Chapter Two

Michael took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The numbers and letters on his screen kept blurring into each other. Sleep would have helped, but he hadn’t had the time for more than three or four hours a night since he had come back.

The price of a week away from work should not be two weeks of sheer hell. But here he was. He picked up Sam’s cuff link and rolled it between his fingers. Some of the stiffness between his shoulders eased. At least he had that night to remember. The taste of Sam’s skin, the sound of his abandonment when he came, and the way his tight ass had milked Michael’s cock—that memory kept him from going apeshit all over the office.

The problems had started on the plane when he’d turned his computer back on. Damn the in-flight wireless because e-mails had poured in. Not even a day after he’d left—and of course he’d been dumb enough to tell his coworkers he’d be out of contact—that asshole Vince had instigated a release of routing software for a cellular backhaul customer. As VP of Engineering, Vince had the authority to fire the guy Michael had left in charge. Frank bent to Vince’s will and certified the release as tested.

They had tested the release before Michael left, but there had been so many problems with regression, integration, and interoperability, he’d thrown the whole lot back to development with a laundry list of bugs to fix, but Vince only ever saw testing as the bottleneck to release.

Once Michael had left for the tropics, Vince broke the bottle and let the release go out into the wild, with disastrous results. Three customers put the code into production and their networks went down. Support was swamped with angry calls 24-7. Vince blamed test for not doing their jobs and Taylor, the CEO, called a meeting and threatened to fire everyone in test—including Michael—until one of the other test engineers, Jennifer, had shut Vince and Taylor down.

God, part of him wished he had been here to see that. At five foot nothing, she’d climbed up onto a table with a fist full of e-mails and the voice of an opera singer. The truth of Vince’s doings came out and that had opened the floodgates. Eventually Steve from development admitted they were still working on the bugs and that the code had huge issues.

By the time Michael had stepped off the plane in Pittsburgh, both Vince and Taylor had been sacked, the angry customers had been downgraded to the last stable release, and the board of directors was ready to hang Michael for having the audacity to go away for a week of vacation, as if the entire episode had been his fault.

He didn’t even bother reminding the board if they’d left Michael as VP of Engineering and Test, the whole episode wouldn’t have happened in the first place, but no, they’d demoted him after he’d been left high and dry by Rasheed and Susan.

The board had brought on Taylor and Vince over Michael’s objections.

Fucking suits.

How long would he pay the price for having trusted his former friends and cofounders—and in Rasheed’s case—former lover? He’d stayed, despite them selling the company out from under him. Oh, he still had some shares, but not nearly the portion he should have had as the third founder—hell, he wasn’t even considered that. Just employee number three, Susan and Rasheed’s first hire.

Bullshit. All of it. He should have left when Susan and Rasheed fled to California to play family, but he couldn’t let what he’d worked so hard for shrivel and die and leave his team behind with no continuity, no transition. So here he was, three years later.

Michael set the cuff link down in front of his monitor. He hadn’t been this angry since they’d left. Shit. The past was unchangeable. Focus on the now.

Wasn’t much better. Today, the crappy code Vince had released was decidedly less messy but still not working correctly. Worse, the board was bringing in a new CEO to “fix” things. Like that would happen. Taylor had worked out so wonderfully. This time, they hadn’t even asked for Michael’s opinion.

Probably because the new suit would take all their hard work and turn it into a lovely pile of cash for the board. Sell the company—that’s what the board members wanted—get a stable release, get some cash for the intellectual property, and get out. Never mind all the folks who’d lose their jobs and years of hard work for a pittance.

Damn, he sounded bitter. Michael scrubbed a hand over his face and put his glasses back on. Time to think about retiring. Or perhaps changing careers to something that didn’t keep him up until four in the morning or give him ulcers. Fly back to Curaçao and find Sam.

Except those people he hired—the ones who trusted him—they’d still be here. And those early designs still bore his name, even if he’d been sanitized out of the official history of Four Rivers.

Sam? Sam was long gone. A memory, like everything else.

Michael’s computer chimed at him.

New mail. Another meeting, this one a one-on-one with the new suit later in the afternoon.

Apparently, he was some super-amazing technical snot of a CEO who liked to get his hands dirty. He’d been scheduling meetings all morning with everyone. There was a meet-and-greet at eleven, then meetings, meetings, and more meetings.

“Yes, I’ll accept the meeting request from S. Randell Anderson,” he muttered at the screen, then clicked send.

He glanced at the time. Fifteen minutes until the meet-and-greet. He probably ought to head to the lunchroom now and get a seat in the back before they were all taken.

He hadn’t bothered to search for info about the suit because everyone else on his team had. Undergrad in engineering at MIT, an MBA from Yale. Anderson had bailed out a dozen failing companies and turned them either into thriving businesses or sweet fruit to be plucked and devoured by a larger company. He had a good track record. Some said he was honest and fair. Others that he was ruthless and driven.

Michael snorted at that. He’d never met anyone at the executive level who didn’t lie through their teeth, even the few he’d counted as friends. He suspected ruthless and driven were closer to the truth.

He pushed himself away from the computer and headed toward the back of the office.

The lunchroom walls and floor were dotted with primary colors like some kid’s crayon box, but it was the only space in the office large enough to hold all-hands meetings. People had already claimed most of the seats in the too-bright room. Some folks, mostly marketing, sat in close to the front. Several more employees were scattered at the lunch tables. Michael joined his team against the large windows in the back of the large, echo-prone room, but didn’t sit, though folding chairs had been set out from the rack that sat in the back. Instead, he leaned against the windowsill and waited, watching the door.

No sign of the new CEO or of William Vandershoot, the head of the board. They must be holed up somewhere. Maybe nursing jet lag.

Ganesh from development weaved his way through the tables to join Michael. “Hey, when this is done, can you help me with that bug you sent? I can’t seem to reproduce it on my environment.”

“Sure. We can run it through on my box. I know they were seeing it intermittently in the field, but I can reproduce it fairly easily.”

The sounds in the room changed, became more hushed. Mike looked at the door and stopped breathing.

He knew the man following William into the room. The dark hair, the lean face, those pale eyes.

Sam. Holy fuck. It was Sam.

Michael leaned against the windowsill, digging the sharp edge of the marble into his back. He needed something to keep him upright because his legs weren’t doing a good job.

S. Randell Anderson. Sam. The rat-sucking board had hired his Sam as CEO. The fantasy-fling he’d relived dozens of times so he could forget this mess walked in behind William.

Sam’s gaze met his, and for a split second, the lunchroom vanished. Sam’s lips parted, as if to speak Michael’s name, but he turned and offered William a professional smile, as though Michael didn’t exist, as if they hadn’t fucked in Curaçao.

This was not good. Michael bit his tongue and forced his heart rate back to something reasonable. He wanted to run—escape the room, find his car keys, and get the hell out of downtown.

Sam could not be his boss, not after Michael had spent a night fucking and spanking the man. No way in hell.

But there Sam was, taking the microphone from William. He tapped the top and spoke. “Good afternoon.”

That silenced the rest of the lunchroom. Michael sucked in a breath. His heart still beat a mile a minute, and hearing Sam amplified didn’t help. That same voice had begged Michael to take him harder.

This was so so so not good. Michael wanted that voice to beg him again. Wanted that man on his knees and that mouth wrapped around his cock.

Shit. Michael gripped the windowsill. There was nowhere to run. He could only listen.

“As you’ve probably guessed, my name is S. Randell Anderson. The S is for Sam, by the way.” He paused and his gaze skimmed over the crowd, lingering briefly on Michael. “That’s the first question everyone asks.”

A flutter of laughter.

Sam smiled. “You can call me Randell or Sam or Randy or You Fucking Jerk. I don’t particularly care, as long as you’re willing to work with me.” Another pause, and the smile faded into that same intense smoky look Sam had held in the bar. “And I do mean work, because the next several months are going to consume you and me. I apologize in advance to your families and friends for that, but you all know why I’m here.”

No laughter now.

Sam glanced around the room. “Four Rivers Networks is in dire straits. That half-baked release that went out into the field did more to kill your reputation than a string of low sales quarters. If something isn’t done, by this time next year, this office won’t exist.”

The murmurs returned and Sam held up his hand. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you everything will be okay and if we’re all one happy corporate family, sunshine and rainbows will cover the building with gold and money will fart out our asses.” He leaned into the microphone and his voice boomed. “Not going to happen.”

A deathly silence hung over the lunchroom, broken only by the sound of Sam’s shoes as he walked back and forth in front of them. “However, I wouldn’t be here if there were no hope, no way of turning things around. The first task I want everyone in this room focused on for the next month is to put out the quality release that should have gone out to our customers. I know you can do it because you’ve done it before. That will go quite some way toward regaining your reputation as a builder of world-class networking software and equipment.”

Michael’s brain swam and the garish colors of the room made him nauseous. This couldn’t be happening. If Sam were a CEO, then Michael was sure as shit he wasn’t openly gay. Someone in his team would have mentioned that, so Sam was another fucking Rasheed.

A woman at one of the tables raised her hand, catching Sam’s attention. “And what are you going to do?”

“That’s a good question.” He pointed to the table. “What’s your name?”

“Metap.”

Good for Metap. Jennifer sat next to her and together they were a force to be reckoned with. Someone had to challenge Sam. He fucking couldn’t at the moment.

“Metap,” Sam repeated. “I’m going to smooth over a ton of ruffled customer feathers and try to make sure they don’t cancel contracts. I’m going to work with your managers to get you all what you need to get the job done, and I’m going to be the wall between you and the idiot directors who don’t know how much effort it takes to put out the highly complex product you do.” Sam looked over his shoulder at William. “No offense.”

That gained Sam a few chuckles but William looked pained.

Sam worked the room like a pro. Said all the right things. Begrudgingly, Michael had to give the man credit. Sam-the-CEO didn’t sound like your average suit—he wasn’t coating it with sugar then flinging poo at them. Maybe . . . this CEO might work out after all. His cynical side scoffed at the thought. The same board had demoted Michael, despite his role in starting the company. They’d hired Taylor and Vince. He couldn’t trust anything the board did.

But there was Sam, in the front of the room and a deep part of Michael wanted to trust him.

Because Sam had trusted Michael. Surrendered to him. Had come for him.

There was that light-headedness again. How the hell were they supposed to work together? All Michael wanted to do was pull Sam out of the room, find somewhere private, and kiss the man. Or fuck. Or tan his ass. God, to feel that mouth again, taste his skin, hear him beg for more and more.

He wasn’t supposed to like the CEO. He certainly wasn’t supposed to lust after the man. And after dating—and hiding that he was dating—Rasheed, he wasn’t about to march down that path to disaster again.

Sam took several questions, but Michael didn’t hear them over the thumping of blood in his head. He studied the way Sam’s lips moved, how his fingers held the mic, the way the curve of his smile crinkled the lines near his eyes. Every time their gazes met, Michael felt the same burn of desire he had felt in Curaçao, to strip the suit off and master the man underneath.

Sam. His brand-new CEO.

***

Sam’s fingers shook as he toyed with his one remaining Copernican universe cuff link. He’d bought the pair the first time he’d made enough money to afford something utterly frivolous and expensive, and chosen the design to remind himself that he was not the center of the universe despite his status and success.

So many of his colleagues had succumbed to thinking that the world revolved around them, that they were there to lead the little people and whip them into doing what they should, never realizing that the so-called little people were the ones who inspired and innovated and motivated. Those CEOs acted as if every invention had sprung fully formed from their skulls.

Four Rivers Networks was a fine example of that. The board might have hired Sam, but he worked for the employees. These folks here had been royally screwed over by an incompetent and near-criminal CEO and had suffered under an egomaniacal VP of Engineering. Every one of them deserved better. It was a wonder they hadn’t all packed up and moved on to one of the larger high-tech companies in Pittsburgh or left town altogether like the Four Rivers founders had.

When he’d asked the engineers why they hadn’t jumped ship, they’d pointed toward the one person they loved working with and for, the man who’d kept those two idiots in check for the last three years, the person who motivated a small team of engineers to create a product that scared the pants off larger routing companies.

Mike Sebastian. Sam stared at his cuff link. Michael.

The same man who’d lovingly bound Sam’s hands with his own damn tie, spanked his ass, then fucked him until he couldn’t see straight.

Lead Test Engineer at Four Rivers Networks.

According to what Sam had learned from the board, Mike had been the first person the founders of Four Rivers had hired after they’d formed the company, and he’d remained on after those two had abandoned the company for greener pastures. The engineers, hell, even the marketing folks who worked directly with Michael praised his intelligence and tenacity.

The rational part of Sam’s mind—the business side—shrugged. It made sense. Michael had willpower and determination, but was also considerate and kind. His résumé was impressive—he’d been the VP of Engineering and Testing early on and several of the patent applications had his name on them. That he hadn’t left when the board had restructured him out of power spoke of a loyalty to the people at Four Rivers and to the engineering—something rarely seen in business today. In the same situation, Sam doubted he’d have stayed. It had been a crap move by the board, one to consolidate power with people they trusted.

Idiots. The troubles with Taylor and the failed release wouldn’t have happened if they’d left Michael as a VP, Sam was sure of that.

Obviously, the board didn’t trust Michael, probably because he had too much power in the early days. But everyone else did. That said quite a bit about Michael.

Had Sam been in a better state, he might have dug deeper into why there was such a discrepancy between the board and the guys in the trenches, but his emotions—well, he’d boxed those up tight and shipped them off to some foreign country the moment he’d spotted Michael. He could not afford to become a blathering idiot in front of a roomful of employees. He hadn’t. But it had been a near thing—much closer than he wanted to admit.

Why did Michael have to be here?

Ever since Curaçao, all of the daydreams he’d jacked off to in what passed for a home these days—they were all of Michael. They varied from simple lovemaking—Michael fucking him slowly in bed—to kinky—Michael in leather, whipping him on a rack. Those fantasies were safe. He could indulge in his desires without anyone ever knowing he liked being bent over and claimed.

Michael had done exactly that. Hell, Sam had begged for Michael. Moaned for the man. Tasted his cock.

Sam set down the cuff link, fingers shaking far more than he liked. His body ached and had from the instant he’d seen Michael’s shocked face in the crowd. In all his reunion fantasies, he’d imagined Michael’s cool exterior slipping away. None of those equaled the impact of seeing it for real. Michael still wanted him.

If only they had met again for any other reason than this.

Michael knew Sam was gay—in a carnal and visceral way that both frightened Sam and hardened his cock. Coworker. A direct report. An employee. The last person in the world Sam could take to bed. Or beg to be taken to bed.

Not that Sam would take that chance, not with William hanging around. If only he’d go back to California—but no. He’d taken an interest, damn it. These early days were critical—either the employees would trust Sam, or he’d have to raise the asshole-CEO level a notch. He’d rather not do that, but it would take focus and careful maneuvering. The right words paired with the right actions.

He’d never been so unfocused and wrecked on his first day as he was now.

Worse, he had an inkling of why Michael had been so eager to fuck him that night. The desire to control, yes, lots of men had those needs, but how much had been about the desire to screw the boss, at least figuratively? There was no way Michael could have known who Sam was. No last names. No titles. One night.

At least Michael wouldn’t be running to the board to scream “gay.” Not that they would do anything but fire him. Not even William would stalk a man down a dark alley—the man was all bluster. Sam’s secret was safe for the time being.

He exhaled. God, what a mess.

His computer dinged almost at the same time a knock sounded on his door. The rapping stole his breath and increased the beating of his heart.

Punctual. Of course he would be. Sam took three calming breaths that did nothing and spoke. “Come in.”

The door opened and Michael walked in. He pushed the door shut and leaned back against it.

He wore khakis, but slacks this time, matched with a sedate dark purple polo. Once more, Sam couldn’t see Michael’s feet, but he guessed boat shoes, no socks. Same brown eyes, same glasses, and an expression Sam couldn’t read because it kept changing.

Heat prickled along Sam’s arms and legs and the ache in his bones turned into fire. “Michael.”

“Holy fuck, Sam.” Michael didn’t move.

“I guess you didn’t bother to look up anything about your new CEO?” He could play this part. The businessman. The emotionless boss.

Michael pushed himself off the door. “No. They’re all the same.”

“How so?”

Michael didn’t look away. “They’re all suits.”

A hollow, yawning pit formed in Sam’s stomach. He covered by shrugging. “I’m a suit.”

Michael crossed to the desk and folded himself into the guest chair. “That’s the problem.” He leaned forward and gripped the edge of Sam’s desk. “Did you know that I worked here?”

“No. When I came back to the States, they told me that the recent problems had started when Mike, the testing guy, went on vacation. But I never thought—never suspected—you were that Mike.” He would make it through this meeting without cracking the mask. He had to. “It’s a fairly common name.”

Michael leaned back in the chair, his lips twisted into a smirk that wrenched Sam’s stomach into knots even as a tingle traced up his spine. “Well, that’s a convenient explanation.”

“Believe me, had I known, I wouldn’t have let you buy me that drink.”

The smirk faded into puzzlement and Sam could breathe again.

“I was going to replace Taylor as CEO before the blowup. There were deeper issues with him.” Like Taylor dabbling in shady stock practices that could have dropped the Feds on Four Rivers and sunk the company.

“They didn’t tell us that.”

“No. There wasn’t much point. Critical issues first, everything else can wait.” The rest would come out, once a case had been built, if the board decided to pursue.

Michael frowned. “The board met in Florida. The week I was away.”

Sam quelled the sudden desire to squirm in his seat. “Yes.” He paused. “Yes, I was there. I told you.”

Michael’s expression shifted—probably remembering—then snapped back into focus. “Why were you in Curaçao?”

He spoke through a very dry mouth. “To celebrate.”

A tremor ran through Michael. “You were my boss when we fucked?” His elegant fingers tightened around the arms of the guest chair.

“No. Not officially.” Sam leaned back, glad that the leather of his chair was cool against his dress shirt, because his skin certainly wasn’t. “Look, neither of us knew. We were strangers in a bar.” It was a mere technicality, if anyone ever discovered the truth, but he clung to it as hard as he held on to the image of Michael from Curaçao rather than the half-angry, half-horrified Michael that sat before him now. He hoped he wasn’t shaking, because he couldn’t tell. His nerves were on fire.

“Ships in the night.” Michael shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“No, not anymore.” Sam glanced at the cuff link still sitting on his desk. The next question might ruin all the memories Sam had of Michael before today. “Can you leave what happened in Curaçao behind?” Because it could never come out. If the board even got a whiff of that, Sam would be out on the street. Hell, Michael too, probably.

Michael’s white-knuckled grip on the chair answered the question quite clearly.

Both the cold drip of fear and the warmth of elation ran through Sam. That night had meant something to Michael, then. Sam hadn’t just been a suit to fuck and leave behind.

Though, Sam really had no place to be smug about it, not when his pulse beat at marathon rate and with his cock semi-hard. That night had been in the forefront of his mind for two weeks. He could not succumb to the emotions Michael had churned up, but it was much too late for that.

Next question. “How much do you care about your colleagues?” Quite a bit, given what Sam knew of Michael’s past. Still, he wanted Michael’s answer.

Color rose into Michael’s face. “What the hell kind of question is that?

“An important one.” He spoke the words with the same intensity imbedded in Michael’s response. “I’ve talked to your coworkers and everyone points to you as the person who makes this company tick. Whether you know it or not”—he paused and studied Michael’s hard face—“you’re the linchpin that holds this mess together.”

Michael didn’t move for several seconds. Then he sighed and seemed to sink deeper into the chair. “Please don’t tell me that.”

“Look, I know what you’ve been through—”

Michael’s reply lashed like a whip. “No, you don’t. Don’t even think that you do.”

Sam caught his breath. His arms shook. Fuck. Dead silence between them.

Michael spoke again, softer this time. “There’s a difference between reading what’s on paper and actually living through the time.”

“Of course.” Sam’s cheeks burned. More to the story, obviously. He wasn’t about to pry now. “Regardless, you’re passionate about all you do.”

He’d felt that in Curaçao, long and hard.

A thin smile appeared on Michael’s lips before vanishing. “What we’ve built here. It’s good technology. Good code. And the people here—” He straightened. “They’re great folks, Sam. Wickedly smart. We’ve done more with a handful of people than all the big boys have in the same amount of time. They deserve better than what they’ve had.”

“That’s a large part of the reason I’m here.” He’d seen their equipment at a client site and watched the larger companies try to break it. Rock-solid code . . . until three weeks ago.

“No.” Michael coughed a bitter laugh. “You’re here to sell us out. To make some fast cash.”

More heat crept up Sam’s neck. There was truth to Michael’s accusation; the board did want to sell the company. The bonus Sam would get if they managed that was quite nice. But he wasn’t here just to make money—that was never the reason he stepped into a company like Four Rivers. He lowered his voice, but not his intensity. “I want to see that the right things are done.”

“And what right things would those be?” Michael didn’t move, but his dark gaze pinned Sam against the chair and sent a bolt of heat to his balls. “Fire staff? Push us to our limits before handing over our IP?”

Sam resisted the urge to fidget under Michael’s scrutiny. He leaned forward, taking control. “Not if I have my way.” He let that sink in. “The board wants out. They’d gladly sell the intellectual property and fire everyone if they could, if it wouldn’t be such a bad PR move. I’m here to prevent that.”

Michael continued his study of Sam. “And what do you want to happen?”

Sam hoped he hid the shudder that ran down his spine. What he wanted was to be stripped of his clothes, Michael’s lips on his and Michael inside him again. That wasn’t even an option. God. His legs shook. “I want this company—and the people here—to be acquired. Not just Four Rivers’ IP, but all the talent as well.” He paused. “That’s the only route to survival.”

“Is that even possible after”—Michael’s face twisted—“the debacle we just went through?”

“It’s a hell of a lot harder now than it was a month ago. But I think we can still manage it, as long as we can fix the damage done. Show them that we can turn things around, that the people here are as good as you say.”

Michael frowned. “Show who?”

Sam froze. Damn, the man was perceptive. “I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Hard words.

“Does it make a difference?” His response was soft, but equally unyielding. He might be submissive in bed, but the hell he would be in his own office.

Michael sighed, and finally looked away. “Not particularly, I suppose.”

“Are you willing to work with me, Michael?”

A genuine smile graced Michael’s face, one that sent electricity down every nerve. “Call me Mike. At least at work.”

“Mike.” There would be no calling him anything after work, no matter how much Sam wanted the man. One night had to remain just that. Too much to risk losing.

“What about you? Are you willing to listen to me?” Michael scooted to the edge of the chair, inching closer. “Or will you throw me under the bus when things don’t go smoothly? When my team finds issues? When I contradict you?”

Sam’s chest ached. So, back to being a suit. Fine. “I don’t punish people for doing their jobs. What kind of asshole do you think I am?” That came out far stronger than he’d intended.

But the shock on Michael’s face was priceless.

Sam softened his voice. “I’ve an open-door policy. I’m always willing to listen, and I do actually act on what I hear.”

“You don’t know how many times I’ve heard about an open-door policy, that the CEO wants straight talk.”

“I mean it.” Whether Michael believed or not. “I believe in honesty.” He ignored the voice in his mind that whispered about hypocrisy.

“I’m sure you do,” Michael said, his voice low, almost sensual. He reached across the desk and plucked the cuff link off the surface. “Just like you want me to forget Curaçao.”

It was as if all the air in the room vanished. Sam’s chest tightened, and he focused entirely on the shining piece of metal Michael rolled between his fingers.

“And I wonder,” Michael said, “can you leave that night behind?”

The proof that he couldn’t danced between Michael’s fingertips. Sam’s ass burned for Michael’s hand and his cock was full and stiff. He swallowed, though his throat was desert-dry, unlike his back. That was slick with perspiration, enough so that he’d have to wear his jacket to hide the wetness if he left his office anytime soon. Any ground he’d gained in this tête-à-tête, he’d lost in an instant. It must have showed.

“I thought as much.” Michael set the cuff link down on the desk. “So how do we navigate around it?”

Sam found his voice, though it cracked like autumn leaves. “Professional decorum.” He cleared his throat. “What happened in Curaçao—”

“Stays there?”

“Yes. It has to.” The salt of Michael’s skin, the velvet touch of his lips, the rough sound of his breath when he came . . . all that had to remain a memory. It certainly had no place here at the office in Pittsburgh. “Anything else would be breaking more corporate policies than I care to count.” And would unveil far too much about Sam to everyone around him.

“I can handle that.” Sam couldn’t tell if that was conviction in Michael’s voice or the knowledge of a lie well told. It too closely mirrored his own voice, his own lies.

Michael stood, and once more, Sam realized just how tall Michael was. “I’m going to hold you to listening, though. And protecting these folks.” He waved at the door.

Sam rose, his legs surprisingly steady. “I’d expect nothing less. I’m glad to have you on board.”

Michael chuffed a laugh. “Let’s see what you say after a couple of manager meetings.”

Sam rounded the desk and walked toward the door. “I may surprise you.”

“You already have.” Michael’s voice took on that smoky quality that sank into Sam’s ears and straight to his balls. Sam couldn’t help looking up into Michael’s face and the amusement that danced there.

Sam held out his hand and Michael took it, his grip firm and his hand warm. Every second they touched, Sam wanted to fall to his knees, unzip those khakis, and go to heaven. Or hell. Everything about Michael turned him inside out. Michael knew the true Sam. Everything he tried to hide.

They let go at the same time.

“Well,” Michael said. “This is going to be interesting.”

Sam croaked a chuckle. He reached for the door handle and opened the door slightly. “We’ll make it work.” There was no other option.

Michael looked down, but his continued amusement was almost catching. Sam followed his gaze.

Sam had been right. Boat shoes without socks. And I know you. His skin tingled.

“Thank you for the straight talk,” Michael said.

“Anytime.”

Michael glanced up, then turned and left Sam’s office.

Sam closed the door with care, then leaned his forehead against the wood. Interesting wasn’t even close to the right word. Having Michael near and not touching him—not begging Michael to touch him—would be sheer hell.

Sam pushed himself away from the door and returned to his desk. He’d deal with all of that later. Right now, he had to get ready for another meeting.

If only his hands would stop shaking. He curled them into fists and shoved thoughts of Michael aside. He couldn’t let one single fuck, a quick fling, get the best of him.

Even if it had been the best night of his life.