Royce parked his Jeep Gladiator truck in Geoffrey Ralse’s driveway, behind one of the black Ward Security SUVs, which meant his coworker, Quinn Lake beat him there to talk over electronic security options with their new client—who happened to not be Geoffrey Ralse. Apparently they were meeting at Geoffrey’s because the new client was a friend of his.

Andrei’s rich playboy description was probably spot-on, then.

These were usually the easiest jobs. Hanging out in nice digs while some paranoid rich guy partied. But this one was different. He didn’t yet have the whole story, but his new client—Marc Foster—couldn’t let anyone know he required a bodyguard, so he couldn’t go to the Ward Security office.

Also, Royce would be posing as his boyfriend.

He’d never had to do that before, and he was still surprised Andrei had picked him. He wasn’t boyfriend material, fake or not. He looked too mean, too angry, to be that convincing in the role of someone’s permanent love monkey. The only person who got a lot of smiles out of him these days was Quinn and even then, he wasn’t comfortable sharing his past with the man.

His coworkers, Garrett and Dominic, were both already on jobs, so they couldn’t do it. Either of them could easily slip into boyfriend mode because they were both good-looking and charming and could pull off that game at the drop of a hat. Royce didn’t do boyfriends. Not anymore.

Before the usual pain could tighten his chest, Royce climbed out of the Jeep and strode to the front door, eyes skimming over the modern front of the home. He’d been to the house only a couple of times when Geoffrey had been a client. The place had been built on a nice plot of land with trees surrounding the edge of the property to give social-media boy some privacy. But that little bit of privacy had nearly cost him his life…and Sven’s, the bodyguard who’d been assigned to protect him.

Turning his mind back to the case at hand, Royce frowned. He hadn’t had time to look up the guy on the Internet, so he had no idea what he was in for, but to him, all rich playboys were the same. Reckless, egotistical, self-centered, and impatient. They all needed to be coddled and their egos stroked. None of which helped to keep a client safe.

Geoffrey opened the door when he rang the bell, and Royce couldn’t stop from sharing his most aggravating smile with the local celebrity. Geoffrey was famous because he’d created a popular hook-up app, and also because he plastered his platinum good looks all over the Internet. Aggravating smile because this celebrity found Royce infinitely frustrating and Royce got a kick out of pushing his buttons. He liked seeing the man get all flustered and frowny with him. He wasn’t in any way Royce’s type, but he was kind of hot when he got riled up. Cute, too, though he was sure Geoffrey would resent that description.

Not that Royce would ever go there. One of his friends and coworkers already had. Gone and fucking stayed. Sven Larsen lived in this lavish house now, and from what Royce had seen, fit perfectly. In the house and with the much smaller Geoffrey Ralse.

“You’re late,” Geoffrey said, frowning as he stepped aside to let Royce in.

“How could I be late when I came here directly after being told about the job?” Well, technically he’d showered and dressed according to his boss’s request first.

Geoffrey shrugged. “I guess Andrei didn’t find you as fast as he thought he would. We’re all outside. I had lunch catered.”

Royce’s belly growled with hunger, causing Geoffrey to laugh.

“I could use some food. I was actually training with Liam, or Andrei would have found me sooner.”

The shiver that rippled through Geoffrey came with his own unique brand of diva. “That’s the new guy Rowe just hired, right? I saw him last week when I stopped by to pick up Sven. I love to watch that man work out. Don’t tell Sven.” His laugh said a lot about how he didn’t worry about that at all. “You’re probably starving, then. This burger place is fantastic.”

He managed not to frown as he followed the blond through the house. He rarely ate burgers, preferring to stick with chicken or fish, but he’d make an exception today. He’d certainly worked out hard enough to warrant a few extra calories and carbs.

As they neared the wall of glass that led out to Geoffrey’s large patio, he heard the front door open and shut behind them. He didn’t even have to wonder who it was because he completely lost Geoffrey at that point. The guy turned and ran into the foyer. There was a loud grunt, followed by a deep laugh. Royce didn’t have to see to know that Geoffrey had taken a running jump to land on his boyfriend—who could more than handle catching the sprite. Sven stood six foot seven, over a foot taller than his boyfriend. The size and personality difference between those two amused the hell out of him, but he couldn’t deny that it worked. The usually quiet and reserved Sven was so happy, he fairly radiated a golden light at all times now.

He ignored the pang that gave him and the quick flash of a Michael memory he certainly didn’t want or need. He was happy for his friend, but for some reason, seeing the way he was with Geoffrey brought up too many painful memories for Royce.

Silence let him know they’d probably locked faces, so he let himself onto the patio. He nodded at Quinn, who had a table covered with his ubiquitous laptop and an assortment of cameras and cables like the guy was planning a surveillance campaign worthy of the NSA. Quinn pushed his dark glasses up his nose and grinned at him before turning his attention back to his stockpile.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone move. Looking up, he got his first good look at the man he’d be pretending to date.

Marc Foster rose from one of the outdoor couches and came toward him with his right hand out. There was no missing how he shifted his left hand slightly behind his body, but Royce already caught sight of what looked like a bandage. He stood taller than Royce by several inches, his shoulders broad, his body slim. He wore a fashionable suit that probably cost more than a month of Royce’s salary.

But his damn face—that was going to be a problem.

He had the most fascinating combination of features Royce had ever seen. Sharp was the first description that came to mind. He had thick, black, slanting eyebrows over piercing, blue eyes, bladed cheekbones and chin—all of it coming together to form a stunning, intense face that was completely belied by the softest-looking, fullest lips he’d ever seen. The dichotomy of severe and overly sensual startled, sending a punch of surprising lust into Royce’s gut. Marc wore his dark brown hair long on top, and it looked like he’d been running his hands through it, because it curled back off his face in soft waves with one strand falling over his eye.

It was the perfect length for gripping.

“Royce Karras?”

“Yes.” He wanted to say more, but he felt momentarily tongue-tied and shocked. Rich playboys were far from the kind of men he usually liked to get rowdy with, so his gut reaction to this one made him feel off. He’d never been much of a talker, though. He hoped the man didn’t want a chatterbox for a pretend boyfriend.

The smile that stretched those full lips revealed teeth that went along with the program: sharp and flawlessly white. But the smile softened his features, making him seem more welcoming.

And…somewhat devastating. Royce would have no trouble pretending to be attracted to this man.

Marc nodded then, his gaze running down Royce’s body.

Royce wondered what he thought as he took in his black vest over the white button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans. Black motorcycle boots completed the look. He’d also rolled up his sleeves, leaving the tattoos on his left arm in plain sight. He’d trimmed his black beard close to his chin. Normally, he wore the company’s polo or T-shirts on jobs, but Andrei had asked him to “hot it up” a little so he’d appeal to a rich playboy.

He watched that rich playboy now as he eyed him, then turned back to Quinn. Royce followed his gaze to find his coworker standing silently, watching them with a funny smile on his face.

“He will work,” Marc said in a no-nonsense tone. “My acquaintances won’t question me wanting him.”

That particular word choice sent a blast of heat to Royce’s groin, and he ruthlessly ignored it. But the image that had surged into his mind had been this gorgeous, haughty man kneeling before him, and that was harder to push aside. He’d look so pretty like that, his head back, mouth open, waiting on instruction.

Royce knew, without a doubt, that he could have this man on his knees, that he could easily overpower him despite his taller form. If there was one thing that always played out in Royce’s favor, it was the steely strength he carried in his compact body. It had been the reason he’d been a very successful shylock for a bloodthirsty bookie in Virginia. He came with the element of surprise—always underestimated, always triumphant in a fight. He didn’t have the special martial arts training of a lot of his coworkers, but that didn’t matter. There was something to be said for sheer determination.

“You aren’t going to question if he’s big enough to fight someone off for you?” Quinn asked. “He gets that a lot.”

Marc smirked and brought those astute blue eyes back to him. “I have absolutely no doubt this man can protect me. Anyone paying close enough attention would see that he could easily take them down.”

Royce hoped the lust coating his last three words was only in his own imagination. A quick glance at Quinn told him it was not. And the IT guy was finding this situation highly amusing as he lifted one eyebrow behind his black-framed glasses.

“Okaaay,” Quinn said, drawing the word out. “Both of you come here and look at what I’ve done. To make your surprising new and very close relationship believable, I’ve put together a fake background for Royce, including shots of you together.”

“How close?” Royce asked, focusing on the part currently making his pulse race.

“You’ve moved in with him, so it’s going to have to be believable.”

Believable meant touching. Kissing. Pretending to be in love. The last part would be the hardest. Royce had been in love. So deeply, his Michael had felt like an extension of his body. Losing him had shredded what had been left of his sorry soul already. Even pretending to feel that emotion would be a challenge, and it didn’t matter how beautiful the man was.

“Do you feel you can do this?” Marc asked, his voice soft. “I see doubt on your face. This has to be believable. You’ll be fooling my family—one of whom lives in my home. You’ll be with me twenty-four hours a day, and that includes sleeping in my bed at night.”

“I can do this.” Royce met his gaze, keeping his own steady until Marc nodded. He would be schooling him on where he’d be sleeping, though. In his room maybe…but certainly not in his bed.

Marc sat next to Quinn, and Royce walked around to Quinn’s other side, so he could see the computer screen too.

“I’ve set up some fake articles about Royce—your last name will be Costas. I kept it Greek because you’re so obviously Greek, and it needs to be believable.”

Royce felt Marc’s eyes on him again, but he didn’t look back. Yes, his father’s family was Greek, but his American mother had taken him far away from his family when he was young, so he didn’t feel any connection to that part of his heritage. Other than the thickness of his hair and his height, he looked exactly as his father had at his age.

Quinn continued. “You aren’t one for social media, so you don’t have Facebook, Twitter, things like that. You work in clay. You and Marc met through your art because he owns several art galleries.”

“I’m not going to have to sculpt, am I?” He knew his dismay was obvious, but he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. He looked at Marc. “Unless you’re up for displaying stick figures and misshapen, geometric shapes in your gallery, this isn’t going to fly.”

The corner of Marc’s mouth turned up. “Artists can be flighty and eccentric. All we have to say is, you’re not ready for anyone to see your work, which is why you don’t have a website or other things online.”

Quinn nodded. “The fake articles I’ve put up are about you selling a couple of high-dollar pieces to private collectors, and there’s one with your picture manipulated to look like you were in Paris with Marc two months ago.”

“Wow,” Marc murmured, staring at the screen. “You’re good.”

“You can’t believe every picture you see in the media these days. Professionals can change any background and make it look legit.” Quinn scowled. “It’s hard to tell what’s real anymore and unfortunately, a lot of people don’t question what they’re seeing.”

The back door opened, and a flushed Geoffrey came outside, followed by a smiling Sven, who came forward to clap Royce on the shoulder. “How are you? You’ve been gone for weeks now.”

Royce nodded. “I was on a job in DC, then took another in Georgia. Just got back yesterday.”

“So no days off?”

“Nah. I traded out with Dom, so I’ve got three weeks coming in a couple of months. Thought I’d work on that house I inherited from my aunt.”

Sven nodded with a grunt.

He planned to let Rowe use the place as a safe house when needed. It had worked more than a year before when they’d had to protect one of Rowe’s closest friends, Ian Pierce. It was also a good place for him to be alone. There were certain times of the year he was better off not being in anyone’s vicinity, and the three-week stretch he had coming up was one of them.

He refused to think about why right then. It was time to focus on the job.

Sven settled on the couch across from them, and Geoffrey immediately curled up next to him and slid his hand under the bottom of his shirt. He just rested it there—it was something Royce had seen him do often. The man seemed to get comfort from touch, and Sven was all about giving his boyfriend comfort. He tucked Geoffrey under his arm. They made an interesting picture—both blond but complete opposites in every other way. Sven, who’d told him he’d been named for his uncle in Norway, wasn’t only tall, but broad and overly thick with muscle, while his boyfriend seemed tiny next to him. In personality, however, Geoffrey was the larger of the two, his smart-mouthed frankness overpowering the quiet giant at his side.

Geoffrey looked up to say something quietly to Sven, something that made the man smile and kiss his forehead.

Royce had to look away then.

Instead, he watched as Marc rose from his seat and paced a short distance away, his hands shoved into his pockets. He stared into the house for a moment before speaking without actually looking at anyone. “I noticed that you’ve got a large blank space on your wall in the office. I’ve got a new artist you should look at. Her work would match the tone of your entire house.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Of course you’ve got someone.”

Marc turned a smile on Geoffrey. From where Royce stood, he could only partially see the man’s face, but it was still like being kicked in the gut. “Have I steered you wrong in the past? You still like the Korty, right?”

“I love the Korty and the two Mrozowskis,” Geoffrey said with a laugh. “I’m just not looking for a new piece right now.”

Marc winked. “I’m merely keeping an eye out for you.”

“You cool being stuck with this guy?” Geoffrey jerked his head toward Royce.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Marc’s smile dimmed a little as he looked over his shoulder at Royce before looking back at Geoffrey. “You met the last guy I was seeing at the gallery showing in New York.”

“Yeah, but he was nice. Smiled a lot. I thought for sure Andrei would assign Garrett to you.”

“Garrett’s out of town,” Royce snapped. “He’s stuck with mean, old me.”

Again, Marc’s gaze returned to him. Strange how that scrutiny felt like a physical caress. He had the strangest feeling nice was the last thing Marc was interested in. And fuck if that didn’t make it harder for him to focus. But he had to.

“Quinn, have you already gone over what we’ll be installing in his house?”

Quinn nodded and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Having a new security system installed makes sense. We’ll be able to coordinate your external security with the new cameras and sensors we’re adding to the interior. We’ll be showing up tomorrow. Marc’s already told me his sister could be around at the time, so you won’t be helping. You’ll be on stage, so to speak. I suggest the two of you spend the evening in his room getting to know each other.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Damn, Q-Man, did you move that fast with your last assignment? The one you’re now dating?”

“And you have room to talk? Sven showed up here and never left.”

“He did,” Geoffrey said, patting Sven’s belly. “But not for long.”

Sven’s smile was sheepish. “I really didn’t. You spent the night with me every time I went home, so technically, we moved pretty fast.”

“I knew what I wanted.” Geoffrey looked up at him.

“So did I,” Sven murmured, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend.

Their relationship was still so new, they seemed to forget anyone else was in their vicinity at times. But Sven kept the kiss quick and G-rated. Royce thought about saying something snarky, but he caught Marc’s expression. The man watched them closely, but absolutely nothing in his expression gave him away. And that intrigued Royce more than anything. How did he feel when he watched the obvious love the two men across from them shared?

And why the fuck did Royce care? This guy was a job. A job with a ridiculously gorgeous face—but a job nonetheless.

He glanced at Quinn to find him not even paying attention to Sven and Geoffrey, his gaze locked on the screen in front of him. Quinn could be oblivious to those around him when his focus was on his work. Or a video game.

Or his own boyfriend, who happened to be a local private investigator.

“Okay,” Quinn said. “We’ll show up tomorrow to install the security system, and Royce goes home with you tonight. Did you already pack for a couple of weeks?”

“I have my ready bag with me, but I’ll need to go by my place for more.” Royce thought about the clothes in his closet. Would they work with this persona he was taking on?

“I’ll follow, so you can leave your car,” Marc said. “My story was that I’m picking up my boyfriend from the airport, so you can ride in with me.”

Royce absolutely hated the thought of being without his truck for the duration of the job, but he merely nodded.

Quinn shut his computer. “You’ll need breaks, so do you want Sven as your backup?”

“Sure,” Royce answered.

“No,” Marc said, his voice low. “Sven won’t work because he’s been in the public eye a little too much lately. Everyone knows he works as a bodyguard. My sister even drooled over a picture in the paper of him guarding a function for the mayor.”

Geoffrey’s low laugh made Royce bite back a grin. He knew his mountain-sized boyfriend was the type of man who fueled fantasies for both men and women. “I don’t do as much social media these days, but I have been guilty of showing him off a time or two, so that’s partly my fault. Also, I’ll never apologize for ruining any fake boyfriend jobs he would have gotten. I want these lips only on me.” He paused. “And his baby nephew is okay, too.”

Sven just shook his head.

Royce had been a part of the security on Geoffrey’s case, so he knew very well what a handful the man was. Sven was welcome to him. Which brought his thoughts back to the rich playboy he’d be playing kissy-face with. Starting today, from the sound of it. He looked at Marc, only to find those sharp blue eyes back on him, his long, black brows nearly coming together in a frown. “Is there a problem?” Royce asked him. “Change your mind on using me?”

“No, not at all. I was just wondering if we should take a short detour and hit my tailor up for a few outfits for you.”

“What?” Royce knew his voice was little more than a growl, but the thought of someone playing sugar daddy—someone younger than him to boot—made his skin crawl. “You said artists are eccentric. My clothes should work. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing now. And hell, if I spend my time working in clay, T-shirts and jeans smeared with mud should be fine.”

“I like what you’re wearing now, and I agree that your day-to-day attire won’t matter. I was merely thinking of an art show opening in less than two weeks. It will require something more formal if you want to blend in. Do you have something for that?”

He didn’t, but he didn’t like that hoity-toity tone either. That earlier image of having this guy on his knees in front of him slammed back into his mind. This time, he was dressed in full-on black tie. “I’ll figure something out,” was all he finally said even as he wondered what his dick would feel like on that haughty tongue.