Chapter One

 

“Are all Marines this lazy in the morning?”

The amused male voice in Brady Finn’s ear sounded familiar, but he didn’t have a chance to wonder why or respond to the question. As soon as he tried to move, his head began to throb so violently it felt like it was preparing to rip itself off his body. He almost wished it would. “Oh God.”

He lowered his arms from their position over his head and dragged his palms slowly down his face, willing his brain to function and the tips of his hair to stop hurting. Why the hell did his hair hurt?

The pub. He’d been at the pub. He’d had a drink and played a game of darts with his cousin Seamus, listening to his renovation plans for the bar and trying not to think about where he was going to go now that he’d left Owen and Jeremy’s guest room. Of course then Owen had surprised him by showing up to talk and buying him another round of what he’d been drinking.

Rum. He remembered the rum.

Now every cell in his body was rebelling against him and he was in a strange bed with no memory of what he’d done last night after he got halfway through the second bottle.

The body beside him shifted and he rethought that last statement. He had no memory of who he’d done last night. Shit.

Brady carefully squinted against the brightness of the bedroom. At first all he could see through his lashes was a smile—gleaming white teeth framed by lips that were made for every wicked thing a man could imagine. He would know that mouth anywhere.

It belonged to Kenneth Tanaka.

Maybe he was still asleep. The pain was reminiscent of one of his nightmares, but the scenes that haunted him didn’t usually include waking up beside a man he’d lusted after for months. That was a completely different type of torture.

It couldn’t be Tanaka. Brady hadn’t seen the tempting computer hacker in nearly five weeks. Not since Stephen’s wedding reception. He’d had a little to drink that night too, but he remembered every second of their last encounter, and the vow he’d made the next morning not to finish what he’d started with the kinky bastard. No matter how much he wanted to.

The soft laugh sounded like loud, angry bells to his sensitive ears. “You’re not looking so good, Finn. Rough night?”

It was him. Son of a bitch.

“Water,” Brady rasped, his throat raw and dry and his need to delay a morning-after conversation paramount in his mind. “I need water.”

All of it. He needed every drop the man could find. And then, when he was hydrated enough to move, he was planning on throwing up, hopefully in private, preferably in a seedy motel where no one would think to look for him and he could suffer in peace.

The bed bounced lightly when Ken rolled off and Brady groaned. “I’m dying.”

“Sit up first. I brought you something to drink.”

Water? His movements were clumsy and leaden as he twisted so he could plant his feet on the smooth wood floor. He stifled another groan and rested his aching head in his rough, wide palms. “I don’t get hangovers. I never get hangovers.”

His brothers always said he had the constitution of an ox. Specifically Babe the Blue Ox—because giant references never got old in his family. It was a challenge to get him tipsy, and he’d never gotten so hammered he blacked out. He left that to the more adventurous Finns.

Speaking of his drinking buddy… “Owen?”

“Your cousin is fine,” Ken assured him wryly. “It’s barely eleven-thirty and he’s already called your phone five times.” He took one of Brady’s hands in his and wrapped his fingers around a hot cup. “And he’s not the only one who called and left a message. Don’t drop that—drink it so you can tell them the bad man didn’t leave you in a tub of ice without your kidneys.”

Eleven-thirty? How had he slept so long?

You got drunk and passed out. Keep up, moron.

“Keep your voice down,” he grumbled at Ken and the voice in his head. “At least until the room stops spinning.”

Ken lowered his voice obediently. “This should help.”

Brady managed to raise his head enough to study the steaming cup in his hand. The brown liquid smelled like cloying incense and wet burlap. Definitely not water. “What is it?” he asked suspiciously. “Poison?”

“This is the antidote. You’ve never had a hangover? Well I’ve never had a naked man get sick in my bed. I like this bed and when I’m in it I like thinking about healthy naked men. So drink. All of it.”

Brady gulped it down without another word, willing to do whatever it took to find relief while he adjusted to the reality of his situation. The task would be easier if he knew where his clothes were.

Had he and Tanaka…? No. He would have remembered that. God, what if he didn’t remember that?

The flavor was worse than the smell. Brady grimaced and choked when he reached the dregs at the bottom. “This tastes like swamp and shame.”

Tanaka removed the cup from his white-knuckled grasp and set it down beside the bed. “That means it’s working. It’s my recipe for demon cleansing. Foul, but it usually does the trick. Of course I’ve never been stupid enough to down three bottles of rum in one night, so I make no guarantees, but in a few minutes you should feel like a new man. You might even thank me.”

Three bottles? It was a miracle he wasn’t in the ER. Right now he would give just about anything to be a new man. One who didn’t have to wonder whether or not he had something to apologize for.  “Thanks.”

“Damn, I’m good. It’s working already.”

“Smartass.” Brady took a bracing breath and looked up into the face that had starred in all his fantasies for the last few months. More beautiful than handsome, Ken Tanaka had the kind of looks that no one, male or female, would be able to ignore.

He was shirtless—a state he seemed to prefer—and his smooth honeyed skin stretched tight over all his lean muscle. Brady’s fingers twitched with the need to reach out and touch him, to trace the tattoo that trailed down Ken’s right arm and, Brady knew, completely covered his back. To wrap his fingers around the waist-length, midnight-black braid that was falling over one shoulder like heavy silk.

His gaze returned to Tanaka’s face so he wouldn’t be tempted to linger below his well-defined stomach muscles and realized that Ken was shamelessly returning the favor. Thickly lashed eyes, which changed in hue from dark amber to molten gold, were studying Brady’s body in a way that made him keenly aware of the fact that there was nothing but a thin sheet draped over his lap. A drape that was quickly morphing into a tent to house his growing erection.

Classy, Finn.

At least one part of his body still worked. At this point he’d take any silver lining he could find, including the fact that Ken was wearing pants.

But how long had they been on? Brady refused to believe he’d ever forget a naked Ken Tanaka. Just the thought of the man without any clothing was enough to heighten his arousal.

“I don’t remember much about last night…” he started, letting his voice trail off as he tried to casually shift enough to conceal his hard-on.

“Hold that thought. Let me get you that glass of water.”

Brady closed his eyes, grateful for the momentary reprieve. Think of water, he told himself. Ice. Antarctica. He needed to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand, because at some point he was going to have to leave this bed and find his clothes and a bathroom, and he’d prefer not to prove how little control he had around Tanaka.

At the sound of light footsteps and tinkling ice, he opened his eyes and accepted the glass Ken handed him. “Thank you.”

“Define much,” Ken ordered with narrowed eyes.

Brady took a long, careful sip before saying, “Well, I don’t know how I got here.”

“In my car. You were in no shape to drive your motorcycle.”

When Ken didn’t offer any further clues, Brady said pointedly, “I’m also not sure where my clothes are.”

“The ones you were wearing are in the dryer. The rest are still packed, I imagine.”

Brady frowned. Was Ken being vague on purpose? Was he having fun at his expense or just trying to find the right way to tell him exactly how out of line he’d been?

Struggling to fill in the blanks himself, he said, “I was talking to Owen. He wanted my advice about Jeremy. I remember that clearly because I couldn’t get over the fact that he was finally asking.”

“Oh, I know. It was obvious you had a lot to say on the subject,” Ken said, sitting down beside him with a glint in his eyes.

Brady almost choked on his next sip of water. “You were there?”

“Not for the live performance, no. But I did watch the replay.”

Live performance? Replay? “I don’t understand.”

“It might be easier to swallow if I tell you a story. Once upon a time, some idiot at a bar thought it would be fun to record his friends getting drunk. When a conversation between two tipsy Irishmen got everyone’s attention, he trained his camera on them. It was so good he uploaded it to YouTube, sure it would be more popular than the Instagram account he’d made for his cats.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Brady was horrified.

Ken shook his head and revealed the phone in his hand. “I’m not. I have it queued up right here.”

He touched the screen and a smaller version of Brady appeared. His short red hair was mussed and his cheeks were ruddy with drink as he leaned against the bar and lectured the handsome blond beside him. The memories started coming back while he watched it unfold.

 

“You wanted my opinion, Owen, so listen up. What you have to do is admit that you’re gay. The family pub is as good a place as any to start. Go on. Out loud so the whole class can hear you.”

Nearby patrons instantly started pounding their tables in agreement with Brady.

“Say it,” someone shouted.

“Loud and proud!” another replied with glee.

Owen looked around the sparsely populated bar before glaring at Brady. “What’s it going to take before everyone stops giving me shit about this? Should I take out an ad in the paper or slap a rainbow sticker on my bumper?”

“Your mother has one,” Brady countered. “But even after the happiest year of your life—your words—you haven’t even considered it. Why?”

“No one has the right to stamp a label on me.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “So you were fine with the man-whore, sex addict and lady killer labels? Good with all the other names women called you after they realized you weren’t staying for breakfast or calling for a second date?”

The women in the pub booed playfully and Owen winced.

“The label isn’t the point, dumbass,” Brady continued. “But if you don’t want it? Stop earning it. Your house has thin walls, and I rarely sleep as it is. I know what happens in your room every night. Everyone in a three-mile radius knows.”

Several men in the bar groaned in protest, but Brady just raised his voice. “I’m not exaggerating. I spent months wondering how either of them could walk without crutches. At least they have good health insurance. Can’t say for sure that it covers their style of sexual acrobatics, but who knows?”

“Jealousy is an ugly emotion, cousin.” A muscle twitched along Owen’s jaw. Brady could see it clearly on the small screen. “Just because you’re living like a monk doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”

“Of course m’jealous,” Brady’s words were slurring, so he took another drink. “Anyone in this bar that says they’re not is lying. Do you think I’m a monk by choice? I’m not. I miss sex. You have no idea how much I miss sex. I’d gladly risk regular trips to the hospital for exhaustion if I could have what you and Jeremy have. But we’re not talking about my relationship issues; we’re talking about yours. And when it comes to that, you, my friend, are spoiled. You hit the boyfriend jackpot and you got used to having all his time and energy. But as soon as he wasn’t focused on you twenty-four hours a day you started acting like a petulant child.”

“I’m not spoiled.”

“Really? Who was the guy frowning in all your brother’s wedding pictures because your boyfriend was Man of Honor and had to help the bride instead of dance with you all night?”

Owen pointed at Brady. “That’s not—”

“Who sat in his pajamas, eating pizza and pouting while I power-washed the dock and fixed the roof when Jeremy went to that convention last month and didn’t invite you?”

Owen was scowling. “You said you didn’t need help, and those comic book conventions are full of signature-starved deviants. I would be stupid not to worry about him going alone.” He looked at the stranger next to him. “It’s more complicated than he’s making it sound. I’m not jealous of—”

“Right. You’re not jealous,” Brady interrupted, on a roll. “Because you’re not gay and you two are just buddies. Buddies who fuck like it’s an Olympic sport you’re training to medal in. Who cuddle on the couch after work to watch a movie or slash your mutual Xbox enemies. Buddies who can’t resist saying, ‘I love you’ and stopping to kiss every five minutes. When you’re not holding hands and romping with your cute little dog by the lake.”

A woman wearing a birthday tiara leaned on her hand and sighed beside them. “That sounds like heaven or a Hallmark movie. If you don’t want your boyfriend, Blondie, I’ll take him off your hands. I love a good romp.”

“I want him.” Owen covered his face with one hand, swearing before he turned back to the bar. “You’re just trying to piss me off now.”

Seamus moved into the camera’s view. “Maybe you should give him a break, Brady.”

“He doesn’t need a break, he needs honesty. I’m actually trying to help.” Brady laid a hand on Owen’s shoulder and the image zoomed in. If he weren’t so humiliated, he would have been impressed with the picture and sound quality on that asshole’s smartphone.

“I get it, believe me,” video-Brady rambled on. “Sure, with the family and at that private club of yours it’s fine. But the same guys who praised you in the locker room for your football skills and lady-killer rep are avoiding you. You had one employee turn in his resignation when he found out. You stop yourself from kissing the man you love in public because you know people will stare. We can toast Ireland and the Supreme Court’s decision all night long—” The pub cheered at that before he continued. “But we’ll still have to wake up in the morning and know that people don’t change as fast as the laws, and someone at the next party you go to will be surprised you don’t act the way their favorite television show told them a gay man would.”

“Exactly.” Owen turned back to Brady, his own cheeks rosy with drink. “That’s it, that’s exactly it. It’s none of their fucking business, is it? I’m in love with Jeremy. He’s the only one I have to answer to. The only one that matters.”

“Then why did you follow me here instead of talking to him?”

“I can’t. Not about… I can’t.”

“You have to. Put yourself in his shoes for a minute. You won’t say you’re gay but you’re still in his bed. I’ve seen the way he reacts. I know it bugs him. He’s smart enough to know your kind of situation rarely turns out well. Loving him has made your life more difficult. He has to carry that, wondering each day if you’re going to look at him and decide it’s not worth it.”

“Of course it’s worth it. We already dealt with his doubts. He knows I love him. He knows I’m committed.” 

Brady scoffed. “I know he’s gotten you to open up more than anyone else ever has, but you always hold something back. Like the fact that you’ve wanted to propose since you moved in.”

Owen stared at him in telling silence.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve been too afraid to ask because you can’t drag him to the altar the way you strong-armed your way into his pants and his house. He actually has to say yes to more than a shared pet and that is scaring the shit out of you. That’s why you’ve been pissed every time his phone rings. Why I knew it was time to pack up this morning. You want to pop the question.”

Owen was evasive. “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome, I just thought… I don’t want to mess this up. If I’m doing it, it has to be right. And I need to have his undivided attention.”

“Well, then take him to some romantic getaway where none of our relatives or his friends from the convention can get ahold of him. He’ll say yes. He would’ve said yes a year ago.” Brady paused and pounded the bar for emphasis. “But if you’re serious, be serious. You’re a Finn. We go all in or not at all. Don’t use this bullshit label excuse anymore, because honestly? It sounds like you’re keeping one foot out the door. Also, cool it with the jealous fishwife routine. You want to remind him of all the reasons he can’t live without you, not send him running in the other direction.”

“He won’t be able to run.” The smile on his cousin’s face was disturbing. “Or answer his damn phone. I have a set of handcuffs and a paddle I can use that will make him agree to anything. Eventually.”

The crowd at the bar cheered raucously and the camera focused on Brady’s grimace before he reached for yet another drink of rum.

The woman in the tiara patted him on the shoulder, a wad of cash in her hand. “I always knew Cupid was a kinky redhead.”

“I’m not kinky.”

“Whatever. Now that you’ve solved his problem I have one that needs fixing. My friends hired a dancer for my birthday, but he didn’t show up and Seamus refuses to show me his shameless side. Take it off, Red. Take it all off!”

 

The screen froze after that and Brady closed his eyes in humiliation. “So that really happened. I suppose it’s lucky I don’t have a lease and my passport’s still good. I can be out of the country by tomorrow.”

Ken laughed and set his phone down. “Relax, Cupid. It only had a couple of views before I scrubbed it and closed that idiot’s account. He won’t be uploading anything for a while. Neither will his cats. I did save a copy for myself since I missed seeing it in person by mere minutes.”

And that was why he’d been drinking so heavily. He remembered—Ken had sent him a text message a few minutes before his cousin arrived, telling him to stay at the pub because they needed to talk. Had they had a conversation? Was there a video of that too?

Ken nudged his shoulder with his own. “No need to be embarrassed, Finn. That was an Academy-worthy speech, and long overdue. Owen can’t stay in his bubble forever. You could be the spokesperson for the LGBT community. The new slogan would be ‘Admit you’re gay, everyone else knows anyway.’”

“Fuck you.”

“Seriously, you’re a surprisingly eloquent drunk. And a talented stripper.”

His throat closed in panic. “Tanaka, I swear—”

“Kidding,” Ken interrupted, laying a hand on Brady’s biceps. “I’m kidding. I couldn’t resist. But you can. Even when I offered to pay every tab at the bar and people were chanting your name in their bid for free beer, you wouldn’t agree to stripping in public.”

“Thank God for that.” Brady realized abruptly that his head had stopped pounding. “And thank you for pulling that video down. I don’t think I would’ve been welcome back for the holidays if anyone in the family had seen it. Seamus and Owen still might ban me for life after that performance.” What had he been thinking?

Ken was caressing his arm now, a comforting, almost absent gesture that sent a blast of focused heat down his spine and straight to his cock. It was making it hard for Brady to breathe, but he couldn’t force himself to move away.

“Seamus won’t admit it,” Ken said, “but he got a kick out of you reading the riot act to Owen. His twin might be a stuffy politician, but our bartender has a wild side. He’s just too busy being Super Dad to let it out.”

Brady grinned wryly. “Stephen isn’t that stuffy.”

“I am well aware.” Ken’s voice was a seduction. “I’ve seen Tasha in action at the club for years, and for weeks I’ve been seeing her glowing newlywed smile and their PDAs in the paper. No true vanilla could keep up with that sassy switch and make her as happy as he does.”

Brady tensed in reaction and Ken’s hand fell away. “I don’t think I’m recovered enough to think about what my cousin can or can’t keep up with. And you know I had my fill of BDSM buzz words at Burke’s kinky party of the damned. I wanted to bleach my brain for weeks to forget it all—including the fact that vanilla refers to something other than a cool, delicious flavor of ice cream.”

“You wanted to forget everything?”

Brady looked down at his hands. Not everything, but he wasn’t recovered enough to think about that either.

It had been a strange experience. Playing Senator Stephen Finn’s bodyguard for the federal investigation into Burke’s illegal activities was a little too eye-opening for Brady’s peace of mind. At least the sight of naked men voluntarily being strapped to crosses and women wagging their furry tails as they drank from a dish on the floor had shocked him out of his own head. He would be grateful if he could stop cringing every time he thought about it.

Kink was not his scene.

It was, however, Ken’s. Seeing him at Burke’s house, watching the way everyone looked to him for approval and how expertly he worked those ropes, had made it clear he was in his element.

It had also gotten Brady so hard he’d had to walk away more than once to recover his composure. The one time he couldn’t, Ken had kissed him, and it had been better than the best sex he’d ever had—which was sad when he let himself think about it.

But not even the intense chemistry between them would get Brady to date a man who considered pain and bondage a form of foreplay. Being tied up wasn’t sexy; it was a training exercise in surviving interrogation and torture.

Brady still had no idea what had happened after his pub speech. A smart man wouldn’t ask. A smart man would find his clothes and leave as fast as his hangover would let him.

Brady clearly wasn’t that smart.

He turned his head to stare into golden eyes that were far too close for comfort. “Why am I here, Tanaka? Tell me the truth.”

Ken’s gaze dropped to his mouth. “Truth? You’re here because Seamus is an easy mark, so the room behind the pub—the room Jen stayed in until she went back to college—is occupied for the next two weeks. Knowing him, it’s probably another damsel in distress. Let’s just hope she doesn’t have a child in need of adopting. Seamus already has a full house.”

He vaguely recalled it now. Seamus felt so guilty for not being able to help Brady right away that he’d offered him a drink on the house. And then another.

“Since you couldn’t crash there, you had to start thinking about other options. You told me about your situation and I offered you a place to stay in exchange for your services.”

And Brady had agreed? To live with Ken? He’d actually thought that was a good idea? Talk about impaired decision-making skills.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Brady gathered the sheet and stood up, away from temptation. “I have options. A few of them include couches I can sleep on free of charge until I find a place of my own.”

Ken stood as he did, his arms crossed over his bare chest, drawing Brady’s gaze to the silver cross that hung from an overlong chain around his neck. Had he seen that before? He didn’t think so.

“I know about your options, Finn. Five brothers and a father who’d all be willing to let you stay with them as long as you started acting like yourself again and rejoined the police force. As long as you told exciting war stories while pretending your years in the military hadn’t changed you.”

“Wow.” Brady ran his free hand through his hair, clutching the sheet with the other. “I do talk a lot when I’m drunk. And you were nice enough to give me a ride anyway. Sorry about that.”

Ken’s expression was intimate. “I’m not. Last night was unforgettable. For some of us. And I was already planning on asking for your help. We make a good team.”

That was true enough. They’d toppled the corrupt Burke and the complicit local paper that was a part of his media empire. They’d also saved Seamus from losing Little Sean and gotten Tasha and Stephen back together, though Brady knew that most of it was Ken’s doing. He was just the muscle who did good legwork. Tanaka had been the brain.

“So…you want me for a job? That’s why I spent the night? You and I—we didn’t…”

Ken’s eyes sparkled with humor. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking.”

He strode up to Brady and gripped a handful of sheet in both hands and twisted so it tightened around his hips. He could feel the heat from Ken’s body wrapping around him just as tightly. Holding him captive. “You don’t remember the things you admitted to? The things you offered? Nothing?”

Brady swallowed hard. Hell. “No.”

Ken whistled, drawing Brady’s attention to his pursed lips. “Too bad. What you said made it nearly impossible for me not to pick up where we left off the last time I saw you. And when you asked me to help take off your clothes—”

“Damn it, Tanaka.” Brady grabbed one of Ken’s wrists in rough warning. “Don’t dick around.”

Bad choice of words. Ken’s bringing up the last time they saw each other only made his current state of arousal harder to ignore.

Ken on his knees, sucking your cock.

Brady’s fingers flexed in memory and Ken bit his lip. “Mmm, I do love that strong grip of yours. Brings back memories. You know, if you weren’t so disgusted by kink I might think we shared an interest in noncon, but sadly, you are as vanilla as a gay Irish Marine can be.”

Brady dropped his wrist a little too quickly. “What the hell is noncon?”

Refusing to release him, Ken gave him the kind of smile Lucifer must have worn the moment before he fell. “Consensual non-consent, Finn. A little game where one of us pretends to resist while the other forces us to take it. To love it.” He licked his lips and Brady suppressed another shiver of awareness. “Shame, really. You’re big enough to be a challenge and I have a thing for muscle-bound gingers who talk too much when they drink.”

Damn. “Tanaka—”

“Yes, I know, I know. That one party scarred you for life and the subject is off the table forever. For the record, you slept alone last night. I was on the couch in case you needed me, but I’ll sleep in the bed in my office if you decide to stay.”

That was the answer he’d been waiting for. Ken had slept on the couch. They hadn’t given in to desire and ripped each other’s clothes off. Why was Brady disappointed?

“Here’s the plan, Finn. You’re going to take a shower and think about what you want to do. Stay with me and help someone that no one else can, or go home and deal with your family’s expectations. Either way, your duffel is at the foot of the bed and there’s a clean towel and packaged toothbrush for you in the bathroom.”

Ken released him and took a step back. “I’ll have breakfast waiting when you’re done and we can talk about what you’ve decided.”

Brady let the dictatorial tone slide as he thought about his options. Home or Tanaka. Judgmental concern or dangerous temptation. He could always take door number three, he knew. Just leave. Go somewhere with the money he’d inherited from his mother and start again. Alone.

Shower. Right now he just wanted a shower. “I appreciate it. This. All the trouble you’re going to.”

Ken turned away and his long black braid swung with the motion, striking Brady’s side. “Don’t thank me again, Finn. Just say yes.”

He wanted to. He studied Tanaka’s tattooed back with hungry eyes and wanted to agree to anything he asked. The strength of his desire scared him. It had from the moment they met.

Without his self-control he’d have nothing. That was why, if he were a smart man, he would say no to the job and get the hell out of there. Being around Ken Tanaka made him unpredictable. Tempted him to let go and give in.

He swore under his breath and headed toward the shower. Last night proved he wasn’t that bright. One evening of drinking was all it had taken to alienate family, nearly embarrass them all online and go home with the one man he most wanted to avoid.

He was never drinking again.