Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

to my waist and I reached around and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of his slacks. I rested my chin on his shoulder, and he did the same to me. I used the quiet of the song to settle my brain. Despite the heat that burned between us, we were still working. The temptation was to jump three steps ahead and forget about this damned case for the night. Just one night. We'd worked straight through the week and we deserved a day off. Didn't we?
    "How about after this I buy you a drink," I suggested. I was struggling to maintain my composure.
    "Mmm, sounds good. It's early yet; we need to give the assholes plenty of time to find us. Don't want to peak too soon."
    We took a few more turns around the dance floor, to give ourselves time to recover more than anything else. Then we moved back to the bar and ordered. A club soda for him, Coke for me.
    I sat on the stool and Travis moved to stand between my knees, facing me. With a big palm on each leg, he slid his hands over the tight denim… a slow exploration of thigh that ended with a light brush of hand that traced the inseam from my balls to the fly. I fought back a shiver and thought about pushing his hand away. Instead, I spread my legs a little wider. He was right; it was early. So far, both sightings had occurred long after midnight. We still had a couple of hours before we should expect our watchers. We needed to pace ourselves.
    "You're playing a dangerous game, Boudreaux. You keep brushing that hand on my cock, I'm gonna take you out back and feed it to you."
    "Yeah?" His lids were heavy, giving him a sleepy, sexy look. One that made me want to see him in my bed one morning. Before he shaved that dark shadow on his jaw, his hair bed-tousled, morning wood … Fuck .
    "Think you could?" he said. Then the fucker licked his lips. Lips that were swollen from our kisses.
    "Knock it off, Trav. Don't fuck with me." I pushed him on the shoulder and he moved half a step back. I didn't know what in the hell to think. I needed to get his hands off of me for few minutes. The contact was clouding my judgment. And there was always the possibility that he was just fucking with me. Before tonight I would have sworn he was straight. But that kiss felt damn real. Now that we weren't touching, I was able to think. This situation had all kinds of wrong written all over it.
    Travis held his hands up. "I won't push. This is your show… just know I'm not looking for a one off. And I'm not looking to make it public. I don't do out at work. You think you can handle that, we can talk after this case wraps. But you gotta know you have me wound so tight I about blew my load on the dance floor."
    Damn, that was more personal information than I'd ever heard him say at once. And I didn't have a clue what to do with it, because I was too far out of the closet to ever think about going back.
    I looked away to gather my thoughts and watched with a sense of helpless amusement as a pair of very familiar looking cowboy boots emerged from the crowd that hovered near the dance floor.
    I slid my gaze past our suspect, as if I was scanning the crowd. I didn't want to reveal our interest in him, if he was looking in our direction. At a quick glance, my impression was Caucasian, five feet eight or nine without the boots, maybe a buck sixty soaking wet, and a resemblance to a rat. I reversed my scan of the room, snuck another quick look.
    "Come here, baby," I said. Travis raised his eyebrow, but let me pull him back into a more intimate position between my knees. Guess he hadn't been expecting an endearment. I pressed my face to his neck and couldn't resist taking a taste between the words.
    "We have an audience. I'm going to turn you around like we're watching the dance floor together. Cowboy will be on your left, ten o'clock position. He's holding a drink and doesn't look at all happy."
    Travis didn't stiffen or show any outward sign of tension, but I sensed a new type of awareness in the strong back and long muscles. With my hands on his hips, Travis turned and leaned against me, moving in time to the music as he watched the dance floor. He moved in tight until I was spooning his ass.
    "Now I've got you right where I want you," I murmured against his ear. I pulled his shirt loose from his waistband and slid my hands underneath the sweat-damp material. "Did you get a look at him?"
    "Yep, got him. Looks like a rat. No way he's the one subduing the victims. Not unless he's got a gun, and none of the