Grace grunted. The safe room was the one place in the mansion he hadn’t been able to crack. Rooming with thieves and con men…. It figured they’d know how to keep him out.
“She’s got those peignoir things,” he admitted, because he didn’t want to admit Hunter was right. “It’s like wearing a cloud.”
“They’re very old-school,” Hunter agreed. “You’re conveniently ignoring the point.”
Grace glared at the awakening hamsters in his head, and they all feigned sleep again. “You didn’t love Paulie,” he whispered. “Me—I’m more important to you?”
He felt Hunter’s grunt of emotion deep in the center of his being. “Yeah, Dylan Li. You are. And it’s scary. It’s terrifying, because you don’t seem to have any regard for your own safety. Paulie was a professional at staying alive, and that didn’t work out so well for him. And you—you seem to be a professional at running out in the rain, and I’m afraid that won’t work so well for me, you understand?”
“Then why did you come get me instead of Josh!” Once again, Grace fought to sit up, but this time, when Hunter fought to keep him right where he was, he collapsed, relieved—desperately relieved—to know that Hunter wasn’t going to let him go that easily.
“Because you’re worth talking to about it. You’re worth the painful conversation. You’re worth the fight.”
“But why?” Grace burst out. He didn’t wrestle to get up, but God, he needed an answer.
“Why do I care about you? Jesus, Grace—you don’t ask for much, do you? ‘Hey, Hunter, track me down in the rain and then tell me how the heart works. Thank you so much, gotta go, bye!’”
“I’m not leaving,” Grace muttered. “But I warn you, I got about a minute and a half before my insecurities kick into gear and I’m asking you where the ventilation vent is so I can plan a job.”
“What would you steal?” Hunter asked, feathering fingers through his drying hair.
Grace thought about it carefully. “This T-shirt. And these sweats maybe. And possibly your coffee maker, but maybe your adorable little silver sugar spoon from Spain.” He’d noticed it while doctoring his own coffee. It was a classic souvenir spoon, with the Spanish flag in enamel on the handle.
Hunter grunted, but this time it was like he’d been hit, and he started frisking Grace as they lay there, all snuggly.
“Hey—”
Hunter’s hand closed over the thin, hard object at his hip bone. The sweats had rucked up, and the spoon was pretty easy to spot.
“You can have the outfit,” Hunter murmured, extracting the spoon and setting it on the end table. “But if you take my sugar spoon, you’d better replace it with something else from a European country that will serve up sugar and won’t poison us. And that’s why I love you, Grace.”
“Lo—”
“Because you speak a rare and difficult language. I know why you took my secondary tactical pen. I know why you took my gum. I know why you keep stealing Julia’s earrings. Because you want a connection to us, and nobody taught you that a hug or a kiss or an ‘I love you’ can work just as well. Nobody taught you how to love, but you stole that knowledge out of the air. You are fully capable of giving your heart to people, baby. And I think you’ve already given yours to me.”
Grace hummed. It wasn’t a happy sound. More one of resignation. “You quiet the hamsters in my head,” he admitted. “Don’t let me go.”
Hunter’s arms tightened around his shoulders. “I won’t. I promise.”
They stayed there listening to the rain for a long time.
GRACE WASN’T sure how long it had been—he admitted, he may have fallen asleep. But Hunter shook him gently, turned off the end table lamp, and led him to the bed.
Grace peered around, his eyes easily adjusting in all the ambient light, and realized that nobody could actually look in the big window that all but wrapped around the entire apartment.
“Do you wake up at ungodly in the morning?” he asked suspiciously as Hunter peeled off his preternaturally soft T-shirt.
“No,” Hunter murmured, kissing the side of his neck. “The windows are treated glass. I’ve got a remote by the bed. They’re as good as blackout curtains.”
Grace smiled, almost feeling like this was his own accomplishment. “You are a successful mercenary.”
“Only when I don’t let my client die,” he said grimly before lowering his head to nibble on Grace’s earlobe.
“You were totally betrayed,” Grace said on a swift intake of breath, and Hunter paused, one big, rough, capable hand on either side of Grace’s slender waist, his tongue tracing the shell of Grace’s ear.
“Betrayed?” His puff of breath went right in, tickling.
Grace put his hands on Hunter’s muscular chest to steady himself. And to grope. “The two guys who disappeared. They didn’t just disappear—they set the bomb. You know that, right?” Ah! Pointy little nipples! Why had nobody told him they were so wonderful?
Hunter blinked, pulling away to meet his eyes and frown. “Well, I always assumed—”
“They obviously stole whatever your employer got when they made the pickup and sold it or snorted it or whatever. Then they set the bomb, killed the gate guy, and took off.” Grace pinched one of those pointy little nipples, and the way Hunter shuddered went straight to his groin. They were going to touch each other now. Grace wasn’t sure he could take that, their touching, when they’d said such personal things.
It was terrifying.
But Hunter didn’t stop. He slow-blinked and then ran his lips down Grace’s collarbone. “Or their bones could be out in the middle of the desert right now,” he said, nipping right under Grace’s Adam’s apple.
Grace tilted his head back, his stomach shivering from the touch of Hunter’s lips and from the feeling of being shirtless and bare, very aware that Hunter wanted to touch him all over after making everything between them personal and intimate. “There would have been other play”—Oh God!—“ers!” Hunter licked his nipple and then nibbled, and Grace’s hamsters all squealed and fainted, and all he could do was cling to Hunter’s shoulders and try to stay on his feet.
Hunter released his nipple with a pop and stood up to brush their lips together. “Okay, fine. You’re right. Grace, I want you so bad right now, I’ve got chills. Can we—”
Grace kissed him, which he hadn’t been planning to do, but Hunter’s lean mouth was so close in the dark, and Grace wanted to drink him in.
Hunter fed on him instead. The crash was loud enough to rock Grace’s world.
He groaned and leaped lightly, wrapped his legs around Hunter’s waist and clung with his considerable strength, and Hunter cupped his ass to keep him there. The kiss went on and on, Grace barely aware of Hunter stripping the black cotton comforter off the bed and laying him down, mouths still meshed, bodies still straining together.
Hunter pulled away, and Grace almost wept, and then he heard the sound that came out of his throat as Hunter stripped off his own T-shirt and sweats, and clamped his hand over his own mouth.