Chapter Twenty
Rory
They decided to go straight to the hotel to pack since their flight back to Dallas was at six the next morning. Gonzales was on cloud nine, ecstatic over the arrest and hard-won break in the Columbia River Killer case. Rory was pretty quiet though, not having much to say, his mood souring his stomach, so he didn’t do much more than push the food on his plate from one side to the other.
“I’m heading up to the room.” He stood, tossing his napkin on the table. The elevator ride made him queasy, and Rory wasn’t sure if it was the four Crown and Cokes he drank without enough food to buffer his stomach or the memory of the images of Shannon they’d found in Pearson’s box of torment. Perhaps it was both. It pissed him off thoroughly that he couldn’t drop a house on Bruce Pearson. His only solace was knowing that the high-priced attorney would serve prison time; that was inevitable with the evidence mounted against him, and a man that good-looking and cocky would be somebody’s bitch inside a week. He chuckled, inserting his key card into the lock, cursing when it flashed red. “Motherfucker, let me in.” He smacked the door with his fist.
“Easy tiger.” Rand took him by the shoulder, moving him aside so he could insert his key card, which worked and only infuriated Rory that much more. Shoving Rand off, he stomped into the room, loosening his tie as he kicked his shoes off, each one clipping the wall before landing on the floor. Light-headed and irritated, he began pacing the length of the room from the door to the sink.
“Why, Rand? Can you tell me why some people are so fucking sick and disturbed? I mean, seriously, Shannon is the most amazing man I’ve ever met. He’s kind and gentle and loves everyone in his life. He’s beautiful and…fuck!” Rory ranted, shouted, and paced and thanked God Rand recognized his need to vent and didn’t actually answer any of his rhetorical questions. “I am so mad, Rand. I’m pissed. If you gave me five minutes alone with that animal, I’d fucking shoot him in the head. No, in the balls, then in the head, and it would only take sixty seconds. I mean, I work for the FBI and the BAU, Rand. I’ve dealt with some of the most mentally insane criminals you could imagine, crimes so heinous I couldn’t even begin to describe. Why does this fucker make me so crazy that I would gladly throw years of hard work and discipline out the window for a chance to beat him to a bloody pulp?”
“Because you love him.” Rand’s voice was soft and reverent, catching Rory completely off-guard. He stopped in front of him, looking down at the big, brash detective. Vision a little blurry, Rory blinked, shaking his head to clear it. The man was a nuisance, and he aggravated Rory to no end. But he had to admit, if only to himself and never in a million years out loud, Rand Davis was a very sexy man. He was bold, domineering, and stubborn, but he wore those traits well. Sometime between them entering the room and Rory going postal, Rand had removed his jacket and tie, the soft yellow button-down he wore now loose around the neck. The color brought out the deep brown of his almond-shaped eyes that held little flecks of amber Rory could see clearly when he was standing close. Every. Damn. Little. Thing. Everything Rand did both aggravated and allured Rory, and it was goddamn confusing. No one got under his skin the way Rand did, not even Shannon, and that realization was painful.
“You…confuse me,” Rory whispered.
Rand stood and slowly closed the distance separating them, standing close enough that Rory could feel the heat and desire radiating off his body in waves. He had to look up to see into the man’s eyes, their difference in height being several inches. “You exhaust me.” Rand cocked his head to one side, implication evident in his tone.
Rory took a step back. Being scrutinized so intensely was overwhelming, and he swore he could feel him touching his skin as if Rand’s hands were on his body. It was too damn much for him to ignore when they were in such close proximity. “I…you…I…” He fought to find the right words to say, licking his lips, watching Rand’s nostrils flare as he did. The man moved toward him slowly, the look in his eyes predatory, almost as if the detective was stalking him.…The lion and the lamb. Before he could speak, Rand grabbed his face and kissed him. The rational part of his brain tried to protest, Rory’s hands on Rand’s chest trying to shove him away. Rand grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the wall above his head, deepening the kiss. All sensible thought flew out the window when Rand’s body pressed against him. Need radiated off the detective, his cock thick and hard against Rory’s hip. When Rand released his mouth, trailing his tongue over Rory’s jawline to his neck, teeth gently nipping his flesh, Rory thought to protest. Body and mind betraying him, the only thing that came out was a deep, guttural moan.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” Rand groaned, looking down at him through lust-filled, deep brown eyes, a touch of gold circling the rim. “You like being held down and manhandled, don’t you, Rory?”
A sliver of sanity pushed back against the fog in his brain, but before he could speak, Rand slid a leg between his, Rand’s knee brushing his balls, and he gasped. “Look at you, all flushed and wanton. You know you’re quite sexy when you let your guard down, Agent.” One of Rand’s big hands slid around to his throat, fingers brushing Rory’s Adam’s apple.
His mind was a tornado of feelings, one solid emotion or thought unable to fight its way to the surface. The way Rand looked down at him, his eyes awash with want and need, it wrecked Rory, but in a good way. That, in and of itself, should have been reason enough to push the man away, to fight the bundle of energy in his groin begging for more. Jesus, had anyone ever looked at him like they wanted to devour him before? Because that was exactly what he saw dancing in Rand’s amber gaze: a predator seconds away from pouncing. “You want me to pin you down and fuck you until you scream, don’t you? Your body aches to submit to me.”
“That’s…what?” A spark of anger ignited in his belly, setting his nerves on fire. He screamed at Rand. How dare you? But the words stayed wrapped up in his clouded mind, head spinning, the realization that what Rand said held more than just a hint of the truth cut deep. Still, he was trapped by the sexy detective’s appreciative stare that slowly bled to scrutiny and then shame.
“God, I want you to, Rory.” His tone was low and husky, the words grazing Rory’s skin like invisible fingers, every nerve in his body igniting like a wildfire. “But, as much as it pains me, I have to walk away.” Dropping his hands and taking a few steps backward, the passion and fire Rory had seen in Rand’s eyes only moments before was replaced with contrition.
“You don’t belong to me, Rory. I want you to. Hell, I want both of you more than I’ve wanted anyone in my miserable fucking life. But it can’t happen this way.” Rand’s words fell over him like a bucket of ice water.
Hands on his knees, Rory sucked in a few deep breaths, stomach rolling. He barely made it to the bathroom before expelling the contents of his stomach violently into the toilet. The stench of stale whiskey made him dry heave, a warm washcloth on his neck easing the pain a bit. Whether the tears stinging his eyes were a side effect of the nausea or brought on by his aching heart, he had no clue. He hadn’t been lying when he told Rand he was confused. His mind and body weren’t completely at odds; Rory was smart enough to realize that much. He loved Shannon wholeheartedly, loved being with him, taking care of him, and seeing the way Shannon smiled up at him through sleepy eyes when they woke in the morning after making love late into the night. Sometimes he would arrive at the studio and stay in the shadows, just watching Shannon dance openly, freely, and with abandon. His long, lithe body bending and moving in a way that Shannon made look effortless. Nights when they’d make popcorn and curl up on the couch watching horror movies in the dark. The way Shannon would mold to his side. The contented sigh Shannon would make just before his body completely relaxed and almost bled into Rory’s.
And then there was Detective Rand Davis, the man that drove him crazy one minute then left him scratching his head the next. More than once, Rory had caught Rand watching Shannon, seen the look of longing and devotion in the detective’s eyes—it was the same look he saw in Rand’s minutes ago when Rand was looking at him.
An image slid into his mind, a memory that was quite possibly tainted by his current circumstance and mood. He and Shannon were at Woody’s Dallas with Frank, Taylor, Connie, and Rand, playing pool and listening to very bad karaoke. Rand and Connie were contorting their bodies into odd positions and trying to hit the balls, everyone laughing at the two fools. When he looked over at Shannon, he saw the way Shannon watched Rand, eyes soft and full of admiration.
Before he could delve fully into the memory of that night, he was lifted off the cold, tile floor and carried back into the room. Jesus, God, but he would never forget just how good it felt to be held by Rand Davis as the man tossed back the covers and gently laid him on the bed. “Get some rest. Everything will be clearer in the morning.” As if commanded, Rory closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, the encounter with Rand fuel for his dreams.