Chapter Three

Michael strode along the North Shore Trail, past PNC Park, and toward the Fort Duquesne Bridge and wiped away the sweat that threatened to trickle into his eyes. The weather was unseasonably warm for early May, but he wasn’t about to complain, even if he had to break out shorts for his afternoon walk.

The office building had a gym with showers, but nothing beat being outside, tromping pavement, climbing steps, and crossing bridges. Quite a workout, if you walked at a decent rate, plus sun, city, nature, and a bunch of other office dwellers outside getting healthy. Walkers, runners, bikers—everyone flocked to the trails when the weather turned nice.

A sunny day in Pittsburgh? You savored those like fine wine.

Plus, he needed out of the office and away from Sam, at least for a bit.

Sam had been fine as CEO so far, winning over the engineering staff in the last couple of weeks. His business sense seemed spot-on and he understood much of the technical aspects as well. The man could even code, though Sam admitted he was horribly rusty. Yes, he was hard-nosed and pushing everyone to meet deadlines, but he was also often the first person in the office and one of the last to leave. Sam practiced what he preached.

The office followed Sam’s lead, plunging into a working pace Michael hadn’t seen since the early days.

Sam wasn’t the usual type of CEO, and not simply a suit. Michael reluctantly agreed that the board had done something right for a change. Sam wasn’t the board’s pawn, and they seemed to be letting him work toward their mutual goal of acquisition.

Michael and Sam had even managed an easy business relationship, on the surface.

Underneath, Michael still undressed Sam in his mind and fantasized about bending that taut body over the executive conference room table and fucking him until they both came. Leave Curaçao behind? Hardly. He relived that night far too many times. Only it wasn’t the thrill of undoing a man of power anymore—it was all about the Sam he knew now.

How easy it would be, too. A whisper, a suggestion, he could have Sam on his knees. He’d caught Sam watching him when no one else was looking, the subtle flush and the shifting of his suit coat to hide a larger-than-normal bulge in his trousers.

No, Sam hadn’t put aside their time together either. The desire was there, burning as hot as ever.

Michael picked up the pace of his walk, passed under the Fort Duquesne Bridge, and then headed up the stairs to the walking bridge over the Allegheny.

The worst part was that Michael liked Sam. The more time he spent with Sam, the more he wanted to spend with him, and not just in a state of undress. Sam liked Marvel flicks, shot pool, enjoyed fishing, and even ate his catch. He’d mentioned wanting to rent a kayak from the place under the Roberto Clemente Bridge and paddle up the Allegheny to see the shore from the water. Sam had even suggested a company-sponsored night at PNC Park in the summer for one of the Pirates’ fireworks nights.

Those were all things Michael wanted to do. Heck, they’d even talked about their mutual desire to bike down to DC along the Great Allegheny Passage.

Unfortunately, Michael’s lust was also still present and as potent as ever. Certainly they had sexual chemistry, but what that hell did he do with a budding friendship on top of all that? He couldn’t date his own damn CEO any more than he could bend Sam over a chair and whack his ass in the middle of the office.

He didn’t even know whether Sam was openly gay. There was nothing—nothing—that Sam did or said that pointed to being out. But there wasn’t much that pointed to him being in the closet, either. They didn’t discuss family or relationships, which was probably just as well, since Michael had a piss-poor history with other men, anyway. They either wanted Michael to control every aspect of their lives, or they were like Rasheed—deathly afraid of being gay.

Sam was a little too domineering to want the former. The latter—he could see Sam in the closet, easily. After all, the man had flown to Curaçao to be fucked when there were plenty of gay bars in Miami.

Michael crested the short set of stairs to the walking bridge and pushed his pace faster, climbing the slight bow toward the center of the bridge. He wanted to run, stretch his body to the limit to burn off some of his energy, but the brace on his knee reminded him just how foolish that would be.

Even as a friend, he couldn’t go out to dinner with Sam. Too much had passed between them that night in the tropics. Michael looked out at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers and at the huge plume of water from the fountain at the Point. Too much water under a bridge.

The water under this bridge was blue-green, reflecting the clear sky. Cars and trucks whooshed past nearby, separated from the footbridge by a strong wire fence and the coils of yellow-painted steel cable that ran from the deck to the arch above. Bikers, runners, and fellow walkers passed in the other direction, but the noise of the traffic on the main bridge blotted out most of the quieter sounds. Like the footfalls of a runner coming from behind and stopping right next to him.

One moment he was alone; the next, Sam walked beside him, breathing hard through a smile that was as cheerful as the weather. “Great day, huh?”

Michael skittered to the right slightly and glanced over. Then took a second look. God.

Sam wore running shorts and a loose tank that let Michael see far too much of his body. Wet with sweat, Sam’s skin glistened in the sunlight. Heat ran down Michael’s spine and the pounding of his heart had nothing to do with the quick pace of his walk. Sam looked like a freaking cover model. “Yeah. Unusual for this time of year.”

That grin didn’t disappear. “Did I startle you?”

“A bit.”

“Sorry.” The amusement in Sam’s voice said the opposite.

Michael couldn’t help chuckling.

They walked in silence the rest of the way across the bridge. Once away from the sound of traffic, Michael stole another look at Sam’s long body, his powerful legs, and tight ass.

Jesus. Get a grip. Stop checking out your boss.

“Did you injure you knee?” Sam gestured at the brace on Michael’s left leg.

“Back in college. Tore it up real bad playing soccer. Surgery and everything.” That had been a painful nine months of his life.

“You need it for walking? I don’t remember it from . . . before.”

He ignored the second sentence. “Only wear it for strenuous exercise. Walking fast, tennis, biking. Helps keep the knee happy.” Michael watched Sam, but with Sam’s eyes behind mirrored sunglasses, Michael couldn’t tell where he was looking. “I can’t run anymore.”

Sam frowned. “Well, that sucks. Do you miss it?”

“God, yes. Walking’s good. But it doesn’t clear the mind quite like a run.” Well, there was one other thing that did. But he was not going to think about sex while walking next to Sam.

“Now that’s the truth,” Sam said. “There are very few things that relax me as well as running.”

“Is that why you’re out here?” Michael said. “To de-stress?” He’d seen William—fresh in from the West Coast and grumpy as all hell—stalking into Sam’s office this morning. That man was poison.

Sam’s frown deepened. “Please tell me my stress level is not that obvious.”

“I don’t think so. Not to others.”

This time Michael knew Sam regarded him from behind the sunglasses. A warmth that had nothing to do with exercise or the weather settled deep in Michael’s core. They walked down the path from the bridge to the river trail in silence.

It was Sam who spoke first, his voice much softer than before. “But it’s obvious to you.”

Very obvious. The tension in Sam’s shoulders, the way he tapped his foot a mile a minute during meetings, clicking the end of his pen against his leg. Little things that few would notice. Unless, of course, they watched Sam closely and frequently. Michael pressed his lips together.

Sam chuckled, but it was bitter. “Of course it is.” After they walked a few more feet, he spoke again. “I wish you could do something about that.”

Michael focused on the pavement in front of them. It kept him both from tripping on the uneven concrete near the bridge pylons and from seeing Sam’s expression. “You want me to stop noticing, or—”

“Or.”

That single word unleashed a storm of energy down Michael’s arms and legs to his fingers and toes. Other areas, as well. Keep walking. It was tricky to ignore his growing erection and hoped it wasn’t too apparent to those passing by on the trail. One of the best memories of Curaçao was of Sam relaxing under his hands, his slaps, his cock, the way the tension eased from that beautiful, willing body.

Sam spoke again. “I know. I shouldn’t mention it. But running doesn’t always cut it, and you—” He broke off and muttered something that sounded like a curse.

They neared the Andy Warhol Bridge. The nook behind the pylon was hidden from the trail. Sure, it was exposed to the 10th Street Bypass, but cars whizzed by so fast, and what were the chances people in them would be coworkers? He could pull Sam back there and—what? Kiss him? Bite him? Cop a feel? No fucking way. “You keep this up, you’re going to need to take another run.” And Michael would have to spend the rest of the afternoon walking around and around the city.

“Wouldn’t work. Not when it comes to you.”

Shit, shit, shit. They were not having this conversation. “You’re the one who told me to leave Curaçao behind. What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” Every nerve in Michael’s body sang.

Sam pushed the sunglasses up into his hair, revealing eyes that were far too harried and a little too wide. “I asked you if you could leave it behind. I didn’t tell you.”

Closeted or not, Sam was nothing like Rasheed—his ex would never have propositioned Michael in the middle of the day. Or any other time, really. Desire threatened to steal all of Michael’s breath. This meeting wasn’t an accident, he’d lay odds on that. “We agreed on professionalism.” He attempted to keep his voice cold and distant. “Anything more would be unethical.”

Those proud shoulders straightened. “I’m aware of that.”

“Are you even out?”

Sam made a choking sound. “I’ve been.”

And that could mean anything. Either that Sam was out now, or he’d been out before and lurked in the closet now. Michael pulled in air through clenched teeth. Dealing with the fallout from Rasheed had been a nightmare. He kept walking.

“Look, I’m not asking you for anything.” Sam’s hands were balled into fists and his whole body seemed as tense as a band about ready to snap. It was amazing he could still move.

They passed the tempting nook under the bridge and continued toward the convention center. Michael lowered his voice. “No. You’re begging.”

Sam stopped walking. Michael took another stride, then halted as well. He turned—not completely—but enough to see Sam’s anger, and beneath that, his hope. They stood for a moment, watching each other before Sam spoke, matching Michael’s tone. “I suppose I am.”

Fucking hell. Michael’s blood might as well have been on fire. They could not remain like this, stretched and fraying like old thread. One of them was going to break, and then where would the company be? Sam, at least, needed a level head if they were to make it through to acquisition. They could always find another person to head up test. Maybe this time, he’d be the one to run away.

Or stay and pick up the pieces again.

Regardless, if they were doomed to fall—and it sure as hell looked like it—he might as well make it a controlled descent. Especially since focusing Sam, beating and fucking away the stress in his trembling body in Curaçao, had gotten Michael off like nothing else. And now he knew what Sam needed. Could be more creative.

Michael’s heart lodged itself in his throat. “Follow me.” He turned and resumed his walk. He didn’t stop when he reached the convention center, but turned up the tunnel walkway that wound through a water feature and away from the river. Sam still hadn’t caught up. He might not. That would be for the best for the both of them, in all honesty.

Intellectually, he hoped Sam had made the correct choice. Shredding the rules, their professionalism was fraught with danger. Better to leave each other alone.

Joy ripped through Michael when Sam appeared at his side at the corner of Penn and Tenth. Relief, too—and that told Michael something he didn’t want to hear, so he pushed it aside. Sam said nothing and his sunglasses hid his eyes again, but his hands were relaxed and a faint smile graced his lips.

Even when Michael entered the office building and headed to the gym, Sam did not speak. In the empty locker room, a silence full of tension and anticipation pulled a different kind of cord between them.

“Here?” Sam murmured the word. He stopped near a locker but didn’t reach for the lock.

Michael unlocked his locker, fished a towel out of his gym bag, threw it over the bench, and peeled his damp t-shirt from his body. “The sound of the showers hides a multitude of sins.”

Sam made a noise that was halfway between a grunt and an inhale. “Jesus. You’re serious.”

Michael kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, then slipped free of his shorts and underwear. He let Sam drink in the view of his erection before wrapping a towel around his hips. “You have a choice. Either get naked and into a shower, or tell me you’ve changed your mind and never bring this up again.”

Sam folded his sunglasses and set them down on the bench.

Michael held Sam’s gaze. Last chance. Either push this over the edge or walk away.

They stood on the precipice until Sam kicked his shoes off. His socks followed, and then his shirt. Michael exhaled a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding.

Sam hooked his fingers around the waistband of his shorts and underwear and pushed them down in a long, slow motion that exposed the smooth skin of his hips and the ever-widening trail of hair to his dick. It took forever for the cloth to travel over the bulge of Sam’s erection and fall to the floor.

The little tease. “You do realize a coworker could walk in here, don’t you?” Michael said.

A wide and wicked smile answered that question. “Isn’t that half the fun?” He turned away and headed—without a towel—toward the showers.

An exhibitionist? Michael slipped his hand between the edges of the towel around his hips and ran his thumb over the head of his cock before stroking it a few times. Oh, the possibilities there. Except Sam—

Sam should have been off-limits. Michael closed his eyes and let the warmth of his arousal and the tug of his hand on his cock wash over him, tighten his skin, and strengthen his resolve. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t this reckless. In the past he’d wanted to be, would have loved to slip in a kiss with Rasheed while at work, but that never happened. This—was a bit much, even for him.

Then again, Michael had never wanted any man more than he wanted Sam. Every part of Michael’s body cried out to give Sam what he wanted—and to claim his Sam again.

The gym bag—his work gym bag—lacked condoms and lube. Because you didn’t fuck your CEO while at the office. Every inch of his skin tingled as he pulled his belt out of the locker and the bottle of body wash from his bag. Sam enjoyed a bit of pain, and there were other options for pleasure.

Running water echoed in the locker room, creating a blanket of sound over the utter silence of the space. Would it be enough if someone walked in? With any luck, they wouldn’t need to find out.

Michael followed the noise to the farthest shower in the bank and pushed aside the curtain, rattling the rings on the bar. Under a stream of water, surrounded by steam, Sam stood, leisurely tugging at his dick. His eyes were closed but he had a shit-eating grin on his face. Of course he did. He’d won, the master manipulator that he was.

Michael flicked the nonbuckle end of his belt against Sam’s thigh with enough force to get his attention.

Sam flinched backward and gasped, his expression a beautiful mix of shock, pain, and lust. He wasn’t masturbating anymore. Instead, his hands were pressed against the tile of the wall he leaned back against.

A red mark rose on Sam’s thigh. Lovely. “If you want to jack off, you can do that on your own time.” Michael stepped into the stall and pulled the curtain closed before unwrapping his towel from his waist. He threw that over the curtain rod.

“Sorry.” The focus of Sam’s attention slipped down Michael’s body, then back up. “Can I suck your dick?” Sam was barely audible underneath the rush of water against tile. “As an apology?” The grin returned.

Like hell Sam would dictate any of this. “No.” Michael set down the body wash and looped the belt over his shoulder then crossed to Sam. The scalding water stung Michael’s skin as he entered the stream, but he ignored the shock, grasped Sam’s arms, and crushed his lips against Sam’s.

Sam groaned and opened to Michael, his chest grinding against Michael’s. With his tongue, Michael thrust inside, claiming Sam’s mouth for his own, roughly exploring every part. He slid his hands down to Sam’s waist and pulled their bodies tight until thighs and cocks pressed together.

Sam shuddered against Michael, all sinew and stress, and kissed back as if they were at war.

Maybe they were. This situation was rash. Wrong. Michael broke off and opened up some space between their wet bodies. He tasted Sam with each bitter swallow.

Breathless, his cheeks red from more than the hot water, Sam gripped Michael’s arms before he could pull away any farther. “I know what’s going through your mind. Boss. Employee. Everything we said we wouldn’t do. But I can’t think right now. The board is breathing down my neck, engineering is whining about timetables, and I have a stack of shit to do, only I— Michael, please, please make the world vanish for a while. I need—” Sam gulped in a breath. “I need you.”

Michael’s own desire—to calm and focus Sam—voiced from Sam’s own mouth. Shit. That didn’t change who they were—the roles they played outside the shower. “I’m a piss-poor therapist.” As Michael loosened his grip, Sam tightened his.

“I don’t need to talk. I need a good fuck.” He dipped his head and took Michael’s nipple in his mouth.

The nip of teeth and the teasing of Sam’s tongue on that sensitive nub sent a bolt like lightning straight down Michael’s spine. Every inch of his body tingled and his cock tightened. Want coiled tight in his belly and all thoughts of leaving the shower fled. “You need your ass tanned.”

Sam chuckled and let up. “That’s part of my definition of a good fuck.”

Of course it was. Michael hooked a foot around Sam’s leg and pulled him off balance enough to spin him and press him up against the wall of the shower. He spoke into Sam’s ear. “Hands on the wall. Don’t move.”

Sam obeyed, his breathing heavy and his body shivering against Michael’s despite the warmth of the water.

Michael kissed the nape of Sam’s neck and stepped back.

From beyond the shower curtain, a locker slammed closed. Michael’s heart ticked up a notch and he took the belt off of his shoulder. His aching balls pulled tighter and desire snaked deeper into Michael’s center. To strap Sam with someone else in the room? That was pushing the very edge, for both of them.

He folded the belt in two and let the wet leather dangle down. Sam hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched at the sound from the locker room. How much higher would it drive Sam to know someone else might be listening? How much did Sam want to be overheard?

If Sam was in the closet, how much did he want to be shoved out of it?

Michael’s skin burned like fire. He lifted the belt and laid a blow against Sam’s right ass cheek.

Sam flinched and gasped, and a thick red line appeared on his skin.

Silence from beyond the curtain. Either the person had left . . . or they hadn’t. Blood pounded in Michael’s ears as he strained to hear over the water. His fingers and toes tingled from too much need. It wouldn’t take much to make him come.

“Green.” Sam’s breathless whisper. “Please.”

So, Sam remembered his colors from Curaçao. Heat raced up Michael’s arms and legs and his reply was just as soft. “That’s not begging.” Before Sam could say anything else, Michael laid the belt three more times against Sam’s ass in rapid succession. Left. Right. Left. Wet leather cracked against wet flesh.

Sam writhed against the wall, his breathing labored.

If there were any other sounds coming from the locker room, Michael couldn’t hear them, not over the rushing of his own blood, the sound of the water, and Sam’s whispered words. “More, please.”

God, yes. The world dropped away to just running water and Sam’s shining body sliding against the tile wall trembling with pain and need. Sexy as hell, and all Michael’s doing.

This time, Michael started slower and softer, alternating sides of Sam’s ass, bringing up the speed and sharpness as Sam tried not to move with each blow. Stripes of red layered over the pale flesh of Sam’s cheeks until there was nothing but various shades of red that edged toward purple. Sam arched against the wall, his mouth open in a silent cry.

Michael held back his own moan. The shock up his arm when the belt met Sam’s skin, the slap, Sam’s breathless noises of agony and delight—it was nearly too much. The desire in Michael’s core twisted like Sam’s body. It wouldn’t take much to come. A few strokes of a hand. Or the velvet touch of Sam’s tongue.

That thought alone nearly pushed him over the edge. His balls tightened.

Michael whipped the belt four more times, hard and fast—striking the last blow across both cheeks at once.

Sam’s short cry echoed around the shower and his legs buckled.

Michael dropped the belt, caught Sam, and turned his quivering body around. Michael caressed Sam’s back and brushed fingers over the abused flesh of his ass. Pressing his lips against Sam’s neck kept words from spilling out of Michael. Let me take you to dinner. I want to hold you all night long. Be mine. Impossible, wonderful things. He wanted to be this for Sam—master him when he needed it, clear his head, then give him his control back.

God, Sam was everything he’d ever wanted, everything no other lover had been. Rasheed hadn’t even been able to stand a nipple pinch, let alone a strapping.

Sam’s face was a beautiful mess of lust, pain, and adoration. “God, that was—” His voice was as rough as the rattling of water against the tile. “I can’t even begin to describe—”

Michael stopped the rest of Sam’s words with his mouth. Maybe Sam wanted the same things he did. Maybe he didn’t. But they could not be like this—CEO and employee—for much longer. Michael couldn’t quit, not yet. Later, once everyone at Four Rivers was safe—or as safe as they could be in this industry. He owed that to them, owed it to himself to be there at the end.

And if the only thing Sam saw in Michael was a quick fix of endorphins, a fun way to de-stress? Or worse, if he was yet another man who was only gay in private? Fuck, he didn’t want to know.

Sam moaned against Michael’s mouth and his hands slid down to Michael’s thighs then cupped his ass.

Their hard shafts slid together and it was Michael who groaned. He was so damn close. Michael gripped Sam’s chin and broke the kiss.

Water slid over Sam’s brow, down his nose. His dark hair lay plastered to his head. Pale eyes watched Michael, but Sam didn’t speak.

Michael pushed his thumb between the seam of Sam’s lips. “Get on your knees.”

Sam pressed his hands against Michael’s chest and dropped—slowly, so that his body skimmed down Michael’s—to kneeling. Sam’s lips parted a fraction and he looked up.

Michael caught himself on the wall of the shower when his legs turned to jelly. No wonder Sam got what he wanted in the boardroom. The man had tempting and teasing down to an art form. “Let’s see if you can take all of me this time.”

It was hard to tell whether it was fear or determination that flickered in Sam’s eyes, but his hot mouth engulfed the head of Michael’s cock and Michael nearly came right then, his whole body tingling with need for release. Sam found the slit of Michael’s cock and licked at it with abandon.

Light danced before Michael’s eyes and he fought against the rising tide of his orgasm. Now his muscles trembled, his body shook. He placed his other hand on the wall in front of him and closed his eyes.

Mistake. That only intensified everything, from the water pounding against his side and the drumbeat of his heart to the soft inferno of Sam’s mouth as he sucked more of Michael’s cock in with every stroke.

Fire rose from the base of Michael’s spine straight to his skull. He clawed at the tile grout and bit back the cry that threatened to leave his lips. Not yet. From the burning of his body and the hazing of his vision, he was fighting a losing battle against his impending orgasm. Michael longed to lose to Sam, to spill his seed down his throat. Every part of his body sang for release.

Sam engulfed Michael again, and this time Michael nudged his hips forward and found almost no resistance. He opened his eyes.

Sam’s lips stretched wide around the base of Michael’s shaft. All of him. Michael moaned and Sam backed off, gasping for air. He glanced up and gave Michael a feral grin before he took Michael deep again.

A whip of desire lashed out from Michael’s core, flaying his nerves with pleasure and stealing his sight and breath. He came buried in Sam’s throat, shooting more than he thought possible into that willing mouth.

Sam milked him until the tremors subsided, then licked his lips. “Did that meet your expectations?” The devil resided in Sam’s rough voice and in the mischief dancing in his eyes.

Michael could only murmur Sam’s name. He pushed himself off the wall and held out a hand.

Sam took it and Michael pulled him into his arms. He kissed Sam, tasting himself on the tongue Sam thrust into his mouth. Sam’s cock nudged Michael’s belly and a zip of awareness—a warmth Michael did not want to name—ran through his blood. This man would be his undoing.

Michael broke the kiss, nipped at Sam’s neck, then spoke. “More than met.” He stepped out of Sam’s arms and retrieved the bottle of shower wash. He thumbed the flap open and drizzled the liquid over Sam’s shoulders and down his chest and back, then dropped the bottle, not caring about the noise it made. He ran his hands over Sam’s chest, lathering the wash, then moved to his back.

Sam tipped his head and his hard shaft pressed against Michael’s stomach again.

He shouldn’t leave Sam hanging like that, but he enjoyed seeing him on the edge, the way his body moved, the shudder of his breathing. Michael scrubbed lower, over Sam’s striped ass.

Michael dug his fingers into Sam’s cheeks, and Sam’s rough breathing turned into a cry.

“That hurt?” Of course it did, but he wanted to hear Sam’s answer.

“Yes.”

“Too much?”

A breathless laugh. “From you? Never.”

Michael scraped his fingers across the swollen lines from his whipping and Sam twisted. Time to end this—as much as he enjoyed having Sam at his mercy in this little space they’d carved out—the real world beckoned from beyond the shower. He ran a hand over Sam’s chest to gather what lather the shower hadn’t washed off and took hold of Sam’s cock. With the other hand, he slid a finger between Sam’s ass cheeks and teased his hole.

Sam moaned in Michael’s embrace and tangled his hands into Michael’s hair.

Michael plunged his tongue between Sam’s lips. God, Sam tasted so good. And his kiss . . . the sound of the shower lessened as Michael’s blood rushed in his ears. When this was over, then what? He pushed the thought—and the lump in his throat—away and stroked Sam’s cock. No gentle teasing, just a hard hand-fucking. He circled Sam’s hole with his index finger then pushed inside.

Sam’s grip tightened, pulling Michael’s hair taut, and he broke the kiss. “Oh fuck!” Sam repeated the curse into Michael’s neck.

Michael nipped and licked at Sam’s collarbone, tasting tap water, spice, and salt, then he bit Sam’s flesh and pushed his finger into Sam’s ass as far as it would go.

With a breathless shout, Sam came, his whole body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. After a few moments, Sam sighed and wilted into Michael’s embrace. “God, that was so good.”

It had been, better than Michael wanted to admit. This little encounter wouldn’t be enough to sate his appetite for Sam, which was a huge, huge problem. He kissed the spot he’d bitten that already shaded toward purple. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I’m sore now.” Sam pulled away, grinning, and bent to claim the bottle of body wash. “I like that aspect.” He squirted wash into his hand then offered the bottle to Michael. “Keeps me sharp.”

Michael took it and worked on cleaning himself off. He had no marks on his body, no visible bruises, it was only his heart that hurt like hell. “We can’t do this again.” He choked out the words. He would drown in Sam’s needs—and his own—if they kept this up.

Sam’s smile melted. He looked down and rinsed off, a faint crease forming on his brow.

Michael took his turn under the water, then shut the stream off. The silence afterward was absolute. Mike grabbed his towel off the curtain bar, dried himself, wrapped it around his waist, then retrieved his sodden belt. He held up a finger to his lips.

Sam didn’t move. His throat worked his Adam’s apple up and down, but he said nothing.

Pushing the curtain half open, Michael stepped out into the locker room.

It was empty. Exhaling, Michael opened the curtain the rest of the way. “I’ll get you a towel.” He didn’t wait for a response before returning to his locker to grab his spare towel. He took it back and handed it to Sam.

“Thanks.” Neutral tone. Sam’s eyes were rimmed with red, probably from the extended shower.

He hoped to God it was from the shower.

They didn’t speak as they toweled off and dressed. But when Sam picked up his watch and grunted, Michael couldn’t help but look over. Suit pants. Crisp gray shirt. All the evidence of their time together hidden beneath cloth. Sam met Michael’s gaze and turned his watch. “It’s not as late as I thought.”

“What time is it?”

“One forty-seven. Plenty of time before my two-thirty meeting with William.”

A long lunch, but not horribly so, given how late they both worked. Michael’s pulse still beat like he’d been working out. The warmth in his chest was gone, replaced by a cold knot. “Sam, I—”

Sam waved the words away. “You’re right. This shouldn’t happen again.” Sam paused and put his watch on. He lowered his voice. “It just complicates things.”

That was an understatement. Michael stuffed the towels and wet belt into his bag. No one would notice it missing if he left his shirt untucked. “It’s not that I don’t like it.”

Sam’s smile was slight. “I know that.” He moved to the full-length mirror and set about fixing his tie. “I was out in college—in undergrad. Dated. Marched. All that.”

So many things Michael wanted to say. He bit his tongue and finished packing his gym bag.

Sam shrugged into his suit coat and transformed back into a CEO. Except his eyes were still red-rimmed. “But the business world is very different.” Tight voice. Clipped words.

Fucking hell. Another one. “I understand.” Michael shouldered his bag. “I’ll see you upstairs.” He almost made it to the door.

“Michael.” Sam wielded the name like a whip made of silk.

He stopped and swiveled around, despite himself.

The suit spoke of power, but the raw emotion written on Sam’s face twisted the lump of ice in Michael’s chest. Complicated? Holy fuck, he didn’t want to name what he saw there. Nor what he felt in his own soul. He of all people shouldn’t have a thing for his CEO, especially given what had happened the last time he’d dated a coworker.

Sam exhaled. Inhaled. “No one has ever made me fly like you do.”

Michael backed into the door. This was worse than Rasheed. He’d been a lover and a friend, but they’d never fit together like this. Sam—complemented him, completed him. And the fucking man was in the closet because of business. Michael’s throat tightened so much he could barely breathe. “I have to go.” The words came out as cracked and shattered as he felt. Too many thoughts tripped over themselves on the way to twisting into his heart.

He turned and fled the locker room.

***

Sam’s ass hurt, but not in a good way. The chairs in the conference room must have been designed by someone who hated sitting—they numbed the limbs while driving aches up the spine. Sam didn’t shift in his seat—years of meetings like this one had taught him that a board of directors looked for those little hints that their prey was uncomfortable.

And today, Sam was their quarry—the fox running over the hills. The board knew exactly what he was going to say—he’d sent them his presentation three days ago. This meeting, with its expensive catered lunch, was designed to make Sam dance and the rest of the company’s sphincters tighten—exactly what the board wanted.

Well, how about that. Sarcasm worthy of Michael. Sam had gone completely native.

He curled his toes in his shoes because the board wouldn’t notice that.

Michael.

They still weren’t talking. Not since the shower. Just a word or two here and there. Terse e-mails about aspects of work, copied to the group. The lack of true communication hurt, in every way that was bad and far more than he thought possible. He didn’t know how to bridge the gulf that had formed between them. He missed Michael, his laugh, his grin, even his freaking parrot shirts. There was no color in Michael these days—only blues and blacks and grays.

William cleared his throat. “You’ve made good progress, Randell.”

He forced himself to relax and smile. “Thank you. The team has been giving it their all.” It wasn’t false flattery. The development and testing teams had succeeded in cleaning up the most egregious errors in the software they’d released. What remained was a set of new features their prospective buyer wanted in the product. Tricky, cutting-edge development. Hell, the IETF hadn’t even hammered out the new protocols yet. Lots of infighting among different companies.

From William’s expression, Sam knew there was a shoe dangling somewhere over his head.

“We are, however, concerned about the timeline going forward.”

And there it was, in all its hard-soled glory, falling right on schedule.

Sam let his smile fade away, but kept his expression neutral. “Concerned?”

The screen flashed up a slide with the schedule. It was aggressive, with the engineering team completing development of the new features, functional testing, and then regression testing, all in three months.

“We think you should be able to complete coding and testing in two months.” William tented his hands. Blond hair and blue eyes spoke of his Dutch ancestry, but there wasn’t any warmth at all in the man. There never had been, in all the time Sam had known the venture capitalist.

Two months. That nixed pretty much all of testing. “We can deliver the functionality in two. But unless you want the same debacle as last release, we need four weeks for testing.”

The rest of the members of the board shifted in their seats. Sam held himself still, but relaxed. This was not going well. Something else was afoot.

“Mike Sebastian’s estimates have always been conservative. He’s done the same amount of testing in less time. A week after code freeze should be enough.”

“Michael knows his job.” Far better than William did. Sam flattened his palm against the hard surface of the table. “A week isn’t enough time to find and fix bugs and perform regression testing.”

“Mike is known for his volatility. He inflates issues. Always complains about deadlines.” William smiled. “He’s a drama queen.” There was just a hint of emphasis on the last word. “Are you becoming like him, Randell?”

Sam’s blood ran cold. Those were loaded words—a hint William didn’t approve of Michael’s sexuality—and maybe more. Sam ignored the klaxon in the back of his mind. “A week isn’t enough, not for the complexity of the new features.”

“I’ll agree that it’s aggressive,” William said.

“It’s idiotic.” Dead silence in the room.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but what was done was done. And anger felt good—and was just as usable as calm. He rose from his chair. “If you want this release rock solid, then you need to give us the time. Maybe we can shave off a week, but four?” He shook his head.

“Two weeks,” William said. “No more.”

Still not enough time. “When you brought me in, you agreed to trust my judgment.”

William smiled and leaned back in his chair, as if he’d already won. “Or buy you out.”

Ice seeped deeper into Sam’s veins. They could. It was the ultimate threat. Pay him a hunk of cash and he’d be on to “spend more time with his family” or “pursue other opportunities.”

Where would Michael be then? Out of a job, along with the rest of the company, because it was obvious that William didn’t want a merger, he wanted to ditch the IP, take the cash, and run. But why? That made no business sense. No time to dwell on that mystery, though.

“I suppose you could get rid of me.” Sam slipped out from behind his chair and walked toward the front of the room. “Are you a betting man, William?” He knew the answer to that question. They’d been in Vegas together.

Sam’s movement forced William and the other board members to twist in their chairs to stay focused on him. It was an edge, a sliver of control.

“What are we wagering?” A mix of caution and excitement.

Hooked.

“Money. What else is there?” Sam stopped at the front of the room, behind William’s chair. “You—you all want to cash out of Four Rivers. Move on to new projects.” He gripped the back of William’s chair and rocked it slightly. “You can either cash out with a failed project—William’s preferred method—and get very little on your return, or trust me to deliver to you a product that will have Sundra Networks writing you a blank check.”

He pushed off of William’s chair and walked toward the back of the room. “So, which bet will you take?”

“What if I told you Sundra wants the release in two and a half months’ time?” William’s voice betrayed his anger.

An ache flickered against the back of Sam’s skull, and he swallowed his fury. He reached the opposite end of the conference table, then leaned over, pressing his fingertips against the surface. “If that’s true,” he said, his voice low and strong, “then you should have told me that from the beginning, rather than wasting my fucking time playing games.”

The board members squirmed in their seats. William’s face turned red.

What the hell was William’s plan?

Brigitta Holderolff, the sole woman on the board, cleared her throat. “Sundra wants it in two and a half, in time for Routing Forum.”

Sam straightened. “Then what are you willing to give up?”

No one spoke for a moment, and then they all did, to him, to each other. Sam reached his chair and took a seat. Now it was just up to negotiations. Ice gripped Sam’s spine. He’d have to give something as well, if this were to work.

Michael would not be pleased at all, and that confrontation he dreaded more than a year’s worth of board meetings.

Worse, though, was the mix of fury and calm in William’s steady gaze. Sam schooled his expression, despite the dread eating up his spine.

***

Sam found the server room cold and deserted—which was perfect. No one came in here, giving him the privacy he needed to decompress after the board meeting. The whirring of the ventilation system and the fans on the rack-mounted equipment created a shield of white noise, blocking out conversations in the hall and soothing his nerves. No dinging of e-mail or ringing of phone in here. He wasn’t sure he even got cell reception huddled among all the electronics. Blessed silence lurked in a blanket of humming.

In the back corner of the room, he sat on a step stool tucked behind one of the equipment racks and nursed the start of what he suspected would become a very bad headache.

After some hard bargaining and quite a bit of raised voices, he and the board had struck a deal. They’d given Sam three weeks for testing, and the more experimental protocols would only be certified as beta released—full testing would not be needed. The rest of the features would be released for general availability.

Michael would not like it. Hell, Sam didn’t like it. He had done his best to carve out as much time as he could for the testing team, but there’d still be late hours and working weekends in their future. Sam rubbed his temples. He wasn’t ready to face Michael yet, especially the way their interactions had been of late.

Lately, Michael might as well be a ghost. He existed in the office and Sam caught glimpses, but they no longer spoke. Hell, most of the questions from the testing team came from people other than Michael.

That time in the shower had been a damn good fuck, but if he had known it would ruin the blossoming friendship, he’d never have asked. The look on Michael’s face in the end—after a slight hint that Sam felt something beyond physical attraction, Michael had run for the hills. Sam’s throat tightened. He should have known. Michael had made Sam’s place in his life very clear. Just a suit, a captain of industry to be bent over, beaten, and fucked for kicks.

That wasn’t entirely fair. Besides, had things continued . . . then what? A relationship meant stripping off the mask he’d worn since grad school, that of the prudish but probably straight man.

Sam shivered. Maybe that persona was already gone. The look William had given him—that comment . . .

No. William wasn’t that observant. It had more to do with Michael than with Sam—Michael who was openly gay.

Sam never thought he’d long for his undergraduate days, but in some ways, he’d been whole then—even though he could never keep a boyfriend and the whole four years had been one long, tumultuous fight with professors and students alike.

Then the night in the alley had happened and he’d done nothing. Sam shivered. Well, he’d made his choices. Paid his price, it seemed, too.

Certainly, the impending news from the board wouldn’t improve Michael’s opinion of him, even if there were any hope of a relationship.

That shit William. If he had his way, Sam would be the captain of a sinking boat. That slick smile and too-hard handshake at the end of the board meeting did not bode well. The man wanted Sam to fail, that much was obvious, but why? Why bring him here in the first place, if not to raise up Four Rivers like a phoenix from its burning pyre?

Maybe Taylor wasn’t the only one with sticky fingers in the cash jar. Sam sat up. Time to do a little research. See what William was into. Perhaps the way things with Michael had turned out was for the best, as well. Once Four Rivers was sold, he’d be off to a new struggling company. His nomadic life left little room for friendship, let alone anything beyond that—even if he hadn’t stuffed himself into the closet.

As Sam stood, the telltale beep-click of the security pad sounded from the door and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he felt like an errant child, caught hiding where he shouldn’t be; then his brain kicked in. He was the CEO and if he wanted to sit in the server room, he damn well could. He coughed and stepped out from behind the equipment rack.

Michael stood in front of the closing door, mouth parted, his glasses glinting in the florescent lights. The door clicked closed with a rattle of wood against metal.

“What are you doing here?” Michael said.

“I work here.” Sam deadpanned the words.

Michael exhaled, exasperation overtaking his surprise. “I meant what are you doing in this room? It’s not like you know anything about mail servers or routers.”

The words and the assumption—that Sam was technically incompetent—pelted like sleet on bare skin in winter. Heat, not the pleasant, enjoyable kind, rose in Sam’s chest and he had to force himself not to grit his teeth. “Actually, I started out in IT, managing a room not so different from this one.” He let that nugget sink in and enjoyed the coloring of Michael’s cheeks. “Why are you here?”

The muscle under Michael’s left eye twitched.

Sam slid a cool smile into place. “Crashed the router again?” He couldn’t help throwing that at Michael.

“I didn’t crash it. Development’s shitty build did. I’m here to do my job.” He moved, brushing past Sam to where one of the zone routers was racked. He pulled a keyboard out from behind a small monitor and banged on it. “God damn, even the console’s locked up.”

Not good.

As part of testing, they ran different parts of the office network through Four Rivers’ equipment—and woe if a zone went down, since Michael heard about it from fellow coworkers. Immediately.

The lights were illuminated on the router, but several of them were red.

“I really don’t like doing this.” Michael stared at the box for a moment, then pushed the power switch to off.

Sam winced in sympathy. The router would either reboot fine, or not. If not, they’d either managed to fuck up the flash or one of the processors on the line cards. Either way, off to hardware the card would go. Fixing it would cost precious time and money.

They both exhaled as the boot sequence flashed on the console and scrolled through normally. Michael logged in, ran a quick diagnostic. “Core dump.” He logged out. “I can do the rest from my desk.”

“Glad it came back,” Sam said. There weren’t many spare line cards around. Too expensive to keep a stockpile—not when customers needed them.

“Me too.” Michael shoved the keyboard back behind the monitor and then faced Sam. “I doubt you’re here to fix a server, though.”

Sam let go of the chip that had lodged itself on his shoulder. “I was recovering from the board meeting.”

“Ah, yes. Suit food. I saw the remnants of upper-crust fruit salad in the lunchroom. Someone claimed there had been lobster rolls, but they were gone by the time I got there.”

Michael’s sneering tone was so blatant, Sam tasted the bitterness on his tongue. “There were three left, I think.” He headed for the door, adjusting his tie as he walked. “So sorry you didn’t get one, Mike.”

“Sam.”

He stopped, despite himself. Damn it all to hell. Michael would always be there, under his skin. It took more effort than Sam expected not to turn around. “Yes?”

“The meeting? How’d it go?”

He didn’t want to have this conversation now, not with his head throbbing and heart threatening to beat its way out of his rib cage. “As well as could be expected.” He reached for the door handle.

“Did they accept our plan?”

Our plan. As if they’d actually talked these past few weeks, rather than communicated by group e-mail. Sam brushed the smooth, cool, silver finish of the handle with his fingertips. Freedom lay beyond the door. He let his arm fall to his side. “Of course they didn’t,” he said, turning around. “You know how these things go.”

Michael’s face was a mask. “What did you agree to?”

“Three weeks.”

“God damn it, Sam! Four was barely acceptable. Three?”

Michael’s outburst only increased the ache in Sam’s head. “Three. Plus the draft protocols will be beta, so you don’t have to worry about those.”

Michael didn’t say anything for a moment, though his jaw worked. “You threw us under the bus. So much for all your promises.”

Every muscle in Sam’s body tightened. The pounding in his head matched his heart—too damn fast. Calm snapped like brittle wood and he pulled himself to his full height. “Stop being so fucking melodramatic. I don’t have time for this shit.”

Sam might as well have slapped Michael. His face reddened and he took a step back.

There was a certain grim satisfaction in that. Yes, I can be the suit you so hate. Surprise. “Three weeks,” Sam repeated. “Can you accept this?”

“I—don’t know.”

That was a pity. Sam liked Michael—too much. Missed their budding friendship horribly. The days weren’t as bright without Michael’s smile. Sam only had himself to blame for that. Had he been able to keep his needs in check, they wouldn’t be at this moment. The shower had been a disaster. The tightness in Sam’s chest twisted and stabbed, turning his words to gravel. “Then I’ll find someone who can.”

Michael wavered, then reached out and grabbed the server rack. “Are you firing me?”

“Not yet.” Sam didn’t look away. “But I will, if you get in the way of me protecting the ‘great and wickedly smart’ people who work for you.”

“You call this protecting them?” Michael let go of the rack and took a step forward. “Undercutting their time? Setting them up for an impossible task?” His voice boomed in the small room.

Sam didn’t wince, though the sound sent light flashing across his vision. “Once you’re finished being irate and you have two brain cells to rub together again, consider this—I got you three weeks when I knew you needed four. What do you think William wanted?” Sam watched Michael for a long moment, memorizing the play of expressions that passed over his face, then Sam turned and pulled open the server room door. He was most of the way down the hall before it thumped closed.

His lungs barely worked and people stepped out of his way as he passed. Too many. You’re a mess. Slow down. School your expression. He didn’t—couldn’t. The utter look of betrayal, of shame, he’d seen on Michael’s face bored into his skull with the same efficiency as the migraine.

Once in his office, he closed the door, then leaned his forehead against its cool surface.

He should have known better. No friends. No lovers—especially no lovers. This job precluded all of that because it required ruthlessness and precision. He could be fair and even kind, but attachment led to failure. For the sake of all Four Rivers employees, he had to succeed at this venture—their livelihoods depended on that. If it meant losing Michael? Well, in business, no one was irreplaceable.

No one.

Even the one man he most wanted to keep.