The moment they stepped into his hotel room, Angelo stripped off his skin-tight black shirt and tossed it on the floor. He stretched his arms over his head, showing off a muscular back, impressive arms, and a tight, round ass.

Marc barely swallowed back a groan. Not of desire, but irritation.

The lithe man was sexy as fuck, and he knew it. He used his sex appeal to get whatever the hell he wanted. Even if he wasn’t a person’s type, his silver tongue, beautiful body, and incredible confidence convinced them that they had to have one taste…just this one time.

And he suddenly didn’t want Royce anywhere near Angelo.

“You can keep your clothes on. We’re talking business,” Marc snapped.

Angelo spun back, his long, black hair whipping around in an inky curtain. “Sometimes my business is taking my clothes off.” His dark eyes widened at Royce standing just behind Marc’s shoulder. “Do I look familiar? Have you seen my porn?”

Royce made a choking noise, and Marc couldn’t tell if he was actually choking on air or trying to stop a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

Angelo immediately pulled his phone out of his back pocket, nimble thumbs dancing across the screen while he walked closer. “My newest one is about six months old, but there’s this part where I’m in a reverse cowboy—”

“Angelo!”

The thief looked up at him, his expression innocent and confused for a couple of heartbeats, before a slow, filthy grin spread across his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Would you rather I show him the video I have of me riding you in that chair? The chair we broke?”

Marc closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, but he could feel the heat of embarrassment rising in his face. He’d known that Angelo would be difficult to deal with, but hadn’t expected it to feel this awkward with Royce standing right next to him. Yes, he and Angelo had fucked. And yes, it had been hotter than hell. But it had just been sex.

A low chuckle from Royce helped, but it was the arm that wrapped around him from behind, pulling him close so that his back was pressed to Royce’s front, that made it better. “That gives me some interesting ideas.” Royce’s beard brushed against the back of his neck, and Marc shivered.

“Can I join?”

“No,” Marc and Royce said in unison, allowing Marc to finally relax. Royce wasn’t tempted by Angelo. He didn’t know what they were going to do after Royce had his mom back, and Marc was safe from whoever was trying to kill him, but he wanted to believe that they had a shot at something. Something that didn’t include Angelo.

Angelo’s plump lower lip stuck out in an enticing pout for a moment, and then he shrugged as if it really didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “So, we’re really going to steal the lost Raphael painting from Oscar Schmid? I love it.”

The thief walked over to the closet and started digging around for a new shirt, but Marc barely noticed. Royce’s entire body had stiffened at Angelo’s words.

“What does he mean, ‘steal’?” Royce demanded in a low, hard voice.

“We need the painting, Royce.”

Royce released Marc and grabbed his shoulder, turning him so that Marc could meet his gaze. “I’m very aware of exactly how much we need this painting. Trust me, that has never left my mind. But I am not allowing you to break the law and endanger your life. I’m your fucking bodyguard.”

“And you’re also my friend. You need this painting to save your mom’s life. I’m not going to turn my back on you when I can help.”

“Turning you into a criminal is not helping!”

“Royce—”

“This is not negotiable. There has to be another way.”

“The painting is worth more than 100 million dollars, and that’s a low-ball estimate. The Raphael has been missing for many years. If it could be sold at auction, I’m sure it could go for more than double that. Schmid knows that. If I liquidated everything I had, I might be able to raise the money, but it would take months, and Schmid still wouldn’t sell. We don’t have a choice.”

“No.”

“Schmid is evil.”

Marc and Royce both turned at Angelo’s soft comment. He was standing just past the closet, his shoulder pressed against the wall, while his arms were crossed over his bare chest. His stance was loose and relaxed, but a rare serious expression pinched Angelo’s handsome features.

“Marc called me Saturday night, putting me on Schmid. I’ve had two days to dig into this man.”

“Your job was to scout the house,” Marc snapped.

Angelo shrugged one shoulder, completely unperturbed by Marc’s tone. “And I don’t care how well you’re paying me. I research my targets. I do have some standards,” he said with a sniff. “But this Schmid fucker…he’s evil. There’s whispers of assault and even a murder, but he’s got the kind of money that keeps such whispers from turning into actual charges and jail time. And according to Marc, he’s had the painting a long time.”

“I don’t understand. When did it go missing?”

Marc softly sighed. “The Portrait of a Young Man was stolen by the Nazis when they invaded Poland. It was taken from Prince Augustyn Józef Czartoryski. The painting rightfully belongs to the Czartoryski Museum. I’m not saying Schmid was ever a Nazi.”

“Just that he had to know a few in order to get his hands on the Raphael in the first place,” Angelo finished.

“How do you know about this painting?”

Marc paced over to Angelo and sat down on the edge of the bed. He’d known that Royce would eventually ask this question, and he was still drowning in guilt from failing to act all those years ago. The truth was, this was more than a chance to save Royce’s mom; this was also his chance to redeem himself after making one really bad decision.

“I was just starting to establish myself in the art world, trying to work up a solid client list as well as get some good artist contacts. Schmid invited me to this house party. I’d heard some talk that he was shady, but he was a mover and shaker in the art world, still. I saw it as an investment, worth the risk.” Marc looked down at his hands. He couldn’t meet Royce’s gaze. “Around the same time, I’d cooked up this theory on what likely happened to the Vermeer that had been stolen from Boston in the early ’90s. Schmid liked my theory. He wanted to pay me to follow through on the theory, track down the painting, and then buy it for him.”

“From the black market?”

Marc nodded. “I’d laughed at the time. Warned him that it was dangerous and then probably impossible to protect once he had it. That’s when he took me into his library and showed me the secret compartment where he kept the Raphael. He has a thing for collecting lost paintings. I was stunned. I turned him down. I wasn’t going to track down the Vermeer for him.”

“And he was fine with it?”

“Yeah. Said he understood. That it was dangerous. But afterward, he made a point of asking about each of my siblings, by name. He knew about my life, their lives. The threat was clear. I was just getting over the loss of my parents. I couldn’t risk their lives.”

Marc shook his head. He felt like a coward, hating himself. He blinked, and Royce’s shoes entered his line of sight. Flinching at the first gentle touch, he let Royce tip his head back so that he was forced to meet Royce’s dark gaze.

“I don’t blame you for the decision you made.”

“But?”

“No ‘but.’ You were protecting your family. You were in a bad position, and you did what you had to, so they stayed safe.”

“It’s bothered me for years. I should have reported it, but I was afraid he would know it was me. I want to save your mom, but I also need to right this wrong. The painting belongs to the museum.”

Royce smirked. “So, we’re giving it to my criminal uncle?”

“Temporarily. We get your mom back, and then we anonymously report to Interpol the painting’s location.”

“And instead of having one evil man angry after you, we now have two.”

Marc shrugged. “Schmid has to have approached other art dealers with his plan to get the Vermeer. He would have shown others the Raphael. He won’t know it’s me who stole it. And your uncle…well, he won’t know we turned him in.”

“You’re not worried about your family?”

“You mean the family that includes someone who is trying to kill me?”

“Oh, sweets,” Angelo purred, reminding them that he was still in the room and hanging on to their every word. He strolled over and stretched out on the bed, lying directly behind Marc. One hand slid around his hip and down his thigh “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“Later. One nightmare at a time,” Marc muttered.

Royce stepped forward and, none too gently, plucked Angelo’s hand off Marc’s leg, filling Marc’s chest with a delicious warmth that he probably shouldn’t have been so happy about.

Angelo huffed and flopped onto his back. “Guys, it’s a really big bed, and we’re missing out on a great opportunity. Pre-heist sex is necessary. Loosens the limbs and clears the head.”

Looking up at the sexy man standing in front of him, Marc couldn’t stop his smile. He was happy to engage in a little pre-heist sex but only with Royce.

Royce just snarled and paced away from the bed. He shoved both hands into his hair and tugged. Frustration was evident in the hard lines of his frame. Sadness flooded him for the man. He was trapped in an impossible situation, and their solution wasn’t great. Sure, they could have gone straight to the police, but Marc suspected that Royce’s mom would have been an unavoidable casualty.

“Assuming that we can keep both Schmid and my uncle from retaliating after the painting is stolen and then handed over to the authorities,” he started, his voice little more than an angry growl, “how are we going to get our hands on it in the first place? If he’s been protecting this priceless painting for decades, then his place has got to be like breaking into Fort Knox.”

“Oh, goody! It’s my turn.” Angelo popped upright and smoothly slid around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Marc. “I was beginning to think that I wasn’t going to get to play with you guys at all.”

“What did you find?”

“Well, if Schmid ever had a Fort Knox-type security system, he’s let it lapse,” Angelo said with a dramatic sigh. His left hand snaked over and snagged Marc’s hand from where it rested on his leg. Angelo flipped it over and started tracing the lines cutting across his palm. Marc immediately looked up at Royce, who just gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. He was figuring out fast that Angelo was just being Angelo.

“What kind of security system does he have?” Royce pressed.

“I snuck onto the grounds easily last night. Nothing on the perimeter. A couple of motion-sensor lights at the back, and one at the front, all easily avoided or even disabled. No cameras. The security system itself is just on the windows and doors. It’s about ten to fifteen years old. Total cake. Kind of insulting that he didn’t have something more advanced.”

“Guards?”

“I saw only three other people on the grounds beside Schmid. A butler-type servant, a landscaper, and one bodyguard. I could only watch for about a six-hour block, so I’d say that he might have one or two more security guys there at most, but this is not Fort Knox.” Angelo’s fingers dragged up his wrist and along the inner arm. A year ago, Marc would have been happy to take Angelo up on his offer, wouldn’t have even hesitated. But looking across the room, he knew he only wanted Royce. Couldn’t wait to get him behind a closed door so they could rip each other’s clothes off. To kiss him until they were hard and grinding against each other, then drop to his knees.

“Why do I get the impression that that is not for me?” Angelo asked in an irritated voice.

Marc flushed and jerked his arm away from Angelo as he stood. His hard-on was becoming more evident in his jeans. He walked over to the smirking Royce, who wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in close.

“Later,” Royce promised, which did nothing to ease the blood flowing straight to his groin.

“I give up!” Angelo cried with a flail of his arms.

“What about the security around the painting?” Royce asked, ignoring Angelo’s dramatics.

“No idea. That one wouldn’t tell me its exact location.” He directed a dark look at Marc before he continued. “But considering what I’ve seen so far, I’m sure I can get around anything old Oscar has.”

“Fine.” Marc nodded. “We go in tomorrow at two a.m. Angelo will take down the security system, and I’ll get us up to the library. He and I will get the painting while Royce stands guard. We should be in and out in under ten minutes.”

“Sounds like fun.” Angelo lay back on the bed and spread his arms wide. “Do you want to pass the time with me here, or should we go back to where you’re staying?”

“Good night, Angelo. We’ll meet you at the southern edge of the grounds at one a.m.” Royce then firmly took Marc’s hand and pulled him out of the room.

“No fun!” Angelo called after them as the door shut.

Royce wordlessly led them out of the hotel, his hand tightly wrapped around Marc’s, half pulling him down the street, but not toward the garage where they’d stashed Marc’s rental car. He wanted to ask Royce what was wrong, but that seemed like a stupid question. The list was long and varied. Was he upset over his mother, Marc’s plan, his stupid past with Schmid, or even his past with Angelo? Or maybe it was all of the above.

They walked a block before Royce jerked them down a narrow, dark alley. Marc opened his mouth to ask Royce what he was doing, when he was suddenly pinned against the wall. Royce covered his mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue in deep while grinding his dick against Marc’s. There was no stopping the moan that rose up his throat and was immediately swallowed down by Royce. The relief was instantaneous but only threw more fuel onto the fire. Royce kissed him like he planned to eat him alive.

A whimper escaped him when Royce moved his groin back, but it was only enough to let his hand sneak between them. He roughly tugged on his pants, and there was soft ping like the metal button had popped off and bounced across the stone pavement. Strong fingers dove into his briefs and wrapped around his aching cock.

“Fuck, Royce,” Marc cried out, breaking the kiss on a gasp. He tightly gripped Royce’s shoulders to steady himself. He was so damn hard, and Royce was stroking him fast and rough, pushing him headlong into an orgasm that he couldn’t hope to stop.

“Tell me Angelo was right,” Royce snarled.

“What?”

“This is for me. This is mine.” Each sentence was punctuated with a squeeze of his dick so that Marc could barely drag air into his lungs.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. All for you. Only you.”

Royce continued to stroke him in earnest like he owned Marc’s cock. He was only too happy to hand over ownership to this man. Fuck. He could barely breathe. Couldn’t think. The orgasm just slammed through him. He was coming before he could even warn Royce. A shout escaped, hitting the night before Royce could cover his mouth with his own. He felt his spend hit his stomach and chest, but he didn’t care. Royce kissed him gently through it, whispering something…something about perfect…but his brain wasn’t working just yet. He only knew that he didn’t want it to end, didn’t want Royce to ever stop kissing him.

His brain only kicked in when he felt Royce smear his semen into his chest before setting his clothes to right.

“Let’s get you back to the bed and breakfast so you can get cleaned up,” Royce murmured, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“We’re good, right?” Marc asked before he could catch the words. His brain was still too blood-starved to make much sense, but Royce’s chuckle proved that he understood.

“You’re going to have to give me all the details of how you met Angelo, and then I want to hear about the chair. In detail.” Royce was a step ahead of him, but Marc could hear the smile in his voice. “But this…I just needed to stake a claim before we went any further.” Royce stopped and looked back at Marc. “I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be. Stake a claim any time you want.”

Royce smirked and then continued walking. Marc picked up his pace to catch up, his heart pounding. He wanted Royce to stake a claim, to feel like he had a right to Marc’s body, his heart. But only because Marc wanted to possess Royce in the same way.

“Can we trust Angelo?”

Marc sighed, some of the joy he’d felt drifting away. It was time to get back to business. “I know he doesn’t give a great first impression, but Angelo is actually very trustworthy. He does have a strong moral grounding. Yes, he’s a thief, but he likes to think of himself as a pornographic Robin Hood.”

“Your life is weird, Marc.”

“Yeah, but it’s rarely boring.”