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stuffing tossed everywhere.
He moved carefully around the mess and
searched the rest of the room. Nothing else
had been touched, as far as he could tell.
For the life of him, he couldn t think of a
reason why anyone would do this. Had
someone been dumped while sitting in that
booth? Or fired? It still didn t make sense to
him. And this much destruction seemed over
the top for a simple robbery. Yet he couldn t
come up with any scenario that would inspire
so much rage.
But then again, he wasn t a whackadoo
who attacked plywood storefronts with an
axe on a Friday morning.
Maybe it was all for money and the booth
was just some extra fun?
He needed to check the bar register, his
office and the safe. He was already running
into the back hall when he saw Philip
climbing though the gaping hole in front, his
wide shoulders momentarily blocking what
little light there was. Mark flipped on the
lights in the dining room and for the back hall
as he ran past. He heard Philip call out and
ask him to wait but his momentum took him
around the corner.
His heart sank when he saw his office door.
It hung from one hinge, cockeyed in the
frame, a boot print next to the door knob. The
spray of splinters gave testament to how little
resistance the lock had offered.
He could only hope the safe was intact.
Shoving the door aside, he rushed into his
office. He heard Philip s second shout to
wait, but it was too late. A man rummaged
through his desk drawers, the contents
dumped onto the surface of the desk and the
floor. When he looked up, his hands full of
the paperwork Mark had spent hours, weeks
of his life slaving over, the jerk s eyes
bulged, panicked.
Some distant and sensible part of Mark s
brain told him to run. The kid could have a
gun, an accomplice, a black belt. But Mark
was too enraged to listen. He lunged as the
thief threw his hands up, scattering
paperwork in the air, trying to block Mark as
he vaulted across the desk and hurtled both of
them into the wall.
They hit hard, bones jarring painfully as
their bodies slammed together, youth and
sheer size working in the kid s favor.
Goddamn, that hurt.
Mark was reeling, trying to recover when a
knee slammed up into his stomach. The air
whooshed from his lungs and he doubled
over, desperate to catch his breath. The arm
he wrapped around the kid s neck was the
only thing holding him up. A moment later, a
huge fist made blinding contact with the side
of his face.
Shit. Not a black belt, but a fighter. And a
fast bastard. Mark tried to grab the thief again
as he bolted for the door, but all he got was
air.
Score one for the bad guy, zero for the
chef.
Stars swam before Mark s eyes as he
collapsed to the floor, barely processing
Philip s shout to stop. He fought to drag air
into his quavering lungs.
Fear returned. He had to find enough
breath to call out to Philip. To tell him not to
chase the guy. It was too dangerous.
Philip watched in horror as an enormous
man crashed through the office door,
slammed against the opposite wall and then
pelted full speed down the hallway and out
the emergency exit. He was about to follow
when he heard a strangled gasp from inside
the office.
Mark.
Barreling through the office door, Philip
stopped, disoriented. The room was a mess
and for a moment, he couldn t find Mark.
The next desperate rasp of breath drew his
attention.
Flying around the desk, he kicked a chair
out of his way before dropping to his knees
beside Mark. He was curled up in the fetal
position, his hands clutching his stomach.
There was swelling around his eye and blood
running down his lower leg.
 Oh shit. He hauled Mark up from the
floor, holding him against his chest.  Mark?
Mark. Are you okay?
Grabbing a bar towel off the desk, he
pressed it to the wound on Mark s calf, trying
to assess the damage, relieved to find it
wasn t bad. The cut was oozing, not deep.
Thank god. But Mark still wasn t talking and
his chest lurched as each breath hitched.
 Come on, Mark. Just hold on. I m going
to call 9-1-1.
He dug in his pocket with one hand, trying
to retrieve his cell phone while Mark shook
his head.
He really didn t care if the guy didn t want
an ambulance. He was getting one.
 Hold on, Philip. Mark s voice was
hoarse, his breath still heaving but not as
erratic.  I m okay. The cops will be here any
minute. The little shit just knocked the wind
out of me.
His thumb hovered over the send button.
 Are you sure?
Mark lifted his head, made eye contact.
 Yeah. I m sure. Just give me a minute,
okay?
Philip hesitated but then slipped his phone
back in his pocket. He wasn t convinced it
was the right thing to do, but he thought he
should trust Mark to decide. For now.
Wrapping both arms around the other man,
Philip pulled Mark more firmly against his
chest and listened while Mark s breathing
evened out and his body slowly relaxed.
As it became increasingly clear that Mark
was going to be okay, it also became
increasingly difficult for Philip not to notice
the intimacy of the moment. The hand resting
on the warm bulge of Mark s biceps itched to
move, to rub and soothe, but he held it still.
His other hand grasped Mark s waist, his
forearm resting on the tops of Mark s thighs,
aware of the tickle of coarse hair against his
skin.
He could keep from moving, but he
couldn t stop himself from absorbing the
feeling of so much muscle, the way broad
shoulders and lean hips made holding Mark
so different than holding Grace. He also
couldn t pretend he didn t like it.
Shit. Time to let go. He pulled one of
Mark s arms around his neck.  You ready to
try to stand?
Mark tilted his head back and those deep
blue eyes locked onto his. Fuck. He was
sitting on the floor of Mark s trashed office,
some nut case just fled the scene, Mark was
bruised and bleeding, and it wasn t enough to
shut down his insane urge to kiss this man.
It was crazy. He was crazy. He couldn t do
it. He shouldn t. He didn t kiss men. Even if
he wanted to, which he did, he couldn t toss
thirty-odd years of being straight out the
window for one man and his hot cobalt eyes.
Could he?
Well, hell. Maybe he could.
Bringing his head down, he watched
Mark s eyes widen as he got closer. He felt
the gentlest brush of Mark s nose against his
and let his eyes ease closed. Blood pumped
into his cock, the need swelling, filling him.
So nice&
Then, with one shout from the front of the
building, reality crashed down on him like a
ton of bricks.
 Hello? Boston PD. Is anyone in there?
Chapter Five
The Boston Police Department either had
the best or the worst timing in history.
Mark wasn t sure he cared either way. He
was desperate to reach up and yank Philip s
gorgeous mouth down to his. So close to
crossing the last inch separating them. Palm
itching, blood rushing to his cock, skin
tingling close. There wasn t a doubt in his
mind it would be great. Fantastic.
So perhaps the arrival of the cavalry was
for the best. Making out with Grace s
boyfriend was probably not a good idea, not
under these or any circumstances. The fact
that Philip had seemed to be in the same
place, on the same page, didn t matter.
Much.
Maybe being punched in the head had
addled him. God knew, the longer he stared
up into Philip s eyes, the more addled he felt.
Staggering under the strain of his own
weight as Philip hauled him to his feet, Mark
shook his head. He needed to not think about [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]