With palms flat against the cool tile, Marc groaned as the hot water pounded on his head and shoulders. They were running late already, but he had to have at least five minutes to himself to get his thoughts together if he was going to make it through the night.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself while wrapping his left hand around his rock-hard cock. Closing his eyes, he slowly stroked himself, enjoying the rough feel of the still-healing cut across his palm. Made it easier to pretend it was Royce’s coarse hand rather than his own.

One week of Royce playing his shadow and now every shower included him jerking off for just an ounce of relief. Whenever anyone was present, Royce was the attentive boyfriend, with little touches and devastating kisses that left him practically pleading for more, regardless of the fact that every last one was fake. When they were alone, Royce kept his distance, but he could still feel the heat of the man dancing along his skin until his entire existence seemed to be reduced to an unending hard-on.

He wasn’t going to survive much longer like this. He wanted the asshole trying to kill him to finally get the job over with, or he was going to end up begging Royce to fuck him.

Pushing off the wall with his right hand, he reached back and brushed his index finger over his hole once, twice, before shoving it inside. The water was shit for lube, but the brief pain pushed him a little closer to release. He was tired of feeling empty. Wanted to just feel Royce’s hard body against his, pinning him down, plunging inside.

Three hard knocks on the bathroom door were his only warning before the door partially opened. Marc’s heart jumped into his throat and he immediately pressed both hands against the wall in front of him.

“Marc!” Royce called.

“What?” he snarled, not even trying to rein in his frustration. He looked back to find that Royce had only stuck his head inside the bathroom but wasn’t looking toward the shower.

“You almost done? I don’t know what to wear to this damn thing tonight.”

“Five minutes,” he bit out when he was sure he could say it without shouting. His entire body was hovering on a painful edge.

“I thought you said—”

“Five minutes unless you want to get in here and help me!”

“Next time,” Royce said, his words barely audible over the water, before the door closed again.

But they were enough to create a clear image in his head of Royce pressed against his back. His left arm snaked across his chest, nimble fingers pinching his nipple, while his right hand moved steadily over his cock. Strong arms holding him tight, supporting his weight. Teeth biting into his shoulder.

The image had barely solidified in his brain before his orgasm barreled through his body. Marc didn’t bother to hold back his shout as he came. His knees threatened to buckle, and he leaned heavily against the wall just to stay upright. His breath sawed in and out for several seconds. For that brief time, the relief was exquisite. Need no longer gnawed at him, and he felt like a logical human being again.

But it wouldn’t last long.

Grabbing the shampoo bottle, he started the world’s fastest wash. He didn’t want to risk Royce returning to bitch about him taking too long in the shower and ruining the relief he’d found.

Clean and rinsed, Marc dried off and walked out into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair still sending drops of water running down his body. Royce was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing only a pair of black slacks, while holding up a pair of shirts. Colorful tattoos stretched across his shoulders and down one arm, accenting powerful muscles.

When Marc stepped into the room, there was no missing the way Royce’s eyes swept over him. His nostrils flared like he was scenting Marc. A thrill ran through Marc, and his pulse instantly quickened. It was like being hunted by a wild animal. Every muscle in Royce’s body tensed, and he tracked Marc’s steady approach.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Marc said in a low voice when he could finally work the words past his dry throat.

“Why?” The single word rumbled from Royce’s chest, and Marc wanted to roll in his voice.

“Because we don’t have enough time to do all the things that look makes me want to do, so stop.” Marc refused to look at Royce when he spoke.

It was the first time he’d vocally acknowledged the attraction that crackled in the air between them. Marc knew it had nothing to do with him. They were two healthy, gay men with extremely healthy libidos who happened to be attracted to each other. He’d felt the brush of Royce’s hard-on more than once in the course of their acting. They couldn’t keep up their constant contact without repercussions. He just didn’t care for the fact that he would serve as a warm body. A convenient hole.

He grabbed the wooden hanger with the black shirt and tossed it on the bed. “Wear this,” he ordered, trying to ignore the feeling of Royce’s eyes on him, moving over his face. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, waiting for Royce to pounce on him. “I’ve got a black tie and pocket square you can borrow.”

“All black?”

“Yes. I want you to look like an angry, scary artist. Can you handle that?”

“Oh, I think I can handle it just fine.”

“Fabulous.” Marc marched back to the bathroom and to his walk-in closet, his fist tightening in his towel. And of course, his hard-on was back. The brief respite he’d achieved was wiped out in less than thirty seconds of standing next to Royce. He was so screwed…but not in the fun, “let’s get dirty” way.

* * *

Royce wasn’t sure which of them was going to break first, but he had little doubt that they weren’t going to last much longer before they either punched one another or fucked. At this point, he really didn’t care which happened.

So maybe he was putting a little more behind each kiss than was absolutely necessary, but he’d become addicted to each one of Marc’s soft sighs and the way his entire body relaxed against him despite his best attempts to stay rigid.

And maybe his hand lingered a little longer on his back, drifting down to smooth over his amazing ass even though no one could actually see. It was about getting into the role. Convincing anyone around them that he was the perfect boyfriend—not that he’d ever managed to accomplish that when he’d attempted to be a boyfriend one time in his life.

But he was behaving at the gallery. They’d arrived a little less than an hour before the opening, whereupon Marc instantly became a cat on crack, zipping from one end of the two-story gallery to the next. He barked orders at the caterers, the servers, and the bartenders for the two cash bars. Two different ladders were trotted out of storage, so gallery workers could adjust the lighting at Marc’s direction for the third time that day, while his assistant, Darla, read from the list of confirmed RSVPs. His second assistant, Toni, took down notes regarding emails to send to those who couldn’t make it and which meetings to set up for private showings.

The gallery workers barely had enough time to tuck the ladders away before the doors were opened. Royce got a bottle of water in Marc before he took one more pass with the caterer, and then he was greeting guests. And for the most part, Royce just watched.

Marc was a completely different person when he was in his gallery. He’d seen little glimmers of a confident, suave man who could easily talk to anyone who crossed his path when they’d been at Geoffrey’s, but when Marc was in his element, when he was finally comfortable and in control of his surroundings, he simply shined. It was stunning…and frighteningly seductive.

A part of him longed to pull Marc into a broom closet, or into the back alley, so he could press him against the wall and kiss him until they were both grinding against each other, breathless and out of control. But the thought was immediately followed by the memory of the brown pill bottle tucked in Marc’s nightstand. The bottle that held the heart medication he took first thing each morning.

He’d tried asking over the past several days for more information about his heart condition, but Marc always brushed it off as not important. He was so damn close to asking Quinn to hack the man’s medical records just so he could know for sure that it wasn’t too serious. That a stressful moment wasn’t going to suddenly steal Marc’s life away.

But for now, his focus was on the people milling around the gallery. Quinn had installed several cameras in the gallery a couple of nights earlier with Dom’s help, and he was supposed to be in the office watching the feed. He’d already seen Sven and Geoffrey pass through the show. Geoffrey had been actively looking at the art, while the bodyguard was helping to keep an eye on the other guests. They lingered for the first hour, then as they left, Dominic arrived with the other IT specialist, Gidget, on his arm. Royce barely managed to cover his surprise at seeing the young woman in a fashionable black cocktail dress. They lingered for a little more than an hour before Garrett arrived.

Unfortunately, Garrett’s hour was nearly up, and the show was open for two more hours. The busy gallery was too perfect of an opportunity for something to happen to Marc. People were approaching Marc from every side. Hugging him. Kissing him. Hanging on his arm. When Royce was unsure about a person, he quickly insinuated himself, and to his credit, Marc never blinked or said a word about it. He pulled Royce close and introduced him to whomever he happened to be talking to.

Marc stiffened, his smile becoming brittle, sending up a red flag. His own hackles went up, and he practically growled. Fuck, why the hell was he so tuned in to this man?

Royce quickly scanned the room, trying not to look too closely at that question passing through his brain. His eyes fell on two men in nice suits who were slowly making their way around the room toward Marc. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them, but the longer Royce stared at them, the more they started to remind Royce of Marc in a number of subtle ways. One was as tall as Marc but had more salt-and-pepper hair, while the other was shorter and had Marc’s same distinct brow. Neither looked half as sexy as Marc. Not by a long shot.

As soon as Marc finished politely excusing himself from a charming older couple, Royce stepped up and threaded his fingers through Marc’s, squeezing his hand.

“The missing brothers?” Royce whispered in his ear.

“What gave it away?”

“The fact that your expression said you’d rather have a bottle brush rammed up your ass than talk to them.”

A loud bark of laughter erupted from Marc, echoing through the gallery before he could slap his hand over his mouth. Marc cleared his throat and tried to pin a serious look on his face before his brothers could join him, but there was still laughter in his eyes, pushing aside some of the earlier worry.

“Marc,” the older of the two men said by way of greeting. They might have been talking to Marc, but both brothers were staring Royce down. He just smiled at them, a broad flashing of his teeth.

“Richard. Gabe. I’m glad you could make it tonight,” Marc said. Royce couldn’t help but notice the stilted tone to his voice—as if he’d lost some little bit of what made him so wonderfully warm and charming in an effort to be precise.

“I’m guessing this is the new boyfriend that Lilah told us about,” the shorter of the two men said.

“Yes. Royce, these are my brothers, Richard and Gabriel.”

Royce shook their hands before lifting Marc’s hand up to his lips and brushing a light kiss across his knuckles. Both men eyed the move with a strange mix of confusion and ill-concealed horror.

“Lilah said that you’ve moved in,” Richard said, his tone brusque and cold.

“Just a trial for a bit,” Royce hedged. “A few weeks, at least, as we try out seeing each other more often.”

“Or maybe a few months,” Marc added, stepping closer to Royce. He bent down so he could press his nose into Royce’s hair, nuzzling him. A hint of Marc’s cologne drifted around him, and Royce wanted to bury his face in Marc’s neck.

“Or longer,” he agreed.

“And you’re an artist?” Gabe asked sharply. Royce could feel Marc’s body shake slightly with laughter. This was more of an inquisition rather than a conversation.

“I work in clay.”

“Like making pottery?”

“Royce has experimented in pottery, but he creates stunning busts and figures along with other objet d’art.” Marc had gotten good at immediately jumping in regarding any talk of Royce’s art if it demanded that he say anything beyond the basics. “He’s currently experimenting with some new techniques and materials.”

“Are you planning to show his work?”

“I’m not dating Marc to further my career,” Royce growled. He started to take a step forward, but Marc put a restraining hand on his shoulder while forcing a laugh.

“Royce knows that clay isn’t a medium that’s my specialty.” Marc said it so calmly and lightly, brushing the unspoken accusations aside like so much dirt under the rug. Royce wanted to punch both men in their smug, frowning faces. “We just love being together.”

“Drinks!” Lilah suddenly called, breaking into the little gathering with three champagne glasses. Royce wanted to swear. He’d been so sidetracked with the appearance of the two brothers that he hadn’t even noticed the arrival of Marc’s sister. She immediately handed the most precariously balanced one to Marc, while giving one of the others to Richard and keeping the third for herself.

Before Marc could bring the glass to his lips, Royce carefully snatched it out of his hands and held it away from both of them. “Ah-ah, baby! You promised,” Royce gently chided with a broad smile. He hadn’t seen the drink’s progression from the bar to Marc, so he refused to trust that Lilah hadn’t laced it with something. After the first poisoning with nuts, Marc ate and drank only what he could vouch for completely.

Looking over at the stunned family members, Royce grinned. “We made a promise that we’d go out to celebrate tonight after the show. No drinking until then.”

“Yes, celebrate,” Marc repeated stiffly, but Royce could see that Marc had become considerably paler. The hand he was holding shook, the fingers turning cold.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.” Royce released Marc’s hand long enough to wrap his arm around Marc’s waist and direct him back toward his office. He placed the untouched drink on the tray of a passing server. As they walked, Garrett caught his eye, but Royce gave a small shake of his head. He needed to check on Marc, get his head back in the game before they could continue.

Royce released Marc as they stepped inside the office, and he quickly closed the door. He turned to find Marc seated on the front edge of his desk, face still pale as he stared at his empty hands.

“I didn’t even think,” he murmured to himself. “She’s handed me hundreds of drinks over our lifetime, and I didn’t even think about it. She could have killed me right there.” Marc lifted haunted blue eyes to Royce, and the same man who had owned the room just minutes earlier looked utterly lost. “I’m sorry. I know I agreed to not drink or eat anything you didn’t hand me. I didn’t think. Do you think it was poisoned?”

Any rant he had thought about slamming down on Marc’s head over the slip-up was lost. He was torturing himself enough already, torn up over the idea that someone in his family could be trying to kill him. Royce had yet to see anything redeeming or even affectionate from the trio, but it wasn’t his place to judge Marc’s family. Marc loved them. Trusted them. That was why he needed Royce protecting him.

“No,” he said evenly.

“But…”

Royce closed the distance between them to stand between Marc’s spread legs. He loved the brush of those slim, muscular thighs, wanted to feel them wrapped around his waist, but he pushed the thought aside. Wrapping one hand around the side of Marc’s neck, he forced the other man to look up and meet his gaze.

“I don’t think she poisoned it, but we have to be cautious at all times. We can’t afford to be careless.”

Marc nodded, exhaling heavily. “You’re right.”

“Has she done that before? Brought drinks for you?”

“Yes.”

“Is it normal for her to not get one for your other brother?”

“Gabriel rarely drinks. He’s a thoracic surgeon. He’s been called in at odd times for emergency surgery. Usually only drinks when he’s out of town on vacation.”

Slowly, Royce dragged his thumb along Marc’s jaw, watching as Marc’s pupils dilated and his breathing caught. They were alone. No need for the show, but Royce couldn’t release him, and Marc wasn’t pulling away.

“So, all your siblings are assholes. How did you escape?”

A half smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “Don’t sell me short. I can be an asshole too.”

“I bet you can.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Royce saw Marc’s hands lift toward Royce, and then drop back down to the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly. “We should get back out there.”

“You’re still pale.” Royce’s thumb dragged back toward Marc’s chin, running just over the edge of his bottom lip. “We have to get some color in your cheeks. Convince your siblings that we were doing something other than arguing in here.”

“Oh…”

Sliding his hand up Marc’s neck into his hair, he fisted his fingers around the silky threads before diving in for a brutal kiss. Marc instantly parted his lips and moaned into Royce’s mouth. They’d kissed probably a dozen times in the past week, but it was always for an audience. Sweet, gentle kisses after that first fiery one. Some teasing and probing—but always pulling off before it went too far.

This was different. This time Royce was giving in to all the desire that had been building since he’d first set his eyes on Marc. With his free hand, he grabbed the side of Marc’s throat, holding him captive. His tongue plunged in again and again, claiming every inch of Marc’s mouth, his lips, each labored breath. He wanted everything he could get from this man.

As he slowly started to pull away, Marc’s hands came around and tightly clasped his ass, pulling him in so that they could grind their cocks against each other through the thin material of their slacks. Marc’s tongue chased after Royce’s, keeping the kiss going.

He wanted to keep the kiss going, tear off all of Marc’s clothes so he could bend him over the desk, but a shrill laugh cut through the relative silence of the office, reminding them that the outside world waited.

Royce broke off the kiss and pressed his forehead to Marc’s as they panted.

“We shouldn’t…have done that,” Marc whispered.

Royce straightened and took in Marc’s mussed hair, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks. He looked like he’d been thoroughly kissed and enjoyed every second of it. “Maybe. But it was a lot more fun to do it than to fake it.” Because he couldn’t stop himself, he reached out and ran this thumb over Marc’s lower lip. “You look like someone kissed the hell out of you. I hear that’s something that couples do.”

The laughter returned to Marc’s bright blue eyes. “That’s true.”

It was a struggle to step backward and put his hand on the doorknob. Royce would rather stay in the office and continue to explore the heat between them, but Marc had a show to run, and Royce needed to protect him. After giving Marc a minute to smooth his hand over his clothes and hair without undoing all their hard work, Royce opened the door and followed Marc back into the gallery.

They barely reached the main room when the fire alarm blasted through the gallery. Everyone winced and lifted their hands against the horrible noise.

Marc froze, looking just as stunned and confused as the rest of the gallery guests who were still standing around. There wasn’t any smoke or other indication of why the alarm had gone off. Royce clenched his teeth, taking a second to debate whether he should risk trying to get that alarm shut off so that Marc could remain in the safety of the gallery, or hustle him outside where he’d be safe from fire but vulnerable to other attack.

“Fuck,” Royce snarled a second before wrapping his hand around Marc’s elbow and pulling him toward the entrance.

“Wait!” Marc attempted to dig his heels into the marble floor, so Royce couldn’t tug him along. “I can’t. I have to get the other people out of the gallery first.”

“And you swore to follow my every command. I say move. We have to get you somewhere safe.”

“But—”

“Everyone to the exits in an orderly fashion!” Royce said, lifting his deep voice to be heard over the blaring alarm. There was no way he was going to get Marc out of the gallery with his patrons still there. “Everyone, please exit!”

“Marc, what’s going on?” Lilah demanded as she hurried over to Marc’s side through the crowd. Richard and Gabriel were following on her heels.

“I don’t know. This could be someone’s idea of a joke.”

Marc’s siblings looked less than pleased with his response—as if it was unacceptable that he didn’t have an appropriate answer for everything.

“Please, go outside. The fire department and police are already on the way. Help your brother.” Royce wanted to say more, but he bit his tongue. Marc’s family looked as if they couldn’t believe his suggestion, but they started for the exits all the same. Royce hesitated, his hand still clamped on Marc’s arm to keep him close while scanning through the remaining crowd. Garrett couldn’t be seen, but the tall black man might have left while they were in the office.

“Everyone toward the exits, please.”

Royce’s heart nearly skipped a beat at the sound of the familiar voice. His head whipped around to spot Rowe’s red head near the entrance. Rowe Ward and his boyfriend, Noah Keegan, had taken the shift after Garrett. They’d arrived just in time for the alarm, which raised a new set of questions.

“Come on,” Royce said, not sure Marc could hear him, but he started pulling Marc toward the entrance. As he reached Rowe, his boss lifted his phone but didn’t look directly at Royce. He got the message. He was pulling his own cell phone out of his pocket as they hit the cold night air. There was already a message waiting for him:

Black SUV on Ruth Lyons

It was a narrow alley that ran parallel to the theater just down from Marc’s gallery. A safe place to stash Marc while they sorted things out.

People were milling around in a number of small groups, looking at the building. But in the darkness and open space, it was easier for anyone to approach Marc. Easier for an unknown attacker to get close. Marc was too vulnerable, and the alarm was too convenient.

Royce didn’t give Marc a chance to fight him but quickly moved him along toward the waiting SUV. He saw Marc’s assistant Darla hurrying over, looking confused that Marc wasn’t staying.

“His heart,” Royce quickly said. “I have to get him out of here. Take care of this.”

Marc’s mouth fell open in obvious horror, but one look from Royce had him shutting his mouth with a mutinous glare.

It took only a couple of minutes to reach the idling SUV, but it felt like much longer before he could push Marc into the back seat and then follow him inside. Noah turned in the driver’s seat, his shoulder-length hair pulled back in a queue, his grin lit by the interior lights. He was wearing a suit as well, but it appeared to be a wasted effort as the show was over for the night.

“Was this you and Rowe?” Royce demanded, slamming the door shut. He could easily see Rowe or Noah pulling the fire alarm to shake up Marc’s would-be attacker, or even to stop an attack, but he would have preferred to have gotten some kind of warning beforehand.

“Not us,” Noah said. He paused and scratched his newly-shaved chin. “Though, it’s not a bad idea. Something to keep in mind for the future.”

“What’s going on? Who did this?” Marc asked, shifting to the edge of his seat.

“Marc, this is Noah Keegan,” Royce introduced. “He’s a security agent for Ward Security.”

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“Not yet. Rowe sent me ahead to secure the car, so we’d have a safe zone for Marc. Rowe will be along in a minute.”

Marc reached inside his pocket to reveal that his brother was calling his cell phone.

“Turn off your phone,” Royce ordered.

“But—”

“We can’t trust anyone. You need to turn off your phone, so your location can’t be traced,” Noah explained.

“Your assistants will handle the gallery,” Royce added.

Marc frowned at his phone for a second before he wordlessly turned it off and sat back in the seat. Royce knew this was not how the gallery owner had envisioned the night progressing. He would have to try to salvage the lost couple of hours and possibly find a way to spin the fire alarm to his advantage. But Royce couldn’t bring himself to care about the lost sales. He’d gotten Marc out safely. That was all that mattered.

The passenger door suddenly opened, and Rowe climbed into the open front seat as he ended a call on his cell phone.

“What’s the word?” Noah asked.

“Quinn is still checking all the cameras and video, but he can’t find the person who pulled the alarm. Thinks it might be in an obscured corner. We didn’t cover the entire place. Just the main areas since that’s where he was supposed to stay.” Rowe twisted in his seat and frowned at Marc. “Foster.”

“Ward.”

Royce looked from one man to the other, and the tension thickened in the car. Rowe never acted this way with anyone. His boss got along with everyone, but apparently there was some bad blood between the two men.

“Any new thoughts on who could be doing this?”

“No.”

“Not exactly helpful when we’re trying to keep you alive.”

Royce started to snap at his boss, but Marc was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t know why someone is fucking with my life. I can’t even guess as to who hates me enough to want me dead. Why do this? A fake alarm. Just to fuck with my livelihood?”

“Could it have been a test?” Noah suddenly said.

“Like a fire drill?” Rowe asked.

“No.” Noah grinned at his boyfriend, and with just that smile, Royce watched the tension flow completely out of Rowe. Whatever problem Rowe had with Marc, it was forgotten. “It could have been a test to see how Royce would react. Would he get in the way if there was an opportunity to kill Marc?”

“Whoever pulled the alarm has a very clear answer to that question now.” Royce reached across and grabbed Marc’s wrist. “No one is getting between us.”

But instead of being reassured by his words, Marc’s expression only grew more worried.