddered through his own orgasm. Wes clung to him as he rode the waves of release, as though Shane was a lifeline and if he let go, he too might drown.

Spent, Wes angled his hips back and released Shane’s softening cock, putting space between them that Shane both needed—because he was growing oversensitive—and didn’t want. Now that he’d had a taste of Wes Stonebraker, he knew this once would never be enough.

Wes dropped his forehead to Shane’s shoulder. His hands on Shane’s hips.

“That was . . .” Wes began.

“Amazing,” Shane finished, nudging Wes’s temple with his nose.

“Yes.”

Shane planted a soft kiss on Wes’s cheekbone. “Next time, I want you to fuck me.”

Wes stilled for a heartbeat and then stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. He took another step back, looking anywhere but at Shane, dousing his post-orgasmic high with a bucket of ice water.

Shane’s body sagged. There wouldn’t be a next time.

He should have known better. Hadn’t he learned this lesson once already? Sworn never to repeat it? But here he was again, turned on and then turned out by a cowboy.

Wes cursed. He cast a quick look at Shane, but what met Shane’s gaze wasn’t disgust or anger, it was guilt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t . . . That shouldn’t . . .” Wes took another step back. Tension filling the widening space between them. “I’ll call Isaac first thing in the morning.”

Shane frowned. “What the hell for? ”

Did Wes have to report everything that happened on the job to Isaac? Shane was pretty sure what they just did was the last thing Isaac needed to know. And Shane was damn certain wouldn’t want to hear in any detail. His breath caught as his thoughts sank in. On the job .

Wes waved between them, his gaze falling to Shane’s crotch, where he was still hanging free of his sweatpants. Shane couldn’t make his arms move to pull his pants up and tuck himself back in.

“I crossed a professional boundary,” Wes said, his tone flat and tight. “I— I can’t be your personal protection officer anymore.”

“What?” Panic shot through Shane, and hot on its heels, anger. He couldn’t tell if he was being rejected or if Wes truly believed he couldn’t be his bodyguard anymore simply because they acted on a mutual attraction—because what just happened was one hundred percent mutual—but he didn’t like either option. “It was just sex, not a fucking proposal.”

Which was the wrong thing to say.

Wes said nothing, but Shane didn’t miss the flash of pain in his eyes, before his expression shut down with such resounding force it may as well have been a door slamming in Shane’s face. His voice was devoid of emotion when he said, “I’ll stay on until Isaac lines up a new bodyguard for you. But this—” he waved a hand between them again “—can’t happen again.”

Cold sweat beaded up on the surface of Shane’s skin. His hands grew clammy, and his heart pounded so furiously in his chest it would give Wish’s double kick drum beat a run for her money.

“No,” he breathed, his thoughts spinning away from him. “You can’t leave.”

“I have to, Shane,” Wes said as he tugged his jeans up with a grimace. The note of regret in his voice eased the painful pinch in Shane’s heart, but didn’t make it better. “I can’t do my job properly now. My objectivity is compromised.” Wes met his gaze, apology swimming in his stormy eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned and headed for his bedroom. A minute later, the sound of the shower running reached Shane’s ears.

Shane stood rooted to the floor, the wall against his back a much-needed support. Logically, he understood what Wes said. He knew it would be harder to remain objective with someone you were involved with. But in Shane’s mind, deep down where his teenage self still lived, all he felt was rejection.