My gaze locks onto his lips, which are beautifully framed by his dark beard. Right now, those perfect lips are flattened in irritation. God, I want to kiss him, so damn badly. “Tyler.”
He shakes his head as if answering no to a question I haven’t even asked. But God, I want to ask.
Do you like men?
Do you like me?
Do you even know what you like?
I suspect he doesn’t.
I wonder how he’d react if I simply kissed him. Right now. Right here. Would he shove me away? Or would he kiss me back?
His eyes narrow. “Don’t leave this house again.” He’s now firmly back in detective mode. “Don’t sneak out, and stay the fuck away from those clubs until the murderer is caught. Is that clear?”
God, I really want to taste those lips. I want to know if they’re as soft as they look. Instead, I nod. Anything to make him happy.
“Good.” He frowns as he scans my face, making no move to leave. His gaze lands on my lips, and he swallows hard.
I watch his throat muscles tighten and flex. Everything about him is tense, tight, completely unyielding. I’ll bet he’s just as intense in bed.
I’ve never in my life been so desperately attracted to someone.
His gaze returns to mine, holding it for just a heartbeat before he looks away.
“Lock this door behind me,” Tyler says, reaching for the doorknob. “And no more stunts like the one tonight.”
And then he’s gone.
Damn.
Chapter 5
Tyler Jamison
My mind races on the drive home to my condo. I’m not focused on what I should be focused on—not on the countless interviews I did tonight with club owners and their staff. Yes, everyone knew Eric Townsend. No, no one knew anyone who had a problem with him. There was no disgruntled ex-boyfriend. No jilted lover. Nothing. Eric was a great guy, it was a terrible tragedy what happened to him, et cetera. That’s all I got. Obviously, that’s not the whole story. Someone bad came into Eric’s life, and I’m going to find out who.
And then, to top off a less-than productive night, I walked into the last club on my list to find Ian Alexander seated at the bar, drinking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he wasn’t possibly putting his life in danger by simply being there.
For fuck’s sake! Does the guy not have any sense at all? He’s at risk! It’s entirely possible the killer might think Ian saw him the night of Eric’s murder, or that he can identify him. Or, even worse, knows him.
When I spotted Ian at Diablo’s, my heart stopped cold for a moment. I couldn’t get him out of there fast enough. And when we got back to his place… the way he looked at me! Every cell in my body awakened, and I couldn’t look away. When he stared at my mouth, I couldn’t breathe.
I arrive home and park. My mind is racing as I head up the stairs to my second-floor condo. Once inside, I head straight for my bedroom, where I strip out of my suit and hang it in the closet. After making a quick pit stop in the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth, I crawl naked into bed. I’ve been up nearly twenty hours, and I’m exhausted. Or at least my body is exhausted. My mind is still racing, as is my pulse.
I’ve always known there was something wrong with me. Back in my school days, when the guys were crushing on girls and bragging about getting to first base, or second, or third, I always felt left out. I just didn’t see what they did. The girls were nice enough, and certainly pretty, but that was all. Yes, they were soft and they smelled good, but they didn’t send my pulse racing, not like they did for the other guys. And they never inspired hard-ons.
No, I got hard-ons at the most inappropriate times, like in the boys’ locker rooms after gym class. It was all I could do to hide my physical reactions to seeing the other boys’ bodies. Muscles and body hair made me sweat bullets. I was terrified of getting caught and being singled out as a freak, so I learned to temper my reactions. To hide them. To suppress them. And I got really good at it.
As I got older, I learned to play along so I could fit in with the other guys. I learned the art of camouflage. I dated girls in high school, but I was careful not to stay with any one girl too long. And I certainly never had sex with one. The girls thought I was being respectful, when in reality I just wasn’t interested.
In college, I focused on my studies. And then I joined the police force and threw myself into training and conditioning. My dad, God rest his soul, was a Chicago cop, and more than anything, I wanted to follow in his footsteps. I loved him, and I wanted to make him proud—even after his death.
When my dad was killed, I felt his loss profoundly. His death created a giant hole in our family, a vacuum that I thought could never be filled. I did my best to step up. I helped my mom around the house, and I helped her take care of my little sister, Beth, who was just an infant at the time.
I channeled every bit of energy I had into being the best son I could be, the best big brother. I wanted to think my dad would have been proud of me. When my needs and wants didn’t fit the role I thought I should play, I buried them deep. Really, really deep.
And now, over twenty years later, I’m still trying to be the best son I can. The best brother. The best uncle to my nephew, Luke. My identity is wrapped up in who I am for my family, and in what I think they’d want me to be. There’s no room for anything else.
Over the years, I’ve considered marriage. And while I’m capable of performing sexually with a woman, it’s not something I take any pleasure in. It’s a task. On the rare occasions it happens, it’s a chore I force myself to get through. It just wouldn’t be fair to saddle a woman with me as a husband.
So, where does that leave me? Alone. Very much alone. There are no options I can live with. I can’t bear the thought of being something less in the eyes of my family. It’s not that they’re homophobic, because they’re not. One of my sister’s best friends, Sam, is gay. Beth and her husband share their penthouse apartment with Sam and his partner, Cooper. Sam and Cooper are family. My mother adores them too. But I can’t risk letting my family down.
When sleep doesn’t come, I end up watching a bit of mindless TV. I need a distraction to keep me from obsessing over someone I can’t have.
Tonight, when we stood inside the foyer of his townhouse, the two of us standing in a pool of light from the overhead chandelier, my heart hammered my chest. As he stood there staring at me, my world narrowed to that moment. I couldn’t look away. My belly tightened, and my cock hardened. I couldn’t prevent my body’s reaction any more than I could prevent taking my next breath.
For a moment, I honestly thought he was going to kiss me.
And for a moment—a desperate moment—I wanted him to.
I have never in my life felt anything remotely like what I felt tonight. My skin was too tight for my body, and I was burning up inside. Even now, just thinking about it, my lungs are tight, my breathing shallow. Shit. I’ve never in my life felt so… alive. I’ve never felt such anticipation. Such exhilaration. All I could think was, Why is this happening to me now? I’m forty-four years old. It’s a bit late for me to start having crushes.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I choke back a cry of frustration. I’m finally feeling desire, and it’s for a man!