Music of the Night

MUSIC OF THE NIGHT

by M. L. RHODES Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

Music Of The Night An Amber Quill Press Book This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com http://www.AmberHeat.com http://www.AmberAllure.com

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright (c) 2011 by M. L. Rhodes ISBN 978-1-61124-124-2 Cover Art (c) 2011 Trace Edward Zaber Published in the United States of America

Also by M. L. Rhodes Always Bring The Heat Couplings The Draegan Lords The Elf And Shoemaker Falling Fires Of Ballian Hearts & Bones

Into The Woods Lords Of Kellesborne Never Let Go Out Of My Mind Passion Passion & Satisfaction The Professor's Secret Passion Satisfaction Shattered Souls Deep True Of Heart Under My Skin, Vols. I & II Vertigo Wanting

Dedication To M, J, & C, who fill my life with music.

Chapter 1

The last time Jared Ross remembered being this aroused, he'd been at an Aerosmith concert, pleasantly stoned, a massive boner in his jeans, and eager to rock on with the hot roadie he'd met just before the show...Gary or Grant or something that started with a G. He only remembered the G because in his mind he'd nicknamed the roadie Gigantor--so labeled because the guy had been seriously hung with one of the biggest pieces of equipment Jared had ever had seen up close and personal. They'd felt each other up before the concert but hadn't had time to finish the deed because G got shouted at to work. The abrupt interruption had sucked, leaving Jared in an agony of need. But G had teased him not to get himself off because waiting would only make it that much better. Hence the hard-on from hell during the entire concert. It had been all Jared could do to keep a grip. Every time Steven Tyler swayed his leather-clad ass and hit one of those highpitched shrieks, Jared almost came. By the time he and G finally hooked up afterward...sweet Jesus and choirs of angels! And that's exactly how he felt right now. He had that same guttightening, ball-tingling sense of certainty that tonight...oh yeah, baby...tonight was going to be his lucky night. After all, good things came to those who waited, and this time his anticipation had been two years in the making. Not that this situation was anything like the previous one, mind you. Life had changed a fair amount since his misspent youth and there were other things that revved his engine now above and beyond big dicks and rock concerts--like reaching the end of a hunt and coming away with the prize.

It'd been nineteen years since he and Gigantor had gotten down and dirty in the back of Jared's old Chevy truck after that concert in Oklahoma City. Sixteen years since he'd given up his so-called life as a ne'er do well, dope-smokin' rock-n-roller and gotten a "respectable" job, as his daddy had called it when he joined the military. 'Course Daddy hadn't ever known just what, exactly, Jared had been doing during the years he was active duty or he might have changed his tune. But what Daddy hadn't known hadn't hurt him, God rest his soul. It certainly wasn't the first secret Jared had ever kept from him. There were some things a small town Oklahoma boy didn't squawk about without risking trouble. He'd learned early in life when to keep his mouth shut, and it was a skill that had come in handy over the years. Standing here tonight, however, far away from the ghosts of his past, surrounded by a swirl of color and drama, wealth and extravagance, Jared couldn't stop thinking about that concert so long ago. Of how super-charged he'd felt, electrifyingly alive and aware of everything in him and around him. Just like now. He smiled. Ah Venice. Some called it the Queen of the Adriatic, some La Serenissima, some the City of Light, but Jared always thought of it as the City of Intrigue. Especially during Carnivale, when it was tightly packed with costumed tourists and other less adventurous souls who'd come to simply gawk. Though Venice had a low violent crime rate and was considered to be one of the safer cities in Italy, Jared knew its underbelly in ways the tourist brochures never mentioned. Beneath the Old World charm, one could find many decadent pleasures, secret assignations, and criminal and political intrigues. So many dark, winding little streets in which to get lost and, during Carnivale, so many

people pretending to be other than they were in real life... And one could never forget the fact that many visitors to Carnival spent their days and nights so caught up in the spirit of it all that for those wanting to commit easy crimes, like pick-pocketing, they had merely to wait long enough and their victims would either become distracted seeing the sights or over-imbibe and be happily in la-la land. As if to punctuate his point, a masked, costumed, and clearly inebriated reveler bumped into Jared where he stood on the edge of the ballroom floor. "Careful there, guy," Jared said, grabbing the man under the arm and hauling him upright when he almost tripped. "Don't want to be taking out the whole dance floor with you."

"Mi scusi," the young man in the jester outfit hiccupped. Then he laughed and staggered on his way, pushing through the crowd, his drink splashing out with each jostle. No one seemed to notice or care. Jared shook his head. It wasn't quite midnight yet and half the people here were already wasted. Only the wealthiest and most prestigious were invited to attend this particular ball, still in its infancy, having only been part of the Carnival scene for a couple of years and hosted by the rich, jet-setting Bruni family from Rome. But even though the guest list was supposed to be high class, the ball was already known for its excesses and rowdy crowd. In spite of the ostentatious setting and the baroque music pouring from the small orchestra on the dais, the underlying party vibe wasn't all that different from a rock concert. Well...except for the crazy costumes and the masks that ranged from stark white or black, to animal-like, to elaborately bejeweled,

to downright sullen and creepy. Still, while this wasn't exactly Jared's favorite environment, nor did he love the heavy velvet and brocade costume he wore, or the half mask that impeded his vision more than he liked (costumes and masks were de rigueur at many Carnival events), there was something to be said for the anonymity Carnival offered. Masks had been popular in Venice long ago because they allowed the residents to hide behind them and become whomever or whatever they chose to be. The poor could mingle with and pretend to be rich, women could pretend to be men and vice versa, lovers could meet without fear of being found out by spouses, and it made handling all sorts of shady business possible without repercussion since no one knew for sure who anyone else was. And that suited Jared's purpose tonight just fine. It made it easy to keep the ball and the people attending under surveillance without anyone knowing what he was doing. When a passing cameriere offered him some Prosecco, Jared took a glass off the tray. "Grazie," he said with a nod, then, as the waiter walked away, swallowed the sparkling wine in one long gulp. Surveillance made a man thirsty, apparently. He was just setting the delicate-stemmed glass on a nearby table when his gaze caught sight of a green blur out of the corner of his eye. All his senses went on alert, and he looked to the large archway that opened from the ballroom out to the foyer. Not only did his heart momentarily stall then resume with a rapid beat, but when he caught full sight of the man in green, his inner thermometer shot up like rocket.

My lucky night, indeed! No one had told him the contact was

going to be sexy enough to set the room on fire. Suddenly, the reason for the tingling buzz and the eager half erection he'd had all night became apparent, as if some sixth sense had been trying to warn him of what was to come. Jared didn't know what it was about the man's physical appearance or presence that held him so spellbound, and yet he stood rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off him. The stranger's costume was elegant and clearly expensive. What Jared had initially mistaken as solid green wasn't. Instead, the man's knee-length jacket and matching hat were made from what looked like black and copper patterned brocade with green accents, feathers, and trim, including a green ruffled collar around his neck and green lace and decorations on his hat. He wore knee-length black pants, white stockings that showed off the curve of his muscular calves, and black buckle shoes.

Sweet fuck! For some reason he couldn't fathom because, really, it wasn't his usual thing...those white knee-high stockings clinging to firm, masculine legs combined with the semi-effeminate shoes were sexy as hell. The man's mask, which completely covered his face leaving no clue to his identity but for his eyes, was glossy and white and leaned toward the feminine as well. It had red painted lips, a green feather affixed to one cheek, and a jewel in the center of the forehead. The stranger held a green bird ornament in his hand, which is how Jared had recognized him for certain, but shortly after he entered the room, he tucked the bird into one of the deep pockets of his jacket as if he were almost embarrassed to be

holding it.

Intriguing. The stranger's attire and the body it hinted at beneath did something to Jared's libido he couldn't explain. His natural inclination was an attraction to masculine-looking men. They didn't have to be bears or muscle-bound or anything that cliched, but most of the men he'd dated or slept with over the years had been men's men--football-watching, straight-looking and -acting, beer drinking, roll out of bed, drag on a pair of rumpled jeans and be good to go kind of guys. Not that he had anything against metrosexual or even fem-types--hell one of his best friends was a lipstick wearing, purse-carrying queen. They just weren't his usual type when it came to attraction and sex. Yet something about this guy with his gender fluid costume pushed his buttons big time. Riveted, he watched the man--his every movement graceful-slowly make his way across the ballroom to a clear space against a wall directly opposite Jared. A cameriere offered the stranger a glass of sparkling wine. He started to reach for it, but then shook his head and pulled his hand back as if he'd suddenly realized he couldn't drink with his mask on. Unlike Jared, whose half mask didn't get in the way, the stranger was doomed to a night without libation or food if he planned to keep his face hidden for the entire ball, since his full-faced mask, which the Venetians called a volto, had no mouth opening. Jared could almost swear he heard the man sigh. Or maybe it was the heavy rise and fall of his chest, as if in resignation, that gave away his feelings. Jared continued studying the man for the next forty-five minutes, watching to see who might approach him or if he made any kind of move to contact someone else at the ball. But during Jared's

lengthy, patient perusal the stranger merely stood in one place, one green-gloved hand resting on the back of a gold tapestry chair, his stance relaxed except for one buckle-shoed foot tapping out the rhythm of the baroque music still playing. His head often turned to the orchestra as if in appreciation, and occasionally he seemed to glance around the rest of the ballroom. But other than that, he made no attempt to find a partner with whom to dance, nor did he pay any attention to anyone who happened to sit in the chair on which he leaned. No one spoke to him or even bumped into him, in spite of the crowd. It was as if he stood alone in a bubble. It was well after midnight now, the appointed hour Jared's intel had said the meet between Maestro and his contact would occur. But still nothing. As another half-hour passed, the stranger's shoulders seemed to slump. Though hidden behind the mask and costume, his body language told Jared much about him and, to Jared's surprise, he realized the man wasn't bored or frustrated from standing alone for so long. Nor did he act as if he were waiting for anything or anyone in particular. Odd. In Jared's experience, by now the guy should be jumpy as hell since the person he was meeting was late. Yet the man in green wasn't. Instead he seemed... Wow. Jared prided himself on his ability to read people and there was just no way to mistake this. The guy was lonely. That realization threw Jared for a loop. The lonely vibe radiated from the man like a live thing, and wasn't anything Jared had expected. He actually found himself feeling sorry for the stranger. A sympathetic tightness squeezed his

chest, and he had a sudden weird protective urge to go over to him and keep him company.

Oh hell. No. Just no. You've got work to do tonight, and it doesn't involve cruising this guy no matter how lonely--or hot-he might be. He's Maestro's fucking contact for Christ sake! Yeah, but Maestro was late. Really late. So late that, at this point, Jared was certain he wasn't going to show, damn it.

Give it more time. Stick to the plan. But the pesky little voice in his head just wasn't firm enough to convince him, and before he could think it through any further, Jared weaved his way through the revelers, doing his best to keep sight of his goal as people constantly shifted and danced around him. There was no way he was going to let this one opportunity to find Maestro slip away. Maestro wasn't here, but his alleged contact was. His sexy as sin contact, who was lonely and clearly in need of companionship.

What the hell are you doing? his inner voice squawked. What he did best. He was winging it. ****

What am I even doing here? The question had been pestering Sam from the moment he'd arrived at Il Ballo del Bruni. He'd had this idea that attending Carnival in Venice would be a great way to play at being someone else for a while, to put his

past behind him--at least temporarily--and revel in the freedom a mask and costume could bring. After all, here, this time of year, he could be anyone he wanted--a rich playboy, a doctor, a prostitute, a spy--and no one would be the wiser.

Anyone but Samuel Adams Aubrey. And yet here he stood, feeling as awkward as he probably looked. The irony was, he actually wasn't inept in social situations. He'd traveled all over the world, met dignitaries, presidents of countries, superstars. He knew how to mingle and paste on a smile and talk pleasantries with the best of them. He knew each and every eating utensil and how to properly use them at state dinners, and could say "hello" and "please" and "thank you very much" in a dozen languages. For some reason tonight, however, he seemed to be stuck in one spot like an old piece of gum, feeling completely out of place, and probably looking like Cletus the slack-jawed yokel. The image made Sam chuckle. In truth, it was kind of funny and he supposed, if one wanted to get technical, the fact that he did feel so out of place right now was different from the person he'd been molded into all his life. So maybe Cletus could be his mystery persona here in Venice...hopeless redneck in the Old World. Of course, he didn't think he could pull off a redneck accent--too much inbred New Englander in him--but it was an entertaining thought. Oh hell, who was he kidding? Now he was just making excuses and stalling. Either he needed to mingle and try to look like he had a purpose here, or else he should just go back to his hotel and call it a night.

The thought of another strange and lonely hotel room, with silence all around, including in his head, filled him with dread, however. No. He'd come here to lose himself for a while, and he wasn't going to accomplish that by hiding in his room. So, for now, the masquerade ball it was. At least the musical entertainment was good--one of the reasons he'd chosen this ball, in fact. He'd been wanting to hear the violinist, a young Italian just beginning to make his mark. He was doing quite a decent job on Vivaldi's "La stravaganza," No. 4. What Sam really needed right now, however, was a drink--it was hot as Hades in here. But in the get-up he was in, it would take a major disrobing to even find his mouth, much less put anything in it. Damn, what had he been thinking when he'd let the man at the costume shop convince him he had to take this particular mask, covered by the hood, which in turn was covered by the hat? He'd planned to go with one of the colombina half masks instead, or even a bauta, so he'd be able to eat and drink, but the snooty man had informed him this was the only costume and mask left-all the others were already reserved for other customers, as this one had been reserved for him. So Sam had had no choice but to agree since he doubted he'd find another costume shop willing to supply him with a decent costume at the last minute. Besides, it went along with his original crazy plan, and behind the full mask he truly could pretend he was someone else if he wanted to. He'd even allowed the costumer to use dark makeup around his eyes so, through the openings in the mask, he looked nothing like himself.

All right, Cletus, enough of standing around. The least you can do is engage someone in conversation.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink," someone of decidedly masculine persuasion said next to Sam, "but I haven't yet figured out the mystery of how Venetians eat or drink in masks like yours." The deep voice with the American Southern drawl came from Sam's left, and the tone of it sent a shocking jolt of heat up his spine. He turned to see who'd joined him, and almost forgot to breathe. A man dressed entirely in black and red stood next to him. They were roughly the same height--Sam was five-nine and a half in his bare feet--but the man seemed larger than life simply because he exuded heat and sex appeal from the tips of his knee-high black boots, to his form-fitting black velvet pants, to the long red and black coat that clung to his solid chest and shoulders, all the way to the black feather plume on his hat. He wore only a half mask in red and black that covered the upper portion of his face but left visible his sensual lips and a light brown soul patch and five o'clock shadow on his strong chin. A pair of sapphire blue eyes, shining with a mix of mischief and volcanic intensity, focused on Sam, as if the man had thoroughly enjoyed Sam's slow once-over. A grin teased at Sam's mouth, though he knew his companion wouldn't be able to see it. "Maybe it's the Venetians way of living a virtuous life, free of the sins of gluttony and the bottle," he said, his voice sounding slightly muffled because of the mask. "You're American." The man sounded surprised. "As are you," Sam responded drily, acknowledging the obvious. "Sorry, didn't mean to sound so amazed. I'm relieved, actually, since my Italian is pretty nonexistent and I was hoping not to have to embarrass myself by revealing that fact." He smiled and that

sight alone was worth every torturous minute Sam had stood here alone before this--like he'd been waiting for this smile, this man-all night. "As for your theory," the man continued, "what a sad way to live. Think about it...no chocolate, no steak, no single malt whiskey, not to mention the other delicious uses I can think of for the mouth." Another zing of lust shot through Sam as the man's deep voice seemed to linger on the last bit of his speech and his gaze grew even hotter. A sudden vision of those luscious lips wrapped around Sam's cock filled his head. "Sounds as if you take your oral pleasures seriously," Sam said. "Of course I do. Be honest...it's hard to come up with anything that gives as much pleasure as something sinful, don't you think?" "You know what I think?" Sam countered. "I think you're hitting on me." His eyes twinkled and he leaned closer to Sam until their shoulders brushed. "Is it working?" The contact was electric, even through the yards of fabric in their costumes. "Buy me a drink and we'll see." "Which brings us back to the dilemma of your mask." "Well, I suppose you'll have to figure out a way to get me out of it first." The stranger's gaze was sultry enough to melt glaciers. "Now who's comin' on to whom?" Jesus the man was hot! So hot Sam wanted to walk into the flame and let it scorch him just to find out how much he could

take. "All right, if we're moving too fast for you, let's start slow then." The man raised an eyebrow, but his lips quirked as if he were fighting to hold back another smile. "First let's start with where you're from," Sam told him. "Southern accent, but not deep South I don't think. Not quite Texan either, though." Now the man did smile. "You have a good ear." "So I've been told." "All right, I'll play along. You're pretty much on target. I'm originally from a little town called Valiant in southeastern Oklahoma, right near the Texas border--my mama was a schoolteacher and my daddy worked at the paper mill there. But now I live in Tulsa." "Tulsa--home of the Philbrook Museum of Art." "Color me impressed. You've been to Tulsa and know our arts community?" Sam cringed. So much for trying to be not himself. To his companion he merely shrugged and kept his voice even as he said, "I've been there a time or two." That's better. Let him

wonder. Stay mysterious. Remember, tonight you can be anyone you want. The man nodded, but let it slide without further comment. "All right, now it's my turn to place you." "Give me your best shot." "Stuffy New England accent, and the way you drop your r's faster than a hot potato...definitely Boston."

"You think my accent is stuffy?" Sam said with a laugh. He knew he didn't sound as Bostonian as the man made him out to be-he'd had too many tutors growing up who'd insisted he cultivate a neutral speech pattern. But even he admitted that when he wasn't on constant guard and was just being himself, old habits snuck back in. "I just call 'em like I hear 'em." "It's a good thing your success at hitting on me isn't dependent on your ear, Tulsa, because you'd be on shaky ground." "How shaky?" "About seventy-five miles shaky. West Yarmouth shaky." "West Yarmouth..." He paused as if trying to place it, then Sam saw the glimmer of recognition on his face. "Ah, you're from Cape Cod then. So does that make you a Cape Codder? A Cape Codenite?" Sam chuckled. "I think most folks on the east coast call all of us in the state 'Massholes.'" Tulsa's deep, rich laugh sent a new ripple of need scudding through Sam. "Do I even want to ask?" Sam shrugged, still grinning. "It refers to our driving ability, or should I say the lack thereof. Trust me, it's better you don't know the details. And you're safe for now, given the 'no motorized vehicle' rule in Venice." "All right then, Cape Cod, so the next question is, what brings you to Italy? You're a long way from the Cape." Sam wondered at the harder tone to the man's voice when he asked. He didn't know why, but it raised his hackles. "And you're

a long way from Tulsa," he retorted. Tulsa obviously got the message because he raised his gloved hands and laughed. "Touche. Okay, consider our business in Venice off the table." It was as if Sam had imagined the tension in the man's earlier tone because now it was gone and he seemed as amiable as ever. "So, do we know each other well enough yet for me to buy you that drink?" Tulsa asked. "I thought you wanted to take it slow." "No, I merely commented that you'd turned the tables and were hittin' on me. You were the one who mentioned slowin' things down." "Do you always take people's words and manipulate them to your advantage?" His eyes glinted with humor. "Only if I think it'll bring mutual pleasure to me and the other party involved." "And in this case I would be the other party?" "You're focusing on the wrong words in that sentence. You were supposed to linger on the part about 'mutual pleasure.'" Sam grinned again. He didn't know who the hell this man was, but he was hot as crap and also witty, which Sam appreciated. He'd spent too much of his life and career around people who took themselves way too seriously. It was refreshing to banter with Tulsa. "I'll tell you what," Sam said, "if you can find a real bar in this place, one that has something to offer besides sparkling wine, you can buy me a drink now. Maybe even a couple, if you're real

good." "Oh, baby..." His smile was pure seduction, making Sam's balls tighten. "Trust me, I'm good. But again I ask...your mask?" "I'm sure you'll put that quick-thinking brain of yours to use and figure out how to reveal my hidden assets." Tulsa's eyes gleamed and he leaned in close. "You can count on it," he said in a gritty whisper against Sam's ear. Shivers of need swept through Sam and his cock grew so hard he was grateful the fancy coat he wore covered it. But the secret truth was, he hoped Tulsa would find a way to free him from more than just his mask. It wasn't every day a sexy stranger hit on him and he had the freedom to do something about it. "Let's go find the bar." Tulsa wrapped his gloved fingers around Sam's hand and led him toward the ballroom floor and, presumably, a stiff drink somewhere on the other side of it. The string orchestra had finished and now another ensemble, this one with more of a techno rock bent, had taken their place. And, damn, they were good, too, when they began playing. The overhead palazzo lights suddenly went out, and colored laser lights flickered around the ballroom, turning the huge space into a dark, seductive den more resembling one of the crowded dance clubs Sam had been to in LA, New York, and Berlin than a Baroque masked ball. The crowd cheered, and began to sway and gyrate to the new, primal beat. Partygoers mobbed the dance floor, and their momentum pushed Sam back against Tulsa. Tulsa slid his arms around Sam's waist to draw him in against him, almost protectively, to keep them from being separated. But as Sam's backside came to rest

against the other man's front, there was no mistaking the hard bulge against his ass.

Jesus! Sam sucked in a breath. Tulsa was as aroused as he was. Suddenly dizzy with lust, he found himself wanting to know that bulge much more intimately. He pushed back, seeking closer contact. Tulsa let out a hiss at his blatant invitation. For a split second, Sam worried he'd just come on too strong, but concern became raw need a moment later when Tulsa grasped Sam's hips in firm hands and began a slow, erotic grind against him. Sam covered the man's hands with his own, encouraging him. Locked together, groin to ass, they matched their rhythm to the beat of the music as the crowd pressed in against them on all sides. Without pause, the band slid straight into a second number, this one with an even more pounding beat. The air grew hot, pulsing with music and lust. Tulsa slid an arm up around Sam's chest, anchoring him more firmly against him, while the other hand still held him tight to his groin as they danced. At the same time, Sam reached behind him and curled an arm around Tulsa's neck to draw him closer still. He wished they had on less clothes--fuck it, no clothes. He was hot and needy and wanted to feel more of the man behind him. As if reading his mind, Tulsa unbuttoned Sam's coat and slid a hand up underneath his shirt, touching skin at last. Sam almost groaned aloud at the simple but so desperately craved sensation. Tulsa teased his gloved hand over Sam's abs,

his thumb tracing the edge of his rib cage, his fingers feathering over the flat plane. One fingertip dipped into his navel, which zapped Sam with a new and sudden punch of awareness. Then, just when Sam thought he couldn't take anymore and would go crazy if Tulsa didn't move lower, the man eased his hand into the waistband of his pants. Sam sucked in, trying to give him more room and easier access. The fingers crept lower, the feel of the glove both oddly distancing but also a weird turn-on. And then Tulsa's fingertips skated over the head of Sam's dick, coaxing a rippling shudder from him. When those probing fingers curled around his full length, Sam did groan, and didn't care who heard it. Not that anyone noticed...between the darkness broken only by the constantly moving streaks of laser lights, the pounding music, and dancing bodies smashed close all around, even though they couldn't be in a more public place, it felt as if he and Tulsa were all alone on the dance floor. Sam continued to thrust back against him, wishing again they could be skin to skin, wishing the hard length pressed to his backside was bare and shoving between his cheeks and into his ass. His balls ached and his hole quivered. He was so turned on right now--unbelievably turned on. He didn't know if it was because of their surroundings, or because he was doing this with a complete stranger, or maybe the anonymity of the costumes and masks. He just knew his arousal level was off the scale. God, he wanted Tulsa to rip his pants down and fuck him. Suddenly, Tulsa spun him around to face him. "Gotta get these gloves off. I want to touch you for real, want to feel you with my

own skin." Sam moaned and took off his gloves also, shoving them in his coat pockets. Now that they were face to face, he'd be able to do some touching as well. With one hand on Sam's ass, Tulsa drew him close again, easing them back into the rhythm of the music. Then, to Sam's shock, he felt the man working at the buttons on his pants, opening them. "Jesus," Sam whispered, shaking at Tulsa's daring, but also shaking from how desperately he wanted what the man was doing. "Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are, Cape Cod?" Tulsa rumbled. Sam couldn't even respond--his throat closed tight, his pulse pounded, his cock was so hard it hurt. The moment he sprang free from his pants, and Tulsa's warm, callused hand curled around his dick, Sam whimpered and thrust, pushing his erection into the welcome pressure. But it still wasn't enough. Without hesitation, he found the fastenings on Tulsa's pants and undid them as well, freeing the man's thick length and heavy balls. For a brief second he was fascinated to realize they'd both gone commando beneath their costumes, but the thought was shortlived when Tulsa fisted both of their erections and squeezed.

"Oh shit!" The pleasure of their dicks being skin to skin was too fucking good. "Like that?" "God yes."

Sam wrapped his hand over the top of Tulsa's and they began to stroke together, both shafts in their grip. They stood so close Sam doubted anyone could see what they were doing, especially in the dim lighting, but at this point, he was so far gone he didn't care if someone watched the whole thing. With their cocks pressed together, slipping, sliding, growing slick from sweat and the pre-cum leaking from their tips, Sam quickly climbed to the edge. He wouldn't last long like this. Didn't think Tulsa was going to either, given his intensity and the way his breathing came hard and fast. Inside his mask, Sam was nearly suffocating. But he was too caught up in the moment, too close to release, to want to waste time with anything else. The music continued to reverberate through the palazzo--Sam felt it vibrating in him, in both of them, as they swayed. It was almost like they were in their own cocooned world, with nothing but them and the beat and the ever-building crescendo that began at the base of Sam's spine, then spread to his balls. God, he was so close. "Come, baby," he heard Tulsa say against his ear through the hood he wore, his low drawl a seduction all on its own. "Come with me." As three hundred Carnival revelers undulated around them, and the loud music pulsated through him, Sam danced, with his cock bare and aching in a stranger's hand in a very public place, and, with a throat-aching groan, shot his load in one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had. Seconds after his first convulsing spasm, Tulsa came as well,

with a low, breathless cry that made Sam want to keep stroking him just to hear it again. They held each other, shuddering, their dicks pulsing, until they were spent. And even then they continued to cling together and not move apart. It was an unexpected closeness, one Sam would never have thought to find with someone he barely knew, and yet it felt all-together natural. As he slowly came back to earth, he was more than a bit staggered by what had just happened. He'd never done anything so bold, had never come so hard, and had never felt freer or, ironically, more himself. His real self, not the perfectly polished marionette he'd allowed himself to become. Was this what it felt like to really live? "Christ, I'd give anything to kiss you right now," Tulsa said, his tone surprisingly hoarse with emotion. Without a second thought, Sam leaned back, yanked off his hat, pulled back the hood that had covered his hair, and took off his mask. The air, as hot as it was, felt cool against his sweatdampened face. Tulsa, eyes wide behind his mask, let out a sharp breath. "Sweet fuck," he murmured, lifting a hand to caress Sam's stubbled cheek with what almost felt like tenderness. He was so gentle, something in Sam's stomach did a flip-flop. Then Tulsa was reaching up to take off his own hat. He pushed back the black hood he'd been wearing to reveal thick, shoulderlength, brown hair. And, finally, he removed his mask.

Oh my God. Sam stood speechless, soaking up the sight of the ruggedly gorgeous man who somehow no longer seemed like a

stranger. But before he could look his fill, Tulsa leaned in and his lips covered Sam's, gentle at first, but quickly becoming more demanding as Sam opened to him and returned the kiss with heat. Their tongues touched, and then tangled together in a sensuous dance that left Sam even more weak-kneed than the orgasm had. Tulsa's hand continued to stroke his cheek, then slid around to cup the back of his neck. Sam leaned in to him, smelling the faint scent of sandalwood on his skin and finding the man's stubble scraping against his face as much a turn-on as anything else. God, he loved masculine men who smelled good. It was the perfect combination as far as he was concerned. When they pulled apart for air, Tulsa continued to stare at him and his thumb brushed over Sam's swollen lips. "You are so fucking beautiful." Sam smiled. "You're pretty damn hot yourself." That earned him a smile, a slow, sweet one that caused his cock to stir in spite of its recently exhausted state. Tulsa kissed him again. The beat of the song slowed as it drew near the end, and, as if reading each other's minds, they tucked themselves back into their damp pants and fastened them.

"Molto sexy!" a heavily accented Italian voice said and someone nudged Sam in the arm. Sam felt himself blush over being caught, and Tulsa grinned but pulled him close again as a new song started. This music was slower and more sensual. Holding his hat and mask in one hand, Tulsa's free hand slid up and down Sam's back, over his ass,

then up again. Sam curved an arm around Tulsa's waist and, since he was hatless and could get closer now, rested his forehead on Tulsa's shoulder. Desire began to build again in Sam, if it had even fully dissipated in the first place. A warm ache developed low in his belly and his ass clenched each time Tulsa's hand slowly slid over it. Holy crap, he was already craving more. It seemed their quick, hot encounter on the dance floor wasn't enough. Who was this man, to make him feel this way? "Are you ready for that drink now?" Tulsa asked, his breath warm against Sam's hair. "Fuck the drink," Sam murmured. "Let's get out of here."

Chapter 2

When they stepped outside the palazzo, the damp, cold February air stole Jared's breath after the hot, steamy atmosphere inside. And that wasn't the only dramatic change--the silence, after the loud music, was startling. He could actually hear the gentle lapping of the tide against the pier a few feet away, as well as the splash of oars as a late night gondola passed nearby. Lights twinkled in palazzi windows and on boats up and down the canal, but it was the moonlight that guided them as they rounded a corner and then another one, and ended up in a narrow, labyrinthine alley--which actually described half the streets in Venice, but this one happened to be empty at this time of night, for which Jared was grateful. "Finally, alone," the man he thought of as "Cape Cod" said with a sigh, echoing Jared's sentiment. Jared took advantage of their isolation to press the man up against the wall of the closest building and kiss him again. He couldn't seem to get enough of kissing him--the man's mouth was like a damn drug and the more Jared had, the more he wanted. The younger man seemed to feel the same, opening eagerly, burying his hands in Jared's hair and angling to better meet him. Jared took his time, savoring the way their lips fit together so perfectly, how the slow, intimate parry and thrust of their tongues already felt familiar, yet still exciting, as if they were established lovers instead of new ones. When he thought he could bear to pull away from that delicious mouth long enough to breath, he leaned back far enough to see his companion, but not far enough to break the full-body contact they shared. He combed his fingers through Cape Cod's silky

dark brown hair that curled in rakish waves against his collar and over his ears, and pushed a wayward strand of it back from where it had fallen over one of his eyes. His eyes were still a little dark from the makeup he'd worn under the mask, though much of it had come off, probably from the heat while they danced. There was just enough left, though, that against his pale skin it gave him a slightly debauched appearance that was surprisingly appealing. He had several days worth of dark scruff on his face, and wore small silver hoops in each ear, a look Jared had to admit he loved, and which only added to the rogue illusion. "You do realize that right now you look like a pirate after a fabulous night of sex and drunken mayhem, don't you?" A smile twitched at Cape Cod's mouth. "You're the one who looks like a pirate, all dressed in black and red with your kneehigh boots and long hair. You just need a cutlass and the Jolly Roger flying over you. As for me...I think I'm probably more like the earl's son you kidnapped for ransom and then had your way with because you couldn't resist my charms and my oh-soimpressive endowments." Jared chuckled. "Oh, I definitely appreciate your endowments." He made his point by rubbing his groin against the younger man's, who let out a soft moan and looked like sex on a platter when his eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. "But the question is," Jared continued, "when I 'had my way with you' just how good was it?" Cape Cod's eyes opened again and he smirked. "Let's just say that if you want to haul me back to your ship for another go-round, I won't protest. That is, unless you want me to protest because, you know, you like it that way." His teasing tone sent a surge of heat through Jared so powerful it

was all he could do not to pick up the pace of their frotting and get them both off again right now. But he didn't, because the next time they got orgasm-kind-of-intimate, he hoped to be buried deep inside Cape Cod's ass. "Be careful what you ask for," he growled. He nipped at the man's bottom lip, which earned him a taunting raised eyebrow. "Are you saying you'll give me whatever I ask for?" "You keep looking at me like that, and you might get more than you asked for." "God, I hope so." He pulled Jared into another heated kiss, stopping any further commentary for the next several minutes as they made out like a couple of horny teenagers. Finally, though, as the cold began to seep into him, Jared eased back with a sigh. "You taste so damn good I could kiss you all night," he murmured, and he meant it. He'd never found kissing this arousing or this pleasurable. "I wouldn't say no to that." Cape Cod smiled again, and it was so adorably hot something inside Jared melted. Now that he had a face to go with the body that had turned him on from the moment he first saw him, Jared found himself falling more and more for the man every passing second. And damn it, what was he thinking? He couldn't let that happen.

This is supposed to be about work, about your mission. You know what he is... But did he know? That was just it...Jared wasn't sure anymore. Aside from being dressed in the green-colored costume Jared's intel had indicated, and the fact he'd been carrying that bird decoration when he entered the ballroom, nothing else about

Cape Cod seemed to fit with what he was supposed to be. After talking to him and spending time with him, Jared just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that Cape Cod was involved with someone like Maestro. For one thing, he was younger than Jared had expected. If he was thirty yet, Jared would be surprised.

His age has nothing to do with his ability to be Maestro's information courier. True. But Cape Cod's eyes were another hint that everything wasn't what it seemed. His gray-eyed gaze was open and warm, not cold and hardened as Jared had seen so often on those who kept secrets lives. What Jared did see in Cape Cod's eyes, however, was a touch of sadness hidden beneath his outward show of easy-going charm. Not that those weren't his real traits as well--it was just that he appeared to be using them as a shield, like he'd been hurt and was still trying to find a way past it. That realization caused a twinge in Jared's chest. He wondered who could have hurt the man and why, and then wondered how quickly he could find the person and kick their ass.

Whoa. Where's that coming from? Now you want to defend him? And again, this proves nothing. Many people become spies because they're weary of their lives, hurt, desperate, which is why they turn to selling tidbits of information for money. You know this. Except Cape Cod was an American and if Maestro was doing what Jared thought, why would he be using another American as his courier to pass information on to extremist groups in other countries? Wouldn't his contact be someone from a foreign country, someone who'd have better access to the entities involved?

So many questions. So many things that felt off about this whole scenario. It was driving Jared crazy. Nothing about this night had played out like he'd expected. "Hey...you still with me?" Cape Cod asked, a grin dancing on his lips. He was looking at Jared with full-out desire and something softer that did funny things inside Jared's gut. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, which was another piece of the puzzle that didn't fit if he were truly Maestro's contact. Jared caressed his dark-stubbled cheek with this thumb. "I'm definitely with you. Where do you want to go? I'm assuming you have a hotel somewhere in Venice? Or we could go to my place. I'm not staying too far from here, an easy five minute walk." "Your place then, since it's closer," Cape Cod said without hesitation. "Close is important?" Cape Cod grabbed one of Jared's hands and pressed it to his groin where Jared couldn't mistake the evidence of his need and the reason for his urgency. "What do you think?" Another round of heat flooded through Jared, perking up his own dick. He smiled and gave the bulge a squeeze, loving how the younger man's eyes grew hazy and his eyelids fluttered closed again. "My place it is," Jared agreed. He grabbed Cape Cod's hand and tugged him off the wall. "Come on." They walked through the night, pausing every now and then for another kiss or to grope one another because they just couldn't seem to keep their hands to themselves. But the closer they drew to the palazzo where Jared was staying, the more a niggling

anxiety began to weigh on him.

What the hell am I doing? He'd thought he'd known, when he crossed the dance floor earlier tonight to meet Maestro's contact. His loosely thrown-together plan at the time had been simple...lure the man in green back to his rooms and interrogate him. Now, however, things had changed. He didn't know if was when he'd discovered that he genuinely liked Cape Cod and enjoyed their easy, bantering rapport. Or if it was when the crowd had pushed them together and he'd been startled to realize the man was as turned on as he was and they'd ended up going at it on dance floor. Or afterward, in those surprising minutes when he'd realized that somehow what had happened between them might have actually meant something to him. He just knew that he wanted more of what they'd started at the ball, he wanted to know Cape Cod better--not because he might be Maestro's contact, but because he found the man sexy, intriguing, intelligent, funny. He didn't even know when he'd last been so excited about being with a lover or had enjoyed a lover's company this much. And at the same time, he knew he should be kicking his own ass for complicating everything like this.

You've lost sight of what you came to Venice to do. You better figure out a way to get things back on track or you're going to blow the only opportunity you've had in two years to nail Maestro, if it's not too late already. He dragged in a breath.

You've got a connection with Cape Cod now. Utilize it

It made total sense, yet the thought of using sex to get information from Cape Cod made Jared feel dirty. Sure, sometime he had to get his hands dirty on a job--it was inevitable, and he accepted that. But he'd never liked playing games, and always preferred to be direct as much as possible. He especially didn't enjoy having to play games with someone he liked, Maestro's contact or not. Besides, he wasn't even convinced anymore that Cape Cod had a connection to Maestro.

Then why does he have on the costume? Get your head in the game, for Christ sake! Do you want Maestro or not? Maybe Cape Cod isn't involved...but what if he is? Are you willing to take that risk just because you've suddenly gone all noble? Damn it, he hated it when his inner voice kicked him in the ass with logic. With a sigh, he knew what he had to do. If Cape Cod was Maestro's contact, then Jared had to find out what he knew, using whatever method he had available to him. If that took using seduction as a weapon, then so be it. Maybe it wasn't something he'd be proud of later, but God knows he'd done plenty of other things during his thirty-nine years that he didn't necessarily look back on with pride either. He always got the job done, though, and, in the end, when the good guys won out over the bad, the sacrifices had been worth it. And if Cape Cod wasn't involved with Maestro? Then Jared would have to walk away from him--for Cape Cod's safety, and because Jared couldn't afford to let himself get sidetracked again. It was the right thing to do, he told himself.

So why then did he already feel so shitty? The palazzo where Jared was staying had originally been built in the seventeenth century and sat on the Grand Canal, near the Rialto Bridge. They climbed the steps to the front door, which Jared unlocked and held open for Cape Cod. Once inside, he led the younger man through an elegant foyer, past a salon and a music room. "Is this palazzo privately owned?" Cape Cod asked, seeming particularly interested in the music room as they passed. He paused in the doorway and his gaze roamed almost lovingly over its contents, including a grand piano, a harpsichord, and a collection of stringed instruments displayed along one wall. "Yes, by a businessman in Milan. It was converted into three separate apartments--one on each of the upstairs floors. He lives in the top one when he visits, and rents out the ones on the second and third floors. This floor is all common area." "Nice. How'd you luck into it?" "A friend of mine keeps the second floor apartment for when he's in Venice on business and he's letting me use it while I'm here. The third floor tenant's out of the country at the moment, so we have the place to ourselves." He smiled at the rapt expression on Cape Cod's face as the man crossed the room and ran his fingers over several of the instruments. "You seem enthralled. Do you play an instrument?" Cape Cod's dark brows drew together as if the question troubled him and he was wrestling with a response. "I have some experience," he finally said. The vague answer didn't offer much and Jared couldn't help but

probe a little more. "From the look on your face I gather it wasn't a very good experience. A crappy music teacher in your past? Some evil, hunchbacked wretch who rapped your knuckles and caused you to hate music?" He tried to keep his tone light and teasing, even though he wanted very much to hear the man's response. To his surprise, a sad smile curved Cape Cod's sensual lips and his gaze was far away. "No, I love music. That's never been the issue." Something about this room had obviously touched a chord for Cape Cod, and Jared wondered what it was, wondered if his sadness now had anything to do with the sadness Jared had seen hidden in his gaze earlier. And then he remembered the passion he'd seen in Cape Cod's eyes when he first noticed the music room--the way his eyes had lit up, and then dimmed so quickly. In that moment Jared knew music was somehow important to this man's life. He didn't know how or why, just that it was. And that intrigued the hell out of him because, after all, the term "maestro" was musical in nature. "I just..." Cape Cod winced, and seemed to still be struggling. "Let's just say that sometimes loving it isn't enough." He turned away from the doorway, his shoulders slumped, and a drawn look on his face. His dejection plucked at something inside Jared. Unable to resist the sudden protective feeling that came over him, he wrapped his fingers through Cape Cod's and pulled him into an embrace. Cape Cod didn't fight him, but instead wrapped his arms around Jared's waist and rested his head on his shoulder. Jared stroked his back, once again acutely aware of how well

they fit together. Of how good the younger man felt in his arms, and of how much he wanted to make him smile again.

Oh hell... Here he went again, getting distracted. What was it about this guy? One troubled look and Jared melted like butter on toast, wanting to make him feel better, and everything else be damned. "Come on, let's go upstairs," he said, leading him to a broad, carpeted staircase. "I'll get you that drink I've been promising you all night." The man looked like he could use it. And, frankly, Jared could, too--liquid courage for what he had to do. When they entered the apartment, Cape Cod went straight to the double glass doors that led out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. He didn't open them, but stared through them, seemingly lost in thought. Without bothering to turn on any lights since the moon was nearly full and shone through the door and windows, Jared dropped his hat and mask on the chair by the door, pulled the hood up and over his head, and took off the heavy coat. He lit the fireplace, which had been converted to gas at some point, to ward off the chill of the night. Then he found glasses at the bar and splashed a couple of fingers of single malt scotch into each one, courtesy of his friend Ethan, whose apartment it was. He crossed the living room to stand behind the green vision silhouetted in the moonlight. "You okay?" he asked softly, caressing the man's hair, mesmerized at how the moonlight made the dark brown curls shine. He brushed it away from the side of his neck and pressed a kiss against the warm bare skin. Cape Cod didn't respond to his question, but let out a soft sigh.

Jared took his mask and hat from him, which he still clutched in a fist at his side, and tossed them onto a nearby chair. "Here." He offered one of the glasses of scotch, and the man curled his fingers around it. "I don't know how you like your whiskey," Jared said, "but if neat's not your thing I can add some water or find you something else." "This is fine," he murmured, and took a sip, wincing slightly at the burn. He followed that with a deeper swallow. He still seemed pensive, his mind somewhere else, and Jared wasn't sure where to go from here. He knew what he needed to be doing--he needed to start uncovering whatever secrets Cape Cod was hiding, because after their odd exchange downstairs and the man's touchiness about what he was doing in Venice when Jared had asked him at the ball, he was definitely covering up something. Whether that had anything to do with Jared's mission, he wouldn't know until he got the man to open up. Which was the part Jared dreaded. He knew that if seduction didn't work, he'd have to resort to other methods. And the truth was, he'd never felt less like doing his job in his life. He still wanted Cape Cod--so damn much it rattled him--but he had zero desire to use him in order to get information.

Then you might as well go home now and forget about Maestro. He was pondering that sobering fact when Cape Cod suddenly set his drink down on the decorative table near the balcony door and turned to face him, his expression serious. The most serious Jared had seen it all night. Gone were the teasing glimmer in his gaze and the witty retorts. "I'm sorry for getting so quiet. It's just...I don't lie very well," he

said. Jared's pulse suddenly raced. "What do you mean?" "You asked me earlier why I was in Italy and I avoided the question because I was trying to play a game I'm clearly not good at."

Oh shit. "What game?" Jared asked, his voice taking on a hard edge even as a knot formed in his stomach. Cape Cod sighed. "I thought if I came to Carnival I could lose myself for a while, hide behind a mask and pretend to be someone else in order to escape my problems, even if it was just for a day or two. But the truth is, I have enough trouble just being me sometimes, and even when I've tried tonight to stay vague and mysterious and not tell you any details about me, I suck at it. I keep getting tongue-tied as I try to think of ways to avoid answering your questions, while at the same time, I find myself just wanting to be honest with you." Caution and more than a little confusion left Jared shaking his head. "I'm not following you." "Look...I'm not sure what this is between us. I don't know if you're looking for a one-night stand or a weekend fling or maybe something else. But I do know that whatever is going on, I don't want to take it any further without being honest. I'm not good with the vague and the secrets--I'm a terrible poker play with obvious tells. So if you want to sleep with me, then at the very least you deserve to know my name. And you deserve to get real answers when you ask me questions. I don't want you wondering the whole time we're together why I'm being evasive. I don't want you thinking that maybe I'm some kind of criminal or have something to hide."

Jared sucked in a breath at his choice of words. Was the man playing Jared by appearing to give him information he wanted but it was all misdirection? Except Cape Cod's eyes--almost always the giveaway to a lie-indicated he was being honest and there was no subterfuge involved. He still looked troubled, but Jared saw no deception in his gaze. "I don't have anything to hide," Cape Cod reaffirmed. "My stupid attempt at being someone else, being mysterious or whatever, was just that...stupid. So, to set the record straight, my name is Sam. Sam Aubrey. Samuel, actually, but I prefer Sam. And I was interested in the music room downstairs because I'm a musician. A violinist. That's my profession. I've been playing since I was three, giving concerts in major venues across the world since I was nine, and a month ago, after almost twenty years on stage, I walked away from it all. I turned my back on everything I knew because I'd been dying a little inside for a long time and..." He drew in and let out a shaky breath. "And I finally woke up one day and realized that everything I'd built my life on had somehow rotted beneath me." He took a hard swallow and scrubbed a hand over his face. Jared stood, transfixed, watching the play of emotions across Sam's face, aching at the pain he heard in his voice. And, suddenly, all his own worries and concerns flitted away. This, he realized, was the real person he wanted to know. "Someone hurt you, didn't they?" he asked. Sam sighed. "You could say that. But I won't bore you with the details. The last thing you want is some stranger you barely know dumping all his dirty laundry on your doorstep."

Jared squeezed his hand. "You're not going to bore me. And in case you hadn't noticed, we've gotten to know each other pretty damned intimately tonight. Too intimately to be called 'strangers' anymore. " "It's a long and not very flattering story." Jared smiled encouragingly. "I have nowhere else to be except here with you. And I'm a good listener, if you want to talk." Sam picked up the glass of whiskey he'd abandoned earlier and finished it off. It seemed he felt the need for a bit of liquid courage, too. "More?" Jared offered. He shook his head and returned the glass to the table. Then he slid his hand out of Jared's and turned back to the door, one hand braced on the frame, the other scuffing over his face. For several long moments Jared thought he was going to stay quiet. But, finally, he said, "I haven't talked to anyone about this since I left Massachusetts last month." "My mama always used to say that when you've got something eatin' at you inside, the only way to make it better is to get it out in the open. Banish it to the light." A faint smile pulled at Sam's mouth. "Banish it to the light. I like that. Your mother sounds like a smart lady." "She was. She's been gone a long time and I still miss her heartto-hearts. She had a way of puttin' things in perspective even when life seemed to have gone to hell in a handcart. " Sam let out a soft huff that was one part bitter, two parts sad. "I wish my mom had given me advice when I was growing up. She

was never very available when it came to emotional stuff. Still isn't. My parents, as soon as they found out they had a prodigy on their hands when I was little, forgot about everything else except having me trained. They wanted me to be sculpted into the perfect little performer. Everything else in my life ceased to matter. I wasn't allowed to have friends or play outside with the other kids in the neighborhood because I always had to practice and my parents didn't want to risk me getting injured. I went on the concert circuit when I was nine, performed at Carnegie Hall for the first time when I was ten, and it went from there." He reached up and lightly pressed his fingertips against the glass pane, as if trying to touch the lights on a water taxi traveling up the canal. "For a while it was fun, exciting. I loved playing the violin and I got to do it all day every day, and I loved performing, so that carried me for several years. But by the time I was twenty, twenty-one, life in the spotlight started to get old. I was tired of being on the road all the time, tired of having my schedule planned out to the second, tired of having no life, no time to myself, no real friends. Tired of always having to dress the part and keep my hair trimmed just so and never, ever do anything, even in my personal life, that might reflect poorly on me and hurt my reputation. When my parents found out I was gay, they and my tutors told me to keep it under wraps and not ever let anyone in public know. Even small stuff, like when I got my ears pierced a few years ago, my God, you would have thought the world had ended. I had to take my earrings out for every concert and appearance so I didn't mess up my squeaky clean 'classical' image. Everything just got more and more restrictive, and the playing stopped being fun and became a chore."

He sighed again. "That was when Lucas entered the picture." "Lucas?" Unbidden, a flair of jealousy rose in Jared. Sam turned around to face Jared and leaned back against the doorframe. "Lucas Monroe, one of the better known artist agents in the world. My parents thought that because he was young--he was in his mid-thirties at the time--he might have better luck keeping me happy than the old fossils I'd had in the past. So they hired him, without my knowledge, which pissed me off no end. They'd had it drawn up in a contract when I first started performing that they retained the right to manage my career and make financial decisions until I was twenty-one. I was several months shy of it when they hired Lucas, so my choice meant nothing. But in truth, they weren't wrong. At least at first. Lucas and I hit it off and, for a while, music was fun again. Eventually, we became lovers, though it was all on the down low because I had my precious reputation to protect. I truly thought he was on my side, that he was looking out for my best interests and my needs, and so when things started to get tedious for me again and I was restless, I confided in him that my real dream was to start doing some crossover music." "Crossover? What does that mean?" "Combining classical music with rock and pop and other genres. Many classical purists hate it, they think that any classical artist who does it is selling out and is no longer fit to be called a classical musician. But there is a following for it and some brilliant musicians are doing it very successfully. However, when I told Lucas last summer what I wanted to do, we had a huge fight. He insisted I'd be ruining my name, ruining my career, that I'd never be able to play professionally again and that no concert hall or orchestra anywhere in the world would have me if I sold out like

that. He wouldn't back down, said it would ruin his career as well and he'd be a laughing stock. He brought my family in on it, called my old tutors and had them harping on me not to, as he put it, 'make the biggest fuck-up of my life'. Needless to say our intimate relationship suffered--I was so furious at him for how he was acting that I could barely stand to be in the same room with him. Unfortunately, though I could put the brakes on our personal relationship, I couldn't easily end our business one because we had a contract that still left him in charge of my career. "I think as punishment, and to keep me too busy to even think of causing any more problems, he beefed up my schedule, had me on tour playing back-to-back concerts all over the world all summer and fall and into the winter. I seldom had any time off except for travel days between shows. I was exhausted and angry. I got to the point where I could barely make myself go up on stage. I didn't want to let audiences down, though, so I kept every commitment, but I hated it, and the stress starting wearing on me. Finally, in mid-December, I was so rundown I got the flu during a trip to London and ended up staying there and missing a month of performances while I recovered. "When I was back home in January, I confronted Lucas again to tell him I was done being run ragged and I was taking some time off. We, of course, had another big blow-out. My parents sided with him, again. They said I was being irrational and was clearly troubled and needed to listen to Lucas. He'd told them all kinds of lies about me, saying I'd become unhinged on the road and when I was in London for that month it wasn't really the flu like I'd said, but instead I was holed up in a hotel room with drugs and prostitutes and some other shit. It hurt, that the man I'd thought was my partner in more ways than one would betray me so deeply. I couldn't fucking believe it...he even, during an interview a

few days later, implied all that same crap to a journalist. Of course it went to print and speculation ran rampant that I was unstable, that I'd become a druggie. I even read an article that said I was suffering from mental illness." "Why the shit would he do that?" Jared growled, his hands balled into fists. "Turn your family and the press against you? Make up such bold lies?" Sam gave a bitter laugh. "Why else? Money. He had two years left on his contract and he wanted out. I'm sure he suspected that since he was no longer sleeping with me he didn't have any leverage to keep me in line. If I actually went against everyone's wishes and did a crossover recording, he was sure he'd lose his meal ticket. And if he broke the contract, he'd owe me a bundle. If, however, he could show just cause that I was no longer fit to perform and not a viable client anymore, he'd have an out and could find some new star to hook up with." "What a fucking bastard. I hope you're planning to sue the hell out of his ass. Or let me kick it for you." That brought a faint smile to Sam's face. "Honestly, I'd love to see his ass kicked. And for what it's worth, I have my attorneys looking into the contract and his lies because all my earnings the past few years have gone through him, and right now I can't access a chunk of it because it's tied up in his accounts." He shook his head. "The day I found out about the article was the day I walked. I should have done it sooner, shouldn't have let him, or my family, dictate to me for as long as I did." He grimaced. "I'm not happy with myself about that--it pisses me off every time I think about how much control I gave Lucas over my life." "He was your agent and your lover. You were supposed to be

able to trust him." "Yeah, well, look how great that worked out. The day I left I didn't really think it through too much. I was so upset I just packed a bag and left. I've been traveling for the past month--I needed space from him, from my family, from all the shit. I needed a chance to...it sounds lame, but I needed a chance to find myself again, remember who I really am on my own. Of course my disappearing has only created more speculation about my 'mental health,' so I've been trying to avoid the press and be a regular person. Lay low. Hence the whole crazy urge to come to Carnivale and hide behind a mask for a while. Not exactly conducive to getting to know myself better, is it? To pretend I'm someone else. Jesus." Sam turned back to the glass doors. His voice, when he spoke again, was hauntingly quiet. "You know what the worst part is? I can't even hear the music in my head anymore. Music was my world, the one thing that gave me the most pleasure, the one thing I could always turn to for comfort, and now there's nothing. Just silence." Jared stroked Sam's hair, needing to touch him, offer comfort. "I can't even imagine." And he couldn't; even as dedicated as he was to his job, he'd never had anything in his life that he felt so passionate about he'd be broken if he lost it. He suspected that for Sam what happened was akin to losing a loved one. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Sam shook his head. "I don't want you to be sorry. I'm not telling you all of this to get your sympathy or to come across as some kind of whiner who bellyaches about his life being so bad because, truly, I know how lucky I've been. I'm just being honest, because I like you and if you decide you want to spend any more

time with me, even if it's just for tonight, there are going to be moments, like what happened downstairs earlier, where you'll see me hurting because I can't hide it very well. I'm kind of lost right now and you deserve to understand why, to know what you're getting into. And if, after this probably very awkward confession, you want me to leave, I'll understand." Jared turned Sam around to face him. "I'm not sure what this is between us either," he said honestly. "I don't know where it might lead. But what I do know is that I don't want you to go." The huskiness in his voice gave away more than he wanted it to, but he couldn't hide it. He realized this was a turning point, and he absolutely would not play games with this man's life or emotions. Sam had been through enough, and Jared wasn't going to add to his distress. From here on out he either had to believe in Sam and stand by that belief, or he had to cut any further physical and emotional ties right now so that if he had to question him about Maestro, he could do it without guilt and without Sam getting hurt any more than he already had been. He knew what his choice was going to be, though. He'd known it the moment Sam began telling his story.

Sam Aubrey. The name fit him, as did the knowledge this graceful, soft spoken man had been a child prodigy and was now an internationally acclaimed violin virtuoso. He was real. His story was real. And Jared was certain, as he'd suspected deep in his gut all night, that Sam Aubrey was no spy. He didn't know how he'd ended up in the green costume, but it wasn't because he'd been at the ball to meet with a spy. Hell, for all Jared knew, his intel had been wrong.

"So where do we go from here?" Sam asked. Jared wrapped his hands around Sam's and brought them to his lips. He kissed his knuckles without ever breaking eye contact. "I want to be with you tonight. I've never wanted to be with anyone more." "I didn't scare you off?" "Far from it. You made me admire and like you even more."

What about Maestro? his inner nag demanded. But for the first time in two years, Jared realized he wanted something more than the elusive spy. He reached for Sam with one hand and pulled him into a kiss. Then he leaned away and locked gazes with him. "Let's do this right, okay? It's nice to meet you, Sam Aubrey," he said softly, holding out his hand. "I'm Jared Ross from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I'm thirty-nine years old, I own my own security company, and believe it or not, I'm in Venice on business." Sam clasped Jared's offered hand. "It's nice to meet you, too, Jared Ross. From Tulsa." And then he smiled.

God help me, Jared thought. I could drown in that smile. "If we're going to do this right, though, I have one more little confession to make," Sam said. "Lay it on me." "Earlier, when I said I was from West Yarmouth?" "Yes..." "That is where I live now, I've had a house there for the past

couple of years. But...I was raised in Boston." Jared couldn't help but laugh. "I knew it!" "Go ahead and gloat," Sam said, the sparkle back in his eyes. "But I'll have you know, Bostonian or not, I am not stuffy." "Sweetheart"--Jared cupped Sam's ass and pulled him close--"I pretty much figured that out along about the time you were coming all over my hand in the middle of the ballroom floor." "And who's fault was that? You were the one who started the whole public exposure thing." "Only because you were making those sexy noises and grinding your ass back against me." "Are you manipulating my words again?" Jared grinned. "When it suits my purpose." "I can tell you're going to be a handful, aren't you?" Jared grabbed one of his hands and settled it directly on his groin, much as Sam had done to him earlier out on the street. "I already am. The real question is, what are you going to do with it?" Sam squeezed Jared's cock through the soft velvet, and this time his smile was pure sex. "So, Jared Ross. You have a bed in this place?" "Two, in fact. Take your pick." "The closest one." "Of course. How could I not have guessed." "On second thought, I think even that's too far away."

When Sam pressed his mouth against Jared's and his hands moved to the waistband on his pants...Jared agreed. Much too far.

Chapter 3

Sam closed his eyes and fought hard not to come as Jared slowly, oh God, so agonizingly slowly, pulled down the ridiculous knee-high stocking-sock over his left calf, exposing his skin inch by inch and kissing every bit of it before he continued. Sam had no idea why it was turning him on so much, but Jesus it was. Maybe it was because it turned Jared on, too. Jared had confessed as he undressed him, that when he'd seen Sam walk into the ball tonight, the sight of him in the white stockings and black buckle shoes had made him instantly hot. And he'd been proving it ever since, taking his time, his warm hands stroking and kneading Sam's calf, his hot tongue laving the skin. Sam was completely nude except for this last thing. Jared had laid him out on the double-sized leather chaise near the fire, one leg on the chaise, the other, the one Jared was working on now, dangling off the couch, while Jared knelt next to Sam on the floor and proceeded to put him through this slow, erotic torture. When Sam had started to reach for his erection earlier, Jared had stopped him and told him not to touch it--that it was sexy as hell standing at attention like it was. And so one of Sam's hands gripped the side of the chaise, while the other was above his head clutching the velvet throw pillow behind him, his fingers slowly curling and opening as he struggled to keep his orgasm in check. How could he be so close to coming when Jared hadn't even touched him where it counted yet? Finally, at long last, the damned thing was off. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at the man in question, to find a sinful smile on his face. He ran a hand up Sam's calf to his thigh, squeezing

gently, but stopping short of his groin, leaving Sam aching still. "God...no more teasing. I can't take it." "You know what I think?" Jared's hand squeezed again. "I think you loved every second of that as much as I did." He brushed just the tip of his thumb over the slit of Sam's jutting cock, smearing the drop of liquid beaded there and drawing a moan and shudder out of him. Sam's legs shook from the intensity of his need. "What gave you that impression?" he said, his voice hoarse. "Mmm. I wonder." Jared crawled onto the chaise and knelt between Sam's legs, his palms continuing to stroke Sam's thighs. "When I look at you like this...fuck." His voice caught. "You're so damned sexy, with your hair all tousled, your legs spread and tremblin', your mouth swollen from kisses." Sam moaned. "I'm trying really hard not to come here and you're not helping." Jared's words were only making him harder, making his ass clench, making him tremble even more. Add to that the sight of Jared's muscular arms, shoulders and chest, and the light brown patch of hair that started on his breastbone and narrowed to a vee on his flat abdomen, then blended with the heavier, darker thatch around his cock. With a light golden tan in spite of the fact it was February, his thick, shoulder-length hair falling loose around his face, his rugged handsomeness, startlingly blue eyes, and cut physique, he looked like a warrior from olden days. Hard and chiseled in all the right ways. "What are you smiling at?" Jared asked. "I was just thinking that you look like some kind of ancient knight.

Like you could pick up a sword and kick ass all day, then come home and give your lover a thorough fucking, all without even having to stop and catch your breath." "Yeah, well, I'm not as young as I used to be, so the whole breathing thing...not so much. But, baby..." His eyes glinted with mischief. "There's no force on hell or earth tonight that's gonna keep me from giving you a thorough fucking." Sam almost choked on his breath at the promise in those words. Jared leaned down and captured his mouth, kissing him slowly, deeply as if proving his point over who was in charge here. If Sam weren't already lying down he was pretty damn sure his legs would have given out on him. He buried one of his hands in Jared's hair, grasping a handful of it and using it to pull him closer. As they kissed, he discovered that if he angled himself just right, the tip of his cock almost brushed Jared's stomach. He tried to push up against him, needing the contact, aching to come, but couldn't quite get there. Jared chuckled, low and deep, when he realized what Sam was trying to do. "Uh-uh-uh." "You're killing me," Sam protested. "If I let you rub on me like that, you're going to get off, and I don't want you to yet." Sam groaned in frustration, but then Jared whispered against his ear, his drawl thick and seductive. "I want to be in you, buried deep, all the way to the root, fillin' you so full you think you're going to burst when you finally come. Can you be patient and wait for that?"

"Oh God." Heat built deep in his belly and his ass ached in pleasure just thinking about it. "I'll make it worth the wait. I promise." Jared captured Sam's mouth again, exploring with no sense of urgency. But Sam swore that every slow thrust of his tongue seemed planned to push him to the end of his endurance. His body, driven by the blood pulsing in his dick, didn't understand the meaning of the word "wait" and continued to arch into Jared, begging, demanding satisfaction. Suddenly, slippery fingers brushed over his hole and slid into him. No prep, no warning, just straight in. Sam gasped, but Jared swallowed it in the kiss. He didn't know where Jared had found the lube, didn't care except to be grateful the man hadn't had to leave him to get it. Jared pushed his fingers deep, eased out, then thrust again, holding nothing back. Sam didn't know how many fingers he was using--two, three? It didn't matter. He just knew they were in him, stretching him, and it felt like fucking nirvana. He loved, really loved, that Jared wasn't the type to tiptoe around down there like Sam was some kind of delicate flower. Sam had no fear of "too much" where his ass was concerned. He loved being a bottom, loved having his ass invaded, loved that heavy feeling of fullness and satisfaction, the burn, the deep ache. Jared hadn't realized it, but when he'd said he wanted to be buried in him when he came, it had been the biggest, hottest turn-on he could possibly have ever used. "More," Sam breathed. He knew Jared had heard him when the fullness increased as another finger joined the others.

Sam writhed on the chaise, thrusting and grinding down against Jared's hand, riding it hard. His dick bounced against his belly, leaking pre-cum. "So fucking good," he moaned against Jared's mouth. "More." Jared complied, and the burn was incredible as he slowed his motions and concentrated on stretching Sam's ring to accommodate the added girth of four fingers or whatever he was using now. Sam closed his eyes again, lost in sensation. The world spun around him, but everything in his existence narrowed down to what was happening at his ass. As Jared turned his fingers this way and that, Sam imagined what it would feel like to have Jared's entire hand press into him, all the way, past the tight circle of muscle and...

Oh God! His legs trembled fiercely now, and his breathing came in ragged gasps. "Jared..." he heard himself moan. "Please... please..." "Sam, open your eyes and look at me." He did, dazedly blinking them open to find Jared staring down at him, his gaze searing hot and churning with desire. "Do you want more?" "Yes! But wait...wait..." He reached down to halt Jared's movement. "I'm too close, I'll come," he panted, fighting once again to hold back the surge he felt building deep at his core. "God, Jared, I'm going to come!" "No, you aren't." Jared's forefinger and thumb curled around the base of Sam's cock and squeezed tight. Sam whimpered at the flare of pain, but felt the reward a moment later when the urge to explode faded slightly, just enough to keep

him from going over the edge. "Thank you," he managed to get out. Jared eyes twinkled. "You're welcome. You ready for more now?" Sam nodded, wondering how far Jared would be willing to go. Apparently as far as Sam wanted. "I'm going to need more lube, then. Don't move. There's more in the bedroom. I'll be right back." He started to rise, but Sam grabbed his hand. "Jared..." Jared's brows drew together and he sank back down between Sam's legs and rubbed one thigh with his free hand. "What is it, babe?" His voice was so tender and concerned, Sam felt his throat choke up. "Would you really do it?" Jared's smile caused odd flutterings in Sam's chest. "I told you earlier, I'll give you anything you ask for. Anything you want, Sam, with no limitations. I've been around a while and, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly repressed. I've done a lot and have enjoyed most all of it. So whatever you want, whatever you need, don't ever hesitate to speak up. Okay?" Sam swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, even as his cock jerked in excitement. He'd already been completely in lust with the man and had felt the stirrings of genuine liking as well. But now...there was no doubt in Sam's mind he was falling hard for the guy. Jared was the lover Sam had always dreamed of-confident, generous, open. For the first time Sam felt like he really could speak up without fear of being thought a pervert. Lucas, and the handful of other guys he'd been with before him, would never have understood that as good as vanilla was, sometimes it wasn't quite enough.

"Okay." "Promise? No holding back?" Sam nodded. "As long as you do the same. Because in case you hadn't noticed"--his tone grew sheepish--"I'm not exactly repressed either." Jared's mouth pulled into another bone-melting smile. He leaned in to kiss Sam, then rumbled against his lips, "I sorta figured that out, yeah. And I think I'm gonna have a massive hard-on for probably the next year just thinkin' about how much I love that about you." Sam bit his lip to keep back a grin. Jared wasn't hiding his--his white teeth flashed in the firelight. "Now let me go get more lube." "Wait." Sam stopped him again. When Jared raised a brow at him in question, Sam said, "You know what I really want right now?" "Tell me." "I want you inside me. Fuck me, Jared. Fuck me so hard and deep I won't ever remember being with anyone else but you." **** Sam's softly spoken words hit Jared with the impact of a semi truck. He almost staggered back at the intensity in Sam's gaze, even as his body surged to new life. "Christ, Sam..." And then he was reaching for the younger man,

pulling him into his arms, kissing him. Sam kissed him back as if he were fully dependent on Jared's breath to give him life. Jared parted from him only long enough to grab a condom from the drawer in the low coffee table near the chaise and put it on. He'd noticed the condoms and small packages of lube in there earlier in the day, obviously Ethan's stash, but they'd turned out to be lifesavers for Jared tonight. He reclined Sam back on the chaise and paused to stare at him again. "I don't think I'll ever be able to get enough of this view," he said, shaking his head. "Sweet fucking hell, Sam, you're like the boy next door, a porn god, and some kind of fallen angel all wrapped up in one package, and it's hot as shit." "Wouldn't that make me the devil?" he asked with a completely debauched half-grin. Jared lined the tip of his cock up with Sam's already slick hole. "I'm pretty sure there's some of that in there, too." Then he pushed in deep in one swift motion. "Fuck!" Sam groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Jared echoed that with a moaned "Fuck!" of his own, as the walls of Sam's tight channel pulsed around him. He stayed where he was for several seconds, not moving, as his dick throbbed. He gritted his teeth, forcing down the urge to come. Sam was so unbelievably hot--his body, his expressions, his kiss, his smile were like a drug that Jared was already addicted to. He wanted to cry out and shoot, filling Sam with his seed right now. But there was no way in hell, after waiting all night for this, that he was going to be quick on the trigger and waste this moment. This, he planned to savor.

Sam seemed to be concentrating as hard as he was, breathing deeply, which didn't surprise him because he'd kept the man on the hairy edge of orgasm for the past hour without letting him come. Sam needed release as badly as he did. Jared smoothed his hands up over Sam's pale hipbones to the flat plane of his abdomen, through the triangle of dark hair on his chest, across his nipples, then back. Beautiful. You're so

damned beautiful I don't want this to end. He already knew that one night with this man would never come close to being enough. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to Sam's, then rested his forehead against his. "You ready?" Sam sucked in a shaky breath, let it out, then nodded. "I need you, Jared," he said softly, his eyes conveying a message that went beyond sex. The simple words slid through Jared, filling him with a different kind of heat. The kind that centered in his chest. When Jared began to move, pulling almost all the way out, then pressing into Sam again, their gazes locked. Sam's hand stroked his back, encouraging him, urging him on. At first he kept his motions slow, inching out, then easing in, relishing the feel of their slick skin sliding together, of the heat at the point where they joined, the way Sam's inner muscles clenched as he moved out, then again as he came in. They rocked together, hands roaming, kissing, stubble scraping sensitive skin, swallowing each others' sighs. For all the urgency of their coming together at the ball, this was different. This was slower, truly intimate, a closeness that felt

nothing like a one-night stand or a fling. It felt like something else all together. He paused, pulled Sam farther down on the chaise, then pressed his legs back against his chest. When he resumed, he pushed deep, so deep Sam gasped and a shudder wracked through his lean body. "Good?" "God, Jared," came the choked whisper. "Again." They found a new rhythm, a harder, faster one, as the urgency returned. Jared pumped into him over and over, his heart pounding, his body drawn tight. He needed...he didn't know exactly. Needed to be as far inside the other man as he could get. Needed to lose himself in that hot, clinging grip and in the warm hands holding him, and those gray eyes that were the window to every emotion playing through Sam. It was if they couldn't get close enough, couldn't kiss long enough, couldn't share enough of the same air. They moved together, their bodies growing slick with sweat, the scent of their desire swirling around them, the sounds of their grunts and Sam's soft, sexy whimpers filling the air. Sam's cock slid between them now, and with each stroke, Jared felt it pulsing. He dropped his lips to Sam's neck, nuzzling, tasting the salty flavor of his sweat and breathing in his citrus-spice scent. Sam tilted his head back, encouraging him with a soft moan. His hands clawed at Jared's back, his thrusts up against Jared grew more intense. Knowing Sam was almost there, Jared drove into him hard, the deepest he'd been yet he was sure, and the impact jolted through

them both, causing them to gasp. On the next one he angled himself to hit Sam's prostate. Sam's body jerked against him like he'd been hit by lightning. Jared thrust again, the same way, and that was all it took. "Fuck...oh God...oh Jesus, Jared!" Sam's fingers gouged into his shoulders, his back arched, and the vibration of his muscles convulsing rocketed through Jared as well, carrying him on the shockwave. Sam's cum, wet and hot, painted their stomachs. Jared's own orgasm burned in his balls. He slammed into Sam once more, twice, and then he too went over the edge with a hoarse cry. It was several minutes before Jared could even think about moving. He rested his forehead against Sam's shoulder, his body heavy, sated, his muscles completely spent. Sam held him close, his own body limp and warm, cradling Jared's, his breath a gentle breeze against Jared's hair. "I don't want to let you go," Sam finally said, his voice so quiet Jared wasn't even sure if he was speaking to him or to himself. Jared angled himself up onto his elbows. "Then don't." "I don't just mean--" "I know." Jared lifted himself another couple of inches so he could meet the younger man's gaze, then he captured his lips again, this time in a deeper kiss, trying to show him what he didn't have words to say. Eventually, they separated to clean up. But even as Jared rose to

his knees to remove the condom, they never stopped touching, never broke contact. They made their way to the shower, where, after the intensity of their orgasms at the ball and then again on the chaise, instead of feeling the need to get off yet again, they clung together and kissed some more. Long, languid, sensuous kisses as the water from the shower pounded down on them. When they were clean and dry, they slid into Jared's bed and spooned together. Jared wrapped his arms around Sam, tucked the younger man's body in more firmly against him, and buried his face in the soft, damp curls at the back of Sam's neck. Sam sighed and snuggled closer, wrapping his fingers around Jared's. Jared was struck by the fact there was no awkwardness between them, hadn't been from the moment they met. Just as they'd instantly connected at the ball, flirting and teasing, and then through sex--sweet Jesus, the sex!--now, even with the desire between them banked to a simmering glow, being with Sam still felt comfortable. Getting into bed with him, feeling his heat and the scrape of the hair on his legs rubbing against his own, and the way their bodies seemed made to mold against each other felt like the most natural thing in the world. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd felt this way, so at ease with a lover. He'd been in a couple of serious relationships in the past, but over the last few years, mostly what he'd had were easy, no-fuss hook-ups that never lasted more than a night. He had a couple of friends-with-benefits he got together with if their paths happened to cross, and occasionally met other men who, like he, weren't looking for anything serious and preferred to keep it purely physical. In all cases, they had sex, maybe shared a friendly drink, and then went their separate

ways. It had been a long time since he'd slept with a lover or even wanted to, but here and now, he couldn't imagine not curling up next to Sam and holding him while they slept. "Man, I can barely keep my eyes open," Sam said, his voice warm and drowsy in the dark room lit only by the faint glimmer of light from the setting moon slanting through the uncovered window. Jared looked at the glowing dial on his watch. "It's no wonder. It'll be dawn in an hour or so. Get some sleep, sweetheart." He felt Sam's body relax, heard his breathing slow. But just when he thought Sam must have dozed off, he surprised Jared by speaking. "Jared?" "Hmm?" Jared nuzzled against the back of his neck. "What kind of security?" It took Jared a moment to realize Sam was referring to earlier when he'd told Sam he owned a security company, though why he'd thought of it now, when he'd almost been asleep, Jared didn't have a blessed clue. "The kind that keeps people safe from outside threats." "So you're like a bodyguard?" "That could be part of it, if necessary. Sometimes we do security for individuals who're in sensitive positions and need protection, other times we handle internal security for companies who think they might have leaks. There are many other things as well." He had the spiel down pat--he'd been saying it for eight years, since he'd started JDR Security. He had a well-trained, hand-

picked staff with dozens of years of collective experience and security clearances high enough to handle most any kind of job they needed to. The business was real, not a cover, but it did help camouflage them and keep everything looking shipshape when they also did sensitive or deep-cover contract work for the US government. Jared had forged many useful and loyal ties during his years in the military. "Even though we just met, I feel safe with you," Sam said. His choice of words and him bringing up the security thing seemingly out of the blue triggered a warning in Jared's head. "Sam...have you had a reason to be afraid of something? Has Lucas or someone else threatened you?" He felt Sam's breath catch, so he knew he'd touched on a sensitive subject. Concerned now, Jared slid away from him enough to grasp his shoulder and gently turn him toward him. "Someone did threaten you. What happened?" "It's just me, I'm sure." He still looked tired, but was wide awake now. He shook his head. "It's going to sound paranoid." Jared brushed a curl back from over Sam's eye. "I'm my experience, it's better to be paranoid and safe than to ignore your gut feelings. Tell me what happened." Sam sighed. "Over the last several months I've seen Lucas and my dad having these confabs. They huddle up when they think no one's around and have urgent conversations, and it's usually Lucas who instigates them. I've caught my name several times, which isn't surprising considering neither of them have been too pleased with me lately. But still..." His expression grew troubled.

"It's okay. Just say what's on your mind," Jared encouraged. "I've heard a few other bits and pieces that bothered me." "Like what?" "One night I was coming off stage after a performance--my parents had attended--and Lucas and my dad were talking in hushed whispers backstage. I heard something to the effect of, 'Keep him in line or I'll be forced to clean up your mess permanently.' Another time I heard something about the 'screw up in Budapest' and me being a loose cannon that could destroy everything. Budapest is where I first told Lucas I wanted to start doing crossover music and we had the first big fight. I know, it sounds innocuous to hear it like this--" "It's not innocuous," Jared affirmed. When Sam looked at him strangely as if to ask how he could be so certain, Jared said, "Which one of them said these things?" "I don't know. Both times they were whispering and I didn't see them, just heard them." He shrugged and looked apologetic. "I couldn't tell who was saying what. It wasn't until the day I left, when I confronted Lucas about that damned article, that I really started to feel uncomfortable and remembered overhearing the other stuff." "What happened the day you left?" "I told Lucas what a fuck he was for making up lies about me and I fired him, even though I knew it would probably cost me a bundle because of his contract. I was so mad I didn't care--I told him he could go to hell. He gave me this look, Jared--cold, distant, like he hated me. It was like we'd never been lovers at all. And then he told me..." He winced. "He told me that if I continued to rock the boat, I'd better watch my back because the price might be

higher than I could imagine." Jared drew in a controlled breath, but inside, his gut clenched with anger and his sixth sense was screaming like a klaxon. "Have you talked to him since then? Heard from him at all?" Jared asked, keeping his tone even, careful not to let any of his inner turmoil show to Sam. "No. But..." He shook his head. "But what, babe?" "It's probably just paranoia again, but there have been a couple of times, once when I was in Seattle maybe two weeks ago and then again last week in San Francisco, where I felt like someone was watching me, maybe following me. In fact it's the reason I decided to leave the States and come here. I know it's probably nothing, maybe just some overeager reporter trying to get some dirt on me, but..." His brows drew together. "But it made you uncomfortable enough that you flew all the way to Europe to get away from it." "Yeah." "Have you felt that way since you've been in Venice? Like someone's been watching you here?" He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I only got here a few hours before the ball, though. Do you think I have something to worry about?" "I'm not sure. But I think it's important that you stay aware, okay? Aware of your surroundings and especially aware of what your gut's telling you." Sam nodded, looking uncertain.

Jared palmed the back of his head and drew him close. He kissed his forehead, then steadily met his gaze. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you when you're with me, Sam. I promise." "I know," Sam said, his voice quiet. "I've felt out of sorts since I left home because of what Lucas said, and really weirded out after I started thinking someone might be watching me. I hate feeling that way. I had a stalker once, when I was eighteen or nineteen--nothing huge, just some man who was obsessed with me and my music and followed me around the country to all my performances and kept trying to come backstage or waylay me as I was leaving a concert hall. He was basically harmless, and eventually was put into some sort of group home because he had a history of mental illness, but it still freaked me out. I got to where I was jumpy every time I came and went from a concert because he'd always be there, trying to touch me." "That's understandable. Most of the trauma caused by stalkers is psychological--you feel like no place is safe." Sam nodded. "Yeah, well that's the way I've been feeling for the past few weeks again. And the nights, alone in strange hotel rooms, have been the worst. But I realized a few minutes ago, lying here with you, that for the first time in a month I felt like I could actually close my eyes and sleep without that anxious feeling of 'what if.' I feel safe with you, Jared." Sam's trust in him, especially considering the short time they'd known each other, meant more to Jared than he could say. "You are safe with me." He kissed him again, this time lightly brushing his lips over Sam's mouth. "And if you want, later this morning I can make some calls and see what I can find out about Lucas's whereabouts over the past few weeks."

"You can do that? Make calls, find people?" Jared smiled. "Yeah, I can do that. One of the perks of the job." He didn't tell Sam that he was going to be looking into Lucas Monroe whether Sam asked him to or not. He didn't like, at all, the things Sam had overheard or the threat Lucas had made to him. Nor did he like the idea that somehow Sam had ended up at the ball where Maestro was supposed to be, dressed in the costume Maestro's contact was supposed to be wearing, and he had a pissed off, manipulative bastard ex-lover who was clearly out to get him. Coincidence? Jared thought not. He didn't believe in coincidences. His gut told him there was a connection here somewhere, and he was damn well going to find out what it was. Yeah, Lucas Monroe had just jumped to the top of his suspect list. And until Jared knew everything there was to know about Sam's former agent and was certain Sam was safe, he wasn't letting Sam out of his sight.

And maybe not even then.

Chapter 4

An hour later, Jared still hadn't shut his eyes. Sam, however, slept peacefully next to him, with one arm around Jared's waist and the other tucked under his head. In the gray dawn light seeping through the window, with his long eyelashes and dark hair falling around his face, he looked younger even than he had before. And still sexy as hell. Just the innocent look on his face brought the whole boy-next-door/porn god/fallen angel thing to Jared's mind again and made him ache down deep inside in ways he didn't know he could. But that wasn't why he hadn't slept. As he'd watched over Sam and listened to his soft, even breathing, everything Sam had told him during the night kept rattling through his head. Finally, knowing he wasn't going to be able to rest until he at least made an attempt to find some answers, he eased away from the younger man and slid out of bed. He drew the heavy drapes over the window so when the sun began to rise the light wouldn't disturb Sam, then pulled a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt out of his suitcase and slipped them on. Padding on silent feet, he stopped in the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee--if he was going to be up anyway, he might as well be wide awake. When he'd poured a cup, he entered the living room. He'd turned off the fireplace before he and Sam went to bed, so the room was chilly, causing goose bumps to rise on his arms. He gathered his phone and laptop and set up a workspace at the coffee table. The first thing he did when his computer had booted was run a search for Samuel Aubrey. Not because he didn't believe what Sam had told him about himself, but because he wanted more

information--the things that Sam hadn't had time yet to say or hadn't thought of to say. Somewhere, he was sure, he'd find a link, a piece of the puzzle, that would connect Maestro to Sam and his life. As he browsed through Sam's surprisingly extensive website, he was struck by how different the Sam he was with here in Venice was from the clean-cut, perfectly polished man in the pictures. In every photo he wore his hair neatly sleeked back and short, was clean-shaven with no earrings in sight, and always had on tuxedoes or other elegant clothing. The facial features were the same, but his smile looked stiff--nothing like the easy, sexy, natural smile Jared knew. And his eyes, those usually expressive gray eyes, seemed dull in the photographs--world weary, was maybe the right phrase. Again, they were nothing like the eyes filled with mischief or warm desire that Jared had seen this past night. That wasn't to say Sam didn't looked damned gorgeous in every picture because he did--Jared didn't know how anyone who saw him wouldn't instantly fall for him. But he knew a different Sam, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve, showing humor and joy and fear and sorrow in equal parts without hiding any of it. The same Sam who also wasn't afraid of letting Jared see him at his most vulnerable, his body and heart bare as he begged for "more" and held nothing back. When you had seen and experienced that, when you'd been so close to someone you felt like you'd been privileged enough to touch a tiny piece of their soul or have them touch yours, then no staged photograph could ever compare. And certainly not one that showed Sam living inside a mask. Because from everything Sam had told him tonight, wasn't that what he'd been doing for

several years now? He'd said he'd come here to Carnival to put on a mask and hide, but Jared suspected the real Sam had been hidden behind a mask for ages and only here had the real man been able to throw it off and be himself. He touched a finger to the computer screen. There was no way, no way, he was letting anyone else hurt Sam, or use him, or do anything else to steal the light Jared saw in the real Sam's eyes every time he looked at him. He opened his phone, typed in a code, then speed-dialed a number. It rang three times before it was picked up on the other end. A groggy female voice grumbled, "You do realize it's the dead of night here, yeah?" Keeping his voice low so he wouldn't wake Sam, he said, "Sorry, Didi, didn't really think about it." "You never do." He heard stirring and knew she was getting out of bed. "But that's okay, I'm keeping track, and trust me, next time I'm due for a raise, I'm going to make you pay for all the overtime," she said drily. He heard the humor in her tone. Jared smiled. "You're on salary, darlin'. You don't get overtime." "Cheap bastard." "I'll buy you dinner when I get home to make it up to you. Anywhere you want to go." "I'm dragging your ass to the most expensive place in town then, and I expect the full deal--drinks, appetizers, extravagant main course, and dessert." "You got it."

"All right then. Now that we have that settled, what can I do for you, boss man? I've been waiting to hear from you. Nice of you to check in before you went to Cinderella's ball. Not sure how you expect me to watch your ass if you don't stay in touch with me." Jared winced, knowing he probably deserved her ire. "Yeah, sorry. Decided it was better to do this one myself since it's my own time and not a paid contract." "Bullshit. You've been trying to track down this Maestro for two years, Jared, since your spook friend George gave you all his information before he got erased. Paid or not, this is your job right now. And what do you do? You get the first real lead you've had that could put you face-to-face with the guy, and you go into it blind. If I was there in person I'd kick your ass." Everyone should be lucky enough to have a Didi Degrano in his or her life. She was Jared's right-hand woman--smart as hell, feisty, tough, organized--and he wouldn't be half as successful at any job he took on if he didn't have her watching his back. "You know what they say--better to ask for forgiveness than permission." She snorted. "So, did you get what you were hoping for?" "Let's just say it was a night of surprises. Nothing worked out exactly the way I'd planned." "He didn't show." "No, he didn't." "Did you nab his contact?" "Not in so many words." "Uh-huh. And that means?"

"It means his contact either had no idea he was the contact, or someone pulled a switch and set up an innocent in the contact's place." "And this innocent...?" Jared rose and tiptoed to the bedroom doorway, where he saw Sam still sleeping soundly as he'd left him. "He's...kind of asleep in my bed right now," he whispered, turning back to the living room. He heard the gravelly rumble of laughter on the other end of the line. "I just bet he is." Jared dropped back onto the chaise. "Like I said, it's not the scenario I'd expected, but there's still a connection. I'm sure of it. That's why I'm calling. I want you to find out everything you can about Samuel Aubrey. He's a violin virtuoso." He could hear Didi already typing as he spoke. "Samuel Adams Aubrey," she said. "Born February 26th--hey, his birthday's in just a few days, he'll be twenty-nine. The guy's got an impressive bio. He's been playing the violin since he was four, debuted at Carnegie Hall when he was ten, has soloed with most of the major orchestras around the world, even has a couple of Grammy Awards. And, damn! That's one fine-looking hottie." She'd obviously discovered pictures of Sam, as he had. He heard more low laughter. "Oh, Jared, Jared, Jared. Is this what's sleeping in your bed right now? Damn, hon, robbing the cradle a bit, aren't you? But I gotta give you credit, you do know how to pick 'em." "Information, Di. Focus here." "All right, all right. What specifically do you want to know?"

"I'm already aware of the basics. What I really need now is information about the people he's connected to. Parents, siblings if he has any, although I don't believe he does, friends, colleagues, rivals. But I especially want you to look into his agent, or former agent as the case may be. A man named Lucas Monroe. I want to know what Sam's concert schedule has been like the past year, the past two years even. Where all he's been, did the agent and family travel with him all the time and if not, when and where did they go. I'd also like to know where Monroe has been the past month. Then I'd like you to cross-reference all that information with the database we've kept about Maestro's possible locations and meetings over the years." "You got it." Then she whistled softly. "I don't know about the agent yet, but your violinist's daddy--or step-daddy to be exact--is State Department." Okay, that was unexpected. "How high?" "Pretty high. Works in DC on foreign trade issues. Has daily meetings with reps and senators and other highly placed officials. His name's David Stirling, s-t-i-r-l-i-n-g." He had a different last name from Sam's, which made sense if he was only Sam's step-father. "What happened to the real father?" he asked Didi. "Looks like he died when Samuel was eight. Mother remarried less than a year later." "To Stirling." "Mmm-hmm." "Okay, see what else you can uncover, Didi. I know it might take a while, but my Spidey senses are tingling on this one. The more

info I have, the better. There've been some threats made against Sam and I'm worried about him in addition to everything else. He's been through enough shit, and I plan to do whatever it takes to keep him safe." "Sam, huh? Know him well enough to be on a nickname basis with him, then." "Your point?" "I'm not one to pry--oh hell, who am I kidding, yes I am. Here's the deal...we've been working together a long time, Jared. I'd say I know you probably better than most people do. And during all the years, I've never quite heard that tone of voice from you before." "What tone?" "The tone that says this guy has gotten to you somehow." "What exactly do you mean by 'gotten to me?' If you're implying that he's conning me..." "Not necessarily. But I'm not saying he's not either. Since I talked to you only twenty-four hours ago and you didn't mention him, I have to assume you've known him less than a day. That's not a lot of time, yet you seem to be mighty focused on finding information about his family and contacts, all while feeling a passionate need to protect him." "And?" "And that's great, but are you forgetting there's one person who's been at all his concerts? Him. How do you know he's not your man? And I don't mean Maestro's contact, I mean how do you know he's not Maestro himself? Hello, maestro...a music term. It's a title of respect given to someone who's a master in his field--it could be a composer, a conductor or a master musician. His

step-daddy works for the State Department which would give him access to all kinds of intel, he has the perfect cover that allows him to travel all over the world playing for dignitaries and people in power. The profile fits." "It's not him, Didi." He lowered his voice, wanting to be sure that if Sam stirred he wouldn't hear. "I admit, at first I thought he was involved. That's why I approached him. But after spending time with him, there's no doubt in my mind he's clean." "And during this time you--oh, let me take a stab in the dark here-you slept with him, yes? I'm sure in the heat of the moment he batted his eyes at you and whispered sweet-nothings and made you feel real good, so I've no doubt you want to believe in him. It's obvious he's gotten under your skin. But what if that's exactly what he planned to do?" "He's not playing me." He knew Didi was just looking out for him, but his patience was wearing thin on the topic. "Are you forgetting I've been in this business as long as you have? Of course I've considered the possibility he might be manipulating me. But you just have to trust me on this one, Di. He's not. He's the real deal, and if he's involved it's because he's being used. He's a pawn, not a player. He doesn't know anything, and I trust him." "Okay. Backing off. Remember, part of my job is playing Devil's advocate for you." "I know, and I appreciate it." "I just don't want you to get burned, Jared. It's not like you to let someone in under your radar so quickly, especially not on a sensitive case that's taken up the better part of your life for the past two years. What is it about this guy that has you playing knight in shining armor based totally on faith?"

"I'm still trying to work that out myself," he admitted. "I hope he's deserving of your trust." "He is." He knew nothing he said would convince Didi because she'd never met Sam in person. But Jared knew the truth. They spoke for another minute or so, and hung up with Didi promising to get in touch with him as soon as she had something. Jared rubbed his eyes, rose, and strode to the balcony doors. The sun was just beginning to rise and the Grand Canal glinted in tones of pink and orange, as did the facades of the centuries old palazzi that lined the waterway. A few early morning barges and vaporetti, and even a couple of gondolas with their gondoliers perched at the rear stroking their oars through the water, were already out and surging through the canal. He had to admit, the sight looked like something off a postcard and he wished Sam were awake and could see it with him--a glimpse of Venice in daylight before it got clogged with tourists and Carnival revelers. But then he remembered that underneath the beauty a threat still loomed. Suddenly, the need to feel Sam in his arms became all consuming. He returned to the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and slid between the sheets. He drew Sam against him and held him as close as he could without waking him, letting the man's warmth seep into him. When he woke up it would be a new day, a chance to look with fresh eyes at the Maestro case, figure out why his intel was wrong or why Maestro had bailed on the meet, and find out how Sam had gotten the green costume. Jared couldn't discount the possibility that Sam had been set up as a decoy and Jared's

source had been fed false information to lead Jared astray. For all he knew Maestro wasn't now and never had been in Venice. However, one thing Jared couldn't ignore was his gut instinct, which was telling him loud and clear that even if Maestro wasn't here, Sam was somehow the key to finding him. A niggle of guilt sprang to life in his gut. He hadn't lied to Sam about anything so far, but he also hadn't been totally honest either. At this point, he needed Sam's help to sort through the facts, but there was no easy way to ask for it without coming clean and telling the man everything.

Everything. Including why you approached him at the ball in the first place. After all Lucas had put Sam through, was still putting him through, how was Jared going to look into the face of the man who'd suddenly become as important to him as breathing and tell him his ex-lover was the spy Jared had been after for two years. And worse, that Jared had kept the information from him and actually suspected at one point that he was involved as well.

Fucking hell. Jared knew how to keep secrets--he'd been doing it in some form or another all his adult life. But this one was rubbing his conscience raw. The trouble was, if he fessed up, he was afraid it might just cause him to lose one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

You have to tell him. Not just because you need his help, but because if you truly want to find out where this relationship can go, you can't live a lie or keep secrets from him about how you met. He deserves to know the truth. About all of it.

Jared sighed. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. But a few seconds later, when Sam, still asleep, trustingly curled his arm around Jared's waist and sighed, something inside Jared--a tension that had been tightly coiled inside him--eased. Decision made, he pressed a kiss to Sam's hair, breathing in the clean scent and letting the powerful simplicity of the man and the moment comfort him. **** Sam woke to an empty bed, but the scent of coffee and a faint clinking noise from somewhere in the apartment let him know he wasn't alone. The sheet next to him, when he stretched his palm across it, was still faintly warm, so he knew Jared hadn't been up long.

Jared. A tingling spread through him as he remembered the night past and the man with whom he'd shared it. If he wasn't achy and tender in all the right places he'd almost think he'd dreamed it. But proof of the reality chose that moment to enter the bedroom and, for a split second, Sam's breath caught much as it had the night before when he'd first laid eyes on the man. Except this time, in this view, he was even more magnificent. Jared smiled and came to the bed, holding two cups and wearing absolutely nothing. "That's one hell of a way to say good morning," Sam said, sitting up, his voice hoarse as he openly ogled the sight in front of him. Jared's eyes sparkled. "Like that, do you?" He handed Sam one

of the steaming cups, then leaned down and gave him a slow, sensual kiss that, by the time he pulled away, left Sam breathless and hard as hell. "I like that even better," Sam said with a grin, feeling like he'd just been hit by a sexy velvet sledgehammer. "Thanks for this." He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a swallow of the rich-flavored Italian coffee. Sipping from his own cup, Jared opened the drapes, letting in the pale, late morning winter sun. "Did you sleep well?" He settled next to Sam on the bed. "Better than I have in a long time." For the first time in probably months he'd actually slept through the night without waking up. It could have been jet lag or the incredible sex, but he suspected the man next to him, just his presence, had had more to do with it than anything else. "I have you to thank for that." "You wouldn't be so thankful if you knew how many times I had to resist the urge to wake you up and have my way with you. You're too damned sexy for your own good, Cape Cod." "Well, it seems I'm awake now." "And already a tease, I see." He nodded to the sheet covering Sam's groin, which tented over his obvious morning wood. "You're one to talk." Sam's gaze pointedly slid to Jared's lap where his thick cock lay erect against his thigh. He slowly looked back up to Jared's face. "You come in here sporting that and expect me not to notice? I may have been sleeping, but I'm not dead." The half smile that turned up one side of Jared's mouth sent a jolt of heat through Sam.

"Give me that," Jared said, nodding to Sam's coffee. Sam handed it over and Jared turned to set both cups on the bedside table. Then he was back, rolling to his hands and knees, straddling Sam. "How badly do you want to get out of this bed?" Sam slid his hands into Jared's hair and pulled his face closer, until only a few millimeters separated their lips. "Not really a priority right now." "Good answer," Jared breathed, then crushed his mouth to Sam's. They kissed, touched, stroked, broke apart for air, then came back to start all over again. First Jared was on top, then Sam for a long while, then finally Jared again. Sam sprawled out on the bed beneath him, his legs parted to accommodate Jared's body reclining between them. His breath came in panted gasps as Jared kissed his way down his neck, his chest, swirling his tongue over and around Sam's nipples, sucking until they ached. Then he moved lower, taking his time. He traced each of Sam's ribs with his tongue, drew a damp line down the center of his abdomen, dipped into his navel, then followed the contour of each hip bone. His kisses were hot and slow, his tongue lazy in its motions, seducing Sam into a resonant world of highs and lows, lyrical melodies and dancing harmonies. Sam had never been with anyone who'd been so thorough, who was more focused on the journey than the ultimate destination. Anyone who understood that sometimes letting the crescendo take its time to build brought about the most exquisite climaxes. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, lost in sensation.

When at last Jared's lips closed around his cock, Sam groaned his pleasure because words simply wouldn't come. Jared's tongue swirled over the head and around it, pressed and fluttered against the sensitive frenulum, then down the length of his shaft and up again. His hair, falling forward, tickled Sam's groin, and one of his warm hands closed around Sam's balls, gently squeezing and tugging them, adding new stimulation to the mix and drawing another soul-deep groan from Sam. Jared deep-throated him, slid back up, went deep again, up...down...up...down, sucking and licking and pressing and flickering his tongue in all the right spots, all the right ways. He brought Sam right up to the edge over and over again, so close he knew for sure this time he'd come, but always eased off, leaving him hanging just a little longer. Sam arched up against him and buried his hands in Jared's hair. "Need you...God, please! Please, Jared!" Hot and cold burned through him, making his nerve endings jump, his skin tingle, his balls ache. So when Jared's damp heat suddenly abandoned him, he cried out and clutched at him, trying to bring him back. Jared only smiled as he crawled up Sam's body to capture his mouth. His tongue slid deep, thrusting with Sam's. He tasted like sex and just a hint of coffee. He broke the kiss and nudged Sam. "Roll onto your hands and knees." Sam did, his body tight with awareness, trembling with hunger for Jared's touch. He dropped his head down onto his arms, leaving his ass up in the air.

Behind him, Jared let out hoarse groan. "Christ, Sam. Your ass is fucking perfection. Just when I think you can't get any hotter, you tie me up in new knots." A callused palm caressed one of his cheeks, and Sam whimpered. He felt Jared move behind him, heard the rip of a package, and then Jared's hands stroked his back. Jared leaned down and nuzzled a kiss against his neck. "I'm going to fuck you now, Sam Aubrey. And it's not going to be slow or sweet because you're too damned hot and I'm too damned turned-on. But I promise, it's going to be good. You know why?" A soft moan escaped Sam and he shook his head. "Because we're incredible together, Sam." His hand slid up and down Sam's spine and over his hip. "Because this, between us, is what other people only dream of and, somehow, we found it with each other. You feel it, don't you?" "Yes," Sam whispered. "From the beginning." "So do I." Jared's lips feathered against his ear. "So do I, baby." Another smooth stroke of his palm down his back, and then cool, slippery liquid poured over Sam's backside. He gasped and then shivered as it slid down the crease of his ass all the way to his balls. Jared kissed his neck again and pushed several fingers into him. Sam moaned at the invasion. But unlike last night, this time there was no lingering, no extended play. Jared's fingers pressed hard and deep a few times, getting him slick, and then pulled out, leaving Sam empty and aching. "Please," he managed to gasp, his voice as ragged and desperate as he felt.

The head of Jared's cock brushed at his hole. Sam trembled in anticipation and wasn't disappointed when Jared thrust into him in one smooth, firm motion, seating himself all the way to the balls. And then he pulled out and did it again. And again, making good on his warning that this wouldn't be slow or sweet. He drove in over and over, pounding into Sam, rocking the bed and making the frame squeak, stealing Sam's air on each down stroke, and pulling out a little of his soul on the up. And, oh God, it was good. Heart pounding, knee trembling, ass aching, oh-Jesus-I-can't-even-fucking-breathe good. Sam thought he might not be able to walk to for a week after this and didn't give a damn. All he cared about, all he wanted, was more. More of this man. More of having him fuck him into oblivion. More...more...and a thousand times more. When Jared's hand slid around him and grasped his dick and balls, Sam cried out, a guttural noise that didn't sound anything like him. The lube that had coated his balls earlier made everything slick, made the pressure of Jared's squeezing, stroking hand sublime. He found himself thrusting into that slick nirvana, then back hard, meeting Jared's plundering on each beat. Never, ever had he known sex could be so intense and so perfect all at the same time. His head spun, his legs shook, his breath was all but gone, and if it weren't for Jared behind him gripping his hip with strong fingers and the other hand applying such delicious torture to his front, he wasn't even sure if he would have been able to hold himself up. And still it went on. He found a way to pull in just enough air, found a way to keep moving just enough, to be close to and part of the

man who'd so quickly turned his world upside down. He wanted it to last, here and now and into next week, next year, forever. "Sam..." Jared's voice was a whispered groan. His strokes grew deeper, more intense. "Oh fuck, Sam... I've never... God, I've never needed... anyone...like...this." Sam tried to respond, wanted to, but words wouldn't come as pleasure bore down on him like a dark, seductive whirlpool. So close. So... close... And then he was over the edge and coming hard, his dick pulsing, cum spurting and spurting like it would never end. Behind him, inside him, a shudder wracked Jared's body, and his cock delved deep...Jesus, so deep. And then he was coming, too, Sam's name escaping his lips in a hoarse cry. Jared collapsed on top of him and they sank to the bed, both of them trembling. Sam welcomed his weight, his heat, and the sound of his heart beating against him. They didn't speak--there didn't seem to be a need to as the closeness between them said everything. Jared stroked Sam's hair with a gentle motion that made Sam close his eyes and wallow in the touch. Eventually, however, practicality reared its head. Jared eased off him and threw away the condom, then lay on his side next to Sam, his hand idly returning to his hair. "Hi," Sam whispered, still on his stomach, his head turned toward Jared. The sexy smile Sam loved so much curved Jared lips and lit in his eyes. "Hi." When Sam smiled back, Jared brushed the hair off his cheek and said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." "How long were you planning to stay in Venice?" "I don't know. It was open-ended I guess. I figured I'd stay until..." Until he got tired of being lonely here or until something spooked him and sent him running again. Jared seemed to have read his mind or his body language or something because his expression turned serious, and in a heartbeat he leaned in close and his mouth was on Sam's, kissing him gently, offering comfort without ever having to even ask what it was for. When their lips parted, he looked at Sam and some unnamed but knee-weakening emotion glimmered in his blue eyes. "Stay here with me, Sam. Cancel your hotel and stay with me. Let me keep away the demons for you." The sincerity on his face, in his eyes, in the hand that cradled his cheek were a balm to Sam's troubled soul--as they had been from the moment they met. And in that moment Sam knew he was falling in love with the man. It was fast, it didn't make sense, and nothing in his carefully planned and scheduled life had prepared him for it, but he could find no other way to explain what he was feeling. When he was with Jared he felt...amazing. Sexy. Happy. Safe.

Real. He felt a smile pulling at his lips. "Thank you." Jared's brows drew together. "For what?" Sam rolled onto his side facing him and smoothed a hand over his firm bicep. "For helping me hear the music again." That brought another smile, this one tender, to Jared's face. "I did?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "You did." For the first time in weeks, maybe months, Sam realized music was chasing through his head like mad, humming along his veins, squeezing his heart, and making his fingers ache to pick up his violin and play. And he owed it to this man--a stranger to him just twenty-four hours ago. It seemed incomprehensible that in such a short time one person could have such an impact, could become something so much more. Yet each time Sam looked at Jared, he knew, just as Jared had said earlier, that they were damn good together. That there was something here, something worth exploring and nurturing to see where it might lead. "Please," Jared said softly. "Stay with me." It had been a foregone conclusion the second Jared had asked. "I'll stay. I want to stay," Sam agreed. "I told you I didn't want to let go of you." Jared framed his face in his hands. "In case you hadn't noticed, the feeling's mutual." Sam smiled. "I might have noticed a little." "Brat." "Oh no, you haven't met my inner brat yet. Trust me, you'll know when you do." "I'll take my chances." "Of course, if you want to stall that inevitable meeting, you should probably buy me a drink." "Didn't we have this conversation last night?" "It's a new day."

"It's ten o'clock in the morning. A little early for the hard stuff, isn't it?" "I'll settle for a cappuccino." "All right. Deal. Get your sexy ass out of bed and we'll find a coffee bar." "There's just a minor problem. There's no way in hell I'm putting on that cumbersome costume again, not to mention the fact it got nuked last night...which leaves me with a dilemma of the bare ass variety." Jared chuckled and the sound flooded Sam with a lighthearted joy he hadn't felt in ages. "As much as I love that sexy bare ass of yours, I don't have any intention of sharing the sight with anyone else. There's something you'd better know about me right now." "What's that?" He pulled Sam in against him, then rolled them over so he was on top once again. He pressed his groin firmly against Sam's and even though they'd just come a few minutes ago, Sam was shocked to realize they were both already half hard again. Jared's mouth hovered over his and his gaze glinted with heat. "I don't share what's mine," his voice rumbled. A bolt of lightning shot through Sam at his words, sizzling along his spine and directly into his dick. Then Jared claimed his mouth, making his point with an impassioned siege. By the time they came up for air, Sam was panting and so damned turned on again he wanted to claw his way inside

Jared's hard, delectable body and never come out. To hell with cappuccino. But Jared grinned--the sexy, roguish grin that Sam had already learned meant the man had other plans. He swatted Sam on the ass, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave a warm sting that only made Sam hornier, and then slid out of bed. Sam reached for him to bring him back, but that didn't work out the way he planned either. Jared grabbed his hand and tugged him out of bed as well. He gave Sam a kiss, not chaste but just enough tongue to tease rather than satisfy, then turned him toward the bathroom and swatted his ass again. "Go get in the shower and while you're in there, I'll find something of mine you can wear." Sam turned back around and started to speak, but Jared put a finger over his lips before he could. "I know what you're going to say and, no. If I take a shower with you we'll be all over each other in a heartbeat and we'll never get out of here." "And that's a bad thing how?" Sam asked, sliding against him. Jared moaned softly, but then set Sam away from him. "Let's just call it an exercise in patience. You know what they say. Good things come--" "To those who wait," Sam finished with a groan. Jared tipped his face up and kissed him again. "Trust me," he whispered. "By the time we get back here, you'll be crawlin' out of your skin with need, and it'll be so worth the wait." Sam's dick pulsed in excitement. "You really love torturing me like this, don't you?" Jared wrapped a hand around Sam's cock and squeezed,

almost making Sam's knees buckle. Then he released it and smiled again. Pressing his lips against Sam's ear, he said in that low sexy drawl Sam loved so much, "You can protest all you want, but I've got your number, baby. When it comes to sex, you like the unexpected, and, right now, you're lovin' every second of this. Just thinking about havin' to wait is making you so hard and horny you can barely concentrate on anything else. Right now your balls are achin', your hole's quiverin', and you're almost drunk with desire." Sam could only moan. Jesus, how did the man know him so well?

Because he's perfect for you. "So go take a shower," Jared continued. "And don't you dare get off in there, you hear me?" Sam drew in a ragged breath and nodded. Jared tipped his chin again, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Promise?" Dear God, the man was a walking sin he was so sexy. Combine that with those warm eyes, that sultry drawl, and a smile that could melt butter, and Sam knew he'd wait as long as it took. "I promise," he said. Then he smirked. "But just so we're clear, you're waiting, too. There'll be no touching for you either. Because, Jared..." This time it was he who leaned in next to Jared's ear. "I don't share what's mine either." Jared let out a soft, surprised huff of air and his warm gaze rippled through Sam, like an earthquake and a hundred aftershocks. "From the moment I saw you walk into the ball last night, Sam,

you slayed me on the spot. I've been yours and only yours ever since."

Chapter 5

Jared and Sam got their cappuccinos and some pastries to go at a busy coffee bar not too far from the Basilica di San Marco and ate and drank them as they walked through St. Mark's Square on their way to Sam's hotel. Trying to carry on any kind of decent conversation was almost impossible because, as always, the Square was packed with tourists. Jared had been to Venice before in the summer a couple of times and found the crowds crazy, but even on a chilly February winter day they were out in throngs because of Carnival. Still, in spite of the fact they couldn't really talk much about anything significant due to the hordes of people jostling them about, just being with Sam, people watching, sharing an occasional brush of fingers as they walked was all good. Really good. Almost too good to be true.

You have to tell him. He would. But obviously this wasn't the time and place. Once they picked up Sam's stuff from his hotel and returned to the apartment, he'd explain everything. And then cross his fingers and pray Sam would understand and wouldn't walk away. Because this morning had only reaffirmed for him that he didn't want his and Sam's relationship to end when they left Venice. He didn't have any idea in hell how they would make it work with him in Oklahoma, Sam in Massachusetts, their lives and jobs so completely different, but he knew he wanted to give it a shot. And that meant coming clean and being upfront now, and hoping too much damage hadn't already been done. "What do you think? This color or this one?" Sam had stopped at a vendor selling outerwear and picked up

two wool scarves. He held them up--one black and one gray striped--for Jared to see. Jared smiled and plucked a third one, a deep sky blue, from the rack. "Try this." Standing close enough to kiss Sam's flushed, bearded cheek or sample his sensual mouth Jared wrapped the scarf around his neck. Sam's breathing came in soft, stuttered puffs against face, and a smile teased at his lips. "Do you think all these families of tourists around us would keel over dead from shock and utter disdain if I kissed you right now?" he asked. "Do you want to kiss me?" "You have no idea how badly." "Then do it," Jared said. "I think the tourists will survive." "Right now"--Sam's breath was warm against his lips--"all I can think about is this..." His mouth glanced across Jared's, a fleeting touch at first, uncertain, and Jared remembered that Sam had been warned all his life to keep his sexuality under wraps and never do anything in public that could hurt his reputation. This was, in all likelihood, the first time he'd ever participated in some old-fashioned gay PDA. It made Jared's chest tighten to realize just how much Sam had been forced to hold back for so long. Especially when he was such a naturally affectionate lover. He let Sam take the reins, find his own comfort level, and by the second approach, he was clearly in his groove. His lips were gentle, but he didn't startle away this time. And then, with a quiet sigh that could only be described as pure pleasure, one of his hands slid into Jared's hair, he angled his head, and gave himself over to the moment.

They kissed for what felt like ages, though in reality it was probably just a few seconds, their tongues lightly dancing, their oh-so-soft sighs twining together, their breathing in perfect sync. Time didn't matter, though, because when he was with Sam, life seemed to take on a hazy quality, with the world fading around them as they found their own dance, their own rhythm. When they finally broke apart, a quick glance showed that life had continued on while they'd been busy, with no one the wiser that they'd just spent a few moments in heaven. "Looks like everyone survived and we won't need to call in any emergency services today," Jared teased, his tone gentle. Sam's soft smile, though it was meant only for Jared, seemed to light up the whole square. "So, is this scarf the one?" Jared stepped back to admire his choice and the man it was on. He was only an inch or so taller than Sam, so he'd managed to find clothes that fit. Sam wore a pair of his jeans, a gray T-shirt under a navy-blue button-down, and Jared's black wool sweater over that. He was leaner than Jared was, so everything was a little big, but that somehow just made him appear all the more sexy--or maybe that was just Jared's perception because he liked knowing Sam was wearing his things. The look was good on him, though. A little waif-like because of the baggy clothes, but part indie rocker as well, with his unruly curls, facial scruff, and pierced ears. Jared's shoes hadn't fit Sam, so Sam had put on the black buckle shoes, which, with jeans, were almost trendy. He looked nothing at all like the cultured, distant, tuxedo-clad man in the pictures Jared had seen last night. "Yeah, definitely the blue," Jared told him. "It brings out the color of your eyes."

"It's the color of your eyes," Sam said, the earlier smile still on his face. "I love it just for that." Sam haggled price with the vendor, speaking in fluent Italian the whole time, and when they settled on a figure, Jared reached past Sam and paid.

"Grazie," the vendor said, and turned away, clutching his euros. "You didn't have to do that," Sam said. "I wanted to. My choice, so it's my gift." That earned him another kiss, quick but still warm and meaningful. "Thank you." "You're welcome. So your Italian is pretty impressive." Sam shrugged. "I'm a violinist." As if that were supposed to explain everything. "Um, okay, I'm not. So maybe you could spell it out for me?" Jared said, laughing. "Sorry." Sam looked sheepish. "I've been around music geeks too much of my life, I guess. I learned Italian in my teens because it fascinated me and it was kind of practical--most music terms are in Italian. Plus, I'd often traveled to Italy, and the history of the modern violin is strongly based in Italy. People played stringed instruments like it all the way back in ancient Greece, but it wasn't until the 1500s here in Italy that the instrument we think of today as the violin really came into its own. Most of the brilliant and famous violin makers were Italian--Guarneri, Amati, Stradivari." "As in the Stradivarius." "Exactly. Strads are known for having some of the finest sound of any violins then and today. Stradivari's violins made in the late

1600s and early 1700s are still some of the most incredible instruments in existence. I can't even imagine playing anything else besides mine." That caused Jared to pause in the middle of the crowd, forcing people to go around them. "You own a Stradivarius?" Sam smiled. "Yeah." "Aren't there just a few hundred of them left, scattered throughout the world, and don't they sell for like millions of dollars?" "Yes." "And you own one?" Sam laughed. "You don't have to sound so shocked. I'm not the only musician who owns one and plays on it. I bought mine from a private seller a few years ago. It cost me pretty much every penny I'd made up to that point in my career and then some. But there's never been a day gone by that I've regretted the decision." Jared brushed his thumb over Sam's cheek. "You just keep surprising me." "In a good way, I hope." "Always." They were moving again. "The hotel's just around this corner," Sam said. He grabbed Jared's hand and walked faster, pulling him along. "Come on. I want to get my stuff and go back to your place." His gaze turned steamy. "You owe me something, remember?" "The whole 'patience is a virtue' thing is kind of lost on you, isn't it?" Jared said with a grin as they entered the hotel lobby.

"Buon giorno," the desk clerk said as they passed her. "Buon giorno," Sam replied, giving her a smile. To Jared he said, "Oh, I appreciate the waiting and the ultimate reward. But I'm always looking down the road a little farther. See, by the time we get back to the apartment it will have been hours since"--he leaned in next to Jared's ear and lowered his voice to a whisper as they stepped into the elevator with a group of other people-"since I last got to feel your naked body against mine. Hours, Jared. And yet I've waited patiently just like you said. So when we get back, I get my reward, and then the timer starts over and I'm that much closer to getting more sooner." Jared laughed and, since they were in the back of the car and no one else could see, he copped a feel of Sam's luscious ass. "Your logic boggles the mind, babe." "Just trying to keep you on your toes." "And I'll work on trying to keep you on yours," Jared whispered, giving his ass another squeeze, then caressing it until Max's breathing grew ragged and the elevator stopped. At the fourth floor, they left the elevator and Jared started to follow Sam down the hallway. But after a few steps he grabbed Sam's arm and stopped him. Sam turned. "What--" Jared placed a finger over Sam's lips. "Shhh." He stepped around in front of Sam, grabbed his hand, and pulled him over against the wall. Eyes wide, Sam allowed himself to be led. "Stay behind me," Jared whispered.

Sam's body had gone tense. Jared could tell he wanted to ask questions, wanted to know what was happening, but he merely nodded. The moment they'd gotten off the elevator Jared had sensed something was wrong. He hadn't seen or heard anything, at least not that he'd registered, but something in the narrow hallway had triggered his internal alarm. He pointed to the rooms and mouthed Which one? to Sam. Sam held up fingers. 3-1-2. Slowly they moved down the elegantly carpeted hallway, Jared ready for trouble at each doorway, which was recessed into its own deep alcove. Room 306... 308... A second before they passed room 310 a black form lunged out of the alcove holding a gun. Jared grabbed the man's arm, twisted it, stole the gun, spun him around, elbowed him in the face, and took him down. All silently, before the guy could get a shot off, if that had been his intent. He dragged the man, dressed all in black including a black beanie cap, into the alcove out of sight, then gestured Sam into the recess as well. Jared did a quick search of the man, hunting for a radio, a phone, or some other item that would indicate if he was working with someone else, but found nothing except a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the breast pocket of his coat. Rising, he popped out the magazine on the weapon, an HK

USP45, to see how much ammo was in it, and slid it back in when he found it at full capacity. He glanced up to find Sam staring at him, his face gone pale. The younger man looked rattled...and hell, he had every right to be. "You okay?" Jared whispered. Sam took a hard swallow, but nodded. "Stay here." Sam looked down at the unconscious man on the floor, then back up at Jared as if to say Are you crazy? "It's okay," he reassured him in a whisper. "He'll be out for a while." With Sam's less than confident expression etched into his mind, Jared re-entered the hallway. With his back to the wall he sidled closer to room 312. When he peeked around into the room's alcove, he saw the door was ajar. Well, shit. That was never a good sign. He nudged open the door with the toe of his boot. It slowly swung inward and Jared stepped into the room. He fully expected the attack when it came. This guy was bigger, towering well over six feet and outweighing Jared by fifty pounds. The take-down wasn't as easy as the last, but after a scuffle, this opponent fell just as hard as the man in the hall had and Jared took his weapon as well. He laid it on the table next to the bed. Still holding the first gun at the ready, he went through the rest of

the hotel room and the bathroom, both of which had been completely ransacked. It was all clear--no one else lurked in wait. Just the two guys then. This time when he searched the thug, he found a cell phone, but a quick look at it proved it to be a burner-a pay-as-you-go throwaway--and if it had been used to send or receive calls, the history on it had been erased. He pressed the "redial" button and got nothing there either. "Damn it!" He tossed the phone onto the bed in frustration. "Fuck!" He turned to find Sam standing in the doorway, his eyes haunted as he stared at the mess someone had made of his room. "Oh my God." His pale had gone a shade lighter still. Jared crossed to him in just a few steps and pulled him into his arms. "It's okay, babe. It's okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss against Sam's temple. Sam's arms snaked around his waist. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse. "Who would do this? Do you think it was Lucas?" A sudden sick knot formed in Jared's stomach and he pulled back to see Sam's face. "Fuck, Sam. Your violin...it wasn't here, was it?" "No. No! I didn't bring it with me--it's locked up at home." "Thank God." Jared didn't even want to think of how he would deal with a multi-million-dollar stolen violin on top of everything else. "Why would someone have done this? Those men...they were waiting for me."

"I know." Jared pressed another kiss against his curls. "But it's going to be okay, Sam. I told you, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Do you trust me?" Sam nodded. "I just don't understand why. What could I possibly have done to make someone want to follow me, tear my room apart, and have men lying in wait for me. With guns." "I think I might know," Jared said softly. Sam's eyebrows rose. Jared hated the sharp stab of guilt he felt for not talking to Sam sooner. If he'd told him earlier, then Sam might have been prepared for something like this. But then Jared berated himself for his stupidity. He'd suspected Sam might be tangled up in something bigger than he realized but even he hadn't been prepared for this. Which pissed him off because he should have been more careful. He knew Sam could be in real danger and he'd walked them right into this, damn it. "I promise, I'll explain what I think might be going on, but right now, I need you to take a look around and see if anything's been stolen, while I go get the guy out in the hall." When he returned, dragging the smaller man's limp body, Sam was standing in the middle of the shredded mattress and bedding on the floor, with clothing and personal items scattered around him. His hands were fisted at his sides and though he was still pale, fury radiated off him.

Good. That was good, Jared thought. Anger was a much better emotion for him to have right now than feeling helpless and victimized. Sam watched Jared pull down the draperies and cording from

the window. "Tell me what I can do to help," he said. "Help me get the cords loose. We're going to use them to tie up our friends here." Sam did as he asked, and as Jared tied the bigger man's wrists together behind his back and then his ankles, Sam worked on the other guy. "Should we call the police?" "We will. As soon as we have these guys secured and are sure they aren't going anywhere. Did you find anything missing?" Sam shook his head. "Not that I could tell. Honestly, I didn't have much with me except clothes. My violin's at home, and I had my passport and wallet and cell phone with me at the ball, in my coat pocket. There's nothing here valuable enough to steal. Nothing to make them want to cut up the mattress and tear pictures off the walls. Who are these men, Jared, and what the hell is going on?" Jared rose and passed him the hotel room phone. "You should be the one to call the police. It's your room and your Italian's better than mine." Sam gave him a troubled look--he knows I'm avoiding his question, damn it--but he took the phone and made the call. "Just be honest," Jared told him. "Tell them exactly what happened here, what we found." While Sam talked to the police, Jared called Didi. "I have a situation," he said as soon as she answered. She must have heard the tension in his voice because she immediately went into work mode and didn't give him any of her usual teasing guff. "What's going on?"

"We just got to Sam's hotel room a few minutes ago to find the place completely trashed and two assholes with guns waiting for him." "Are you okay?" "Yeah, but I need to know about Lucas Monroe, Di. He's got to be the connection here. These guys were searching for something, something they obviously thought Sam had, because they tore his room apart trying to find it." "You think it was whatever he was supposed to have given Maestro at the meet?" "That would be my guess." "But I thought you said your boy was innocent of all this? Obviously someone thinks he isn't." "That's why I've gotta know who's behind this, Didi." She sighed. "I can't find anything dirty on Monroe, Jared. Yeah, he's traveled with your guy all over the world and back over the past few years, but aside from a few complaints about his arrogance, and a recent row he had with your violinist, which of course Monroe is making out as totally his star's fault and not his own, his record is shiny." "A record can be doctored." "Hello, talking to me here. She who makes a living doctoring electronic records. This doesn't feel tampered with. He might be an asshole, but if he's been spying, there's nothing concrete to track. Also, you asked me to find out where he'd been the past month. He's been back and forth between Boston and New York, mostly doing cartwheels for the press to keep his image intact

after getting fired by his big superstar." "He hasn't traveled to the west coast at all?" He was thinking of Sam's feeling he was being watched, both incidents of which had happened on the west coast. "Nope. He's been in plain sight for four weeks." "Damn it. Okay, but these guys I took down today, they were hired help. My guess is they were paid under the table and might not have even known who they were working for." "Did you get any information out of them?" "You mean before I knocked them out? Sorry, was kind of busying disarming them and kicking their asses to chat." "What does your Sam have to say about all this?" Jared glanced at Sam, still on the phone with the police, and found Sam watching him, the same troubled expression on his face that Jared had seen earlier. A twinge of guilt hit him again. "He's shaken. Doesn't know what's going on or why someone would be after him." "So he says." "Don't start again, Didi," he snapped. Then immediately winced. He didn't lose his temper often, not with her. "Sorry." "It's all right. I'm just trying to keep it real, keep you thinking clearly with your eyes open to all possibilities." He wanted to argue with her, but the truth was, he had led Sam right into this set-up today, which made him wonder if he was thinking clearly and keeping all possibilities open. Was he, as

Didi said, so blinded by his faith in Sam that he wasn't seeing the bigger picture? Had he let the desires of his personal life--his and Sam's incredible physical connection and Jared's craving for something more with the man--cloud his focus on his mission? Was he missing something obvious that under other circumstances he might have picked up on? Fuck! It was just so frustratingly hard to look at all the possibilities when the information you were working with was as elusive as mist, constantly sliding through his fingers with no way to pin it down. "God"--he scuffed a hand over his face--"please, Di, find me something. Anything. I need to know who these guys were working for. I need to know what they were hunting for in Sam's room. The Venice police are going to be here in a few minutes and there's no way I'm going to get a chance to interrogate these goons. I need to get Sam out of here and somewhere safe because, assuming they didn't find what they were looking for, whoever's behind this is going to come back and try again." "All right. Let me get in touch with some contacts and pull some strings. Plus, the hotel might have surveillance cameras I can tap into. Any ID on these guys?" "Nothing. They were sterile except for a burner phone that had been erased." "Give me two hours and call me back. And, Jared...be safe." She'd already hung up before he could respond. Jared disconnected and turned to Sam, who'd finished his call a couple of minutes earlier. Jared was fully aware that Sam had heard the last part of his conversation with Didi, so wasn't surprised at the wary look the man was giving him. Not surprised,

but it still caused a tight vise to form around his chest. "One of the 'calls' you know how to make?" Sam asked, his voice tight. "Yeah. Sam..." He reached for Sam's hand, but Sam shook his head and took a step away. Jared's stomach churned at his withdrawal, but he couldn't blame him. "You need to tell me right now what's going on, Jared." Sam's voice was hard. "You obviously know something about all this that you haven't bothered to tell me. But your friend on the phone seems to know." "It's not like that, Sam. I don't know anything for sure. I have suspicions, but I can't verify them. And the person I was talking to on the phone is my second in command. As I told you I would, I contacted her this morning while you were sleeping and asked for her help in getting information. So far she hasn't found much." "You said you thought you knew why someone would have trashed my room and had guys with guns waiting for me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm all ears." "Again, this is just suspicion on my part, I don't know anything for sure." "Then fucking tell me! I'm starting to feel like I'm the only one who's in the dark here yet it's my damn life we're talking about." "You're right." Jared took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry. Please know that I haven't intentionally kept anything from you. I fully planned to tell you everything I know. I was going to talk to you about it all when we got back to the apartment this afternoon. This, here...I wasn't expecting it. Though I probably should have, so I'm sorry for that as well."

"What exactly do you mean you 'should have expected it.'" Sam's breathing came out in shallow, rapid huffs. "Are you telling me you knew someone might come after me with guns?" "Look, let's sit down, okay?" He moved across the room and sat in one of two Empire-style chairs arranged in a small group angled toward each other. For a moment he didn't know if Sam would follow or not, but finally he did. He sank into the chair opposite Jared, his posture stiff. "We don't have a lot of time before the polizia get here, so I'm going to talk fast. But if you have questions, ask, okay? I'm not trying to hide anything from you, Sam." A terse nod was his only response. "All right. Two years ago a friend of mine, George, was working as a CIA analyst. His job was to analyze intelligence data of all kinds and look for patterns and information to help our government find spies and terrorists. He came across something that he believed was important--a potential spy who was selling U.S. secrets to extremist countries. The problem was, although he saw some patterns and even uncovered the codename for the spy, there was no concrete data, no absolute proof the guy existed. George spent more than a year on it, took it to the higher ups, but the spy was like a ghost. There was just no firm data to prove that a) he even existed and b) if he did, how he was passing information and to whom. "George really believed he was on to something, though, and he was relentless. He wasn't a field agent, mind you, but he got a lead and went out on his own to follow it. He was worried, however, and before he left he gave me copies of all his data and

told me everything he knew. He said that if anything happened to him he could trust me to follow up." Jared's jaw clenched. "He didn't come back. He was killed--the CIA said it was a simple traffic accident not related to his job, but based on everything he told me, I suspected there was more to it than that." "The spy killed him?" Sam's body language and expression were still tense, angry even, but he was at least listening. "Possibly. I had made a promise to him that I'd continue his work, and I have. I've spent the past two years trying to track down Maestro--that's the spy's codename." He watched Sam to see if he had any reaction to the name, but aside from a slight furrowing of his forehead, he didn't indicate it meant anything to him. "I've run into many of the same roadblocks George did," Jared continued. "Maestro's elusive and I've never been able to get close." "Are you CIA as well?" "No. As I told you last night, I run my own security company. But-and I'm trusting you here, Sam, because this isn't commonly known information and it can't leave this room--my company does contract work for the government from time to time. I can't share with you the type of work because it's high security clearance stuff. So you need to understand upfront that there are parts of my job I can't talk about, not to you, not to anyone. So I'm not CIA, but we do occasionally work for certain government organizations." Sam slowly nodded. "Remember I told you I was in Venice on business?" Another nod. "I got some intel the day before yesterday that Maestro was

meeting a contact here in Venice at Il Ballo del Bruni. A contact, I had to assume, he would be passing information to. The contact would be dressed a certain way, that's how Maestro would recognize him, and the meet would happen at a certain time. That's why I came here. That's why I was at the ball. Understand that this is the first lead I've had in two years that might actually have given me a shot to see Maestro, possibly capture him or one of his contacts, even though they'd be in costume. So I was there at the ball watching, waiting." Jared leaned forward and rested a hand on Sam's knee. Sam flinched but didn't pull away, which gave Jared a tiny flicker of hope that maybe this could still be okay. Of course he hadn't dropped the bombshell yet. Fuck. "I saw the costume the contact was supposed to be dressed in," he said quietly. "A green theme decorated with feathers, and the contact would be carrying a bird...that's how Maestro would recognize him." Sam's entire body stiffened. His eyes grew wide, and then narrowed. Angry flashes sparked in his gaze. "Me?" he gasped. "You thought I was the contact?" "I did," Jared admitted, wincing at the anger and betrayal radiating from every pore of the younger man. "That's why you came up to me and talked to me. You thought..." "Yes. That's what I thought...at first. But--" "Stop. Right now, just stop." Sam shot to his feet. "I trusted you, Jared. You know why? Because I thought for once in my life I was with someone who actually didn't have an agenda, who wasn't using me for his or her own purpose to get what they wanted like

everyone else in my fucking life has always done. I thought I'd met someone who truly gave a damn about me, just regular old me." "S--" "No. Just...no." Jared stood and tried to reach for Sam's hand, but Sam pulled away again and turned his back on Jared. Even through his clothes Jared could see the tension in his shoulders, could see his muscles quivering with anger and hurt and stress. "Listen to me. Please," Jared said. "Yes, I approached you at the ball because I thought you were Maestro's contact. But I wasn't lying to you when I told you the moment you walked into that place I was putty in your hands. I was so attracted to you I couldn't even think straight. And when no one came near you and you didn't speak to or approach anyone else, I just...I tossed all caution aside and went to talk to you because you seemed lonely and that touched me inside. And then when we started talking everything else ceased to matter. I liked you, genuinely liked you, and anything I might have thought would happen when I first walked up to you faded away. I realized I wanted to be with you because I wanted you, not because I had an agenda." "You took me back to your apartment. What were you planning to do with me?" Jared couldn't see his face because Sam's back was to him, but Sam's voice was tight. "By the time we left the ball, hell, by the time we got on the dance floor, everything that had anything to do with Maestro was so far distant in my head it might as well not have existed. Christ, Sam, you blindsided me. You were sexy and funny and smart and you have a heart the size of fucking Oklahoma. I not only fell hard for you, I fell completely. I wanted you, I still want you, more than I've

ever wanted anyone in my life. And everything that happened between us last night and this morning was real. This"--he reached out and stroked a hand over Sam's hair, and felt something inside him die a little when Sam flinched again--"this is real." "I told you everything about me," Sam said, his voice quiet and hoarse with emotion. "I spilled my guts to you. I trusted you." "You can still trust me. I'm on your side, Sam. By the time we left the ball last night I knew you weren't Maestro's contact. I don't know how you ended up in that green costume, but I knew there was no way you were helping a spy--you're too open and honest, you're too real. And everything you told me last night made me like and respect you more." "You don't earn someone's trust by lying to them, Jared." "I haven't lied to you a single time. Everything I've told you is the truth. And it was my full intention to tell you about Maestro later today. I want to help you. I want to protect you." He thought he heard a soft snort. "It's true, damn it. If I had to make a choice between you and finding Maestro right now, which do you think I'd choose? I'll tell you...there'd be no contest. I'd turn my back on all my work the past two years and choose you, Sam. Hands down." Now Jared's voice was the one shaking. "Here's the deal though. Right now I suspect you and Maestro are inextricably linked." "You just said you didn't think I was involved, but now I'm still linked to him? What kind of bullshit is this?" Sam finally turned back to face him and the hurt in his eyes killed Jared. "Hear me out. When you told me about Lucas last night, about his

conversations with your dad, and the threat he made to you the last time you saw him, my sixth sense started tingling and I began to put some pieces together. Do me a favor. I know you're mad and hurt right now, but this is important. Tell me how you ended up wearing that green costume and carrying that bird." Max shook his head and gave a frustrated sigh. "It wasn't any big deal. Before I left the States, when I made my plane and hotel reservations, I called the costume shop near the hotel here and reserved a costume." "Did you tell them what kind of costume you wanted?" "No. I just told them to dress me in something good, something that was traditionally Carnival." "And when was this? Did you know at the time you'd be going to the ball? I know that particular ball is pretty exclusive. How did you score an invite?" "I know people who know people--I don't know, I'm not sure exactly, Jared. I'm well known in some circles and I got the invitation to attend months ago. I didn't give it any thought until I decided to come to Europe a few days ago. I remembered the invitation, remembered it was Carnival season, and I called and gave the hosts a late RSVP. That was, I guess, two days ago, maybe three with the time change between the States and here. And that's the same time I called about the costume." "Then what happened? You went to pick up your costume and..." "And I picked it up. They had it waiting for me with my name on it. I wasn't crazy about all of it--the bird was just silly, but the costumer said it was an important accessory for the costume and was meant to be carried in my hand. And I didn't want to wear the full face type mask. The shopkeeper told me, however, that

because it was Carnival, they were picked over and it was either that costume or nothing because everything else they had in stock was already reserved for other people. So I put on the costume and went to the ball. That's it. Nothing nefarious about it." "Did you tell anyone you were coming to Venice, that you planned to attend the ball?" Sam rolled his eyes. "No. I think I made it pretty obvious to you last night that right now my list of friends and loved ones is pretty damn short. Who the hell would I have told? I walked away from my life a month ago, remember? There was no one to tell. Why are you asking me this? What's your point here?" "My point," Jared said softly, "is that somehow, someone knew you were going to be here in Venice and they knew you were attending that ball." "I didn't tell anyone I was coming here," he shouted. "Jesus!" Something occurred to Jared. "Do you have your cell phone with you right now?" "Yes. Why?" "May I see it?" Jared held out his hand. Another heavy sigh of frustration, but Sam dug into the pocket of his jeans and handed it over. Jared brought the screen to life and found the number, then took out his own phone and called Didi. "I told you to give me two hours," she said by way of greeting. "I know, this is about something else. I'm holding a cell phone." He gave her the number. "Can you tell me if it's been hacked or is

being traced?" "Give me a minute." He could hear Didi humming softly as she had a tendency to do when she worked. While he waited, Jared studied Sam, who was staring back at him, his expression waffling between hurt and wariness. The tension arcing between them was hot enough to scald, but even now, when Sam was angry and upset with him, Jared knew he wasn't imagining the undercurrent of need and something else, something deeper, more intense, that was also present. All he wanted to do was fold his arms around Sam and hold him close, kiss him, and take away that haunted expression on his face and see him smile again. But he was afraid the fragile trust between them had been pushed too far. "Well, well," Didi said, bringing Jared back to the immediate situation. "Looks like it's been cloned." "Shit...a clone." "A clone?" Sam asked "Someone's copied your signal and whenever you use this phone, calling out or receiving calls, whoever did it can listen in on anything that's said," Jared explained. Sam blanched and for a split second Jared thought he might be ill. "Oh my God," he whispered, and sank back onto the chair. "Can you find out where the clone is, where the signal's going?" Jared asked Didi. "It's routed all over the place, but seems to end up somewhere on the east coast of the U.S. Sorry, I can't pinpoint it any better than that right now."

"That's okay, this helps. Thanks, Di." "Welcome. Talk to you in a bit." Again she hung up without a goodbye. When she was working she had a tendency to be one-track-minded. Jared disconnected and sat across from Sam again. Sam looked up at him. "Who's doing this to me, Jared?" His voice shook. "I don't know for certain, babe. That's what I'm trying to find out." "It's Lucas, isn't it?" Jared sighed. "He seems the likely suspect." "Do you think he's the spy you've been after?" "Again, it's speculation because I have no hard evidence, but he's in the right position for it. He's been traveling all over the world with you for years now, has had access to pretty much anything you have." "It would also explain why he was so furious when I said I wanted to go crossover--it might mean that I'd no longer be invited to play in all the usual places, which would keep him from... Oh God, I've met people and been high up places, Jared. I've played for rulers of countries, even." "I know. There's something else. Didi, when I talked to her this morning, mentioned that your step-dad works for the State Department. It's possible the conversations you've seen your father and Lucas having had to do with him pushing your father for information." "You think my dad's involved, too?"

"Again, I don't know, Sam. Lucas might have been using him, if he's the spy. Right now I'm not certain of any of this. All I can do is follow my gut and my gut is telling me that someone in your life has been using you, probably as their cover. And even after you left home a month ago, with your phone cloned, they've known exactly where you are because every time you've called to make plane or hotel reservation, they've heard it." "What were they looking for here, to tear up the room?" "It could be that someone Maestro works for--an entity he's been stealing secrets for--thinks that you know or have information Maestro passed to you." "But I didn't talk to anyone at the ball but you." "They wouldn't know that." They heard the elevator ding and then voices in the hall coming toward them. Sam looked at him, panic on his face. "What do we tell the police? Do we tell them all of this?" "No. Stick to the basic facts of what happened when we got here. They were waiting for you, tried to attack, I stopped them, and we found your room vandalized. I would appreciate it, though, if you don't tell them I have one of the guns. Let them believe there was just one." "Okay," he whispered. "Sam"--Jared set his hand on top of Sam's and squeezed--"I know you're hurt right now and I'm not your favorite person, but I promise...you can trust me. When everything else around you is going to hell, I'll be here for you. There is nothing more important to me right now than keeping you safe."

The Venice polizia swarmed into the room then, not giving Sam a chance to respond. He gave Jared one last uncertain look, then turned to meet the police. And Jared was left asking himself if he'd just lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Chapter 6

Sam wondered if they'd sent the whole damn Venice police force to the hotel. He didn't bother to count, but there had to be at least a half-dozen officers and maybe more. For as many of them as there were, however, it seemed like it took them forever to deal with the break-in and the men who'd been waiting to attack him. Sam was strung so tight he wanted to shout at them to hurry the hell up and be done already, as they meticulously took down every word he and Jared said, going back over their statements twice, then interviewed the desk clerk and the hotel manager, combed through the room, and handcuffed and hauled away the two unconscious men. In the end, though, after the agonizing hour and a half they spent there, all they told Sam was that they would "look into it." They left with as much noise and bluster as they'd arrived. He got the feeling Venice didn't get a lot of bigger crimes and he'd just made their day. Maybe their month. Through it all, Jared had never left his side. In the midst of the furor, he'd stayed calm and confident, and even though Sam felt an ache in his gut every time he looked at the man, he couldn't help but be grateful for his steady presence.

When everything else around you is going to hell, I'll be here for you, Jared had said. And he had been. If he were being brutally honest with himself, Sam had to admit Jared had been there for him since they'd met. No matter what Sam had been feeling or needing, whether it was an ear to listen to him, a teasing smile to remind him that life could be fun, or knowing with an uncanny, inherent sense what made Sam feel good, what he secretly craved during lovemaking, and then giving

it to him with such generosity it made Sam's heart ache--Jared always seemed to be able to anticipate him. Until he'd made his revelation about why he'd approached Sam at the ball, that is. For at least a while he'd thought Sam was a spy...or a spy's contact...or whatever, and he'd intended to use him, maybe even seduce him, to get information about his case. A part of Sam understood it. Jared had come here to do a job and after two years of hunting he'd probably been prepared to use whatever method or leverage he'd needed to get his bad guy. In his place, Sam wondered if he would have approached the situation any differently. He couldn't answer that because, hell, he was a musician, not a studly spy hunter. Still...he did know what it felt like to want something so badly it consumed your life. And from what Jared had told him, that's the way this Maestro case had been for him. He'd made a promise to a friend and after losing that friend, he'd done his damnedest to live up to the promise. How could he fault Jared for that? He couldn't, and it made him feel like an ass for reacting the way he had. Especially since Jared had come clean and told him the truth about it. He'd sworn he'd never lied to Sam and, though he didn't understand why he was so willing to do so, Sam believed him. Sam was hurting, yes, so much he felt raw inside. But as the damned police took their fricking slow sweet time, he began to realize the betrayal he was feeling wasn't so much because of what Jared had done but because of what Lucas had done, what his parents had done over the years by putting his career before

his happiness when parents were supposed to be the people there who supported you no matter what, and now because of this new god-awful twist in his life. He still couldn't even wrap his mind around the idea that someone had been using him and his career in order to cover their activities. It made Sam sick. And made him feel guilty as hell that he'd been the instrument for their despicable games for God knows how long. It didn't matter that he'd been unaware of what was happening, he felt guilty because he hadn't known. Somehow, he felt like he should have realized it and put a stop to it. And maybe that was part of the bigger issue as well. He was angry at himself for letting all the bullshit in his life go on as long as he did. When it had all come to a head today after one shock piled on top of another, he'd lashed out. And his target had been the one man who'd stood by his side unflinchingly.

You always hurt the ones you love. God, it was too soon to think that way about Jared. Wasn't it? He knew he'd fallen hard for the man, knew how he felt when he was with him, but how well did he really know Jared Ross? He'd seen him in action here today, the way he'd moved with frightening precision and had taken down the two armed men with barely a scuffle. It had been poetry in motion, not to mention astonishingly sexy. But he'd also seen a hint of the controlled and no doubt deadly power Jared kept leashed inside him. Sam found himself wondering about Jared's background and how he'd come to be this fascinating and dangerous combination of Jason Bourne and James Bond. And he also wondered how a man like that, who

could fight off armed bad guys with his bare hands without breaking a sweat one minute, could turn around in the next and be one of the most tender, passionate lovers Sam had ever known. "We need to get out of here," Jared said, the moment the police left. He paced through the room to the window, glanced out, then bent to pick up Sam's suitcase from the floor. "Get your things together. I'm not going to feel comfortable until I have you somewhere safe." "I'm tired of running," Sam said. Jared's hurried movements halted and his brows rose. "I'm tired of running from who I want to be, from what I want. And I'm tired of letting other people control my actions." Now Jared's forehead furrowed into a worried frown. "Sam...I understand that. I do. But sometimes you have to pick your battles. Right now, until we know exactly who's after you, the smartest thing we can do is get you somewhere where they can't find you." "You said they were using my phone to find me." He realized he still clutched it in his hand, had been holding it the whole time the police were here, ever since Jared had handed it back to him. He dropped it to the marble floor and unceremoniously crushed it under his foot. When he lifted his gaze back to Jared's he found Jared watching him with an expression not of surprise as he'd thought he might find, but of pride. It caused a flutter in his gut. "I'm tired of being someone's pawn and playing a defensive game. I'm ready to go for an aggressive offense. I say, let's take

the fight to them. You want to know who Maestro is, and I damn well want to know who's been fucking with my life. If you're correct, that could very well be the same person. So let's pool our information and get this bastard." "And again you just keep surprising me," Jared said softly, his blue eyes glinting heat and approval. "You thought musicians were all simpering wimps?" "Sam, there's nothing simpering or wimpy about you. You..." He shook his head and smiled. "You are a revelation." "So what do we do first, James Bond?" Jared drew in a slow breath and released it, never taking his gaze off Sam. Then, as if coming to a decision, he nodded. "Pack your suitcase and then we're going to go back to the apartment, boot up my computer, and make some phone calls." As Sam threw his clothes into the garment bag open on the bed, he said, "Is this what life with you is always like?" Jared stopped what he was doing, pacing in front of the window, keeping his eye on the street below. He turned to look at Sam, his gaze intense. "Do you want to find out?" A flurry of emotions passed through Sam in the moment that followed. But there was only one answer to give. "Yes." Jared crossed to him in three strides, pulled Sam against him, and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was mutually hot and needy and full of promise, as if neither of them could get enough of the other, and they had to pack in as much contact as possible in way too short a time. When it ended and they finally tore themselves apart, Jared

leaned over to zip up the suitcase, then picked it up and draped the heavy, webbed strap over his shoulder. With his free hand he wound his fingers through Sam's. "Let's get out of here." They moved quickly through the hallway, into the elevator, and down to the main floor. The hotel manager rushed over to them as soon as he saw them, apologizing for the hotel's lack of security, and telling Sam they were comping his stay and would give him another free night anytime he'd like. Sam nodded and thanked him, but cut the man off short. He could feel the tension vibrating in Jared's body next to him, and knew Jared was on full alert, his gaze scanning the lobby and every guest roaming it. "Grazie," he said again to the manager, who continued to try to apologize even as they were walking away. When they got outside, the crowd swallowed them again. Because they'd been hung up with the police for so long, late afternoon had already begun to fall. The Basilica loomed over them, its spires ominous and casting deep shadows over the square. Since it was later in the day, people were beginning to come out in force to celebrate Carnivale, and the square was much more crowded than it had been earlier. Jared held tight to Sam's hand, keeping him close as they pushed their way through milling tourists and costume-clad revelers. "We've got to get out of this crowd," Jared muttered. "Too many people. I can't--" Sam didn't hear what he'd been about to say because someone roughly grabbed Sam's arm, jerking him away from Jared, and another body wedged its way in between them and gripped his arm on the other side. "Hey!" he cried, trying to fight and shove away, but the grips were steely and he couldn't budge them.

"Jared!" he called. Something hard jabbed him in the ribs and he didn't need to see it to know what it was. Cold fear flooded his veins.

Oh shit. "Just keep walking. Don't attract any attention to yourself," one of the men next to him said in a rough growl. His accent, Sam felt sick to realize...was American. Sam's feet moved like he was told, but he craned his head trying to see Jared. He found him walking a few feet away, with burly, nondescript men dressed in black on either side of him as well, holding him firmly at gunpoint as Jared struggled. One of them jerked Sam's garment bag off Jared's shoulder and tossed it aside, then pulled out the gun Jared had been carrying in the back of his jeans and threw it in a trashcan they passed. "If you fight us, if you try to get away," the other man holding Jared said between clenched teeth, "we kill him." He gestured to Sam. The man holding the gun on Sam gave his ribs a particularly brutal stab with the gun barrel for emphasis, causing Sam to gasp in pain. Jared's gaze met his and Sam saw anger and fear and frustration in the blue depths. As well as apology. I'm sorry I let this happen, Sam read. I'm sorry I let you down. "Do you understand?" the one speaking to Jared said. "You put up a fight of any kind...he dies. It's that simple." Sam saw Jared swallow hard, and then the fight drained out of him. "Do whatever they say, Sam," he said. "Cooperate and it'll be

okay." He nodded in encouragement and offered Sam a small smile. Sam's heart climbed into his throat, nearly choking him because it wasn't okay. Feeling a gun barrel against his own ribs and seeing Jared forced to submit because they were using Sam to control him was not okay. "Good boy," the captor holding Jared said when he grew compliant. Jared's jaw clenched, but otherwise he showed no emotion. "Let's go. Keep moving." The four men led them through the crowd, which continued to mill around, oblivious to the drama that was being carried out right under their noses. There were so many people, so much commotion with entertainers setting up and performing around the square, music, laughter, and so many crazy-assed people in costumes dancing around that Sam guessed the six of them in street clothes were just a forgettable blob in most people's minds. They turned onto a side street, and then another narrower one that led into a dark alley with even darker buildings as the low-inthe-sky sun didn't reach this deep into the labyrinth. There were only a few passersby now, a few of whom eyed them curiously, but the men detaining Sam and Jared were good at what they did because the guns they held on them weren't noticeable unless you knew what to look for. "Where are you taking us?" Sam asked. The fist that slammed into his mouth came from nowhere, and Sam gasped at the pain and the taste of blood on his lip.

Jared tried to jerk away from his captors, his lips tight, his expression dangerous. "No talking," the man who'd hit Sam said, while at the same time, the one holding the gun on Jared punched Jared in the face. "Remember," he growled. "You fight, he dies." Jared, breathing hard, grimacing, and a cut welling blood over his right eye, once again grew quiet. But Sam could tell it was taking all his self-control not to fight. The captors led them through an even deeper maze of tiny streets as the sky grew darker. Finally, they stopped in front of what looked like an old abandoned store. They opened the door that hung on only two hinges, and dragged Sam and Jared into the dank, smelly depths of the building. The place had been empty for a long time, Sam suspected, because flood waters, a regular problem in Venice, had poured in on the ground level many times, but even after they receded, the place had never been cleaned. So layers of silt and slime covered the floor and dark water marks rose a foot or more on the walls. Sam was shoved into a rickety chair and while one man held him in place, the other tied him to the chair, his wrists together behind the chair back, and his ankles to the chair's legs. Jared was treated much the same nearby, except the captors seemed to take special care with his bonds, double checking they were tight and leaving Jared no wiggle room. He and Jared were both gagged as well, with musty smelling fabric that made Sam feel ill. And then the room grew quiet. The captors, continuing to keep their guns trained on Sam and Jared, took a step back and stood silently, like they were waiting.

God, waiting for what? Or who? Sam's hands were already beginning to grow numb from the rope cutting off his circulation. He shifted in the chair but couldn't find a more comfortable position. Jared kept his gaze fastened on Sam, offering silent support, and Sam clung to it, letting Jared's strength in the face of adversity give him strength, and hoped Jared knew he would gladly give some of it back in return. Had it really only been less than twenty-four hours since they'd first met? It seemed like they'd known each other so much longer. Like Jared had been in his life weeks or months, not just a lone day. Sitting there in the near-dark, tied and gagged, a gun pointed at him, and his life running like an old black-and-white film over the screen of his mind, he realized that he'd lived more in the past twenty-four hours than he had the entire rest of his life. And he had the man sitting ten feet away from him to thank for that. If Jared hadn't come up to him at the ball and started the sexy banter with him, Sam was certain he would have still been hiding out in lonely hotel rooms, running from his past, blocked and silent with no music and no passion in his life for God knows how long. Jesus, how had he let it get so bad? He used to love playing the violin, love performing. Growing up, even though his parents had been tough on him, he'd relished it because he loved playing so much. But as the years dragged on and his mother grew more distant and his step-father had gotten more entrenched in his job, living in DC all week and coming home to Boston only on the weekends, a dreary heaviness had settled over their house. Sam

had used music as his escape, finding himself seeking out his tutors at their houses and studios rather than having them come to his home, and jumping at the chance to perform anywhere, as long as it got him out of Boston for a while. Sometimes his mother would travel with him, and on rarer occasions David would as well, but mostly he was accompanied by tutors and nannies and handlers. That had grown tiring after a while--not the playing, but the lack of closeness with anyone, the revolving door of the staff, the sterile hotels and faceless audiences who idolized him on stage but cared nothing about him as a person. And then Lucas had come into his life and, for a while, things felt fresh again. Especially when they'd become lovers. Not that, in all honesty, their relationship had been all that passionate, but it had at least partly filled a well inside Sam that had long grown dry. With Lucas, at least he had someone to talk to at the end of the day, someone who cared, or who at least had pretended to care for a while, he thought bitterly. But that had worn thin eventually as well. By the time Sam had broken off his and Lucas's personal affair after Lucas went all Hitler on him in Budapest, there hadn't been much of a relationship left anyway. It had probably been six months before that since he and Lucas had slept in the same bed all night, and probably three months since they'd had sex at all. Looking back on it, Sam realized there'd never been a real spark between them. They'd been good companions for a while and had provided each other a way to achieve pleasant physical release, but there'd been no fireworks or sizzling gazes or long intimate lovemaking sessions where they connected on any kind of deeper level. Which brought Sam back to Jared.

Dear God, sex between them was volcanic. But the more amazing thing was that even when they weren't having sex, they still shared something--a closeness that allowed them to tease and laugh, snuggle or talk seriously, or even share a simple glance that had more emotion in it than Sam had ever shared with Lucas in the entire five years they'd been lovers. Jared Ross had shown him how to live again. But there was a catch to it...now that he'd been given a taste of what it was like, Sam didn't want to just live. He wanted to live with Jared, and no one else would do. As he looked into those blue eyes, he knew they had to get out of here. Because there was no way he was going to walk away from or have stolen from him, a future without this man in it. The squeak of the decrepit door on the building and the hollow ringing of footsteps on the stone floor had Sam turning his head to watch the entryway to the room they were in. A cold dread began to build in his belly. This had to be the person they'd been waiting for, since the four men who'd captured them were clearly hired guns and not decision makers. Was this going to be Jared's Maestro and someone Sam knew? Visions of Lucas filled his head from the last time he'd seen him, the man's narrow lips pulled even thinner with fury, the raw hatred tightening his face and mottling his skin. Had he been playing Sam all along, using him to do his own dirty job on the sidelines? Was he the one capable of killing Jared's friend George when he'd gotten too close? A man dressed all in black entered. But not the utilitarian black mercenary outfits of his hired hands. No, nothing so plebeian for this man. Instead, his black slacks were designer expensive and

perfectly creased, his ruffled black shirt was silk, he wore a flowing cloak of black velvet, a black hood that covered his hair, a broad-brimmed black hat, and a pure black bauta mask. Sam sneaked a glance at Jared and found him assessing the newcomer with a critical appraisal. The man gestured toward his hired hands, and one of the men came forward and untied the gag on Sam's mouth, then the one on Jared's. Sam coughed and his eyes watered from the dryness in his throat. "Who the hell are you?" Jared said, his voice firm and resonant, not sounding at all affected by the gag. Sam could almost sense the man smiling. "Frustrating, isn't it? Not knowing. Especially when I know so much about you, Jared Ross." His voice, a low, breathy growl, sounded familiar to Sam, but he couldn't place it. Who? Damn it! Maybe the man was trying purposely to disguise his voice. Or maybe it was the mask he wore, muffling it. "You have quite the history, Ross. And quite the reputation. Eight years in the Seals, commander of an elite black-ops missions team, reporting directly to the highest command. Commended over and over with some of the most prestigious awards the military offers. Connections all the way from the CIA to the very top of the food chain. And now the owner of your own private band of mercenaries who do the dirty jobs the government doesn't want to handle." "Congratulations, you read your obviously stolen copy of my file,"

Jared said. "Shall I give you a gold star?" "No, but you should have given one to your friend George Corrigan. He figured out what you haven't been able to. Persistent little pencil pusher kept at it like a puppy dog with a bone, and finally pieced together enough to come close. A shame he couldn't tell you personally." Jared's jaw clenched, but otherwise his face showed no expression. "So if you take so much pride in keeping your identity a secret, why show yourself now, in person-- Well, I guess show is a subjective term here, since you're hiding behind a costume like some kind of two-bit stage actor. The man chuckled, and again Sam had a niggling sense he knew the voice. Was it Lucas? The build was kind of right except he couldn't tell for sure because the cloak hid much of his upper body shape. "Actually, I'm merely dressed to celebrate Carnivale. It seemed...appropriate." "Yeah, it has nothing to do with keepin' your identity hidden so some sharp-eyed kid with a video camera postin' his movies on YouTube doesn't out you to millions of avid viewers." Sam noticed that Jared's drawl became more pronounced when he was emotional. Maestro--and Sam knew that's obviously who they were dealing with here--didn't know that about him, though. If it weren't for that one tiny tell, that Sam only knew after having spent a night and morning in Jared's arms having mind-blowing sex, anyone else, including Maestro, would think Jared was scarily calm. "Look," Jared continued, not giving Maestro a chance to throw

back a counter quip, "whatever the hell issues you have with me, fine. But let Sam go. He's not part of this." Maestro turned his head so the black mask faced Sam. "On the contrary, he has everything to do with this." "Why?" Sam asked, finding his voice for the first time since the man had entered the room. "Why am I so damned important you tore apart my hotel room today and twice now have sent men with guns after me?" "Mmm," Maestro said. But instead of responding to Sam, he turned back to Jared. "You wanted to know why I was willing to show myself to you tonight? It's quite simple, really." He reached up with a gloved hand and removed his hat. "You're no longer a threat to me. Either of you." The hood came next, revealing deep black hair, cut short.

Not Lucas. Lucas's hair was dirty blond. "I can show you who I am because in a brief while, neither of you will be around to tell anyone what you saw." He untied the mask at the back of his head, and then slowly pulled it off. Sam's heart pounded. "Oh my God...you," he whispered, barely able to breathe. Sam felt Jared's gaze on him, questioning. "What's the matter, son? Not happy to see your father?" "My God, you're Maestro?" Sam's voice shook, which pissed him off, but he couldn't seem to make it stop. "Why? How could you...? Why did you? Was it for the money?" Maestro laughed. "Money? Please. I've got enough money to buy out God if I wanted. You always were rather simple-minded when

it came to the big picture, Samuel. It's not about money. It's never about money. It's about power. Those who hold the secrets, have it. Those who don't... Well, they aren't worthy of sitting at the big boys' table." "David Stirling," Jared said quietly. "Of course. It all makes sense now. As does how you used Sam's career to make it work." Maestro smiled and lifted an arrogant brow as if to say, "Naturally." "Did you plan it from the start?" Jared asked. "Of course." "I don't understand," Sam said, glaring at his step-father. "Planned what?" It was Jared who answered. "Your mother married him when you were eight, Sam, correct?" He nodded. "You told me you started your concert career when you were nine. He probably hand-picked your mom as marriageable material because she was alone after your father died, raising a child prodigy with extreme talent, and he saw it as an opportunity to mold your career to his needs." Sam's stomach knotted. "Are you telling me you married my mom because of me? Because you knew all the way back when I was eight years old that you were going to use me for your shitty, despicable power game?" "It was rather simple, really," Maestro said. "Margaret was lonely and struggling over money after your father died. They had wanted you to have the training you deserved. So I showered her

with affection and gave you the best of everything. She fell for me instantly. Anything she wanted for you, you had. The best music teachers, the best school tutors. For the amount of money I spent on you I could have bought my own country. But in a way, I did. Because you turned out to be even more gifted than I'd even dreamed. We put you on the stage with the Boston Symphony when you were eight to start building your name, and by the time you were thirteen, you were playing for heads of state all over Europe. Which worked nicely for my needs." His smug tone sent hot flares of fury through Sam. "You didn't even travel with us most of the time. How could my career have helped you?" Maestro laughed. "Oh, that was the beauty of it, you see. I didn't have to be there, which gave me yet another layer of protection. All I had to do was hide a bit of information on you--in your violin, under the lining in your case, the spare pair of shoes in your suitcase. And vice-versa--my assets in other countries could hide their information on you as well to bring back into the States. And then one of my contacts would simply pick it up while you were at practice or on stage. Who would ever suspect a young, quiet violin prodigy of passing along government secrets?" "You fucking bastard." All Sam's guilt for being party to Maestro's spying came back to tear at him. "Why 'Maestro'?" Jared asked. "Was that another layer of protection for you, so if anyone did get close, you could pin everything on Sam, your master musician?" "I'm disappointed. You're thinking in the same small-minded terms Samuel always does. Of course I didn't choose that name because of him. I chose it because I am a maestro. The sniveling

boy played the violin, but I was the one who orchestrated everything from his world-class teachers, to putting him on stage, to arranging his performance schedule so it fit my needs, to using him as my courier without anyone being the wiser. It was a composition unlike any the world has ever seen." "How did Lucas fit into the picture? Did you orchestrate him, too?" Sam spat. "Of course." "Was he in on everything with you?" "Lucas Monroe? Please! He doesn't have the smarts to be my partner. He was merely a tool. When you began getting tired of performing and started making noise about taking time off or doing something else for a while, I couldn't have that. I had worked too hard to build my network and you were the key component. So I hired Lucas to keep you in line, to keep you happy using whatever means necessary, so you wouldn't rock my boat, Samuel. Which he did quite well for a while. But then last summer it started again, with your whining about being tired and then, God forbid"--he curled his lip in disdain--"you started babbling on about wanting to cross over into rock music. Lucas was supposed to take care of that situation and get you back in control, but he handled you the wrong way, pushed you too hard, and then completely lost control of you last month." "I'm not your fucking puppet." "Oh, except you were, weren't you?" Maestro smiled, but it didn't reach his dark eyes. "Unfortunately, since it's clear there's no bringing you back into the fold, especially now that you've taken do-gooder soldier-boy Ross as your lover--oh, don't look so surprised. I know everything you do, boy. I have for years."

Sam glared at him, feeling bile rising in his throat. How had he been living in the vile den of this snake for all those years and never realized it? He felt sick. Violated. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting back nausea. "Breathe, Sam," Jared said softly, and Sam felt his gaze on him. "It's gonna be okay, babe." Maestro, the man Sam had called his father for twenty years, laughed at him. At them. Rage ripped through Sam. He lifted his head and pinned Maestro with his gaze. "I hope you fucking burn in hell for all you've done." The man arched a brow. "Maybe I will. But I'll go up in flames with no regrets. Can you say the same, Samuel?" "Stop," Jared commanded. "You've played your game and we get it, you're a mastermind. That doesn't explain why we're here now? Why didn't you just have your goons shot us and be done with it?" "Oh, they'll take care of the final details soon, not to worry. But before I sign your death warrants, I need to be sure I get back what you stole from me last night, boy." "What the hell are you talking about?" Sam growled. "I haven't stolen anything from you. I haven't even seen you in weeks." "Ah, but you did steal. You see, your costume last night was specifically arranged for you, with every detail in place. All you had to do was go to the ball, and my contact was to find you and lift a certain item from you person, and that would have been that. But instead, you hooked up with Captain America here and left the palazzo with my item in your possession."

"My God. You were using me still last night?" The smug smile was back. "I can do whatever I want, Samuel. I have the power, remember? And you don't. You've never been more than an errand boy. Talented, yes. But an errand boy nonetheless." "Fuck you!" "When my item wasn't in your hotel room, I used my resources to find out where Ross was staying. My agents are at his apartment as we speak, reclaiming my flash drive that was sewn into the bird. As soon as I get confirmation they have it, you, my boy, will have an unfortunate boating accident on the Adriatic. Your new lover will be found with you. Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure you get a proper and respectful eulogy worthy of your magnificent career. What a shame that your recent mental issues from when you had your breakdown continued to plague you and caused you to take unfortunate risks. You'll go down in history as a brilliant but troubled young star who was taken from this earth far too early." "Or not," Jared said. In a blur of motion, Jared shot out of his chair and had Maestro in a chokehold before Sam could even blink. Maestro's four mercenaries immediately turned their guns on Jared with terrifying military precision. "Let him go," the one who'd held Jared earlier said. "If you want me, you'll have to shoot your boss." Jared held a struggling Maestro in front of him like a shield. "Or I'll just shoot your lover instead," he said calmly. The man turned the gun on Sam.

Raw terror swept over Sam as he found himself staring down the barrel. The shot, when it came, reverberated like a cannon. And then...

Nothing. "What the--" Sam whispered, his pulse racing so fast he thought he'd pass out from it. In what felt like slow motion, he realized the man who'd threatened him had a dark stain beginning to bloom right over his heart on his black jacket. Wide eyed, in shock, Sam's gaze tracked to Jared and Maestro...to find Jared holding Maestro in a choke with one arm, and holding a gun with his other hand. Their gazes met for the briefest of milliseconds, and then reality slammed back in. A shout of, "Don't move!" echoed off the stone walls, and suddenly the room was filled with more black-clad warriors, these wearing black pullover face masks, tactical utility belts, and carrying rifles. Within two seconds, the new arrivals had the hired thugs at gunpoint. Someone sliced a knife against the ropes at Sam's ankles and wrists, freeing him. And two more men had their guns pointed on Maestro. Another beefy soldier moved to stand next to Jared, his gun also pointed at Maestro, who'd gone sullen and quiet. The soldier pulled down his face mask to reveal a clean-shaven face and glittering green eyes. We've got him now, sir," he said in a thick

North Carolina accent, addressing Jared. "You can stand down." Jared lowered the gun he held and let go of Maestro, handing him over to the soldiers' custody. They quickly restrained Maestro and gagged him, then hauled him over to the wall to stand next to the three hirelings. "You guys have good timing," Jared said. "You would know, sir," the soldier said with a grin. "Nice shot." "Thanks" "And by the way, Didi sends her love." "Does she now?" Jared's eyes sparkled as his gaze locked with Sam's. "Are you in touch with her?" he asked the soldier. "Right now." He pointed to his earpiece. "Tell her there's a flash drive inside a bird in the coat pocket of the green costume at the apartment." "We've got a second team there now, sir. We'll take care of it." "Excellent. Thanks for your timely rescue." "I have a feeling you would have had everything under control, sir. But you're welcome." He saluted, and to Sam's surprise, Jared saluted back. And then Jared was with him, holding out a hand and pulling Sam up to stand in front of him. Sam let him, then stalked over to Maestro, who glared at him but couldn't speak because of the gag the soldiers had used on him. Sam gave him a slow, insolent once over. Then he balled his hand into a fist and planted it right in his smug face.

His stepfather's head cracked back against the wall and blood instantly began to spew from his nose. "That's from the errand boy," Sam growled. Then he turned his back on the piece of filth and walked away. A loud whoop from the soldiers filled the air, followed by grinning applause. "What?" Sam said defensively, stopping in front of Jared and seeing his grin as well. "Why does everybody always think musicians are wimps?" Jared's smile softened and moved to his eyes that suddenly grew warm enough to melt an ice cap. "I promise you, there's not a single person in this room right now who thinks you're a wimp. You just won the adulation of one of the toughest, kick-ass Navy Seal teams on the planet. Trust me...they don't offer that up lightly." His face gentled with concern as he reached out to brush a thumb over Sam's split lip, then to caress what Sam suspected was going to be a bruise on his chin from where the asshole had hit him earlier. "You doin' okay?" "You saved my life," Sam whispered, realizing just how damned close he'd come to dying tonight. "How? How'd you get free? Where'd you get the gun?" Jared showed him the back of the old wooden chair he'd been sitting in. "They cracked it when they were tying me--when they pulled it tight the pressure was too much. So I just worked at it, using the rough spot until the rope frayed. And the gun...I saw the bulge under his cloak when he moved around." "Jared, when that guy turned his gun on me... I thought..." Sam

swallowed hard, not able to finish. His body suddenly began to tremble. "I know, babe." Jared pulled him into an embrace, not the least bit put off by the fact they were surrounded by macho U.S. soldiers. "I know. I promised I'd keep you safe." His voice was hoarse with emotion. He brushed a kiss against Sam's temple, then murmured, "I always keep my promises, Sam." **** Later, much later, after they'd finally made their way back to the apartment via water taxi, choosing not to fight any more walking crowds, Jared unlocked the door and led Sam into the palazzo. They started to climb the steep staircase but Sam groaned, his steps slowing. "Jesus, I'm exhausted. My legs don't want to work." Jared stopped on the same step, facing him, and smiled. "Want a boost?" Without waiting for a response, he picked Sam up, dragging their groins together as he lifted him. Sam gasped at the sensation and wrapped his legs around Jared's waist. Jared shifted his hands, from Sam's waist to his ass, to hold him in that position. "Oh God," Sam moaned, using his legs to push himself up a few inches, then slide down again, notching together the hard bulges they both suddenly seemed to be sporting in their jeans. Jared's eyes grew dark with desire. This time, he lifted Sam,

helping him repeat the motion. "Oh, fuck, Jared!" Sam curled his arms around Jared's neck and tipped his head back as a tingling shudder coursed through him. "You said you were exhausted," Jared teased, his breath warm against Sam's neck. "Apparently not as much as I thought." They ground and thrust together, standing there on the step with Jared holding him for Sam didn't know how long. He just knew he was turned-on as hell and so was Jared and they couldn't seem to get close enough, rub hard enough on each other. Finally, Jared made it up several more steps and stopped on the second one from the top. Holding Sam's ass with one hand and supporting his neck with the other, he laid Sam on his back on the landing. With an urgent movement, he unbuttoned and unzipped Sam's jeans and yanked them down over his hips. Sam's cock bounced against his belly when it was freed, and Jared paused for a moment to press a kiss to the tip of it. "Have I mentioned how fucking hot it is that you don't wear underwear?" Jared growled. "Have I mentioned how fucking hot it is that you don't either?" Jared pulled off Sam's shoes, then finished removing his jeans. "Guess we must both have a little exhibitionist in us." "I suspect we both have several kinky little quirks that we haven't yet had time to explore." "Ever been fucked on a Venetian staircase before?" Jared asked as he threw Sam's jeans aside and spread his legs.

"No." "Good." Jared toed off his boots, then tore open his own jeans and shimmied them down, giving his thick, mouth-watering erection its freedom. "That means I get to be your first." He looked into Sam's face, his expression serious. "Tell me right now, do we have anything to worry about if we don't cover up?" Sam's legs shook with raw desire at the thought of having Jared in him bareback. "No. I'm healthy. You?" "Same. Do you trust me?" Sam smiled. "With my life." Jared slicked his hands with saliva and spread it over his cock, then he pushed Sam's legs back, exposing his hole. He leaned down and, with a scorching smile, thrust his hot, wet tongue into Sam's tight pucker. Sam bucked against him. "Oh Jesus...oh...God...oh...God!" Jared licked him thoroughly, spearing his tongue in and out, swirling around the sensitive ring, sucking, thrusting, adding a couple of fingers, then going back to just his tongue until Sam was dripping wet. Then Jared rose, wrapped a hand around his own dick, lined it up with Sam's ass...and pushed. They both gasped at the sensation of skin on skin with no barrier between them. Jesus, it was so good. So hot. So perfect. Sam's arms slid around Jared's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His lip stung where it had been split, but Jared was gentle, so

damned breath-takingly gentle, that Sam would rather have suffered torture than lose the pressure of his lover's sensual mouth against his own, or the slip-slide of their tongues. Jared slid in and out of him, firmly, deeply, but not rushed. His balls slapped against Sam's ass on each in-stroke, and pressure began to build in Sam's own testicles almost instantly even without either of them touching his dick. He clutched at Jared's shoulders, and when Jared picked up speed and intensity, found himself softly crying out each time Jared bottomed out. When Jared's hand finally possessed his cock, plying it with long, steady pulls, bursts of sparks shot up his spine. "Can't last," Sam gasped. "Not this time." "I don't want you to last." Jared's tone was low, rumbling, hot-asfuck seductive. "I want you to come, babe. I want you to come, sticky and hot, all over my hand, all over your belly. And then I'm going come, too, in you, filling you with my seed until it's dripping out of you. I want you to know you've been well and thoroughly fucked by me and only me. Tell me you want that." "God...please. Yes, yes I want it!" "Open your eyes." Sam's eyelids fluttered open--he hadn't even realized he'd closed them. His breath caught at the sight of Jared leaning over him, sexy and intense, his hair falling around his face and making a curtain around Sam's as well. "Tell me you want this every night, Sam." Sam's chest filled with such a powerful surge of warmth he

thought it might explode, exposing the fragile, beating organ inside. "I want this every night," he said, tears stinging his eyes. "I can't tell you how much I want this every night." "God, Sam." Jared's eyes were damp as well, and his drawl thickened, showing the extent of his emotion. "You have no idea how terrified I was that you might say no. If you did, I didn't know what I was going to do without you." The idea that this strong, confident man who'd saved his life tonight had actually been afraid of losing him staggered him. "Need you," Jared said. "So much it shocks the hell out of me." Sam gave him a watery smile. "I know exactly what you mean." He brushed a hand through Jared's hair, then pulled him down into a kiss. "Bring us home, Jared." Amid their soft whimpers and breathless cries, he did. And the music... It had never been so good.

M. L. Rhodes

Award-winning and best-selling author M.L. Rhodes lives in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her physicist husband, two teenage boys, and a menagerie of animals. She's been writing professionally for sixteen years. Her characterization and emotional storytelling have received high critical acclaim and garnered her numerous awards in the writing industry. She's had books published in several genres, but her focus now is entirely on gay male romance, which is her passion! If you'd like to keep up with what's going on in M. L.'s world and find out about her new and upcoming releases, check out her website at www.mlrhodeswriting.com. **** Don't miss Into The Woods, by M. L. Rhodes, available at AmberAllure.com!

Shaun McCarry left home as a young teenager, certain that whatever he had to do to survive on his own was better than being dragged around the country by his troubled, alcoholic father. Once he got away, he vowed never to look back. But years later, on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, he receives a bizarre letter from his dad indicating Shaun's in grave danger. The letter sends him on a journey deep into the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. There, he uncovers a disturbing family

history that leaves Shaun questioning everything he thought he knew about his past and even his future. His only ally comes in the form of a mysterious drifter named Rannon James who seems to know more about Shaun's history than Shaun does. Shaun's drawn to the sexy and vaguely familiar man. And when Rannon tells him a story of love and loss, of loyalty and betrayal, and of two childhood friends who share a destiny, Shaun realizes he's inextricably and intimately linked to the other man. But with danger stalking his every move, and fighting a terrifying change in himself that he never asked for, Shaun's not sure who he can trust. Maybe not even himself...

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