Quinn had no idea how to compartmentalize Shane Stephens. He didn’t fit into any of the usual boxes he put people in. Generalizing helped him to understand a world he never quite felt a part of. He found most people to be insensitive and too unpredictable, so he preferred things that made sense. His computers made sense. His games made sense. Even his mother in her current state of dementia did on some level. At least he knew not to expect anything tangible out of her.

But Shane perplexed the hell out of him.

After working at The Merleau Detection Agency for a week, he couldn’t figure the man out. Nobody had ever unsettled him like this before. He didn’t fit any of the preconceived ideas Quinn had about accountants or private investigators.

Quinn snorted as he stopped typing and picked up his lukewarm coffee for a drink. He was just as guilty of the same thing he’d accused Shane of—believing notions brought on by movies.

The PI was different. Funny and irreverent at times, prone to blurt out what he was thinking no matter how awkward that made situations.

And the fucker was nosy, asking the most random, off-the-wall questions, then digging right back into his work like it never happened.

He supposed that was the perfect trait for his profession. He dug deeply into things and reveled in the process. Those brown eyes locked on to him, reading his every answer from more than just words. It would be hard to get something past Shane.

And the damn man liked to stand over Quinn’s shoulder and watch what he was doing. Quinn had trouble breathing when he did that, especially when he leaned close and the warmth from Shane’s body seeped into his. And he smelled so incredibly good, his cologne a mix of leather, wood, and spices. Quinn had started wearing button-downs over all his T-shirts, so he could keep everything untucked because he kept popping wood.

He still couldn’t compute that Shane found him sexy.

That knowledge was keeping him up nights. And making him wander down the “what if” path. He’d avoided that route for some time now. One bad experience after another tended to put him off more experimentation.

Shane suddenly strode into the office in dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and cowboy boots, his dark, curly hair an appealing, disheveled mess on his head. He propped his butt on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “So where are we on the preparations?”

Quinn had to work to keep from staring at the boots. He’d noticed that the man had several different pairs. Who the hell wore those things outside of a ranch? And he’d looked the style up, too. Hybrid boots made for riding with durable slip-resistant soles for the rancher who needed more grip.

Just the fucking description had made him hard again. He turned back to his computer. This was becoming a real issue. It would be better if he finished with this job as soon as possible so he could get back to Ward Security. At least there everything made sense, even if it was chaotic.

“Quinn? You with me?” Shane stepped close, that damn spicy cologne hitting his senses. “Any progress?”

He cleared his throat. “Some. I know a few things…like the person is using onion routing.”

“Explain.”

Quinn regarded him over his shoulder for a long moment, the urge to smile at the order a tingle at the corner of his mouth. “This person’s message to the mayor is under layer upon layer of encryption, and it goes through a bunch of routers. Each peels away a layer of that encryption, and each onion router only knows the source of the last note. This way the original author of that message stays anonymous. It’s an old technique that still works well.” He rolled in his chair, turning it to face the PI.

Shane picked up a colorful glass paperweight and ran his fingers over it. “What do you do?”

Caught by the movement of Shane’s hands, Quinn stared at the small piece of art he held. He’d looked closely at it before. It was the ocean reef caught in midlife. Created by some artist Quinn could probably never afford. He glanced at the paintings on two of the walls. Shane apparently loved color, and he had incredible taste in art.

“Quinn?” Shane’s hands paused. “What do you do about the messages?”

He cut off his thoughts, meeting those brown eyes. “Try to break through the layers. I’m going in with a completely clean computer, and I’m throwing a few misleading trails out myself.”

“Like red herrings.”

The PI liked to read, another fact made obvious by the shelves of books. His partner, Ethan, had a bare-bones office, but Shane had splashed his personality all over his like he’d half moved in. Like he nested wherever he felt a space was his. Quinn had done that at Ward. Sort of. He’d moved his favorite game system there along with his favorite blanket and pillow.

When Shane frowned, Quinn realized he hadn’t answered again. “Yeah, like red herrings. I’ve set traps and am monitoring all email accounts. Everything I’m doing basically breaks down to researching, digging, and knowing how people think. I’ll be plowing through everything the mayor touches, including social media and more. It’ll take some time. Like I told you.”

Shane set the paperweight down and glanced at his watch. “It’s pretty early. How long have you been here?” His gaze dropped to Quinn’s clothes.

Quinn shrugged while wondering if he should have dressed up more, taken the time to iron the blue shirt instead of just throwing it on over a white tee. “Couple of hours. I don’t sleep well, so I may as well work.”

“You hungry? I brought bagels and they’re still hot.”

“Hot?” Quinn pushed away from the computer immediately. “I can never turn down warm bread.”

Shane’s chuckle was low and raspy. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“Hey, Shane!”

Quinn jumped when Ethan popped his head around the doorjamb.

“There’s a guy here to see you.” He waggled brown eyebrows. “Pretty sure this one isn’t a client.”

The man who walked into the room made Quinn’s mouth drop open. Tall and ripped to hell and back, the man had more muscles than the guys at Ward Security. He had a little too much muscle for Quinn’s taste, but the intricate web of tattoos mapping all visible skin intrigued him. So did the sharp, square face that was softened by big, blue eyes.

The guy’s delighted expression when Shane walked up to him was something to see.

“Hey, Baden.” Shane pulled him in for a quick hug.

Blue eyes flicked over Quinn during the hug and that probing look was followed by a sweet smile. This guy was a walking contradiction. A sugary sweet badass. He knew one other man like that—his coworker, Sven Larsen, and he’d always found him fascinating. Was this man a boyfriend? Riveted, Quinn knew he should have left them alone but couldn’t bring himself to leave the room. Plus, they were blocking the door.

“I thought I’d drop by to see if you want to grab a drink later,” Baden said, his hand on Shane’s arm. “I have some unexpected time off.”

“While that sounds fun, unfortunately, I don’t. In fact, we’re working on something that’s going to take up a lot of my time for a few weeks. But maybe after that, we’ll have that drink.” The smile Shane gave him was nothing but friendly.

“Cool.” The guy nodded. “Works for me. I’m not looking for anything serious, but we had some fun. Thought we could again.”

“That we did. A lot of fun.” The throaty amusement in those sentences made Quinn’s dick twitch. Not a boyfriend, then.

Also, Shane was good. He’d brushed off this guy with such finesse, it was obviously something he’d had a lot of practice in doing. He watched Baden hug him again, noting he held him a little longer than necessary.

Not that Quinn blamed him.

Quinn waited while Shane walked Baden out, then headed toward the break room. He dug out one of the bagels and frowned to find it cold. There wasn’t a toaster on the counters, so he settled for the microwave even though it would make it chewier than he liked. As he stood there, staring at the buzzing appliance, he couldn’t stop his mind from supplying images of Shane and Baden naked.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he grabbed on to the edge of the counter and worked to push back the heat pouring into him. Lean, muscled Shane writhing on a bed with that tattooed slab of muscle. He’d have loved to have seen that. He wondered what Shane was like in bed. He laughed often, so would he be the type to crack jokes, or would he be a serious lover? Would he be attentive and take his time? Or would he be fast like everyone Quinn had been with before?

Fast and boring.

All of Quinn’s experiences with sex so far had been with either inexperienced teens when he was a teen himself, or later, some pretty un-fucking-forgettable bad lays. And he hadn’t had all that many experiences either. Sex was something he enjoyed more by himself. The last time he’d tried with another guy hadn’t been anything to write home about, so he just figured it wasn’t worth the effort. That had been over a year ago.

Didn’t mean his body didn’t still react to the right stimulation and Shane seemed to trip all his triggers. When Shane cleared his throat, Quinn jumped, hoping the hot guilt burning in his cheeks wouldn’t be as noticeable as it felt. He turned to find Shane leaning against the doorjamb, his crooked grin telling Quinn his wish was not to be. His cheeks probably looked like he’d popped his head into an oven.

“There’s a toaster in the cabinet under the microwave,” Shane said. “Ethan and I both prefer toasted bread for our sandwiches, so it was easier just to store one here.”

Quinn reached into the cabinet and pulled out the toaster. He plugged it in and arranged it on the counter. He fiddled with the cream cheese packets and picked up a plastic knife. “Thanks for the bagels,” he murmured. “I’ll have to get you lunch.”

“Sure, if you’d like. But it’s not necessary.” Shane came farther into the room and dug through the bag and pulled out an everything bagel. “Love these things despite the fact that I hate getting the poppy seeds stuck in my teeth.” He grinned. “You’ll tell me if I do, right? You won’t just sit there, silently laughing at me with black shit in my teeth?”

That surprised a laugh out of Quinn. “Nah, I’ll tell ya.” He stopped the microwave and toasted his bagel.

When it was done, he settled at the small table against a wall and took a big bite. He chewed and watched Shane get his own breakfast ready. When the man sat across from him, he couldn’t help but notice those brown eyes stayed steady on him as always. What the hell did the man see to make him stare so hard and so often? Quinn fought the urge to squirm under that all too probing look and keep his eyes on his food.

“So tell me about yourself. What do you do besides perform computer wizardry for Rowe?”

“Read, game—the usual stuff.”

“Have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Haven’t found anyone good enough or are you the type to play the field?”

Quinn looked up. “Like you? That was quite the practiced brush-off you gave Baden. Why didn’t you want to go out with him again?”

Shane shrugged. “I might. We just hooked up once, had some laughs.” He winked. “And a good time. Those tattoos cover everything, if you were curious.”

“I liked them. Can’t imagine having that many, though. He must be a pain junkie.”

“Or he likes the art. Whoever works on him is pretty talented. He’s got this stunning, detailed tiger face covering his entire back. Stares right up at you.”

Quinn choked on his bagel.

Laughing, Shane got up and grabbed a bottle of tea out of the refrigerator. He twisted off the cap and stuck the bottle in Quinn’s hand. “Here. Drink.”

Quinn coughed then gulped down the tea and grimaced. “Ugh, what is this?”

“Berry flavored. I love it.” Shane took the bottle back and drank out of it, his eyes still locked on Quinn.

“I like my sweet coffee in the morning, but this is a bit much. Need your daily intake of sugar all at once, do you?”

Shane snorted and sat back down to his bagel. “It’s my one indulgence. Don’t worry, I work out enough to offset it. Wanna see my abs?”

Quinn just stared at him for several long moments. “Are you ever serious?”

“Yeah, when I need to be.” Shane leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. “But I get the strongest feeling you need more laughs in your life.”

He did, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Instead, he cautiously took another bite of his bagel.

“I’ve never met a man who blushes like you do,” Shane murmured, propping his chin on his hand. “It’s instantaneous at times.”

“It’s the curse of having such pale skin—turns colors for lots of reasons. Sometimes, I just stay a little red. Especially if it’s cold or I’ve been out in the wind. Mostly my cheeks turn red when I’m overheated.”

“It’s not hot in here now.”

Quinn begged to differ. With Shane in the room, how could it not be? Again, his reaction to the older man surprised him. He needed to get them talking again. “So what do you do when you’re not digging into people’s lives?”

“You make what I do sound so sleazy. It’s not that different from what you do.”

“True.” Quinn nodded.

“I’m a pretty boring guy. I collect art, read a lot. I even have a cat. Norma Jean is my best friend.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “You named your cat Norma Jean?”

“I did.” Shane pulled his bagel apart and took a bite.

“Marilyn Monroe or the Elton John song?”

“Both. She’s a diva and she looks like a Norma Jean.”

Quinn snorted. “How can a cat look like anything other than a cat?”

Setting his bagel down, Shane leaned over the table. “Don’t like cats?”

“No, I love them. I just can’t see how—” he laughed and shook his head. “Never mind. Tell me about the name of your business. Neither of you have Merleau in your names.”

“You ever hear of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, the French philosopher? I like what he had to say about perception, about intuition and observation being two sides of the same coin. Seemed to go with the concept of a detective agency.” He narrowed his eyes. “He had a few other cool things to say too. Like, the body is not to be compared, not to a physical object, but rather to a work of art. And the flesh is at the heart of the world.”

Quinn really wished he hadn’t taken another bite of bagel because he nearly choked again. Shane was flirting. With him. He eyed him in shock. He’d just seen the type of guy Shane usually took to bed and he was nothing like that. Hell, he didn’t even have one tattoo, much less miles of muscles. He was nothing but a regular looking guy with a regular kind of life. Nothing interesting.

So what kind of game was this man playing?

“Want to get out of here this afternoon?” Shane asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Get a little exercise?”

He knew his eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Exercise? What kind of exercise?”

“Not the kind you’re apparently thinking about—not that I’d be entirely adverse to that.” There he went with that raspy chuckle. He knew the man wasn’t a smoker, but occasionally, he sounded like one. “Today,” Shane continued, “Mayor Spring will be speaking at the reopening of the Taft Theater now that its renovation has been completed. I thought we could play shadows and see what we can pick up in the crowd. It’ll give you a chance to stretch. I know I need it after so many hours at a computer.”

“Okay, yeah, that sounds good.”

Actually, it sounded great. Quinn had been out on cases only a few times since he’d started working for Ward Security and he’d enjoyed each time. The last time he’d done work in the field had been when they were trying to target a stalker who’d been terrorizing a local social media celebrity—that Geoffrey Ralse case he’d mentioned earlier to Shane. Quinn had been parked in a nightclub only to take pictures, but there had been some excitement with colored smoke and stampeding people. The thrill he’d felt that night had been better than the one he got when he was about to take out the enemy in a game.

Shane stood and picked up his plate. “I’ve got more fieldwork today, but I’ll come back around four to get you. Sure you don’t mind putting in some overtime?”

“I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Damn, Quinn.” Shane shook his head as he tossed his napkin and paper plate into the trash. “You gotta get out more.”