Two days he waited, sleeping through the hot days, working at night. Sheila followed him around like a lost puppy. She butted his back if he didn’t pat her at least twice a minute, occasionally galloping off, only to return to her pestering after an hour or so. Jack started the buggy up every evening, making sure it was ready for a quick getaway.
It wasn’t that he thought Blade would lose. He just had to be ready for every possibility.
There was no coffee in Blade’s stockpile, but there was tea. Jack did without caffeine rather than drink it. He was leaning against the stable wall, mug of water in hand, watching the sun come up on the third day, when he saw him.
A thin spear of darkness against the rising sun, slowly growing into the shape of a limping, weary man as he got closer. Sheila, who’d been dozing under the tail of the chopper, came awake at some unknown signal. She galloped off excitedly to greet her master. Blade had an arm slung over her neck when they reached the stable.
The assassin was dirty, bloody, exhausted, and a sight for sore eyes.
Wordlessly, Jack took his weight from the camel and steered him into the stable. He shooed a worried Sheila out, then cared for Blade as Blade had once cared for him. Laying a mostly clean, bandaged, and dehydrated assassin down on the bed, Jack was caught by his hand.
“Thank you,” Blade rasped.
“Just repaying a favour.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Couldn’t get much further. I busted up the chopper again.” He loosened Blade’s hand from his arm and put a bottle of hydro-lyte into it. “Drink slowly.”
Blade was up that night, still a little dizzy, but awake and rational. So they talked, and as they did, Jack came to a bittersweet conclusion. Yes, Blade’d had his ulterior motives for getting close to Jack, but not everything had been made up. Here and now, with no need for deceit, Jack found the truths amongst the lies. Blade’s cars were all real, lovingly described in detail and all named—all of them female. How he’d found Sheila wandering alone and starved of attention, an instant devotee the moment he patted her. His sweet tooth and his dislike for being subject to the controlling whims of a bureaucracy. They didn’t talk about the immediate situation at all.
The next night was different.
“You killed Valadian?” Jack asked softly.
Cup of steaming tea in hand, Blade nodded. “He died before he could tell me anything, though. Threw himself on my knife. I guess he had some courage about him, at the end.”
“I guess.” The question he really wanted to ask burned his throat, but he pushed it down. “So, what’s next?”
“Next, I will have to find another way to discover who his protector was.”
Jack snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Blade smiled. “I have my means.” He put aside his cup and stood, stretching.
Jack tried not to look, but his gaze caught on the exposed strip of lean, pale skin between top and pants. Too late he realised Blade was watching him, as well.
“Jack,” he murmured, coming closer. “I did mean it, you know. I don’t regret it.”
“Do you regret letting Valadian fuck you?” It was out before Jack could stop it.
Blade’s advance stalled. He looked away, his strange gaze taking in the night outside the stable. “No.”
“I see.” Jack pulled his sleeping bag around his shoulders. “I think that closes that conversation.”
“No, Jack, it doesn’t. I don’t regret Valadian for entirely different reasons. He was just part of the job.”
“And I wasn’t? Isn’t that what this whole bloody mess was about? Me?”
“Will you let me explain?”
“You can try.”
Blade’s shoulders stiffened briefly before relaxing. “I needed Valadian to trust me, and with his personality type, he only trusts those he controls. I had the rumour planted I was submissive in bed, and he did only what came naturally to a man of his type. He tried to dominate me. I can’t regret that because it was part of the plan and it went perfectly.”
“Brilliant. And me? What does my personality type respond to?”
“Respect,” Blade said immediately. “You will only trust those you respect, but they must earn your respect and if they lose it, then you will be merciless with them.”
Jack felt like a fly pinned to a board. “Yeah? So you think you earned my respect?”
“Not entirely. You don’t trust me, Jack, and I don’t blame you for that. I treated you very unfairly in this.” He swallowed hard. “But I do trust you. And that’s why I don’t regret that night.”
“Liar. You hated it. I drove you beyond your control and you don’t like that.”
“That’s true. I don’t like losing control. There is so much about my . . . about the world I have no control over, that what control I do have, I won’t give up.”
Blade came a step closer, so Jack could smell him—sweat, tea, and antibacterial cream. Tentatively, Blade nudged at Jack’s knees.
“What you did, that’s never happened before. And . . . I liked it. An awful lot.”
Jack really wanted to believe him. “So the awkwardness after, the way you turned away, that was . . . you realising you still had to betray me to Valadian.” Involuntarily, his knees parted.
“Yes.” Blade eased between his legs and, after a moment’s hesitation, took off his shirt. “I’d like to make it up to you.”
“No.” It was out, like his knees parting, without a thought.
The assassin slowly ran fingers through Jack’s hair. “Why not?”
So many reasons why not, but what Jack said was, “That’s not a good reason to have sex.”
Blade’s lips twitched. With deliberate slowness, he shifted one leg to outside Jack’s, then the other. He sank down to Jack’s lap. “Then what’s a good reason?”
Carefully keeping his hands to himself, Jack asked in what he hoped was a level tone, “What are you doing?”
The smile almost reached those impenetrable eyes. “Seducing you. Turnabout is fair play, after all.”
Jack’s laugh was as involuntary as everything else he’d done in the past five minutes.
“So,” Blade said, sliding an inch closer, “a good reason?”
Why was he fighting this? Wasn’t he already drowning in all the bad things? What was one more wrong decision?
“Well,” he said, drawing it out as he put his hands on Blade’s hips. “One I’ve always found to be good is . . .” Fingers tightening, he pulled the man closer so their erections met. “Mutual attraction.”
Ethan slid a hand around Jack’s neck, his fingers questing up into his hair. The other he pressed to Jack’s chest, right over his heart. The assassin smiled almost shyly when the beat tripped and then pounded harder. It was echoed in Jack’s dick as Ethan rocked against him slowly. Looking up into those strange, empty eyes wasn’t quite the disturbance it had started out as, not now Jack knew to look beyond them. The gentle dip of stupidly long lashes, the flush on his pale cheeks, the way his full lips parted on a low moan. Ethan’s dick rubbed over his own, hard and insistent.
And this, too, wasn’t a lie. This wasn’t retribution or returning a favour. Ethan wanted him. Maybe even as much as Jack wanted him right then.
“I think,” Ethan murmured, tilting his head towards Jack, “that requirement is fulfilled.”
Of their own accord, Jack’s hands slipped from Ethan’s hips around his back, running his fingers over all that smooth, warm skin. Over the faint scars that had broken Jack’s restraint back in the cave.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “More than.”
In his position, Ethan had the chance to take charge, to direct and dictate. The fingers in Jack’s hair curled and tugged, lifting Jack’s face up to Ethan’s. His white eyes fixed on Jack’s mouth. Chest heaving, Ethan licked his lips, then lowered his head.
Jack didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The image of Ethan kissing Valadian flashed before his eyes, and yet he didn’t move. There was still anger at that moment. At Valadian for taking something he should never have had in the first place. At Ethan for letting it happen, for encouraging it, even. But here and now, all Jack could think was it had looked like kissing Ethan Blade had been amazing. Of all the wrong, bad decisions he’d already made, this would be the worst, but he didn’t move.
Ethan kissed Jack’s jaw.
Relief and regret warred for a nasty moment, and then Ethan nipped his skin before licking away the sting. He pressed his body to Jack, sleek and limber, thighs clamping tight to Jack’s hips. Jack forgot the moment, forgot the bad decisions, forgot the world, and wrapped his arms around Ethan, moaning as the man devoured his stubbled jaw on his way to Jack’s ear, to his hair, to his neck, and back again.
“Jesus,” Jack hissed as he turned to give Ethan access to the other side.
“Should I stop?”
“Hell no.”
“Good. Shirt off.”
Between them they wrestled Jack out of his shirt. Then Ethan was draped all over him, skin to skin, his mouth working across Jack’s shoulders, his throat, his biceps. Ethan touched and traced every inch of his chest, then skimmed over the desperate bulge in Jack’s pants, never quite getting there.
Deciding he needed a lesson, Jack slid a hand between them and cupped Ethan’s dick through his pants. Ethan ground into his hand, then groaned and melted when Jack squeezed.
It was all too much and not enough.
“Goddamn,” Jack muttered as he went for the fastenings of Ethan’s pants.
Chuckling, Ethan helped him and retreated long enough to shuck the pants. Then he was right back, straddling Jack and holding on for his life as Jack wrapped his dick up again in his hand.
“Jack,” seemed about the only word in Ethan’s vocabulary as he writhed on Jack’s lap. All of his coordination and control was lost as he clutched at Jack’s shoulders, back arching as he thrust into Jack’s fist roughly.
And still, nowhere near enough.
Ethan let out a startled yelp when Jack pushed him off his lap. Jack stood and caught him around the waist, then pulled their bodies flush. More contact, more skin, more of everything.
“Bed,” Jack growled.
With a huffed laugh, Ethan agreed, and they stumble-danced into the other room of the stable. Thankfully, Sheila was out roaming. Jack was so desperate, however, he probably could have lifted her physically and thrown her out.
There was a sleeping bag already on the bed and, after Jack all but dropped him onto it, Ethan watched avidly while Jack stripped in record time. By the time he tumbled down on the bed, Ethan had produced a condom and lube from somewhere. Now that he knew why Ethan had them on hand, Jack hesitated, but a single stroke from the assassin obliterated his doubts. He took the gear and put it aside for later use. Right this moment, he needed to touch, to taste, to drown.
Christ. So much of everything, right here. Hot skin and sleek muscles, dextrous fingers and strong hands, debauched moans and wanton kisses. Everything was in motion, falling into rhythm, and Jack lost himself in listening to Ethan losing control.
He fell so deep into it that when he reached Ethan’s dick, he had no capacity to tease or linger. He just swallowed him down and sucked long and hard. Ethan bucked and writhed, begging within minutes, coming with a strangled shout minutes after that.
Jack barely stopped to lick his lips. He grabbed the gear off the crate, covered two fingers in lube, and slid one into Ethan’s relaxed body. Ethan submitted with a throaty purr and hooked his ankles together at the base of Jack’s spine. Jack tried to take it slow, to make sure Ethan was ready, but the man under him was impatient.
“Now, Jack, please.”
When the tone of the words went from begging to threatening, Jack complied. He stroked on the condom and more lube, then sank in.
“God,” Jack hissed, burying his face in Ethan’s chest.
This was so completely wrong, but he didn’t care. Later. He would care later. When he couldn’t feel this dangerous, crazy man all around him, couldn’t feel him shake and quiver. Or hear him breathe Jack’s name, or taste his sweat and skin and musk, or watch the long curve of his neck as he tossed his head back, or the way his legs wrapped around Jack’s hips. He would care and worry after he’d come.
At least twice.
Several hours of sated sleep later, Jack roused to the strange sensation of another person wriggling against him. It had been a very long time since he’d actually slept with someone, so the feel of Ethan rolling over was odd enough to wake him. Conversely, it didn’t prompt a violent response, his body already adjusting to the other man’s presence.
“Jack?”
“Mm?”
“Come with me.”
Intentionally misinterpreting to give himself time to comprehend the words, Jack mumbled, “Didn’t I already do that? Twice.”
Ethan snickered and burrowed under Jack’s arm to press his lips to a bared shoulder. “Yes, and as good as that was, I mean leave with me. Help me find the person protecting Valadian. I think we’d make a good team.”
Jack unwound Ethan from around him and put as much distance between them as he could without slipping from the warmed sleeping bag into the cold night. He didn’t want to be distracted by Ethan’s naked body, but neither did he want to be uncomfortable.
“You do?” he asked.
“I do. We worked well together at the torture shack and against the dingoes. It would let you finish your job, as well.”
“No,” Jack murmured. “No,” with more conviction.
Ethan gave him silence to fill but when he didn’t, prompted with, “Why not?”
Jack wanted to say, Because I’m not like you. I can’t kill a man, then step over his body as if he doesn’t exist anymore. I can’t walk away from all the moral corruption and bad decisions as if they mean nothing. There’s too much inside my head. Too many bad memories. If I don’t let them go, it’ll be worse than marching into my CO’s office and punching until they pull me off, but couldn’t. Not while Ethan looked at him with wounded innocence.
Instead, he said, “This job is finished for me. I was here for Valadian. He’s gone and I have all the information we need to make a start on tracking down the rest of his partners. It’s time I went home.”
Ethan met his eyes and, as if he could see the words Jack didn’t say, nodded. “I understand.”
They didn’t move back together, but didn’t move any further apart either.
The next time Jack woke up, he was alone. Rolling over, he saw Ethan, dressed and packing tins of food into a backpack.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving. I think it would be best I got started sooner rather than later. Element of surprise and all. And speaking of which, I would prefer if you could keep the matter of Valadian’s protector to yourself. If he or she is alerted to my search, it will only make my job much harder.”
Whether it was the combination of the orgasms and the lingering warmth of Ethan’s body, or because he simply didn’t want to believe in the possibility of a traitor, Jack said, “Yeah, no worries. I won’t mention you at all.”
Ethan’s smile was glorious. “Thank you, Jack. I’ll take the buggy.” He stilled Jack’s protest with an upraised hand. “If it breaks down, I can fix it. You can’t. Sheila will be here for you. If you go due east, you’ll find a mine within four days. Once you’re safe, Sheila will find her own way home.”
He was right, and the last several days had allowed Jack to form an uneasy truce with the dumb lump of a camel.
Ethan was ready to go in short order. Jack followed him out to the buggy.
“How long do you think it’ll take you to track down this person?” he asked as the assassin settled into the driver’s seat.
“I shouldn’t think more than six months,” Ethan said confidently. He fussed with the seat for a moment, then looked up at Jack again. “Paul St. Clair.”
“Who’s he?”
“Me.”
Jack stared at him. “You?”
“You were right when we first met. Ethan Blade is a name fit for a circus performer or an assassin. Paul St. Clair fits neither of those professions. It doesn’t strike fear into a stout heart. Don’t try to look him up in any of your databases. He doesn’t exist anywhere other than here.” Ethan tapped his own chest.
Stunned by the offer of confidence, Jack asked, “Then why tell me?”
“So the next time you hear it, you will know it’s me.”
Jack swallowed the sudden rise of emotion in his throat. “The next time I hear it, or see you, I’m going to . . .” He couldn’t finish it, not with Ethan looking at him so openly and honestly.
“Going to . . . what?”
Floundering for something not pathetic, he found, “Arrest you.”
Ethan grinned. “Won’t that be fun.”
Then he was gone, disappearing into the shimmering distance.