When Adam’s hands came around him from behind, he gasped and almost dropped both mugs.

Adam laughed and slid his hands up Nick’s chest, moving close until they were almost pressed together. He kissed the back of Nick’s neck, breathing along the skin there. “You were making me crazy, standing there like that.”

He was making Nick crazy, standing there like that. When Adam’s hand slid under his shirt, tracing the skin below his rib cage, Nick shivered.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” Nick admitted.

Adam froze. The mood in the air changed.

Then his hand tightened on Nick’s waist roughly, jerking him close. Very close. “Any question now?”

Nick blushed so hard he was glad he was looking away. He shook his head.

Adam let him go abruptly and took the mugs out of his hands, slamming them onto the counter beside the stove. Any playful banter was gone from his voice. “I think that’s part of the problem,” he said, killing the heat on the stove. “You’re so damn worried about what everyone else wants. Well, you know what, Nick? You’re going to disappoint people sometimes. You just are. And you know what else? They’re either going to get over it or they’re not. If they don’t, it sucks. But it’s not going to kill them, and it’s sure not going to kill you.” He poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, then slammed the saucepan back onto a cool burner. “In fact, if you ask me, Gabriel is long overdue for some disappointment.”

Nick flinched.

Adam pulled a can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator and shook it like he meant it harm. “You can’t live your whole life waiting around to make sure people approve of the choices you make. That’s why you’ve got a drawer full of unopened college letters. That’s why you’ve got a house full of brothers who didn’t have a clue about what you wanted. That’s why—”

Nick shoved him up against the refrigerator and kissed him.

Hard.

Adam’s breath caught, but he kissed him back, matching Nick’s intensity. The can of whipped cream hit the floor. Fingers tangled in Nick’s hair.

Nick caught his wrists and broke the kiss, pinning Adam against the refrigerator with hands and body. He could feel everything, but he wasn’t blushing now.

Adam’s eyes were heavy with desire, but maybe a little fear hid there, too. His breathing came fast, too fast.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Nick said, his voice low. Despite Adam’s lecture about doing what he wanted, there were real stakes here. He softened his hold on Adam’s wrists and backed off a bit, leaning in to kiss his cheek, the edge of his jaw, using his teeth to nip at the sensitive skin below his ear.

Adam’s breath shuddered. “I like it,” he whispered, so softly that Nick might not have heard him if not for the air carrying the sound to his ears.

Nick hesitated, the warm skin of Adam’s neck under his lips.

“What was that?”

When he didn’t get an answer, he drew back.

The first night Adam brought him here, Nick had followed instincts and pressed Adam down on the couch. Adam had called a stop to it—for understandable reasons—but what had he said?

You’re strong. I’m not complaining.

Nick searched his face. He took a chance. He seized Adam’s wrist and dragged him. “Come on.”

When they made it to the shadowed cavern of Adam’s bedroom, Nick didn’t hesitate. He shut the door, closing the darkness in around them. Then he grabbed the hem of Adam’s shirt and pulled, dragging it over his head.

Then he shoved Adam up against the wall and kissed him again, holding nothing back. He let his hands explore, pinning Adam’s wrists when he tried to do the same. Letting Adam’s breath guide him.

When the air whispered of fear again, Nick gentled his touch and leaned close to whisper. “You’ll tell me to stop if we get too rough?”

“You promise to stop if I say so?”

Nick caught his face in his hands and kissed him. “Yes. Yes, I promise. I will never hurt you. I promise.”

Again, his brain whispered. I will never hurt you again.

“Then keep going,” said Adam.

Nick kept going.

And Adam never said stop.

CHAPTER 27

Nick woke to sunlight peeking through the blinds and Adam’s breath on his neck. A muscled arm lay across his bare chest. The air was full of warmth and comfort and satisfaction.

He didn’t want to move.

But he was going to have to.

He eased out from under that arm, sliding across the sheets as silently as he was able. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and closed himself in the bathroom, begging the air to trap any noise in here with him.

Nick wished for a toothbrush and a razor, but made do with a capful of Scope, splashing cold water on his face for good measure.

Then he studied himself in the mirror. His hair stood up in tufts, and he ran a hand through it, trying to make it less of a mess. Useless. His cheek sported the bare remnants of a bruise that would probably disappear altogether by tomorrow.

Looking at his face made him think of his twin brother. He needed to get the hell out of this bathroom.

Nick eased the door open and found Adam still asleep, in exactly the same position he’d left him. Soft, even breathing, unruly hair drifting across his forehead. Nick wanted to curl up next to him and watch him sleep, but he didn’t want to live up to the creepy freak moniker that closely.

Nick snatched his T-shirt from the corner and padded out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him.

The clock on Adam’s microwave revealed that it was barely past seven—still early, especially on a Saturday. And now that he was out here, he wasn’t sure what to do. No phone, no car—

not that he had anywhere to go. No television, even.

He made himself useful and poured out the abandoned mugs from last night, filling them with water to soak in the sink along with the saucepan. Then he poked around long enough to find coffee filters and a bag of grounds. He worried that his banging around would wake Adam, but the air still felt heavy with sleep.

And now that the brewer was dripping, Nick felt awkward, like maybe he shouldn’t be out here alone. What if Adam didn’t want him rifling through his things? What if he didn’t want coffee? What if he didn’t—

Nick mentally smacked himself. He needed to turn his brain off.

But he couldn’t shake the uncertainty, so he stepped through the sliding door onto Adam’s back patio. The air was just this side of too cool, but Nick didn’t mind the bite against his skin.

The rear of Adam’s apartment building faced a drainage pond surrounded by a split rail fence, backed by a row of pine trees. A fine mist clung to the grass, hanging over the pond and offering an ethereal quality to the morning. A road ran along the other side of those trees, but it must have been too early for much traffic.

Nick dropped onto the edge of the concrete porch, putting his feet in the grass. Dew grabbed his feet immediately. He inhaled, letting the air draw threads of power to make the fog drift and sway.

And of course, memories snuck up to sucker-punch him.

Gabriel standing in front of the café, fierce and terrifying, his eyes dark and his hands in fists. You don’t have to hold him.

Nick will stay down.

Such a contrast to what had happened before: Gabriel’s eyes, tense and worried when Nick woke up in the woods. Come on, Nicky. You’re scaring me.

Or two weeks ago, when Nick had found his twin crouched in the woods behind the house, dry-heaving against a tree and clutching a broken hand. Gabriel had thought his abilities had started a fire. He’d worried he’d killed his girlfriend. He’d been desperate and broken and sobbing, unable to carry the weight of his secrets any longer.

Nick had brought him into the house and cleaned him up.

And this was how Gabriel acted in return. With mockery.

And anger.

And violence.

Nick expected to feel fury, or maybe sadness. All he felt was the gaping cold emptiness of resignation.

Because really, wasn’t this what he’d expected all along?

He knew he couldn’t stay here forever, but he wasn’t exactly sure how he could go home, either. What if Gabriel apologized?

Could Nick forgive him? Would he believe him?

What if he didn’t apologize? That seemed more likely. And Nick was supposed to live with that? Sleep in the same house with someone who’d gone from love to hate in less time than it would take him to change clothes?

Nick rubbed at his eyes. He folded his arms across his knees and rested his forehead against them, breathing in the power the air offered.

You’re safe here.

The door slid open. Maybe the air simply reacted to Nick’s emotion, but the atmosphere practically cheered when Adam stepped onto the patio.

Yay, Adam!

Nick couldn’t keep the smile off his face, so he didn’t turn around. He peeked over his shoulder. “Hey.”

Adam dropped onto the concrete beside him, close enough that Nick could feel the warmth from his body—but far enough that they weren’t touching.

“Hey, yourself,” said Adam. “Thanks for starting coffee.”

He held out a mug.

Nick took it, wrapping his hands around the ceramic. He suddenly felt shy, but somehow more self-assured at the same time. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Yes, you were very loud sitting out here with your feet in the grass. You do realize I have chairs . . . ?”

Nick nodded. “I know.” Adam’s legs stretched out in the grass, too, one hand holding his own mug of coffee, the other resting on his thigh.

Nick hesitated. Then he reached out, threaded their fingers together, and lifted their joined hands to kiss Adam’s knuckles.

Nick’s eyes met Adam’s brown ones. He’d never felt this way before, like he’d found something precious and fragile that could be taken away. It left him giddy and anxious. Fiercely protective.

Adam smiled. “That look is worth waking up alone.”

Nick blushed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I was trying to let you sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.” Now Adam shifted closer, eliminating any space between them. He pressed his lips to Nick’s neck, abandoning his cup of coffee to stroke his free hand up Nick’s chest.

Nick sighed and closed his eyes. He totally should have stayed in bed.

He left his own mug on the concrete to stroke his hand through Adam’s silky dark hair, tracing a finger down the length of his dusky chin.

“Where are you from?” he asked without thinking.

Adam laughed softly and straightened. He reclaimed his coffee, but he remained sitting just as close. “Annapolis.”

Nick winced and shook his head. “No—I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He hesitated. “My father is from Morocco, and my mother is from Brazil.”

There was a lot of weight in that hesitation, and Nick proceeded carefully. “I’m thinking there’s a story there.”

“Hmm. Not really. He came here because he couldn’t find paying work as a doctor in Morocco. Their economy was crap.

She was a student at Johns Hopkins. They met three weeks be-260

fore her visa expired.” He gave Nick a wry look. “She tells everyone she married him for the green card.”

Nick smiled. “I have a feeling I’d like your mother.”

And as soon as he said the words, he realized he was wondering about meeting Adam’s parents, and the thought struck a bolt of nerves into his chest.

Now he understood how Michael had felt Thursday night.

“She’s very opinionated,” said Adam. “Likes to rant in Portuguese because it makes my father nuts.”

Nick’s eyebrows went up. Just when he thought Adam couldn’t get hotter. “Do you speak Portuguese?”