Clay's Challenge

CLAY ’S CHALLENGE

…Clay glanced around, hoping to see someone else who needed a partner. The only singles he noticed were in his own cabin group. A few feet away, one of the younger Blumes whined, “It’s not fair. I was supposed to go with Dad.” “Oh, shut up,” the other son muttered. “I won the draw fair and square.” The first one wasn’t finished. He cast a narrow-eyed glare around him and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not getting stuck with that little fag.” Clay sucked in a breath. That little fag. Me. The other man couldn’t be referring to anyone else. Heat flooded his face. What was he doing? He’d dyed his hair back to his natural color and dressed as plainly as he could. He’d tried to act like everyone else. All for nothing. He was still a fem little fag. A fem little fag that tried too hard, and cared too much, and everyone knew it. Tears of humiliation prickled behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would not show his hurt in front of all these judgmental people. Whichever Blume had spoken turned to Trent and offered an ingratiating grin. “Hey, man, want to be my partner?” The stare Trent leveled at the man could have frozen a volcano. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and shook his head. “No. I’d rather have the little fag than the big asshole.” Clay’s mouth fell open. Trent had defended him. Sort of. But why? The man didn’t even like him. He’d acted like Clay had the plague the couple of times he’d tried to speak to him. Before Clay could turn the thought over in his mind enough times to make sense of it, Trent was standing beside Clay. He didn’t smile. His gray eyes remained narrowed and glacial, although that could have been directed at Blume. “Partners?…”

ALSO BY C ASSANDRA GOLD Quinn’s Hart

CLAY’S CHALLENGE BY CASSANDRA GOLD

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

CLAY’S CHALLENGE 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 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 © 2011 by Cassandra Gold ISBN 978-1-61124-136-5 Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To everyone who’s ever heard “You can’t” and proven they could.

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CHAPTER 1 It’s not you, it’s me. After you heard that old line enough times, it became pretty obvious that the problem was you. As of last night, Clay Pennington had officially reached that point. He twirled his empty margarita glass between his fingers, humiliation burning through him as he remembered the night before. “Are you going to tell us what happened?” Clay glanced up from the table to meet his older brother’s concerned gaze. He gave Rex a weak smile. “My date last night didn’t go well, that’s all. I’ll get over it.” His sister-in-law, Ellie, put a hand on his arm. “Oh no. His emails seemed so sweet. What went wrong?” A better question might be what hadn’t gone wrong. Clay 1

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swallowed hard. “I wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t take it too well.” Indignant on his behalf, Ellie scowled. “You weren’t what he was expecting? How so? Was he mean to you?” Clay put his head in his hands, desperate to hide his shame. He had been so sure his latest plan to find Mr. Right would work. He should have known better. Nothing he tried ever worked. Maybe he was meant to be alone. After last night, that wasn’t hard to believe. He’d been introduced to Mike through a special kind of online dating service that promised to match men based on their compatibility rather than shallow, external considerations. The emails he’d exchanged with Mike had shown a man who was funny and liked to tease, but had an underlying sweetness that hinted at an old-fashioned romantic streak. After several weeks of emailing back and forth, they’d decided to meet in person. Clay had spent the entire day nervous and excited about their meeting. The moment he stepped into the sports bar, he knew Mike. He hadn’t needed a picture. The guy at the bar, mid-thirties, blond hair, tall, muscular, dressed in casual clothing fit his mental picture of Mike perfectly. So he’d walked over, put on his best smile, and asked, “Mike?” And everything had gone to hell. Mike had swiveled toward Clay, revealing a bright smile in an attractive face. The smile faded almost instantly. “Are you Clay?” Clay nodded. His own smile wavered. “You look just like I thought you would.” “You don’t.” Mike sighed. “Look, Clay. You seem like a real nice guy, but I don’t date fems. Sorry.” He tossed some cash onto the bar, stood, and brushed past Clay without another word. Clay 2

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was left standing there alone, his hopes crushed. I don’t date fems . That was one version of the old “It’s not you, it’s me” speech he hadn’t heard before. Even after he’d had twenty-four hours to get over the hurt and embarrassment that had flooded him, the memory stabbed into his heart, as fresh and sharp as it had at the time. Mike had seemed deeper than the men he usually met, yet he had turned out to be shallower in the end. At least Clay’s normal hookups admitted they were out for looks and sex. Clay had met Mike through a site that purported to be about what was inside. And Mike had sent all those wonderful emails. How could he have turned out to be so very different from what Clay thought he would be? Fem. Am I really that fem? And is that such a bad thing? Yeah, it probably was. His father had hated him for it. His classmates in school had, too. They’d mocked him for everything from his clothing to his voice and mannerisms. He had pretended not to be hurt by their taunts, or by his father’s constant criticisms. He’d developed a bright, flirty, flamboyant persona to hide his reactions, but the shell was brittle, and each rejection cracked it a little bit more. He felt exposed. Raw. At least now Clay knew what was wrong with him. Everything, apparently. He blinked back a sudden rush of unmanly tears. No point in proving what a fem he was by bawling. “Clay? Talk to us, honey.” Ellie’s worried voice jolted Clay out of his depressing thoughts. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, hoping she would take the hint. Not that she ever had before, but still. He would like to be left with some pride. “Spill it, little brother. I need to know if I have to go kick this guy’s ass.” 3

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Rex had always been protective of him. He’d adored his brother for it all through school when having a big, strong football star older brother had been a deterrent to the more physical aspects of bullying at least. But on the heels of Mike calling him fem, the insinuation that he couldn’t take care of his problems himself was the last straw. Clay’s lip trembled. I will not cry. I will not cry. In a halting whisper, he said, “He called me a fem. And he’s right.” Both Ellie and Rex started talking, but Clay tuned them out. He had spent a long time staring at himself in the mirror the night before. It hadn’t taken him long to see how right Mike was. All of his features screamed “gay!” Worse, they screamed, “fem.” His hair, currently dyed black with a few blue streaks for fun, needed to be cut. And dyed back to some normal color. The way his bangs hung over his eyes made him look like a kid. His lips were too full, and his eyelashes were too long. His eyes resembled something out of a Bambi cartoon. After a great deal of reflection, he’d decided his body was the femmest thing about him. At five-eight and one hundred forty pounds he would never be mistaken for a bodybuilder. Or any kind of athlete. His carefully practiced dance moves, and the gracefulness he’d been proud of before, now made him feel stupid and obvious. No wonder none of the men he’d wanted had wanted him back—at least not in any way that counted. Rex’s voice finally cut into Clay’s self-disgust. “Why do you care what that guy thinks?” Clay stared Rex down. “You think he’s right, don’t you?” Ellie put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Honey—” “No, Ellie. I want to hear what Rex thinks.” Clay sat back in his chair and waited. Rex may have tried to defend him from bullies and from their homophobic father, but Clay had always 4

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wondered if Rex secretly thought he was weak. “Damn it.” Rex sighed and slanted a glance at his wife. “Can you let me talk to Clay for a few minutes, baby?” Ellie pouted. “All right. I’ll be back, though.” She stood and leaned over to kiss Clay’s cheek. On the way out the door, she did the same to Rex’s. Rex smiled after her for a few seconds, a sappy expression on his face. Then he seemed to remember what he was supposed to be doing. He focused on Clay, his lips turning down into a frown. “Now, what’s this fem shit all about?” “Like you don’t know.” Clay frowned right back at his brother, not intimidated by his superior height, weight, and strength. “Mike was right. It’s obvious I’m too feminine. Dad thought so, and all the kids at school did, too. Maybe that’s why nobody seems to want me for more than a night or two.” He could hear the bitterness in his tone. Narrowing his eyes, Rex leaned forward. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Clay. Nothing.” “Then why am I alone?” Clay’s voice had risen to a near-shout, but he didn’t care. “Answer that for me. Every guy I’ve dated has left me. There has to be a reason for that!” “Yeah, there is,” Rex snapped back. “You pick the wrong guys, and then you let them treat you like crap!” The words stung, but they were true. Clay put his head in his hands again. “I know. When I meet a guy I like, I either come on way too strong and freak him out, or I get all desperate and let him walk on me.” His head hit the table with a thump. “I’m pathetic.” Rex’s big hand rubbed his shoulder. “You’re not pathetic. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved. And God knows you haven’t had enough of that over the years.” 5

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The oblique reference to their cold, authoritarian father made Clay shiver. Richard Pennington was a big, gruff bear of a man who had doted on his oldest son and barely tolerated his younger one. He’d played sports himself, and couldn’t understand why Clay failed at every sport he tried except for track. Everything Clay had tried to do to make up for his lack of athletic prowess, from band and drama to being on the honor roll, had failed to impress the man. Once Richard found out Clay was gay, his grudging tolerance had turned to outright disgust. Rex had taken exception to his disowning Clay. At Clay’s insistence, Rex still talked to their father on occasion, but the closeness father and son had once had was gone. After a long silence, Clay gathered his courage. It was about time he took charge of his life, but he wasn’t sure Rex would like his methods. He kept his gaze on the table, not ready to look at his brother. “Rex?” “Yeah?” “I’m going on a wilderness expedition.” Silence met his announcement. Clay lifted his head to find Rex gaping at him. Several seconds passed before Rex managed, “What?” “I’m going on a wilderness expedition.” Clay sat up and squared his shoulders. He’d thought about his plan for hours last night instead of sleeping, and he was determined it would work. “I’m tired of people seeing me and thinking they know me. I need to prove to myself that I can do different things, that I can be more than people see.” That I’m not just a fem. “Does that make sense?” “Well, yeah.” His brother raked a hand through his dark auburn hair, his expression caught somewhere between confused and worried. “But you hate camping. And I thought you were going to 6

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the beach.” Clay grimaced at the reminder. Before meeting Mike, he’d planned to go on a trip to the Bahamas for his vacation. The thought of men in swimwear, hot sun, white sand, and cool drinks had been appealing. Now it seemed like one more thing to prove what sort of guy he was. He forced a smile. “Not anymore. No more singles’ trips for me until I get my life together. I really think this is going to help me.” “Okay…” Rex frowned but said nothing more. “So will you help me shop for the stuff I’m going to need?” “You know I will.” Rex stared at him again, and then chuckled. “The wilderness isn’t going to know what hit it.”

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CHAPTER 2 Six weeks later, Clay clambered out of the Wilderness Adventures shuttle carrying only a backpack and a small duffle bag. Instead of the warm, soft breeze off the ocean, hot, humid air surrounded him. Although the shuttle hadn’t been air-conditioned, at least while they were on the road the air had been moving. Standing on the gravel with the sun beating down on him, he wondered if this trip had been such a good idea. His plain dark green T-shirt was already sticking to him. The other men who had ridden in the shuttle climbed out behind him. One of them, a big, mountain man type, whistled. “Fuck, it’s hot.” One of his companions, also big but in a less fit way, snorted. “What’d you expect? You’re the one who dragged me on this 8

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stupid trip.” The first man snapped something back, and the insults flew fast and furious. The two remaining men in their party laughed like hyenas. Clay rolled his eyes. If the rest of the guys here were as mature as this crew, it was going to be a long two weeks. Before an actual fistfight could break out, a tall, thin man with a weather-beaten face strode over. “Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Jim Tanner, director of Wilderness Adventures.” He consulted the clipboard he held. “I’m guessing you all are the Jackson party and the Pennington party?” Mountain man held out a hand. “I’m Don Jackson, and these three clowns are my groomsmen. This is my bachelor party.” Jim offered a hand that looked as tough as jerky and the two men shook. “Nice to meet you, Don, and congratulations. Why don’t you four head on over to cabin five and get settled? Someone will be by to explain things further in a few minutes.” Groom-to-be Don and his buddies gathered their belongings and walked off in the direction Jim had indicated. Jim focused his attention on Clay. “Clay Pennington?” Clay nodded. Jim held out a hand. Clay took it cautiously and received a firm but not crushing handshake. Jim tilted his head toward the scattered cabins. “You’ll be in cabin two. It’s a full house in there, so I hope you don’t mind not getting to choose a bunk.” Which bunk he slept in was the least of Clay’s worries. He shrugged. “I can sleep anywhere.” “That’s a good trait to have on a trip like this.” Jim gave him what was probably a smile, but on his craggy face it was hard to tell. “You’d better get unpacked. We have orientation in an hour, and then dinner.” 9

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“Thanks.” Clay offered a weak smile of his own and headed for cabin two. Weariness dragged at him. The trip had been long and tiring, even without taking his recent nervousness-induced insomnia into account. He ran a hand through his newly shorn locks, dyed back to his natural auburn. He still hadn’t quite gotten used to his hair. When he looked into a mirror he was always surprised for a few seconds. The new, plain clothing he’d selected for the trip didn’t help. Nothing about him felt right. Rex had been skeptical when they went shopping, even after Clay explained that he didn’t want the guys on the expedition judging him by his appearance. Or beating the hell out of him, although he’d refrained from mentioning that possibility to Rex. His brother was skeptical enough about the trip without adding potential beat-downs to the mix. Of course, he hadn’t been able to bulk up or change his facial features, so they would probably judge him no matter what he did. They wouldn’t have the black and blue hair and flamboyant clothing to prove their assumptions right, though. Clay hesitated at the door of cabin two, nerves surging. Finally, he forced himself to tap on the door. At the shouted, “Come in,” he turned the knob and stepped into the small, square room. The interior of the cabin was clean but spare. Three sets of bunk beds filled most of the space, one along each wall. Each bed was made with white sheets and a rough-looking olive drab blanket. Two sets of bunks had bags lying on each of the beds. The last remaining bunk, nearest to the door, had an empty top section. Only one of the five other cabin occupants was in the room. A tall, broad-shouldered man leaned over the bottom section of the bunk nearest the door, rummaging in a duffle bag. He half-turned and nodded over his shoulder at Clay. “Hey.” 10

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“Hey.” Clay smiled a greeting, but the man had already turned back to his task. “Is the top bunk empty?” “Yeah.” Talkative guy. Clay might have tried to start a conversation, but the man’s tone didn’t invite it. Instead, he looked around the room again. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to put his things, not that he’d brought much. Was he supposed to sleep with his backpack? The other man must have read Clay’s mind, because he said, “There’s a rack on the footboard to hang your bags on.” The guy’s tone said duh. Clay’s face heated. “Oh, okay.” A glance at the footboard revealed several large hooks that would be perfect for storing his stuff. “Thanks.” He hung his bags up and clambered up the footboard rails to sit on the top bunk. The mattress was short and hard. At his height, though, a short mattress wouldn’t be much of an issue. The air in the cabin wasn’t that much cooler than the air outside. A fan on the ceiling provided some circulation and a slight breeze, but there was no air conditioning. The temperature might make sleeping tough. He sneaked a glance at the guy who had the bottom half of his bunk. The man was tall, over six feet. The broad shoulders Clay had already noticed tapered to a narrow waist and hips. He wasn’t bulky, but he looked very fit. He had short, dark hair, and from what Clay could see of his face, a forbidding expression. Clay’s examination was interrupted by a sound of loud footsteps outside. The door opened, and three men entered. One appeared to be around fifty, an avid outdoorsman if his tan, leathery face was any indication. The other two were younger, early-to-mid-twenties. They all looked enough alike for Clay to figure them for father and sons. 11

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The older man nodded at Clay and his bunkmate. “Hello.” He held out a hand. “George Blume. These are my sons, Gene and Gary.” Clay’s bunkmate shook George’s hand. “Jonathan Raines. Call me Trent.” Too high up to shake hands, Clay gave the men a little wave. He felt ridiculous as soon as he did it. “I’m Clay Pennington.” George gave him a speculative look and then smiled. “Nice to meet you both.” One of George’s sons snickered. The other one elbowed his brother. Pleasantries observed, all three of them made their way across the room to their beds and set about unpacking. The two younger men started bickering about who would take the top of their father’s bunk and who would be the odd man out. Uninterested, Clay lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. In the heat, lethargy snuck up on him, and he fell into a half-doze. He lay in the relative quiet of the cabin, listening to the soft sounds of the fan stirring the warm air and the distant bickering of the Blume boys. He might have fallen asleep for real, if it hadn’t been for the sound of the door crashing into the wall beside him. He jerked and almost fell off the bed, prompting more muffled laughter from one of the Blume sons. Irritated at himself and the interruption, Clay sat up again. He rubbed at his eyes and frowned down at the newcomer. Was that a mountain man? Clay had to resist the urge to rub his eyes again. The new guy was tall, built like a brick wall, and had a thick, red beard that extended down to his chest. He wore an olive drab T-shirt, camouflage pants, and a heavy pair of boots. When he spoke, his voice boomed out deep and loud. “Hello, all. Ready for orientation?” 12

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The brief reprieve was over. The Blumes left the room, George chatting with the huge mountain man. After a few seconds, Trent followed. Clay clambered down the footboard and hastened after them. He didn’t want to be late to the orientation. The planned activities would be difficult enough without missing some important information. The thought of what was to come made Clay nervous. Maybe he could distract himself with a little conversation. He managed to catch up to Trent and smiled at the taller man. “Have you been to one of these before?” Trent didn’t look at him. “No.” Clay waited, but Trent didn’t elaborate. Once again, his tone held a cool finality that told Clay that was all he had to say on the subject. Despite evidence to the contrary—just thinking about some of the times he’d made a total fool of himself by coming on too strong made Clay’s face burn—he could take a hint. Either Trent didn’t feel like talking, or the man had taken a dislike to him for some reason. Trying to ignore the stab of hurt at the thought, Clay forced another smile and slowed, allowing Trent to walk ahead of him. One thing he’d learned over the years: never let them see they’d hurt you.

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CHAPTER 3 The orientation was short and intimidating. Jim and another outdoorsman-type stood in the front of the dining hall and told them the schedule for the next two weeks. The first few days would be in-camp lessons on safety, using a compass, rock climbing, and wilderness survival. Then everyone would be broken up into pairs and dropped off in the forest with only what they could fit in their backpacks. From there they’d be expected to make their way to a designated meeting place where they would spend the last couple of days relaxing and reflecting on what they had learned. All of that had seemed like a great idea when Clay read about it online. Now he wondered if he had been insane to think he could do this. He might have felt better about the whole thing if he’d 14

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brought Rex, or a friend. Alone among a group of guys who seemed to have done this kind of thing before, he could only hope he didn’t completely humiliate himself. He was happy when dinnertime rolled around, at first. From the limited buffet, Clay selected grilled chicken, vegetables, and a piece of bread. Not exactly haute cuisine, but edible. When he looked around the dining room for a place to sit, he felt like the new kid at school. Nobody glanced at him. It looked like dinner would continue in the same confidence-crushing vein as his introduction to his cabin-mates had. Everyone seemed to be grouped into little cliques already. He found a spot at the end of a table, across from the red-haired mountain man, and moved toward it. “Is this seat taken?” “Naw. Have a seat, son.” Clay put his tray down and started to eat. Conversations swirled around him, something about GPS units, the best rappelling equipment, and the best places to camp. Since he didn’t know much about the topics, Clay sat in silence. No one attempted to engage him in conversation. *

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Clay’s feeling of isolation grew over the next few days. Without the false bravado and mask of silly flirtatiousness he wore when he went out to clubs and on dates, he didn’t know how to relate to the other men. None of the guys he was surrounded by showed any indication that they would welcome flirting from him—or even friendship. Everyone seemed to be either in a group, or a manly-man survivalist type. The only exception was Trent, who Clay couldn’t figure out at all. The man had come alone and 15

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acted like he wanted to stay that way. He rarely spoke, and Clay often noticed him staring off into the distance, his expression bleak. Clay wanted to find out why Trent had come, what had put that darkness in his eyes, but after being rebuffed the first time he’d tried to speak to him Clay wasn’t prepared to try again. Clay spent all of his limited free time alone, either in his bunk or wandering the grounds. Fortunately, most of the time he was in class, which didn’t leave him much time to dwell on his loneliness. The first class, the safety lesson, went well. He had no trouble understanding the first aid, and his CPR certification was current, so he was able to help demonstrate the technique on a dummy. The other classes didn’t go as well. Using a compass was frustrating. Climbing on the camp’s climbing wall went okay, but doing it on an actual rock face turned out to be torture. He had a hard time finding the places to put his hands and feet that the other men seemed to be able to find instinctively, and he fell several times. Dangling in his harness with the others watching made him feel stupid and useless. The worst part was the snickers he heard from the Blumes and a few other men whose names he didn’t know. Every night when he lay on his hard, uncomfortable bed, Clay wondered what the hell he thought he was doing. He could be sitting on a beach drinking fruity tropical cocktails and hitting on sexy cabana boys. Instead, he was here proving something to himself. Too bad the only thing he was proving so far was that everyone was right about him. He wasn’t good at anything except being a temporary playmate for men who would soon grow bored with him. On the fourth day, the men from all the cabins gathered outside in preparation for the wilderness drop-off. Clay had spent a long 16

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time the night before choosing what he would put in his backpack. He’d packed with care, using the information he’d found online about the best way to pack. The only thing he didn’t have was a tent. That would be provided by Wilderness Adventures. Clay stood at the edge of the pack of men, near the other occupants of his cabin. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and tried to breathe normally. Maybe this wouldn’t be terrible. There had to be other guys here who were by themselves. A flashback of praying not to be picked last in gym class disrupted his attempts to calm himself. Who was he kidding? After his epic failures at the most important parts of training, why would anyone choose him? If they hadn’t even bothered to speak to him at dinner, they sure as hell wouldn’t want to be stuck with him for a weeklong endurance test. This was going to be awful. Jim got everyone’s attention and began separating the men into twos. Each pair of “wilderness buddies”—a name that made Clay want to snicker—got a tent, a map, a compass, and a personal locator beacon and reported to one of the vans. The vans would take them as far as the helicopter that would drop them off in a remote location. The ranks grew thinner and thinner, and Clay’s heart started pounding. He glanced around, hoping to see someone else who needed a partner. The only singles he noticed were in his own cabin group. A few feet away, one of the younger Blumes whined, “It’s not fair. I was supposed to go with Dad.” “Oh, shut up,” the other son muttered. “I won the draw fair and square.” The first one wasn’t finished. He cast a narrow-eyed glare around him and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not getting stuck with 17

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that little fag.” Clay sucked in a breath. That little fag. Me. The other man couldn’t be referring to anyone else. Heat flooded his face. What was he doing? He’d dyed his hair back to his natural color and dressed as plainly as he could. He’d tried to act like everyone else. All for nothing. He was still a fem little fag. A fem little fag that tried too hard, and cared too much, and everyone knew it. Tears of humiliation prickled behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would not show his hurt in front of all these judgmental people. Whichever Blume had spoken turned to Trent and offered an ingratiating grin. “Hey, man, want to be my partner?” The stare Trent leveled at the man could have frozen a volcano. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and shook his head. “No. I’d rather have the little fag than the big asshole.” Clay’s mouth fell open. Trent had defended him. Sort of. But why? The man didn’t even like him. He’d acted like Clay had the plague the couple of times he’d tried to speak to him. Before Clay could turn the thought over in his mind enough times to make sense of it, Trent was standing beside Clay. He didn’t smile. His gray eyes remained narrowed and glacial, although that could have been directed at Blume. “Partners?”

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CHAPTER 4 Big, dark doe eyes peered up at Trent, surprised, confused, and wary. Trent knew he had put the wariness there with his previous coldness toward the man, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now. All he could do was make sure Clay didn’t wind up as Gene Blume’s partner. He wouldn’t wish that obnoxious prick on his worst enemy. After several long, tense seconds, Clay nodded. Voice subdued, he murmured, “All right.” “Good.” Trent remained beside the smaller man as other pairs were herded into vans. They ended up going last, which was fine with Trent. That meant a less crowded ride, and fewer opportunities for people to talk to him. Neither he nor Clay said a word. The other pair in the van chatted to each other rather than 19

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trying to involve him or Clay in conversation. He was grateful for their inattention. He sat back and closed his eyes. So far, this trip wasn’t working out quite the way he’d planned, and pairing up with Clay wasn’t going to help. He wanted to take this time to be alone, to recenter himself, not be distracted—and his partner was a hell of a distraction. Slim, tight body, soft, pretty lips, sharp, masculine jawline and cheekbones, those sweet doe eyes… It was almost like someone had catalogued the set of features that would be most tempting to Trent and put them all together in one sexy little package. He was way too fucked up to deal with this right now. He rubbed a hand over his face. Had asking Clay to be his partner been a huge mistake? Everything was so close to the surface. He needed more time to build his shell up again, to remember who he was. He should have asked that big Grizzly Adams type to be his partner. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about doing or saying something he shouldn’t. As if to underscore his thoughts, the van lurched. Unprepared, Trent bounced in his seat. He opened his eyes just in time to catch Clay’s upper arms as the smaller man tilted toward him. He stared into those sweet dark eyes for a moment, caught. Then a red flush spread up Clay’s neck and across his cheekbones, and his gaze shifted to the floor. “I’m so sorry.” Trent kept his hold on Clay’s arms—surprisingly well-muscled for how slim they were—until he was sure the other man was steady. “No problem.” Clay’s lips twitched up in a fleeting half smile. He resettled himself on his side of the seat. Before either of them could say anything more, the van 20

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stopped. The driver, another one of the leathery, older guys that seemed to be the norm here, turned around to face them. “Sorry about that, guys. We’re at the lift point. The helicopter will take you to a clearing, where you’ll be dropped off. The maps you got before we left will tell you how to get from the dropoff point to base camp. Use your compasses, and pay attention to landmarks. If you get lost or hurt, activate the PLB and rescuers will come to you. I want to emphasize, though, that you do not activate that PLB unless you have an emergency. Got it?” Everyone nodded. One of the guys in the middle seat snorted. “PLBs are for pussies. I ain’t activating that thing for nothin’.” His partner rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You skin your knee and you’re going to want to use it.” Arguing and pushing each other in good-natured, manly fashion, the two exited the van. “I guess they’re going first.” Clay paused, a little smirk appearing on his face. “At least we don’t have to stay with them.” The comment surprised a laugh out of Trent, who hadn’t heard Clay talk much. Not since I was such a dick to him. “Yeah, we dodged a bullet there.” Clay’s smirk shifted to a real smile, and for an instant his face was transformed from cute to something much more. Then he seemed to remember himself. The smile faded. He shifted his backpack from the seat to his back. “We’d better get going.” Trent let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding and followed his “wilderness buddy” out of the van. This was going to be torture. *

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He and Clay were completely silent on the short helicopter trip to their dropoff point. He tried to tell himself the noise of the rotor was the reason for their silence, but he knew better. He’d been acting like an antisocial jerk since he arrived. He wasn’t sure how to stop now, or if he even wanted to. It would be safer for both of them if he kept the distance between them. He didn’t know how to do anything else, really. Not anymore. Too soon, they landed. Clay hopped out and moved away from the helicopter. Trent nodded at the pilot and climbed out. As soon as he was safely away, the helicopter took off. They were alone. Once the sound of the chopper’s blades faded, the sounds of nature reasserted themselves. Birds sang and chirped. Insects buzzed. A soft breeze ruffled Trent’s hair and rustled the leaves. The air felt less oppressive than it had been at base camp, a welcome relief. Trent closed his eyes and savored the wind and the sun. It had been so long since he’d been able to stop and just breathe. Eight long months. His moment of calm was interrupted by the rustle of paper next to him. He opened his eyes and slanted a glance at Clay, who had unfolded their map and was studying it. Trent moved closer and peered at the detailed map. Clay deferred to him immediately. “What’s the plan?” Trent ran a finger down the map from their current location to their destination. “Looks like we need to make our way northwest for now, so we don’t have to deal with that gulley.” He pointed at the paper. “Afterward, we can angle east again. We shouldn’t have any problem hitting the rendezvous point in a week.” “Okay.” Clay held out the compass. “Maybe you should take this. I sucked at it during training.” 22

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Their fingers brushed as Trent took the compass from Clay. A tingle of electricity ran through him at the brief contact. He shook it off and tried to sound unaffected. “I’ll get us on the right track, but I’ll need you to help me make sure we don’t go off course.” Clay nodded. “Let’s go.” *

*

*

Once he was certain they were headed in the right direction, Trent set off at a brisk pace. The moment he stepped into the shade of the forest, the temperature dropped. Without the bright sunshine beating down on him, the light breeze did a good job of cooling him. He knew it would get quite a bit colder as they climbed in elevation, especially at night, but right now the cooler air was soothing. So was the sound of birdsong, and the rustle of wildlife. He sucked in a deep breath. The scents of pine, rich soil, and rushing water filled his nostrils. He took another deliberate breath, held it in as he walked. After months of city sounds, accompanied by air heavy with smog, body odor, cigarette smoke, and cheap colognes and perfumes, he felt almost like he was truly able to breathe for the first time in a long, long time. The relief of it loosened muscles he hadn’t known he held tense. He wanted to stop, to lie in the grass and leaves and dirt and feel the earth moving beneath him. Only the thought that Clay would think he was crazy kept him from following his inclination. Enough people already worried about his sanity. He didn’t need to add another. He strode through the forest, trying to pick the least obstructed paths. He held the branches for Clay, who followed close behind him. The other man didn’t try to speak to him, a fact for which he 23

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was grateful. He wasn’t ready to have his sense of solitude shattered. Clay’s quiet, undemanding presence didn’t infringe on it. Trent’s feet got into a rhythm of their own design. The chaotic thoughts in his mind began to clear. Everything fell away—all the stress, the confusion, the anger, the helplessness he had been feeling over the past months. Here he didn’t have to be anything, or anyone. He could just be. If only that could last.

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CHAPTER 5 As evening approached, Clay trudged behind Trent, exhausted. They’d covered a lot of ground, thanks to the punishing pace Trent had set, but Clay was too tired to feel a sense of accomplishment. He’d used up his energy keeping up with Trent’s longer legs. He hadn’t said a word in an effort to prove he could keep up. He wondered if he would regret his stoicism later. The day hadn’t been bad, per se, just tiring. And quiet. Trent had barely said a word to him all day, even during their short rest periods. Clay didn’t think the man was trying to ignore him though, or be mean. Trent had worn a thoughtful expression for much of the day. His body language had become more relaxed, less wary and standoffish with every step they took away from the drop off point. Clay had watched Trent’s shoulders loosen, his 25

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movements turning from purposeful strides to a slower pace that included brief pauses to take in the scenery. He’d also made sure to hold the branches he passed through so they didn’t snap back and hit Clay, a small but thoughtful gesture Clay chose to see as a positive sign. Trent stopped abruptly. Clay nearly ran into him but managed to stop in time. Before he could ask what was wrong, Trent turned. “This looks like a good place to set up camp for the night. Are you ready to stop?” Ready? Clay had been ready for an hour or more. He glanced around the clearing they stood in, noting the wide dirt patch they could use for a fire, and the flat area that would be perfect for the tent. “Yeah, okay. This spot looks good.” “Great.” Trent took off his pack and detached the tent from the bottom. “If you’ll go gather up some wood, I’ll put up the tent and get some rocks for a fire pit.” Clay nodded. He took off his pack and set it beside Trent’s. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The air was already beginning to cool. Clay’s T-shirt, which had been more than warm enough for hiking in the daytime, now felt inadequate. It didn’t help that he was sweaty. He hurried back into the woods and gathered up an armload of wood. Two trips later, Clay thought he had enough wood to last for a while. He came back to the clearing. Now it looked like a real campsite. Trent had set up the tent and made a triple ring of rocks for around the fire, obviously not wanting to take chances. The big man knelt beside the fire ring, a stick in each hand. In the waning light, Trent blended in with his surroundings in a way Clay knew he never would. Trent belonged here. Clay…didn’t. A surge of homesickness hit at the thought. Clay cursed 26

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himself for his weakness. There was no backing out now. He was stuck out here until he and Trent made it to the rendezvous point. All he could do would be to try not to make a huge fool of himself until then. He brought the last of the wood he had gathered and dropped it on the pile. “Do you need any help?” Trent didn’t even glance up. He shook his head. “Got it under control.” The dismissive tone was back. Clay cleared his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “Okay.” He grabbed his pack and headed for the tent. Trent had set the two-man ultralight tent up about fifteen feet from the fire pit. Clay stopped and stared at the small fabric enclosure. He hadn’t realized until just that moment how tiny the tent would be. Granted, he wasn’t a big guy, but Trent was. There wouldn’t be much room between their sleeping bags. For once, he was grateful for his size. Being pressed up against Trent sounded appealing, but he doubted the reality would live up to any fantasy he could come up with. It wasn’t as if Trent would be snuggling up to him or anything. With a sigh, Clay shook off his silly thoughts and busied himself storing his bag in the small storage area and getting out the supplies he would need for later. Rex had helped him pick out a light, collapsible camp stove. It could work with a fire or with a small amount of fuel, which would be great for when they couldn’t get a fire going, or didn’t want to. Putting the stove together took no time at all. He rummaged in his backpack for one of the freeze dried meals he’d put together and packaged into storage bags. All he had to do, according to the websites he’d consulted, was add hot water and wait ten to fifteen minutes. Since he had gotten water from a stream they’d passed 27

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earlier and put it into his water bottle with built-in filter, he should be good to go. Across the clearing, a small fire crackled to life. Trent sat back on his heels, a proud smile playing across his lips. Clay’s own lips tilted up involuntarily at the sight. He gave himself a mental smack. Do not fall for this guy. Crushing on a butch straight guy would be a disaster waiting to happen. He’d had enough of falling for the wrong guys. Maybe it was time to come to terms with being alone. Being alone was better than being treated like a trick. Or finding out the guy thought he was too fem. With a sigh, he picked out a meal and took the stove over to the fire. After the long day they’d had, a hot meal would be nice. Just getting off his feet was a plus. His new hiking boots were hell despite his extra-thick socks. Trent glanced over at him. “You brought a stove?” Clay nodded. He held up his plastic bag of freeze-dried chicken teriyaki with rice, prepared for criticism. Someone like Trent would probably think he was a pussy for not wanting to go without hot food. The other man surprised him. “The stove looks light. And it must pack down small.” Pleased but still cautious, Clay murmured, “It doesn’t even weigh half a pound.” “Wow.” Trent moved closer to examine the stove. “I didn’t think of a stove. I brought dried stuff, and energy bars, but I’m going to be pretty damned tired of those by the end of the week.” He gave Clay a rueful shrug and a half smile. “It’s a good thing I like beef jerky and dried fruit.” Rex had insisted Clay pack more food than he needed, just in 28

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case. For once Clay was glad of his brother’s overprotective tendencies. He indicated his bag of food. “My brother got a little overzealous helping me pack. There’s way more than one serving in here. I’d be happy to share. It’s chicken teriyaki.” His voice trailed off at the end. A long, awkward moment in which Clay was way more nervous than he should have been passed before Trent answered. “Thanks. I’d like that, but only if you’ll share some of my stuff.” Clay grinned and set up the stove to heat the water. *

*

*

Clay woke to cold, gloomy predawn with pressure in his bladder and a morning erection. Inches away from him, Trent slept on, his sinfully long lashes and the tiny smile he wore making him look younger and softer. Clay’s morning erection liked the sight. A lot. Cursing under his breath, Clay slid out of his sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. As he looked for a place to relieve both his pressing problems, he thought about the previous night. He and Trent hadn’t talked much, but they’d shared the chicken teriyaki straight out of the bag, Clay using the one fork he’d brought and Trent using Clay’s spoon. Then they’d eaten some of Trent’s dried fruit for dessert. There had been a lot of long silences, but Clay hadn’t felt awkward. Sitting together staring into the fire had felt almost companionable. Clay had gone to bed a short while later, after Trent promised he could take care of the fire on his own. Any worries Clay had about being able to sleep had proven unfounded. He’d been so exhausted he’d fallen asleep the moment he got into his sleeping 29

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bag. Once Clay found a place with enough privacy where he didn’t think he’d be hurting anything, he willed his erection to subside. Thinking of his humiliating meeting with Mike did the trick, and Clay was able to relieve himself. Business taken care of, Clay returned to camp and stripped off his shirt for a quick rubdown with a sanitizing wet-cloth. He had packed extra clothing, planning to wash each set when he could, so he pulled on a clean shirt. Feeling self-conscious despite the lack of an audience, he hurried out of his pants and boxers, finished his improvised bath, and redressed. He felt better at least partially clean and in fresh clothing. Refreshed, he got out the stove. Dawn was beginning to break on the horizon. It was way too early to be up without coffee. The water was boiling when Trent pushed open the tent flap and squinted out at him. By the looks of him, Trent wasn’t a morning person. Clay decided to head off a potential bad mood. “If you grab your mug, I have coffee.” Trent closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Bless you.” Clay laughed. *

*

*

As it turned out, morning was the only time Clay laughed, or even smiled, all day. A light drizzle began as they broke down the campsite, and continued throughout the day. Trent’s mood seemed to sour as they hiked through the cold, wet forest. Once again, he set a brutal pace, apparently not noticing how Clay struggled to keep up with his longer legs. Any attempts Clay made at conversation were answered with monosyllables, or not at all, until 30

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Clay gave up. Then, at the end of the day, a crack of thunder sounded and the sky opened up. Hard, cold rain poured down through the trees. Clay was grateful for the protection they provided, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from getting wet. Within seconds his hair was plastered to his head and his clothing was well on the way to soaked. “Damn it!” Trent’s angry curse broke the silence for the first time in hours. “There’s a clearing up ahead. We should be able to camp there.” He broke into a jog. “Wai—” Clay tried to say, but it was too late. The other man was too far ahead to hear him unless he yelled. Muttering curses of his own, he rushed to follow. Thunder pealed again, and the rain came down even harder. The icy drops pelted his skin. When Clay looked up, Trent had disappeared from sight. A sudden burst of panic filled Clay. Trent wouldn’t have left him, would he? “Trent! Wait up!” The irrational fear of being left alone in the forest sent Clay into a headlong run. He raced up a hill. At the crest he saw the clearing Trent had mentioned. He could see Trent standing under a rock overhang. The sight of shelter, and Trent, loosened the tight knot that had formed in his chest. He wasn’t alone. In a few minutes he might even be warm and dry. He smiled from sheer relief. Then his feet hit something slick. He slipped, and the toe of one boot caught on an exposed tree root. He barely had time to be startled before he pitched forward. His palms hit first. A searing pain tore through his left palm, and then he was on his face in the mud. 31

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CHAPTER 6 The torrential downpour was the last straw, as far as Trent was concerned. He hadn’t slept much the night before, kept awake by bad memories and bad dreams. Already predisposed to be in a crappy mood, the drizzle and Clay’s attempts at conversation had finished the job. He knew he’d acted like an asshole all day, and probably hurt Clay’s feelings, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t want to talk. He’d had enough of that with the shrink his bosses had sent him to after he got back. This little forced vacation was supposed to help him remember what was important, and remind him who he was. Instead, the wilderness trip he had intended for quiet reflection was turning into yet another opportunity for him to brood and dwell on things. Trent had always prided himself on the tight control he exerted 32

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over himself, both emotionally and physically. Now his control was shot to hell. He couldn’t seem to rein in the anger, guilt, and paranoia that had plagued him for more than eight months now. Even his body didn’t obey him. After months of hyper-vigilance brought on by the environment he’d been living in, he couldn’t relax. He jumped at random sounds. Sleep was elusive. The stress and exhaustion weighed him down. When the sky let loose, Trent’s anger spiked. The perfect end to a shitty day. Cursing, he snarled something at Clay and ran for a clearing he thought he’d spotted up ahead. Not only was there a clearing, but it was bordered on one side by a rock face with a large overhang. Trent made a run for it. Out of the pounding rain, he had a chance to think. And noticed he was alone. “Where the hell is he?” he muttered aloud. He couldn’t see Clay anywhere. For a few seconds, all he saw was rain. Then Clay crested the small hill. Trent had about half an instant to be relieved before Clay stumbled and hit the ground, face first. “Shit!” Trent raced back out into the rain. By the time he reached Clay’s side, the other man had struggled to his knees. Trent dropped to a crouch beside him. “Are you okay?” Big dark eyes met his gaze, clouded with stunned confusion and what looked like pain. “I don’t know.” Clay turned his palms up to the rain. The rushing water washed away mud, grime, and streaks of bright red. “Fuck. You’re bleeding.” Without thinking, Trent caught Clay’s hand and pulled it closer. “You’ve got a gash.” Clay yanked his hand away and cradled it to his chest. “It’s fine. I just need to clean it off.” 33

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“Maybe you should let me—” Those Bambi eyes narrowed. Clay stared darkly at him. His voice low and shaky, he ground out, “Let you what? Help me? You’ve made it clear you can barely tolerate me.” His bitter laugh struck Trent like an arrow. “I guess I can see why. I don’t belong here. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I should have gone to the beach and been some older guy’s vacation trick. That seems to be all I’m good for.” He stood and trudged toward the rock overhang, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around his stomach. Every step telegraphed misery. Trent sat back on his heels and stared after the smaller man. He’d fucked that up. Big time. Obviously he wasn’t the only one here for a reason. And thanks to Trent—at least in part—Clay thought of himself as a failure. Considering the total dickhead of a survival partner Clay had been saddled with, Trent thought the other man was doing well. Most people wouldn’t have been able to deal with Trent’s moods as well as Clay had, or keep up with the pace he’d set. Which was too fast and too hard, and he never complained. Fuck. Someone must have told Clay that because he was small, and gay, and not hyper-masculine, he wasn’t as much of a man. Trent had spent months in an environment like that himself, and he’d come out paranoid and posturing. If he was ever going to get his life back, his real life, he had to stop acting that way. They couldn’t dictate his behavior anymore. He had some serious apologizing to do. “No time like the present,” he muttered. He pushed up to his feet and turned back toward the clearing. He could set up the tent and get a fire started, and maybe then Clay would let him look at that cut. 34

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At the edge of the clearing, he stopped dead. Clay stood under the overhang, stripped down to his boxers. He was scrubbing himself with soap, using the water pouring down from the edge of the rock as an improvised shower. Trent had expected Clay to be skinny under his T-shirt and flannel, but he wasn’t. Trent would have described him as more lean than skinny. His arms, chest, and waist were slim, but even from a distance Trent could see he had wiry muscles. Trent crept closer, drinking in the sight of smooth, pale skin, wet and streaked with soap suds. It took every ounce of control he could muster not to walk right over there and run his hands over that beautiful skin. Clay would probably deck him if he tried. Instead, he forced himself to walk past Clay and set the tent up in the shadow of the big rock face. With the rocks on one side and trees on the other, at least they’d be protected from the wind. The tent seemed pretty waterproof. They’d find out soon enough if the rain didn’t let up. Getting a fire started would be a lot harder. Maybe there would be some dry wood beneath the rock overhang. That would mean walking past Clay and testing his willpower again. He told himself to quit being a baby and made his way to the overhang. Clay had finished bathing and was sitting on a rock in his wet boxers, holding a T-shirt. When Trent got closer, he could see Clay was scrubbing the shirt together to wash it. He looked up at Trent without smiling. “If you have anything you need washed, I can do it.” The offer made Trent feel worse, if that was possible at this point. No matter how much of a jerk he’d been to Clay, the man kept being nice to him. He didn’t deserve it. “Thanks. I’m going to try to get a fire started. If you’re still washing after I’m done, I may 35

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take you up on that.” Clay nodded and turned his attention back to the shirt. *

*

*

As he’d hoped, Trent found quite a bit of dry wood crammed into the back of the overhang. He started a fire just far enough in to keep the rain from putting it out. Once he had the fire going, he took the opportunity to wash up. He stripped to his underwear, and, taking a cue from Clay, took a very cold shower in the rain. Afterward, refreshed if a bit chilled, he returned to the fire and dug out his camp towel. He dried off as quickly as he could and rubbed at his hair. The sensation of being watched made the back of his neck prickle. He lifted his head to find Clay watching him. Clay’s gaze flicked away so fast Trent would have wondered if he’d imagined it, except for the two streaks of bright red staining Clay’s cheekbones. Embarrassed was an adorable look for him. Adorable? Trent shook his head at his uncharacteristic thoughts, but it was true. Clay was adorable. He wasn’t about to tell the man that, though. Clay would probably take the word as an insult, which wouldn’t be the way Trent meant it at all. After spending months with hardened guys covered in tattoos, piercings, dirt, and hateful attitude, adorable was just what Trent wanted to see. As if to cover his embarrassment, Clay mumbled, “Do you want me to wash your clothes? I’m done with mine.” Trent couldn’t help but smile. “That would be great, thanks.” He handed his dirty clothes over. “Do you want me to get your stove set up for you? And I could get some water boiling for your dinner, if you want.” 36

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“Sure. Thanks.” For a few minutes, they worked in silence. Clay stared down at Trent’s clothes with a single-minded focus not necessary for the task while Trent dressed and got dinner started. Each time Trent sneaked a glance at the other man, Clay was still focused on the laundry. Renewed guilt welled up until Trent couldn’t take it anymore. Their easy camaraderie was ruined once more, thanks to his temper and bad attitude. He cleared his throat when the silence got to be too much. “I owe you an apology.” Clay’s head shot up, his expression half disbelief and half hope. “For what?” “Let’s say being a total asshole this whole time. That should cover it.” Clay let out a surprised bark of laughter. “You haven’t been an asshole the whole time. Just most of it.” Trent laughed, too, relieved Clay seemed willing to accept his apology. He could still salvage this trip, for both of them, if he got himself together. Clay sobered and gnawed on his lower lip. “Why were you? An asshole, I mean.” He paused, frowned. “Not that it’s any of my business.” “No, you deserve to know.” The last thing Trent wanted to do was talk more about what he’d been through for the better part of a year, but Clay really did deserve to know why Trent had been such a dick. And the shrink had said talking about it would be good…With a mental shrug, Trent decided to give Clay a barebones version. “I’m kind of on a forced vacation right now.” “A forced vacation? What does that mean? You didn’t want to come?” Clay leaned forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. 37

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“Sort of. I’m on a month’s leave from work. I chose to come here rather than going somewhere fun because I thought it might help me to get away from everything and everyone.” Trent shrugged. “I originally wanted to go to a camp that put you out in the woods by yourself, but they were all full, so I had to come here.” Clay frowned. “And you got stuck with me.” “That’s not what I meant. Shit.” Trent ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. It had been too long since he’d had to deal with real conversation. “I wanted to be by myself because I knew I had a lot of shit to deal with, and I didn’t want to take it out on anyone else.” That seemed to make Clay feel better. His voice uncertain, he offered, “Okay, I can see that. I can try not to bother you so much if that’ll help.” “That’s not what I want either.” Trent sighed. “I guess what I want is to get back to normal.” Clay’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “I’m not sure I know what that is. I’m here because of my issues, too. We’re a pair, huh?” “A pair of what, that’s the question.” Clay laughed. Trent found himself smiling in response. “Maybe we can help each other. Confession’s good for the soul, right?” In this case, it was highly possible confession would horrify Clay and give him even more reason to dislike Trent. Trent hoped he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake, but he was committed now. His smile faded.

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CHAPTER 7 After the way Trent had acted, the childish part of Clay wanted to make him suffer a bit. He couldn’t bring himself to do that when those gray eyes gazed at him all apologetic and hopeful. Plus, Clay’s curiosity had been piqued by what little Trent had told him so far about his reasons for being at the retreat. He wanted to hear the rest of the story enough to risk sharing his own pitiful tale. “That sounds good.” But maybe not just yet. “Let me finish this. And let’s eat first.” He finished scrubbing Trent’s clothes as best he could and stood to rinse them in the water still pouring from the overhang. “Okay.” Trent refocused on his task. “Looks like your water’s ready.” “Great. Thanks.” Clay put the wet laundry aside to dry and 39

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rummaged in his backpack until he found his last set of clothes. The clean, dry T-shirt, boxers, and jeans made him feel like a new person. He hadn’t realized how grimy he would get just from hiking in the woods. Another example of why I don’t belong here. His growling stomach reminded him he was supposed to be cooking. Without even looking, he grabbed the first meal bag his hand touched. It turned out to be a beef and potato dinner. He opened the bag, poured the water in, and sealed it once more. “That’ll be ready in a few minutes. Do you want to share again?” Trent smiled and shook his head in what looked more like a gesture of amazement than rejection of Clay’s offer. “I’ve been such a dick to you, and yet you keep being nice to me. I would have punched me in the face. You’re offering to share dinner.” Smiling, Trent was downright dangerous. The man had to have women falling all over him. Clay shrugged. “That’s the way I am. I guess I’m just a pushover.” “No, you’re not. You take care of people. You’re a good person.” Trent’s smile turned wistful. “I haven’t been around too many of those lately. It’s…nice.” Clay couldn’t detect any shred of mocking or sarcasm in Trent’s voice. The man really meant his words. Warmth crept up his neck and cheeks, and Clay busied himself getting out his utensils. They worked quietly for a few minutes after that. Trent dragged a log over near the fire to sit on and got out trail mix and jerky for them to share. Clay opened the finished beef and potato dinner. The silence continued as they ate. Silence tended to make Clay uncomfortable. He had an embarrassing habit of rambling on the second it got quiet. He cringed just thinking of some of the 40

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idiotic things he’d blurted out of nervousness. For once he managed to restrain himself. Trent would talk when he was ready. Clay wasn’t sure he was ready to talk himself. At least not without making a fool of himself, which he thought he’d already done enough of for one day. “This stuff is pretty good,” Trent remarked as he ate the last spoonful of his portion of the beef and potatoes. “Thank you for sharing with me.” Once again Trent’s face held genuine appreciation. Where was the surly man who had ignored Clay all day? For a second, Clay wanted to ask if Trent had been replaced with a pod person. Instead, he offered a slight smile. “It’s no problem. I had extra.” He shrugged. “It’s something to me.” A shadow seemed to pass over Trent’s face. Then it was gone, before Clay could be certain he’d seen it at all. “Will you let me look at your hand?” In spite of a ridiculous urge to hide his hand and insist he was fine, Clay nodded and held his arm out. Trent took Clay’s hand and tilted it toward the fire. His forehead creased. “This doesn’t look good. I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me bandage it.” Clay leaned closer to peer at his palm. He’d washed the jagged gash with his camp soap, but maybe that wasn’t good enough. His palm still throbbed and it looked red and kind of swollen. “Okay.” With a gentleness that surprised him, Trent swabbed his hand with an alcohol wipe. When he hissed at the burn, Trent blew cool air over the stinging flesh. Trent glanced up at Clay, his eyes soft with some emotion Clay couldn’t identify. “Sorry.” “S’okay,” Clay muttered. Trent was smoothing antibiotic cream over the cut with his fingertips. The cool cream soothed the throbbing in Clay’s hand, but the way Trent’s fingers trailed over 41

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the sensitive skin of his palm was starting a throbbing somewhere a lot lower. Clay closed his eyes and tried to focus on something else. Anything else. It didn’t work. Without the distraction of sight, he was hyper-aware of Trent’s touch. And his warmth. The bigger man had leaned in close, his head lowered to see what he was doing, and he radiated heat. Clay sucked in a deep breath. He only succeeded in pulling Trent’s scent deep into his lungs. Whatever soap Trent had used must have been unscented, because he smelled like rainwater with a hint of smoke, and clean male skin. Clay opened his eyes when he started to get the urge to bury his face in Trent’s hair and breathe him in. Trent was staring at him. Feeling the telltale heat in his cheeks signaling a blush, he started to babble. “I must have put my hand down on a sharp rock or something when I tried to catch myself earlier. The trail got really slippery when it started raining so hard. And there were tree roots and stuff all over the place. I should have been watching where I was going.” He would have kept talking, probably forever, if Trent hadn’t interrupted. “And I ran off without you. I’m sorry about that.” Trent turned his attention back to Clay’s hand in order to tape a square of gauze over the cut. “That should keep it from getting infected. But we’ll have to change it every night to make sure.” Clay’s face felt like it was on fire. He was glad he couldn’t see himself. If only Trent couldn’t see him either… He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Trent didn’t release Clay’s hand. His thumb brushed back and forth across Clay’s palm a few times in what felt suspiciously like a caress. But it couldn’t be. Clay extricated his hand and let it drop to his 42

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lap, trying not to be disappointed at the loss of Trent’s touch. Trent’s shoulders seemed to slump then, and he stared into the fire for a while. He looked remote, and more than a little lost. Clay wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he didn’t. He kept busy instead. He broke down the stove and tidied up the dishes. The quiet wore on him, and he wondered if Trent would be Jekyll or Hyde when he came back from wherever he’d gone in his mind. Accustomed to noise and chatter pretty much all the time, Clay found it hard not to get jittery surrounded by nothing more than the crackling fire and animal and insect sounds. He had to bite his tongue to keep from babbling again. He thought about the humiliating time he’d asked a guy to tie him up and spank him. That killed the urge to blurt out something. He’d been on another disastrous singles’ trip, to Disney World on that occasion, and met a huge, muscular guy named Quinn. Although he’d been attracted to the man right away, what he thought would be an irresistibly kinky come-on had horrified the sweet, shy Quinn. Later, Clay had realized that his approach had made Quinn think he was mocking him, and had really hurt the man. Clay still felt bad about that. Needless to say, he’d learned a lesson about coming on too strong and saying the first thing that came to mind. He’d finished cleaning up and was brushing his teeth when Trent seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. Trent frowned at the now-organized area. “I’m not pulling my weight around here tonight, am I?” Rather than attempt to talk with a mouthful of toothpaste, Clay rinsed and spit. “You looked like you were doing some heavy thinking, so I cleaned up. No big deal.” “Heavy thinking. You could call it that.” Trent sighed. “I guess 43

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I’d better tell you what the hell my problem has been, before I lose my nerve. I pretty much suck at the whole talking thing.” Clay bit back a sarcastic I noticed and settled for, “I usually suck at listening, so just do your best.” That surprised a laugh out of Trent. “I can do that.” “Go for it.” Clay tried for an encouraging smile and thought he was successful. Trent seemed reassured, if the way his face relaxed was any indication. “Okay.” Trent’s mirth faded, and he turned back toward the fire. Clay had the feeling he needed some distance to get the story out. Trent squared his shoulders, as if girding himself, and began. “I work in law enforcement. ATF. My job’s usually pretty tedious. Interviewing witnesses and suspects, slogging through bags and bags of crap that turns out not to be useful evidence, paperwork. Nothing like you see in the movies, you know?” Clay didn’t want to interrupt, so he nodded to show he was listening. Trent’s lips quirked up. “Anyway, my boss comes to me one day and says he’s got a job for me. He wants me to go undercover. They’ve got an in with this gang, real bad guys, drugs and sex trafficking and all kinds of bad shit. All I have to do is get in there for a few weeks, maybe a month, to get the evidence they need to arrest the fuckers.” An undercover cop? A federal agent, no less. No wonder Trent was moody. He had to have seen things Clay wouldn’t want to imagine. “I’m guessing it didn’t turn out that way.” Trent shook his head. “Not even close. They set up a persona for me. I was Jonny Trent, thug, drug dealer, and general badass. I had a rep for doing what needed to be done. It didn’t take me long to get in with some of the big guys.” Trent raked a hand through 44

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his dark hair. Hints of gold glinted in the firelight. Clay didn’t have any trouble seeing the granite-faced man in front of him as a badass gangster. “They gave me a few jobs to prove I’m loyal. Make some deliveries, sell some stuff, beat the shit out of some guys that have pissed them off. Thank God they didn’t ask me to kill anyone. Still, I did some things I didn’t want to do. And it just kept dragging on and on. My contact kept telling me they needed more. And pretty soon I’m not talking to him anymore.” Clay was sure his eyes had to be the size of dinner plates. “How long were you in?” “Eight months.” How could a good man, a cop, pretend to be one of the lowlife scum he was trying to bust for eight months? It had to have been hell. Another realization hit, and with it a cold wash of horror. “You could have been killed.” A shrug. “I knew that going in, but somebody had to stop them. They were hurting a lot of people.” Trent paused to stare into the fire some more. Obviously a lot more had happened than what he’d told, though. Clay couldn’t let him leave the story there. “So what happened?” “I finally got in with the leader’s right hand man. Everyone called him RJ. By that point, I’d started to get lost. I hadn’t talked to my contact in weeks, and I was having a hard time separating myself from Jonny. It sounds fucked up. It is fucked up, I know. But I had to live and breathe Jonny so I wouldn’t get made, and after a while I just sort of was him. Does that make sense?” Trent glanced up at last. His gaze caught Clay’s and held. Pleading for understanding? The look tugged at Clay’s heart. He took a risk and touched Trent’s shoulder. “Yeah, actually. You 45

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did what you had to do to survive, and do your job.” “Maybe. I don’t know anymore.” Trent didn’t move away from Clay’s touch. He sighed. When he started speaking again, the words tumbled over each other like a waterfall of guilt and recriminations. “The reason I got in with RJ was because of a girl. I’d been in a couple of months when I hooked up with her. She was a stripper at one of the gang’s clubs. They called her Crystal, but that wasn’t her real name. They called her that because all she cared about was crystal meth. She hadn’t been there long, so she still looked good. Most methheads don’t. All the guys wanted her, especially RJ. For some reason she took a liking to me. I’m supposed to be this thug, so I can’t tell her to get off the drugs and send her home. I have to let her keep smoking meth and tweaking out. “At a party once, everyone was watching me and I had to do some with her. I managed to fake it for the most part, but a couple of the guys were right there with me. I had to really take a small hit for show. It was horrible. I felt like I wasn’t in control of anything. I did some shit that night I don’t even want to think about.” A little shudder went through Trent’s whole frame, and he dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus,” Clay breathed. He no longer had to wonder why Trent had seemed so cold and closed off when they met. Eight months undercover, surrounded by men who would have killed him if they knew who he really was, would mess anyone up. Trent shifted under his hand, and Clay realized he was rubbing Trent’s shoulder. His first instinct was to jerk his hand away. He almost did. But Trent wasn’t trying to pull away. The man probably needed the comfort, even though he would never admit it. Clay left his hand where it was. 46

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Voice muffled, Trent continued without lifting his head. “After that, things went to hell. RJ started asking me to do things for him. He trusted me completely. He started treating me like a buddy. And one day I just forgot he was the enemy. Fuck.” Trent made a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper. “He’d come over to my apartment to drink and hang out every few days. Toward the end, I found out he had a thing for Crystal. She came in tweaking while we were sitting there drinking, and the next thing I know the three of us are in bed together. God, the whole thing was so messed up. Looking back, I can’t believe I did any of it. It’s like somebody else did that stuff, and I was just watching.” Trent sat up abruptly. His face was tight, his eyes tortured. “They raided us a couple of weeks later, arrested everyone. Me included. I fought like hell. They thought I was doing it for show. I wasn’t. After they debriefed me and all the standard shit, the only thing I could think of was how I’d fucked over RJ and the other guys. Worrying about a bunch of murdering drug dealers. Pretty fucked up, huh?” Everything about Trent, from his body language to his expression, telegraphed wariness and self-disgust. He expected Clay to be horrified, to reject him. As if. Clay had been rejected too many times himself to do that to somebody else. He squeezed Trent’s shoulder. “Maybe, but understandable. No matter how bad they were, they were Jonny’s friends. You lived as him for eight months. That’s a long time.” “Too long,” Trent murmured. He shifted toward Clay. It was a slight movement, but enough for Clay to notice. His heart beat faster. He moved like two inches. It means nothing. Chill. Still, Trent’s shoulder brushed Clay’s arm, warm and solid. Strong. 47

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Clay let out a slow breath and forced himself to focus on the issue at hand. “It really sucks that they put you in for all that time after they told you it would be a month or less.” “Yeah, but it happens. I knew the risk when I signed on.” Trent shrugged. He shifted his gaze from the fire to Clay. His lips turned up in a tiny smile. “I thought the shrink they sent me to was full of shit when he kept saying I needed to talk about what happened, but you know what? I do feel better. Thanks for listening.” In spite of his mixed emotions, Clay smiled. He was glad to have helped Trent, even a little. On the other hand, Trent would expect to hear his story now, and it was nowhere near as heroic as Trent’s. Clay sighed. “I guess it’s my turn now.” He was so not looking forward to this.

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CHAPTER 8 Trent couldn’t seem to stop smiling. A heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d told his story—the whole story—and Clay hadn’t been repulsed. Well, at least not that he’d shown, which was good enough for now. Trent doubted that any of the other guys he’d met back at the base camp would have been so understanding. They might have thought it was cool that he’d been undercover, but the rest of the story would have probably freaked them out. He turned his attention back to Clay. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the man was nervous. His hands were clenched in his lap and he’d taken his full lower lip between his teeth, a clear sign of anxiety. For a few seconds, Trent was distracted by the action. Clay had 49

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such a sexy mouth… He shook his head to dislodge the image of himself nibbling at the same spot. His earlier euphoria faded. Clay must be regretting his idea of sharing whatever brought him here. The last thing Trent wanted to do was make Clay uncomfortable in any way. “Hey.” He waited until those big dark eyes focused on him. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” Clay shifted like an antsy kid. “That wouldn’t be fair. I said I’d tell you. And I want to, really. It’s just, well…” He trailed off with a helpless shrug. Trent took a chance and touched one of Clay’s clenched hands. “You didn’t judge me. I won’t judge you.” Clay’s gaze slid down to where their hands touched, then back up to Trent’s face. Some of the tightness in his expression eased. “Okay.” With what he hoped was an encouraging look, Trent leaned back and waited. “I don’t know where to start. The beginning, I guess.” Clay took a deep breath. “I’ve never been what you’d call butch. When I was a kid, my brother was a big football star and I was a band and drama geek. The only sporty thing I did was run track.” “Nothing wrong with that,” Trent put in, unable to help himself. “I ran track.” “Yeah, but I bet you played football, too.” Unable to deny it, Trent shrugged. “True, but I’m interrupting. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” Clay gave him a grin, as if to reassure him it was, before he continued. “My point is that I’ve never been able to pass as straight. It was obvious to everybody that I was gay practically before I knew it myself. I spent a lot of time trying to be like 50

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everybody else, but it didn’t take. Obviously.” Clay looked so despondent Trent couldn’t help jumping in again. “What’s wrong with being yourself?” Clay snorted. “Have you looked at me? Even after I dyed my hair back to normal and bought these”—he indicated his clothes— “everyone here could tell I didn’t belong.” “So why come, then?” Trent leaned forward, suddenly angry. He wasn’t angry at Clay. He wasn’t quite sure what he was angry at. “Why not go somewhere that you’d feel comfortable?” Those full lips twisted into a not-smile. “When I first came out, in college, I was a real party boy. I was all about clubs, one-night stands, and short flings. I did that for years. Then I just got tired of it all. It’s kind of lonely, you know?” “Yeah.” Trent had had his share of one-night stands and short flings. He’d never had more than a one-nighter with another guy, and he’d never been great at holding longer relationships together with women either. Clay picked up where he’d left off. “A couple years ago, I decided I wanted to settle down. Find Mr. Right. Get a dog. Maybe a kid, someday. I tried everything from meeting people through friends to speed dating. I even went on some singles’ trips. And you know what happened? I failed. Miserably. Every time I meet a guy I like, I either try too hard and chase him off or turn into a clingy idiot. Rex told me I pick losers, and I guess he’s right. Those are the only guys that seem to want me. All the nice guys are taken or not interested.” Clay’s voice sounded soft when he spoke of this “Rex” person. Trent’s stomach tightened, which only made him angrier. He bit back his feelings and simply asked, “Rex?” Clay’s smile turned genuine. “My brother. I think he thought I 51

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was crazy for wanting to come out here.” “Rex? Really?” Trent’s own lips inched up. He couldn’t help it. “Sounds like a soap opera name. Or a guy from the fifties.” That made Clay laugh. “I used to call him T-Rex, when we were kids. Dad picked his name. Mom picked mine.” Then he sobered. “I used to wonder if I’d been the one named Rex if I would have turned out differently.” What could he say to that? Trent let the comment pass. When he didn’t respond, Clay sighed. “The last time I tried to meet a guy, I went on this Internet site that promises to match men based on compatibility rather than just looks.” Trent nodded. “Good idea.” “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” “It didn’t work?” Clay shook his head. “Oh, no. It worked great. I met Mike.” It was pretty obvious from Clay’s tone that this Mike had made an impression on Clay, and jealousy flared to life again. “What was he like?” Clay’s smile was wistful. “He was great: sweet, funny, caring. We emailed back and forth for weeks.” Trent wasn’t sure he wanted to find out, but he had to ask. “Did you meet him?” Clay nodded, his smile fading to a bleak emptiness. “He wasn’t what you expected?” Trent just managed to refrain from asking what kind of guy Clay was attracted to. He shouldn’t care about that. The chuckle Clay let out was bitter. “No. He was exactly what I expected. Tall, good-looking, athletic. The second I saw him, I knew. I had finally found the guy.” Trent gritted his teeth. There had to be something wrong with 52

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Clay’s Mr. Wonderful if Clay was here in the woods with him instead of at home playing house. “So what happened?” “I happened.” “What?” Clay shrugged and stared at the ground. “For me, seeing him only made me want him more. Icing on the cake, you know? Not for him. He was disgusted by me. Turns out he doesn’t date fems.” “What a fucking asshole.” Trent clenched his fists, furious at the judgmental prick who would reject Clay based only on his looks. “He didn’t stick around to explain his reasons. I guess he thought they were obvious. I went home and thought it over, and I decided to come here to try to prove to myself that he was wrong. The only thing I’ve proven is that he was right. I am a fem. I’m small, and weak, and silly. I was so stupid to come here.” Clay’s voice broke on the last few words. He stopped talking and swallowed hard. There was so much pain in Clay’s voice and expression, it made Trent’s own throat tighten. “You’re not weak, or silly, or stupid.” “Oh, come on!” Clay burst out. “Look at me! Everything here is hard for me.” “Did you think it was easy for me? Stuff like this is hard for anyone who’s never done it before. I think you’ve done pretty damned well, actually.” Trent stared Clay down until the other man met his gaze. “You have done every single thing they asked us to do. If it was hard, you kept trying until you got it. And you haven’t complained one time. Even that mountain man guy in our cabin complained.” “Yeah, about the food,” Clay retorted, but he looked pleased. 53

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“It counts.” Trent grinned, remembering how much the big man had whined about there not being enough meat. Now that he thought about it, there was a lot to laugh about there. His grin widened. Clay appeared to be battling the urge to grin back. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’m not as much of a scrawny loser as I thought. But that still doesn’t change the fact that I’m an absolute disaster in the dating scene. I’ve got to figure out how to…I don’t know. Man up, somehow, I guess.” “Why?” Clay rolled his eyes. “I might not be doing as horribly here as I thought, but obviously I’m still not what guys are looking for in a long-term partner.” He held up his fingers as he ticked off reasons. “I’m too short and skinny. Then there’s the fem thing.” Trent frowned. How could Clay think he was anything less than gorgeous? What kind of idiots had he been dating? “Explain this fem thing to me. I don’t see it.” Again, Clay ticked off his perceived flaws. “I’m too small. My eyes look like a freaking anime character’s. My mouth’s too big. One guy told me my hands were like a girl’s. Oh, and before I dyed it back to my natural color, and cut it, my hair was too…out there, I guess.” Clay really believed what he was saying. How many people had told Clay there was something wrong with him before he started to believe it? Trent could keep quiet, let Clay continue to believe he wasn’t good enough. If he kept his mouth shut, the things he’d always hidden could stay that way. All of a sudden, that wasn’t a good enough reason anymore. Trent leaned forward and stared straight into Clay’s big brown eyes. “I don’t know who the hell told you all that stuff, but it’s 54

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bullshit. You’re not too skinny. You’re slender. Except for when you’re falling on your face, you move like a dancer.” Clay frowned and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, Trent forged on. “Your hands aren’t skinny either. They’re elegant.” He brushed his thumb across Clay’s pouty lower lip, feeling the sharp intake of breath his movement caused. Clay’s mouth was as soft as he’d imagined, and he couldn’t help lingering, rubbing his thumb over it to feel the velvety texture. “Your mouth isn’t too big. It’s lush. Sexy. And if anyone insulted your eyes, they need their eyes checked.” Eyes wide, Clay stared at him. His lip trembled beneath Trent’s touch. His voice was barely a whisper. “Really? Why?” Trent let his hand drop. The scared part of him, the hiding part, wanted to move away, clear his throat and shake off the moment. If he played the situation right, they could both laugh off what he’d said and done, or at least pretend nothing had happened. When he opened his mouth, what came out was, “Because your eyes are beautiful.” Beautiful. Not the kind of word you used to make someone feel better, or to describe someone you just wanted to fuck. Trent didn’t normally say things like that to the people he slept with—male or female. “Trent.” Clay’s eyes were even more beautiful when they glistened with emotion. He seemed at a loss for what to say next. He reached out and stopped just short of touching Trent’s arm. His fingers hovered over Trent’s bare skin for a few seconds, long enough Trent could feel the touch, and then he pulled back. Before Trent knew what he was going to do, his hand caught Clay’s. It was warm and soft, with long, slender fingers that made him think of music, or art. It wasn’t quite steady, but then again, 55

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neither was his. He brought Clay’s hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips. “Wh-what are you doing?” “If you can’t tell, I must be doing it wrong.” “You’re not doing it wrong.” At the soft reply, Trent smiled against Clay’s fingertips. The scared part of him, the part that usually screamed that if he got caught he was dead, or fired, or whatever, had retreated. Here, in the forest with Clay, it was safe. Right. “Then the only question is if it’s okay with you. If not, say so. I’ll stop.” “But.” When Clay didn’t continue, Trent lowered their hands and watched him carefully. Had he gotten things wrong? Maybe Clay didn’t want this. “But what?” Clay frowned, but he didn’t look upset. “I thought you were straight.” His brow creased in an adorable expression of confusion. Trent blinked. He hadn’t seen that coming. Maybe he’d seemed straight up to this point, but he thought kissing Clay’s fingers was a pretty clear sign he wasn’t. At least not entirely. “I’m bisexual. I have dated women, and enjoyed it, but I also like men.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I’m a little too good at hiding that because of my job.” The creases smoothed and Clay nodded. “I guess so. I had no idea.” He brought his free hand up to trace his fingers down Trent’s arm in a tentative caress. “Where were we?” “Right about here, I think.” Trent used the hand he held to reel Clay in until their faces were inches apart. Clay watched him in silence, those big brown eyes holding equal parts desire and trepidation. Up close, Trent could see flecks of lighter colors in them, highlighted in the flickering firelight. He’d never seen 56

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anything like them before. And he’d never felt quite like this before, either, like he had to touch Clay or he would explode. His heart was already beating faster and they hadn’t even done anything yet. Clay’s mouth beckoned, and Trent brushed his lips across Clay’s in a barely-there touch. The contact was silk and sweet warmth, everything he’d imagined and more than he could have dreamed. He did it again, and again, before settling his mouth over Clay’s for a real kiss. Clay’s eyelids fluttered shut. For a few seconds he sat rigid, unmoving, and then he was kissing Trent back, hard and deep. He speared the fingers of his uninjured hand into Trent’s short hair and pulled him closer. His tongue invaded Trent’s mouth, sliding along Trent’s in a hot, slick seduction. The sudden, forceful move, coming from a man so much smaller and weaker than Trent, was an unexpected turn-on. Part of him, the hiding, posturing part that screamed a man didn’t give up his control, wanted to take charge. It wasn’t as if Clay could stop him. On the other hand, what Clay was doing felt good. Better than anything he’d felt in a very long time. The slim hand sliding up his thigh made the decision easy. Just because he’d been the aggressor in the past didn’t mean he always had to be. For now, Clay was in charge. Trent just kept kissing Clay and held on for the ride. And what a ride it was. “Oomph.” Trent muttered against Clay’s lips as the smaller man pushed him down onto his back. Fortunately, Clay’s hand on the back of his head kept it from smacking into the ground. The rock beneath them was cold and hard, cushioned by a bit of scrubby grass and not much else. Bits of forest debris dug into 57

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his back, but Trent didn’t complain. Every bit of discomfort flew out of his mind at the feel of Clay pressed against him, full-length. How long had it been since he’d felt a man’s firm body pressed against him? Too long. Clay was warm and relaxed in his arms. Through their thin T-shirts, Trent could feel the other man’s heartbeat. He curled a hand around Clay’s hip and wrapped his other arm around Clay’s back, unwilling to lose the contact. Clay didn’t seem to mind. He made a happy noise and renewed his assault on Trent’s mouth. Kissing Clay was a bit like being devoured, but in a good way. His mouth was hot and ravenous. His hands were just as hungry, roaming over what he could reach of Trent’s body. The first tentative touch of Clay’s soft fingertips to the sensitized skin of Trent’s stomach made him twitch. A twitch turned into a shudder as Clay’s fingers smoothed up his stomach and over one of Trent’s nipples. Trent hissed. The delicate touch seemed to resonate throughout his body. Clay shifted, probably to give himself more room to touch, but all he succeeded in doing was pressing his lower body against Trent more tightly. Trent’s dick, already hard as a rock, jerked. Trent broke the kiss, panting. “Jesus.” He grabbed Clay’s hips and held the smaller man still. “That feels too good.” Clay’s slow smile held a wealth of dark promise. “There’s no such thing.” As if to prove his point, he pushed himself up and slid down Trent’s body. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his intent. Trent started to protest. He didn’t want this to be him, taking. He wanted it to be about Clay, and about them together. Then Clay was unbuttoning his pants, and tracing a finger over his erection through his underwear. The words died in his throat. All he could think of was 58

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how much he wanted Clay to touch him. He tried to communicate his need with his gaze. It must have worked, because Clay cupped his hip. “Lift up.” Trent did, still mute. Clay pulled Trent’s pants and boxers down past his ass. His cock bounced out and slapped against his stomach, leaving a tiny streak of pre-come in its wake. Clay smiled, leaned down, and licked it off. “Holy shit,” Trent whispered. The look Clay shot him was amused, but not in a mean way. “Just wait. It gets better.” And then he wasn’t talking anymore. He put his mouth to better use, running his tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of Trent’s cock. Trent moaned and let his head fall back. Clay seemed to take that as his cue to get serious. He took Trent’s cock into his mouth and sucked, using his tongue to wrap around the shaft on the upstroke. Something stroked over Trent’s balls—Clay’s fingers, Trent realized dimly—and then squeezed them with the perfect amount of pressure. Trent closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the cold, uneven rock behind his head instead of how close he was to coming. It would have been embarrassing if he hadn’t felt too good to care. Clay must have known Trent was on the edge, because he redoubled his efforts. He bobbed faster, with varied amounts of suction. He rolled Trent’s balls gently in his hand. And just when Trent thought he was about to get himself under control, Clay opened his throat and took Trent deep. Really deep. As if from a distance, Trent listened to his own surprised cry. His back arched, and he came. Pleasure blazed through him, hot and unexpected and so intense it approached pain. Clay didn’t let 59

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up, sucking and swallowing every drop of semen. He fell back, drained and limp. Breathing took all his concentration. Clay crawled up to lie beside Trent. His expression reminded Trent of a puppy that had been mistreated: anxious, and hopeful yet wary. Trent threaded a hand through Clay’s hair and savored the feeling of the silky strands under his palm. He smiled and pulled Clay in for a light kiss. “That was intense. Thank you.” Curling into Trent’s side, Clay smiled back. The hardness pressed against Trent’s hip reminded him he’d wanted this to be about Clay. He’d forgotten about that pretty damned quick. Annoyed with himself, he smoothed a hand down Clay’s side. “Let me help you with this.” *

*

*

After Trent did his best to give Clay an orgasm to match the one Clay had given him with a quick and dirty hand job, they cleaned themselves as best they could. The rain had stopped, but the air was damp and chilly. Trent went into the tent while Clay was busy outside. Taking a chance, he zipped their sleeping bags together. The worst that could happen was Clay telling him to unzip them. Clay ducked into the tent a few minutes later. When he saw the sleeping bags, he smiled. Wrapped up tight in Clay’s arms, Trent slept like a baby for the first time in months.

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CHAPTER 9 A piercing cry jerked Clay out of a wonderful dream. In his dream, strong arms had held him close, keeping him warm and safe. It had been a long time since that had happened in reality. The cry came again, more like a shriek than an animal call. Even so, he knew what made the sound. “Stupid bird,” he muttered, annoyed. His heart, racing from the unexpected awakening, began to slow. If the bird would shut the hell up, maybe he could sleep a little longer. Then the warmth at his back seeped into his consciousness. He was pressed against a wall of hard muscle, with what felt like the beginning of an erection nestled against his ass. He forced his eyes open and blinked down at the forearm wrapped around his waist. He blinked again, his brain sleepy and slow. Trent. It wasn’t a 61

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dream. If this part hadn’t been a dream, the rest hadn’t either. He’d sucked Trent off by the fire last night, and afterward Trent had touched him. His whole body heated at the memory. Trent’s hands had caressed and coaxed him until he came, but he hadn’t felt cheap or used, because Trent had touched him like he meant something. Clay trailed his fingertips over Trent’s arm. It was hard to believe someone tough and hard like Trent could be gentle, almost tender, when he wanted to. But maybe that was the part Clay had to remember—when he wanted to. There was a strong possibility Trent would wake up and pretend nothing had happened between them last night, or worse, be angry about it. Clay had slept with his share of closet cases and lonely guys who took whatever companionship they could find, and Trent had all the signs of being one of the above. He’d just come off a life-or-death job in which he’d had to pretend to be someone else for months. He was also moody as hell. Doing anything with him had probably been a huge mistake. So much for holding out for Mr. Right. Clay had allowed himself to be swept away by the first guy who saw his vulnerability and was sympathetic. Mutual loneliness was not a good foundation. If anything, it was a recipe for disaster. If he got all clingy now, as was his usual MO, things would only get worse. Moving slowly, Clay extricated himself from Trent’s heavy arm and slipped out of the sleeping bag. Trent shifted in his sleep and murmured something but didn’t wake. Clay finished dressing and started to go outside. He paused at the tent flap and glanced back at Trent. Soft, pale light illuminated Trent’s face—relaxed and younger-looking in sleep, with none of the hardness it held 62

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when he was awake. His lips, full and soft, were curved up into a tiny smile, his jaw still chiseled but less severe somehow. Heavy stubble dotted his cheeks and jawline. The combination of sweet and rugged was almost irresistible. Clay was tempted to throw caution to the wind and kiss Trent awake. He shook off the thought and left the tent. His history of giving in to urges hadn’t worked out all that well in the past. This time he was going to be sensible. The dawn held a chill, but none of the rain of the previous day. The sun was already beginning to heat the air and ground, and the air was thick with what promised to be stifling humidity later on. Right now Clay was glad for his flannel shirt. A few hours from now it would probably be too hot and muggy for anything more than one layer of clothing. After a quick trip to quiet his protesting bladder, Clay worked on getting a fire started. The process took a lot longer than it had when Trent started the fire, but once the flames were crackling, the sense of accomplishment Clay felt was worth the work. He smiled as he prepared a freeze-dried egg, ham, and green pepper mixture and heated water for coffee. So what if he would never be a mountain man? He could start a fire and make food. Not bad for a skinny little fem. The rustle of the tent flap opening warned him Trent was awake. Clay pretended to be busy making a cup of instant coffee. Trent sat on the log, smothering a yawn. “Hey.” How would Trent react? Trying to hide his anxiety, Clay handed Trent the mug of coffee without looking at him. “Hey.” “Thanks.” Trent accepted the mug and blew on the hot liquid before he took a cautious sip. “You should have woken me up. I would have helped.” 63

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He didn’t sound upset or angry. Maybe he was going to go for the “pretending it didn’t happen” angle. Clay shrugged. “I had it under control. I thought maybe you needed the sleep.” “I guess I did. I haven’t slept that well in a long time.” They were both quiet for a minute or two, drinking their coffee and watching the fire. Clay tried not to sneak glances at Trent, but it proved impossible. Rumpled and half-asleep, Trent was impossibly appealing. He seemed to be thinking deep thoughts as he sipped his coffee. Gray eyes slid up to meet his, and Clay couldn’t look away fast enough. Caught, he stared back at Trent. Trent ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not sure if I should say this. I’m probably about to make a huge ass of myself.” Clay remained silent. Trent turned his attention to his coffee, but his words were for Clay. “When I woke up alone this morning, I… Well, I kind of wanted to wake up with you.” The words were so far from what Clay had expected, all he could do was stare. Even in the harsh light of day, Trent wanted him. And not just to fuck around. Trent wanted to wake up with him. It seemed too good to be true. Clay had the urge to pinch himself. The silence stretched. Trent sighed. “I guess I should have kept my mouth shut. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” “But I don’t want to forget.” Clay put his cup aside and moved to sit beside Trent. Not too close, yet near enough to touch if either of them wanted to. “I felt the same way. I wanted to stay with you until you woke up.” “Why didn’t you?” Trent’s gray eyes were anything but cold this morning. They were warm and maybe a little hurt. 64

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Clay dropped his gaze. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to.” “Wouldn’t want you to? Didn’t I make it obvious last night that I wanted you?” Still not meeting Trent’s eyes, Clay thought about the other times men had made it obvious they’d wanted him—and changed their mind in the morning, or after they got to know him. Forcing a lightness he didn’t feel, he quipped, “That was then. This is now.” “Yeah, this is now.” Trent covered Clay’s restless hand with one of his own. “And nothing’s changed. At least not for me.” “Nothing?” Clay dared to glance up, only to find Trent’s eyes locked on him. Trent’s stomach emitted a loud growl. He grinned. “Well, I am hungrier than I was last night.” Clay laughed. “I guess it’s a good thing I made breakfast, then.” Trent’s hand fell away as he stood. He tried not to be disappointed at the loss. “Need help?” “Nope. I got it.” Clay picked up the bag he’d made the food in and peered inside. The egg mixture was finished rehydrating and heating. It looked surprisingly appetizing. He set about dividing the eggs into two servings. By the time he returned to the log with the plates, Trent had set out some dried fruit to go with their meal. Clay popped a cherry into his mouth. “Yum. I love dried cherries.” “I love watching you eat.” Surprised, he stopped with another cherry halfway to his mouth. “What? Why?” He could feel his cheeks heating. He wasn’t a blusher, as a rule, but since he’d come to Wilderness Adventures he felt like he’d blushed nonstop. Trent seemed to be making him 65

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do and feel a lot of things he usually didn’t. Trent traced his parted lips with a fingertip. “I think it’s your mouth. It’s so sexy.” The heat in Clay’s face intensified. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.” “Nobody’s told you how sexy your mouth is?” Shrugging, Clay put the cherry on his plate and moved his fork around in his eggs. “It looks like a girl’s mouth. It’s part of the whole fem thing.” “Nobody with half a brain could doubt that you’re anything but a man, pretty mouth or not.” Trent shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of douche bags have you been dating?” Clay stared at Trent, who gazed back at him with perfect seriousness. He couldn’t help smiling. “The extra-douchey kind, apparently.” Trent snickered. “Eat your breakfast. You’re going to need your energy today.” It was something anyone could have said when embarking on a day of hard hiking, but Trent’s sly look made Clay wonder if he really meant tonight. Clay’s self-consciousness fled, and his appetite returned with a vengeance. He brought his fork to his mouth and started to eat. *

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Just like the previous day, they hiked hard with little conversation, yet many subtle differences marked their interactions. For one thing, the silences were comfortable. After the stilted, awkward silences of the previous day, Clay was glad for that. 66

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Trent also seemed to be taking cues from Clay. When Clay slowed down, Trent did, too. He stopped to help Clay over fallen logs and other obstacles. He asked Clay’s opinion when he consulted the map and the compass. They took more breaks, and sometimes Trent pointed out wildlife and plants he recognized. He even picked a flower and presented it to Clay during their stop for lunch. Clay slipped the flower into his backpack, despite feeling like a teenage girl for keeping it. The whole day had been a little surreal. He wasn’t used to a man like Trent paying attention to him, at least not when he wasn’t going out of his way to get that attention. He didn’t want to slip into his old patterns of flirting and being clingy in an attempt to hold Trent’s interest—not that he thought it would work—which left him unsure how to act. Being unsure was nothing new for him. Not having a way to cover his uncertainty was. For the first time in years, Clay felt shy. Maybe being shy around a guy who’d jerked him off the night before was weird, but Clay couldn’t help it. Guys didn’t do sweet things for him, especially after they’d already gotten him into bed. They didn’t ask his opinion, or try to work together for a common goal. They didn’t tell him he had beautiful eyes. He couldn’t act like his usual flirty, silly self around a guy who did those things. Nightfall wasn’t far away by the time Trent found a good place for them to set up camp. The small clearing was bordered on one side by a creek. They both knelt beside the little ribbon of water to fill their bottles. Clay sat back on his heels and trailed a hand into the cool water, watching tiny fish flit beneath the surface. The sinking sun left a pattern of light and shadows across everything. “This place is 67

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really pretty.” “Yeah.” Trent smiled and glanced around them. “This is why I wanted to come out here. It’s so peaceful. I needed that.” “Me, too,” Clay agreed, and realized it was true. His life had been about noise and activity for too long. He’d wanted to use this trip to prove something to himself, but maybe he could use it to find himself, too. This certainly seemed like a good place to look. He turned his attention to the tangle of trees and brush lining the clearing. The forest was wild and unkempt, completely unlike the manicured parks and resorts he had visited in the past, but had its own kind of beauty. Closing his eyes, Clay took a deep breath. The sharp, green scents of plants filled his nostrils, followed by the cool, wet smell of the creek. A breeze ruffled his hair and brought another scent: the hot, earthy smell of tired man. Trent. Other men might be turned off by the smell of a guy who’d been working hard, but not Clay. He wanted to get them both even sweatier. He opened his eyes to find Trent watching him, intent. Trent stood and held out a hand for Clay. “Let’s get the camp set up.” He helped Clay stand but didn’t release his hand. Clay squeezed his hand. “Tired?” Trent’s gaze heated. “And hungry.” “We’d better get camp set up and start on dinner then,” Clay teased. Trent grinned. “Sure thing, boss.” *

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Setting up camp and making dinner went off without a hitch. They worked together as if they’d been doing it for years. They ate 68

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sitting with their backs to a big rock not far from where Trent had started the fire. The temperature had dropped, but not as much as it had the previous night. Clay was comfortable in his T-shirt and cargo pants and didn’t feel like jumping into the fire like he had the night before. Trent kept the conversation light, asking Clay about his favorite movies, television shows, books, and music. They didn’t have much in common until they got to books. They’d both loved The Princess Bride as kids, both the book and the movie, and they spent several minutes comparing the different versions and quoting some of the most famous dialogue. After dinner, Trent insisted on cleaning up. Feeling content and generous, Clay dug into his pack for his secret stash. He pulled out two packets of hot cocoa mix and the tiny bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur he’d hidden. He waggled the bottle at Trent. “Nightcap?” “Alcohol? Wasn’t that on the list of things not to bring?” Trent raised an eyebrow and attempted to look stern, but the way the corners of his mouth crept up ruined his serious expression. Clay snorted. “It takes a lot more than half a sample sized bottle of Godiva to get me drunk, officer.” Trent stopped trying to hide his smile. “I guess that means my plan to get you drunk and get into your pants won’t work, then.” Was that a blush he felt? Again? Clay busied himself filling their tin mugs with water to hide his face. “You don’t have to get me drunk for that, Trent.” “Unfair,” Trent grumbled. “You say things like that, but now I have to sit here and drink cocoa.” A bit of Clay’s normal devilish bravado returned. He looked up and smirked. “Yes, you do. But don’t worry, I’ll make it worth 69

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your while.” “Oh, I have no doubt of that.” Trent sat back against the rock, his gaze never leaving Clay. Too impatient to wait for the water to get really hot, Clay only waited a couple of minutes before he mixed the cocoa mix and half the Godiva bottle into each cup. He handed Trent one and moved to sit next to him. They each took a sip. “Damn. This is good.” Trent’s expression of surprised pleasure sent a little shiver through Clay. He wanted to see that look for a very different reason. Clay couldn’t wait another second. “It’s delicious. I bet it tastes better on you.” He gulped the rest of his cocoa down and tossed the cup aside. Trent’s eyebrows shot up. He set his cup on top of the rock. He opened his mouth to speak. Clay never found out what Trent was going to say. The lure of Trent’s parted lips was too great. He leaned forward and took Trent’s mouth in the kind of kiss he’d wanted to give him all day. Trent let out a small sound of surprise that soon turned into a moan. He kissed Clay back fiercely, pressing Clay against the rock. Clay whimpered at the sinuous glide of Trent’s tongue against his own. Trent followed that with a nip to Clay’s lower lip. He murmured, “You’re right. Tastes better.” Without giving Clay a chance to respond, he trailed his lips along Clay’s jaw and behind his ear. “But I’m all sweaty,” Clay protested, suddenly self-conscious. He wasn’t night-at-a-dance-club sweaty, either. He was hikingthrough-the-woods-on-a-hot-day sweaty. He didn’t have a problem with a bit of sweat himself, but he’d been with guys who’d always 70

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insisted on showering first. Not that they had the option of a shower out here… Trent mouthed his neck, making him shiver. “You’re delicious.” If Trent didn’t mind, Clay wasn’t about to argue. He tilted his head to give Trent better access. Trent took full advantage, nuzzling and kissing the sensitive skin of his neck and throat. Needing to touch, Clay slid his hands up under Trent’s shirt. The skin of Trent’s back was hot and silky-smooth. Muscle jumped beneath Clay’s seeking fingertips. Trent’s hands were also busy. One speared into Clay’s hair while the other gripped his hip. Clay shifted in an attempt to get that hand to move over a few inches, but Trent held him down. Trent chuckled against his neck and murmured, “So impatient.” “Gimme,” Clay muttered back, wriggling. Impatient had always been his middle name when it came to sex. The hand at his hip tightened. Trent leaned back and gazed at him, eyes hot and intent. “Oh, I will. But not just yet. We’ve got all night.” Under that scorching gaze, Clay could do nothing more than shiver and nod. Trent’s lips turned up in a slow smile. “Good. You’re definitely worth taking my time with.” He brought a hand up to frame Clay’s face and kissed him again, a gentle, butterfly-wing brush. Clay let his eyelids drift shut at the soft touches, overwhelmed. This wasn’t anything like what he usually got. It wasn’t even anything like last night. If Trent had pushed him onto the ground and gone straight for his pants, he would have known what to do. Tenderness, though…that wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. 71

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He didn’t like to be off-balance. Reaching up blindly, he caught the back of Trent’s neck and forced him to deepen the kiss. Trent didn’t seem to mind, if the groan he let out was any indication. His tongue slipped into Clay’s mouth, and he pushed Clay back against the rock again. Back on familiar territory, Clay gripped the hem of Trent’s shirt and wrestled it over his head. Trent lurched back to finish yanking the garment off. He tossed it aside while Clay squirmed out of his own shirt. Bare-chested, they came together once more in a kiss that was more about tongues and teeth than tenderness. One of Trent’s big hands fumbled with the button on Clay’s cargo pants. The small piece of plastic resisted his efforts, refusing to come free. Trent’s fingers kept skimming over Clay’s erection, trapped within the confines of the thick material. The touch wasn’t anywhere near enough to make Clay come, just enough to tease. He mewled his frustration. Finally, the button popped free and Trent tugged Clay’s zipper down. He pushed his fingers into the opening he’d made and grasped Clay’s dick. With a gasp of relief, Clay arched into the touch. “Yes. Touch me.” Trent latched onto his collarbone and sucked hard. Clay could feel the blood rising to the surface. He would have a mark in the morning. Before he could decide whether he liked that or not, Trent’s hand tightened on his cock, calluses rubbing against the delicate skin, and Trent began to stroke him. Trent kept stroking him, fast and tight, and the friction nearly drove him insane. “Feels good. Don’t stop.” “Just want to—” The rest of whatever Trent muttered was lost as Trent lapped at one of Clay’s nipples. 72

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Clay threw his head back and cried out. Too good. Too much. Yet somehow not enough. “Trent.” “I’ll take care of you.” Trent kissed his way down Clay’s stomach. Soft, warm lips touched Clay’s shaft, and he almost lost it. Surprise more than anything else made him open his eyes and look down at Trent. Trent hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who would want to go down on another guy. Not that he seemed selfish. It was more that he gave off vibes that screamed “total top,” and in Clay’s experience those types didn’t give blow jobs. Apparently Trent did, though. He opened his mouth and took Clay’s erection inside, into slick, velvet warmth. As he went down he ran his tongue along the side. On the way back up, he sucked hard. He didn’t take Clay all the way down, but close enough. After holding himself back as long as he could, Clay couldn’t help but push up. Trent released his hold and let Clay fuck his mouth, only gagging once when Clay pushed up too hard. Now it was way too much. Clay didn’t want to come. He grabbed Trent’s hair. “Wait, not yet.” Trent broke away, panting. Face flushed, lips red and swollen, he looked nothing like the hard, cold man Clay had met the first day. “God, I want to fuck you.” Clay wanted that, too, so badly he almost shook with desire. “Do it. Please.” “I can’t. Shit.” Trent sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t have anything.” It took several seconds for the words to penetrate the haze of lust clouding Clay’s brain. “What? Oh.” He reached for his backpack and fumbled for the other items he’d slipped into the secret bottom compartment. He managed to fish out a small, square 73

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packet. He pressed it into Trent’s hand. “This?” Trent opened his hand and stared down at the condom Clay had placed there. His eyes widened. “Yeah. What the hell kind of trip were you packing for?” His grin softened the words. “I didn’t really think I would need it, but I always pack them.” Clay shrugged, trying not to be embarrassed. If he’d followed his original plan of going somewhere warm and tropical he definitely would have needed them. Trent probably thought he was a complete slut, bringing condoms for a hiking trip when he’d come alone. He’d felt kind of stupid packing them for a manly wilderness adventure, but old habits died hard. “I’m glad you did.” Trent slipped the condom into his pocket. “Let’s take this inside. It’s getting cold.” Clay hadn’t noticed how much the temperature had dropped until Trent said something. Without the larger man covering him, goose bumps popped up on his chest. A mosquito landed on his shoulder. He slapped at it and scrambled to his feet. “Good idea.” They both gathered up their shirts and walked the short distance to the tent. Trent put his hand at the small of Clay’s back, fingertips caressing Clay’s bare skin. Clay shivered and smiled. Who would have guessed Trent could be so sweet? A tiny voice in his head said maybe sweet wasn’t good. He couldn’t let himself fall for yet another guy he couldn’t have a relationship with. They ducked to enter the tent. He could barely make out Trent’s smile at first, until his eyes started to adjust to the dim interior. Then he smiled back at Trent, told his inner voice to shut the fuck up, and reached out for Trent to tug him down. Caught off-guard, the bigger man fell to the sleeping bags with him. The short walk must have helped Trent get himself under control, because the frantic mood was gone. The tenderness was 74

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back as Trent helped Clay out of his cargo pants and boxers. Clay let his legs fall open. Trent shucked his pants and slid between Clay’s open thighs. He stroked his hands along Clay’s hips and kissed his neck and chest. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” For a second Clay just stared at him. He’d had guys compliment him during sex before. He’d heard more pretty words in the heat of passion than he could count. None of them had meant anything in the light of day. This felt different. One look at Trent’s face told Clay he meant what he said. His eyes were all lit up, like Clay was exactly what he wanted. Clay couldn’t remember ever seeing a look like that on anyone’s face—at least, not directed at him. Don’t read too much into it. Of course I’m what he wants. He wants to get laid. Trent would leave in the end, just like everyone else. Clay didn’t even know where the man lived, but probably nowhere near St. Louis. All this would end up being was a really hot vacation fling. If he remembered that, it would hurt a hell of a lot less when it was time to let go. Clay managed a shaky smile. Trent must not have expected a verbal response, because he smiled back and leaned down for another kiss. He teased the seam of Clay’s lips with his tongue until they parted. Trent’s tongue played and coaxed, and Clay let go of his fears and gave himself up to the kiss. Time blended into itself as Trent kissed Clay again and again, slow and deep and so sweet it took his breath away. Trent held himself up on one elbow while his other hand curled in Clay’s hair, caressing. For once, Clay didn’t want to rush. It felt good to let Trent take the lead. The anticipation of what they would do 75

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ratcheted Clay’s arousal up slowly, as did the way Trent’s naked body pressed against his. Trent’s hot, smooth skin covered taut muscles Clay couldn’t wait to run his hands all over. Without touches or even dirty talk, Clay’s cock pushed up against Trent, demanding as always. Finally, Trent took the hint. He broke the kiss and gazed down at Clay. Feeling strangely vulnerable, Clay didn’t know what to say or do. He stared back, waiting. Trent stroked his free hand down Clay’s jaw, and lower. He didn’t smile back. Instead, he murmured, “I can’t remember the last time I wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Clay opened his mouth to say, “me?” Somehow he managed not to blurt that out. The last thing he wanted to do was make Trent change his mind. He forced a teasing grin. “Then take me.” That made Trent smile. He rolled to his side and reached for something. He came back seconds later, clutching the condom packet Clay had given him earlier. His smile faded. “Lube?” “The condoms have extra lubrication. That should be enough.” Clay had never been a Boy Scout, but he believed in being prepared. And it wasn’t like he was a virgin. “Good.” Trent ripped the foil open and rolled the condom down his erection. He fumbled with the packet some more. Clay didn’t have to wonder what Trent had been doing when two lubed fingers found his hole and pushed in. The stretch and burn hit right away, and Clay gasped. “Okay?” “Don’t stop.” Clay breathed through the pressure and closed his eyes. Pressure melted into pleasure, and then Trent was pumping those fingers into him. The thick digits rubbed against his inner walls, giving him friction but not as much as he needed. “More. 76

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Jesus, more.” Trent groaned. “Fuck. So hot. Can’t wait.” He yanked his fingers from Clay’s channel. “What—” The head of Trent’s cock pressed against his entrance, began to push inside. The pressure increased until it became an almost pain, but not quite, and Clay’s half-formed whimper of protest turned into a long moan. Trent caught Clay’s legs and lifted them to his chest. “Tell me this is okay.” It was more than okay. Clay wanted Trent to take him, to make him feel it. “S’okay.” “God, Clay. You’ll make me lose it.” Trent pushed the rest of the way in and paused, already breathing fast. “Want you to.” Clay grabbed his thighs to hold his legs to his chest. “Fuck me.” Trent hissed. He pulled almost all the way out and hovered there for just a second before slamming back in. “This what you want?” The sound Clay made was barely recognizable as human, but Trent must have understood, because he did it again. He pounded into Clay over and over. Their bodies slapped together, the sound loud in the quiet tent. Trent’s cock scraped over Clay’s prostate with a force that was almost too much. Clay squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the orgasm that wanted to overtake him. He wanted to make this last. That wasn’t going to happen if he kept looking at Trent’s face, so fierce and intent. It didn’t happen anyway. Trent reached down to stroke Clay’s shaft. He was totally off the rhythm, but his hand felt so good. And then he panted, “Come. For. Me,” and Clay lost it. White-hot feeling exploded through him. 77

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Arching into Trent, Clay howled and came, painting both their chests and stomachs. Trent fucked him through his orgasm with a few more hard, ragged thrusts. He stiffened for a few seconds and then collapsed onto Clay’s chest. *

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Exhausted, Clay didn’t protest when Trent said he’d take care of everything. Clay closed his eyes for what he thought was only a minute, but when he opened them Trent was coming back into the tent. Clay reached out for him, only to grab material. Trent was wearing his jeans. “Why are you dressed?” Trent chuckled. “Had to put the fire out. Get into the sleeping bag.” He maneuvered Clay into his sleeping bag and zipped his own to it to make a bag big enough for both of them. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you sleep, huh?” Something cold and wet touched Clay’s stomach, and he shivered. “Shh, it’s just a wet wipe.” Trent cleaned off the congealed mess on Clay’s stomach and chest and put the wipe aside. After some rustling sounds, he slid into the sleeping bag beside Clay, naked once more. “Is this okay?” Clay shifted toward the bigger man’s warmth. “It’s wonderful.” You’re wonderful. Too wonderful. Wait a second. His mind foggy with sleep, he muttered, “Did I just say that out loud?” Trent chuckled again, the sound as warm as his body. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I think you’re pretty wonderful, too.” Clay smiled and snuggled closer. “’Night, Trent.” 78

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“Good night.” The last thing Clay felt before he slid into sleep was the kiss Trent pressed to the top of his head.

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CHAPTER 10 Mornings weren’t Trent’s favorite time of day. In high school and college, and even during the first few years of his time on the force, Trent had loved mornings. He’d made a habit of getting up earlier than he needed to so he’d have time to take a run, or go to the gym, or just drink his coffee in peace. That had all changed when he started doing undercover. Late nights meant no more leisurely mornings. On his last job, he had often slept until three in the afternoon after staying up until five in the morning. He’d wanted to get back into his old habits once his undercover time was up, but found it impossible. What little sleep he got these days was fractured by nightmares and bouts of insomnia. He woke up gritty-eyed and stressed, feeling less rested than he had when he finally crawled into bed. Early mornings 80

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meant more time to sit and obsess over what he’d done wrong undercover, and how fucked up things had been at the end. Waking up with a warm, sleeping body nestled in his arms did wonders for restoring Trent’s love of mornings. Sometime during the night Clay had spooned up against his chest, and he’d wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s slim waist. Trent tightened his arm, bringing Clay’s body fully against his. His morning wood, tucked up against Clay’s tight ass, twitched in reaction. His lips turned up of their own accord. The only thing better than a night of great sex, in his opinion, was the good morning sex the next day. Would Clay agree? Only one way to find out. He opened his eyes. All he could make out in the predawn gloom was the line of Clay’s neck and throat, and the curve of his cheek, turned away from Trent. The rest of him was covered by the sleeping bag. His skin was pale and smooth, and some caveman part of Trent wanted to mark it, to claim Clay as his. Trent shook the thought off. They had another week together, and then they would both be going back to their lives. Whatever that entailed. He didn’t even know where Clay lived, or what he did for a living. If anything clued him in to the temporary nature of their relationship, it was that simple fact. They barely knew each other. Ships passing in the night, or whatever the hell the saying was. Clay shifted and sighed in his sleep. His ass brushed against Trent’s erection, pulling his thoughts back to where they had been before he started overthinking everything. The curve of Clay’s neck called to him. He leaned forward and nuzzled his stubbled cheek against the soft, perfect skin, pressing tiny kisses against it to soothe the rasp away. 81

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Clay shivered. “Mm. Trent?” “You expecting someone else?” Trent chuckled and nuzzled some more, this time teasing the delicate shell of Clay’s ear with his lips. “No. Wondered if I was dreaming, though.” “Nope. Not dreaming.” Trent ran the tip of his tongue along the path his lips had taken, just to see Clay’s ticklish reaction. He wasn’t disappointed. Clay squirmed and huffed out a breathless laugh. “Not fair. I can’t exactly get away.” He struggled a little, more for show than to escape. “Good. I have you right where I want you.” Trent stopped his teasing nuzzles and pressed a gentle kiss to Clay’s nape. Clay melted in Trent’s arms. He closed his eyes and smiled. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?” Trent rubbed his erection against Clay’s ass. “I’d like to fuck you.” “Do it,” Clay murmured. After a second’s panic, wondering where he’d stashed Clay’s backpack last night, Trent remembered. If he stretched his arm as far as it could go, he could just reach one of the straps. He reeled the bag in and fished a condom out of the bottom. He had the package open and his now-throbbing dick sheathed in seconds. He found Clay’s opening with two slick fingers. Clay was relaxed, almost boneless, and he was able to work his fingers inside without too much trouble. Inside, Clay was hot and silkysmooth. Trent knew he couldn’t spend too much time on the preparations or he would never last. Clay whimpered. “I’m ready. Fuck me.” 82

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Replacing his fingers with the head of his cock, Trent slowly pushed inside. Even after the night before, Clay fit him like a tight glove. Trent buried his face in Clay’s neck, breathing in the scent of last night’s cocoa, sweat, and warm, sleepy man. He wrapped his hand around Clay’s erection and stroked in time to his slow, deep thrusts. Clay’s hand curled around his, forced his grip to tighten. Then Clay turned his head to press their lips together in an awkward but sweet kiss. Trent kept up his slow and steady thrusts. Clay stiffened in his arms, his tiny whimper swallowed by Trent’s mouth. His cock pulsed, hot, creamy liquid coating both their hands. His channel tightened. Trent groaned. His own orgasm washed over him in an unhurried wave. The pleasure lingered until it was nearly too much before it crested and broke, leaving him both drained and energized. He pulled out carefully and put the condom aside to add to their trash bag, and then slipped his arm back around Clay and held him close. Clay must not have felt drained, or maybe he wasn’t into postsex closeness, because after a couple of minutes of a post-coital embrace Trent refused to label as snuggling, he twisted to face Trent. He gave Trent a light kiss and smiled. “Time to get up, sleepyhead. We’ve got a long, hard day of hiking ahead of us.” He hopped out of the sleeping bag and went to his backpack. Trent watched him rummage through his bag, feeling oddly disappointed. Clay was right, they did have a long day ahead of them. Still, he could have stayed in bed with Trent for a few more minutes… Trent nipped that thought in the bud. There was no point in getting all sentimental. After an orgasm like that, what more could 83

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he ask for? He got up and started rolling up the sleeping bag. *

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True to Clay’s prediction, the day was long, and hard, and Trent enjoyed every minute of it. From their quick breakfast of coffee, trail mix, and protein bars all the way through late afternoon, when they were hot, sweaty, and dirty, Clay’s cheerful mood never wavered. He kept Trent amused with tales of disastrous dates, his family, and his crazy friends. Once he let down his guard and stopped trying to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, Clay was a lot of fun. The self-consciousness from before was gone. Trent could see small differences in the way he carried himself, and hear them in the way he talked. Anyone meeting Clay now would know he was gay, but he wasn’t vain, or vacuous, or any of the things the stereotypes would paint him as. Sure, sometimes he was silly in a cute, self-deprecating way, but he could also be serious. Trent didn’t talk much as they hiked, content to let Clay’s musical voice wash over him. Despite the heat, he felt good. Relaxed. Calm. The sun-dappled forest was like their own world, a perfect bubble in which nothing could touch him. They stopped in a shady spot late in the afternoon. Trent could see Clay was tiring, and he was getting tired, too. In a couple of hours they’d need to stop. He drank some water and ate a handful of trail mix. He held the bag out to Clay. “Want some?” Clay shook his head, busy poring over the map. “Hey, look at this.” He pointed at a spot. “We’re coming up on a shortcut.” Trent followed Clay’s finger. Clay was right. Later they would come to a point where they could take a shortcut, if they wanted to. 84

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He frowned. “That would cut a lot of distance, but we’d have some hard ground to cover.” He pointed to another spot nearby. “There’s a big creek to cross, and looks like a couple of ravines.” Gnawing his lower lip, Clay met Trent’s gaze. “Yeah. I guess we should stay on our course.” He looked down. “The other way’s probably too hard for me.” The forced nonchalance didn’t fool Trent. He tipped Clay’s chin up. “It would be tough, but I think we can do it. You can do it.” The fierceness of his own voice surprised him. Clay’s eyebrows went up. He smiled. “You think so?” “I know so.” Trent kissed him, hard, and released his chin. “But we don’t have to. We can take the easy way. Or, we can take the hard way. If we do, we could get held up and take forever.” “Or we could end up beating everyone. Wouldn’t that be something?” Clay’s smile widened. “Let’s do it.” *

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Three tiring hours later, they stopped to make camp near the start of the shortcut. Trent would have been willing to quit earlier, but Clay wanted to keep going. The idea of taking a shortcut and beating the others to camp seemed to have awakened Clay’s competitive spirit. As they set up the tent and started a fire, Trent couldn’t help but watch Clay. Sweaty and tired, with a streak of dirt on his cheek, Clay still smiled. He even hummed softly to himself while he set up the stove. Trent finished stowing their gear and sat on the hard-packed dirt beside Clay. Clay glanced up and caught Trent’s gaze. He stopped humming. His smile turned self-conscious. “What?” 85

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Trent brushed a gentle thumb along the mark on Clay’s cheek. “You’ve got a bit of dirt here.” Clay pulled back and rubbed at it. “Oh. Geez.” He blushed. “I’m a mess, I bet.” “Not at all.” Trent took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the dirt. “You look good to me.” Clay’s big, dark eyes went soft. After a long moment, he said, “Thank you.” Trent smiled and handed him the cloth so he could finish cleaning up. Clay scrubbed his face quickly and went back to making dinner. A comfortable silence fell over them. Once he was sure he’d taken care of everything he needed to, Trent wrapped his arms around his knees and watched the fire, and Clay. Long shadows stretched across their campsite, indicating the impending evening. The thick, humid heat of earlier in the day had broken, and a breeze brought cooler air across the clearing. They would probably be glad of the fire in another couple of hours. No sounds broke the quiet other than insects, a few birds, and the crackle of the fire. No sirens, gunshots, or traffic noise. Trent rested his head on his knees and let the peace wash over him. He took a deep breath. The air smelled clean and fresh, like rich earth, pine, and wood smoke. Everything seemed so simple right now. His only worries were what to eat for dinner and the difficulty of the shortcut they planned to take. No life and death decisions to make, or pretending to be someone he wasn’t. “Deep thoughts?” Trent lifted his head to find Clay watching him. He shrugged. “Not really. I was just thinking how peaceful it is here.” Clay nodded. “I bet. It kind of freaked me out at first, because it’s not what I’m used to, but now I’m starting to like it. There’s no 86

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pressure to do anything except just…be.” The words described what Trent was feeling perfectly, but before he could say as much Clay shook his head at his own words and laughed. “Not that I’d want to live out here or anything. I like the city too much.” Trent used to believe he loved the city, and his job. The constant stress and upheaval of undercover work weren’t so appealing after eight months in deep. Maybe he was losing his edge. For the first time he allowed himself to admit that his boss had been right to make him take a vacation. He sighed and closed his eyes. Whatever his problem was, he needed to shake it off quick. He only had a few more days out here before he had to go back to his life. A gentle hand on his shoulder woke Trent from a light doze. Sleep had come on so seamlessly he hadn’t noticed himself nodding off. He lifted his head. Clay had moved closer to him and was holding out a plate. He took it. “Thanks.” Whatever was on the plate smelled great. He took an appreciative sniff. “Sorry about falling asleep. I should have been helping you.” “Don’t worry about it.” Clay picked up his own dinner and blew on the food to cool it. “I think you needed the rest.” A little devil made him say, “I’ll need all my energy for tonight.” Red stained Clay’s cheeks, and he actually giggled. “I like the sound of that.” Trent did, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent an evening just enjoying dinner with someone he was attracted to, without fear of being interrupted for work or anything else. It was a heady feeling. He grinned and started to eat. 87

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*

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By the time they had eaten and cleaned up, night had fallen. The air, while still holding some of the day’s humidity, had grown cool. Trent checked the cut on Clay’s hand, finding the wound was healing well. His attempts to clean it gave Clay an idea. Using water Clay had heated, they sponged off the last couple of days’ worth of grime as quickly as they could. They stayed near the fire to stay warm, and to try to keep the mosquitoes away, not that the effort was entirely successful. Goose bumps popped up on Trent’s arms in the brief amount of time he was exposed to the night. It was worth the chill and a bite or two to feel cleaner, although Trent was beginning to have wistful thoughts about showers and baths. Clay shooed Trent into the tent, promising to take care of the fire. Trent ducked into the tent and stripped down to his boxers. Then he crawled into their zipped-together sleeping bags and lay on his back, folding his arms behind his head. The peace that had settled over him earlier deepened, spiced with a hint of arousal. Clay was proving to be surprising in more ways than one. Not only was he a lot better out on the trail than Trent could have predicted, but he was also giving and uninhibited during sex. The combination intrigued Trent. He had the feeling Clay would try anything once, which made him want to push his own—normally very vanilla—boundaries a bit. A few minutes later, the nylon tent swished as Clay entered. Trent watched the shadowy figure of the other man pull his shirt off over his head. The material rustled as it hit the ground, followed by his shorts. The other side of the sleeping bag lifted, and a slim, warm body slid in alongside him. 88

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Trent rolled to his side and wrapped an arm around Clay. He could barely make out Clay’s face in the dark tent. Clay’s lips parted like he was going to say something. Suddenly, Trent didn’t want to talk. He found Clay’s mouth with his own. Clay let out a happy sound and kissed him back. The kiss didn’t last as long as Trent would have liked, but when Clay twisted his body around and took Trent’s dick into his mouth, Trent bit back his complaint. Clay’s mouth was hot, wet heaven, and he had no problem deep-throating. What Clay was doing felt so good Trent forgot he wasn’t a selfish guy for a few minutes. He remembered in time to grab Clay’s hips and bring the other man’s cock closer. He gathered enough focus to blow a stream of warm air onto Clay’s erection. Clay moaned around Trent’s cock. His rhythm faltered for a few seconds. Trent wanted to make him lose focus totally. He took Clay’s already leaking shaft into his mouth and sucked. The combined pleasures of Clay’s mouth on him and the saltysweet weight of Clay in his own mouth conspired against Trent. His orgasm built quickly, and when he came he came fast and hard. Clay swallowed his semen down and licked him clean. Sated, Trent redoubled his efforts. He twined his tongue around Clay’s dick and brought a hand up to cradle his balls. Clay stiffened and let out a small, surprised grunt as his release took him. Trent kept sucking, gentling his touch, until he knew he’d wrung every last drop of pleasure from the other man. Trent crawled back up to Clay, who shoved him onto his back and kissed him hard. He threaded his hands into Trent’s hair almost as if he thought Trent would try to get away. Getting away was the last thing on Trent’s mind. Clay tasted like mint and cum, and Trent couldn’t seem to get enough. 89

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When Clay released him and flopped over onto his back, Trent huffed out a laugh. “Wow. What was that for?” “The amazing sex, of course.” Clay’s tone held a lightness that seemed a little…off, somehow. Trent wanted to think about that. I should ask him. Then again, it could be nothing. Trent was too tired and full of sleepy, happy post-sex endorphins to be able to tell the difference. Closing his eyes, he decided to worry about it tomorrow.

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CHAPTER 11 The third time Clay stumbled and nearly fell on the steep, uneven ground, he started to wonder if taking the shortcut had been such a good idea. The terrain had changed gradually, going from difficult but manageable to so rough and steep Clay almost wished they had climbing gear. Taking the shortcut had been his idea, though, and he couldn’t complain. He soldiered on behind Trent, who didn’t seem to be having as much trouble as he was. Trent stopped at the top of the rise and waited for him. He held out a hand to help Clay. “You okay?” Clay took the offered hand and let Trent haul him up. The warm strength of Trent’s hand in his reminded him of the night before. Some of his frustration ebbed at the memory. He focused on slowing his breathing. “I’m good.” 91

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Trent gave him a wicked grin. “I know you are.” Clay laughed and swatted his arm. “You’re a regular comedian.” They stood at the top of the rise for a few minutes, catching their breath. Clay glanced around at the tangled vegetation and rocky ground. “That was fun. What’s next?” Trent dug out the map and glanced at it. “Looks like we have more of the same, at least for today. If we can get past it, there should be a good place to camp near the creek.” More of the same. Great. Clay squared his shoulders and thought about beating everybody to the base camp. “We’d better get started, then.” “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish, right?” Trent slung an arm around Clay’s shoulder and squeezed. “You can do this.” Trent’s support bolstered Clay’s sagging spirits. He nodded. “I know.” Maybe if he told himself that enough times he would start to believe it. *

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They made their goal that night, but only just. By the time they staggered into the clear area beside the creek—which was a lot wider than Clay had expected it to be—the sun was almost gone. They had to pitch the tent fast, and afterward they were too tired to start a fire and cook. Instead of something hot, they made do with trail mix and beef jerky. Exhausted, overheated, and sore, Clay didn’t eat much. He forced down what he could and crawled into the sleeping bag. Trent slid in beside him and lay on his back, pillowing his head on one muscular arm. They were quiet long enough for Clay to almost fall asleep before Trent spoke. “You did great today. I’m 92

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proud of you.” A warm glow spread through Clay’s chest. He shifted to rest his head on Trent’s shoulder. “Really? You’re not just saying that?” Trent chuckled. “I’m not the kind of guy who just says things to make people feel better. I’m the idiot who’d tell you your pants made your butt look big, and then get slapped for it. If I thought you weren’t doing well, I would have suggested we turn back.” The glow spread through his whole body. Clay snuggled in close, ignoring how dirty and sweaty they both were. “Did they?” “What?” Clay grinned at the confusion in Trent’s voice. “Did my pants make my butt look big?” Trent laughed out loud. “Your butt is perfect, and you know it.” Clay pretended to preen. “It is, isn’t it?” “Shut up and go to sleep, you.” Trent wrapped his arm around Clay and settled into the sleeping bag. Within minutes he was asleep. Clay listened to Trent’s soft breathing. He knew he should sleep, too. Tomorrow would be another long, hard day. Despite his exhaustion, sleep wouldn’t come. His mind remained wide awake, focused on the man beside him. Trent was big and gruff, yet sweet and tender, strong but vulnerable at the same time. He was everything Clay had ever wanted and nothing he could have. Guys like Trent didn’t choose guys like him for relationships. For hot flings, sure, but not for a house with a white picket fence. When it came time for Trent to settle down he’d probably marry some nice, pretty woman he could introduce to his law enforcement buddies, not a silly little party boy he’d have to hide from everyone he knew. 93

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Clay could keep telling himself not to fall for the man, but he had to be honest with himself. He’d already fallen. How could he not? His romantic heart wanted to start imagining a future for them, with a house and a dog and maybe a baby someday. Clay wasn’t about to let himself go down that road. This time, he was going to face the harsh reality before he started acting like a fool. In less than a week, he and Trent would go their separate ways, back to their lives. Trent wasn’t going to fall in love with Clay and beg him to come back to wherever the hell Trent lived. They would probably never speak to each other again after their two week “adventure” was over. What they had was a fling. A short, hot vacation fling. Clay would be wise to remember that and enjoy the time they had together without wishing for more. Too bad that was easier said than done. *

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The next two days were a repeat of the first day on the shortcut, only more difficult. The creek turned out to be both wider and deeper than they had expected, making crossing it a miserable experience. By the time they reached the other side, Clay was soaked from the chest down, he’d scraped his leg on a rock, and his arms were tired from holding his backpack over his head. His sleepless night caught up to him, leaving him lethargic and listless. Trent seemed concerned, but other than making jokes to try to cheer Clay up he didn’t say anything about Clay’s sudden mood change. That, more than anything else, motivated Clay to focus on not letting his confusion and unhappiness show. He had plenty of practice at putting on a false front to hide his feelings. At 94

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any rate, forcing himself to act more cheerful actually made him feel better. They reached a good spot for camping that night early enough for a fire, and hot food improved Clay’s mood quite a bit. So did a quick scrub using water Trent brought up from a tiny spring and heated by the fire. When they finally crawled into bed that night, Clay felt good enough to tease Trent with his mouth until Trent pushed him down onto his stomach and fucked him. Afterward he fell asleep, totally worn out. The tenth day proved to be the hottest one they’d had. The thick, humid air pressed down on Clay, making it difficult to struggle over the rough terrain. Breathing felt harder than usual. Even Trent seemed to be having a rough time. They had to help each other for once, instead of Trent helping Clay. Still, they were doing pretty well time-wise. Trent looked at the map during one of their breaks. He nudged Clay and pointed at the paper. “Look how close we are. If we really push it, we could make it to camp tonight.” The thought of sleeping in a bed, even a crappy bunk bed, was appealing. The thought of a shower was even more so. Clay forced himself to get up from the log he’d been sitting on. “Let’s do it.” They were pushing on again, faster now with their destination so close, when Clay heard a sharp, “Fuck!” He whirled around to find Trent on his butt on the ground, clutching at his ankle, his face a mask of pain. Clay hurried to Trent’s side and knelt next to him. “What happened? Are you okay?” Trent made a visible effort to school his expression. “I must have stepped into a soft spot. The ground collapsed under my foot 95

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and I turned my ankle.” “Let me see.” Clay reached for Trent’s boot. Trent waved him off. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” He stood, started to walk, and hissed. He tried to keep up his tough-guy expression, but Clay wasn’t fooled. Clay sighed. “You’re not fine. Please sit down and let me look at it.” When Trent started to protest, Clay gave him his best bigeyed pleading look. The look had worked on pretty much every guy he’d tried it on, at least in the short-term. The effectiveness seemed to wane once guys got to know him. Apparently Trent was not an exception. He sat and put his leg out. Clay knelt beside him again and unlaced his boot, careful not to push on the ankle too much. Despite his care, Trent winced several times before he was finished and able to get the boot off. He set it aside and peeled Trent’s sock down. The skin he revealed was already beginning to swell, which wasn’t a good sign. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to keep going tonight.” Trent shook his head. “We’re almost there. If we wait, who knows how many other guys will get there before we do?” A few days before, Clay might have been upset by that idea. He shrugged. “So what? I’ve already proven what I came here to prove. Winning is not important right now. You are.” Trent seemed to consider that for a moment. “What do we do now? I don’t want to use the emergency locator.” “I don’t either.” Clay might not care if he beat everyone, but he wanted them to finish. He chewed his lip and traced a finger over the swollen side of Trent’s ankle. “If we go a little bit out of our way, there’s a creek close to here. We don’t have any ice, but I bet the creek’s cold. Then we can wrap your ankle and see if it’s any 96

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better tomorrow morning.” It was probably a testament to how he was feeling that Trent didn’t bother to argue. “Okay.” *

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They improvised a splint from one of Trent’s T-shirts and two sticks. Clay made Trent put an arm around him for support and keep his weight off his hurt leg. Twenty minutes later they were at the creek. Clay took off the splint and helped Trent position his foot in the cold water. Trent yelped at the cold but didn’t complain. Instead, he offered a weak smile. “Hard to believe the water’s so damned cold when it’s hot as Hades still.” Clay gave Trent his most reassuring smile in return. “It’s probably spring-fed or something. I guess we should be glad it’s not cold tonight.” Trent shrugged. “Be hard to sleep if the humidity doesn’t break.” Clay wanted to say something flirty about wearing Trent out enough that sleep would be easy, but he decided not to. He doubted Trent would be in the mood for anything more than sleeping later, after the shitty day he’d had. Besides, the only thing Clay really wanted right now was to take care of Trent. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that. If he said the words, he wouldn’t be able to take them back. They’d be out there, all emotional and clingy. Trent could use them against him. The silence between them built and grew awkward, but Clay didn’t try to break it. Hiding behind flippant remarks was his usual MO. Smartass remarks or silly double entendres didn’t seem 97

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appropriate when Trent was hurting. Clay made sure Trent was as comfortable as he could be and went to set up camp. Putting up the tent and starting the fire took longer than they would have with Trent’s help. Even so, Clay managed to get everything important done before nightfall. Afterward he stood and looked around, amazed at himself. Just a couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to do any of it. He didn’t expect to use the skills he was gaining often—if ever again—but it was still pretty cool. He smiled and went to get Trent before he started dinner. His smile faded as he spotted Trent huddled at the edge of the creek, ankle still in the water. Trent glanced up at his approach, expression shifting from pinched and tight to blank stoicism. Clay had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the other man was in pain. The manly man attitude wasn’t necessary to prove Trent was tough. Clay already knew that. He reached the water’s edge seconds later and knelt on the rocks beside Trent. Careful not to move the injured leg too much, Clay lifted Trent’s foot out of the water and scrutinized the ankle. “I don’t think it’s swollen too much more. Can you move it?” Trent rolled his ankle a bit. His whole body tensed. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “Yes, but it hurts like hell.” At least he would admit he was in pain. The last thing they needed was for Trent to hurt himself more by pretending he was fine. Clay dried the injured area with the discarded T-shirt from the improvised splint. “I’ve got one of those self-adhesive compression bandages. I’ll wrap your ankle, and then you can put your foot up for the rest of the night. Hopefully by tomorrow you’ll feel good enough to walk.” Clay started to wind the bandage around Trent’s leg. “Tell me if I hurt you.” 98

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Trent watched in silence as Clay wrapped his ankle, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. Clay stood and offered Trent a hand up, which he took. Together, Trent’s arm over Clay’s shoulders, they hobbled toward the fire.

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CHAPTER 12 Trent picked at his beef stew, watching Clay bustle around on the other side of the fire. Clay had set him up a nest against a fallen log, with his foot propped up on a rock. His ankle throbbed with every beat of his heart. The pain had let up somewhat since Clay made him soak in the creek, but it still hurt like a bitch. Such a small thing, a sprained ankle, yet he was out of commission because of it. Clay had wanted to be at camp before the others. Trent had wanted to give that accomplishment to him. Who knew how many other guys would get there before them now? They could have been at camp already if he had been watching where the hell he was going. And then there was the way Clay had acted since Trent managed to get himself hurt. Clay had set up the camp on his own. 100

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He’d improvised a way to treat Trent’s injury. He made dinner and brought Trent a cool wet cloth covered in plastic to put over his ankle. He was so fucking sweet it practically made Trent’s teeth hurt. Nobody had taken care of Trent in a long time. Clay shouldn’t be doing it now. Trent knew he shouldn’t be allowing it. In four days, he would be going back to his life. To his job. Clay would, too. Neither of them should be letting this thing between them become anything more than fantastic vacation sex. Clay finally finished whatever he’d been doing and rounded the fire to flop down beside Trent. “How’re you feeling?” “Eh.” Trent frowned at his ankle. “It’s throbbing less since you put the cloth on it.” “I’m glad.” Clay beamed at him, heart in his eyes. “Do you need anything else right now?” “No. Thanks.” God, Clay had beautiful eyes. Expressive, and full of emotion. For Trent. One more thing to add to his growing list of things to feel guilty about. Trent chose to shove down the answering tug of emotion in his own chest. This trip was helping him get his shit together, but he was still going back to his job. He still wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust his emotions again. A man like Clay would never fit into his life. He was not going to let himself fall for someone he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—have again. Clay smiled at him and stood. “Okay. I’m going to finish cleaning up, then.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Trent’s cheek. “Yell if you need me.” Trent couldn’t bear the sight of that earnest face. He closed his eyes and nodded. The hot, muggy day had become a warm, muggy night. Trent’s shirt stuck to his skin, the sweat he’d worked up during the day not 101

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evaporating. His skin felt prickly and somehow too tight, like he needed to shed it for a new, bigger one. At least he was far enough away from the fire not to be burning up. The insects and frogs must have liked the weather, because they were chirping and shrilling all over the place. He kept his eyes closed and leaned back to listen. Maybe he could doze off if he lay still and tried not to think. *

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A little while later, a gentle hand on Trent’s shoulder let him know it was time for bed. He sighed and opened his eyes. Clay smiled down at him. The moonlight painted Clay’s face with shadows and silver, making him look almost delicate, but Trent knew he wasn’t. He was tougher than he knew. In some ways, he was tougher than Trent. Trent let Clay help him up and lowered his arm to the smaller man’s shoulders. Together, they made their way to the tent and ducked inside. Trent could hear the rustle of Clay’s clothes as he stripped in the dark. Trent took his own shirt off easily, but had to sit down to get his shorts off over his swollen ankle. In no time at all, he was lying on his back in the sleeping bag, his foot propped up on his backpack thanks to Clay’s help. Clay slid in beside him, staying well to his own side of the bag. Was he worried about Trent’s ankle, or the heat? Either way, Trent felt his absence. They lay in silence for a while. “Should I take the bags apart?” “No.” The denial was out before Trent really considered, but after a few seconds he realized he meant it. He wanted Clay beside him. He felt less alone that way. Scary thought. 102

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“Are you sure I won’t hurt your ankle? Or make you too hot?” Clay inched closer to him, movements tentative. “I’m sure.” Trent waited until Clay was close enough and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Come here.” Clay let out a tiny sigh he probably wasn’t aware of making and relaxed against Trent. His breathing evened out almost immediately, signaling sleep. He was soft and pliable against Trent’s side. So trusting. Trent tightened his embrace. Clay felt fragile in his arms. He kind of was, in a way. At least on the inside, where no one could see. Would being here with Trent become another one of Clay’s regrets, like that asshole he’d met online? Trent really, really hoped not. He stared up at the dark ceiling of the tent. No matter how hard Trent had worked to clear his mind earlier by the fire, he had never managed to sleep. He’d just been lying there listening to Clay get everything ready for the night ahead. He’d opened his eyes a few times to watch Clay’s lithe form moving around him, especially when Clay bent over to put out the fire. He couldn’t help staring— the man’s ass was so tight and perfect. The rest of the time he’d spent dwelling on his mistakes, and his worries. Sleep didn’t feel any closer now than it had then. The throbbing of his injured ankle, while irritating, wasn’t the problem. The problem was the thoughts buzzing around in his head. He’d never been one to overthink things before his last assignment. Now he couldn’t seem to stop. He also couldn’t seem to stop making decisions with his dick. Or his heart. What kind of mess was he going to make this time? “Mm, I can hear the wheels turning in your head. What’s wrong?” Clay nuzzled against his neck, voice a sleepy murmur. “Just thinking about a few things.” 103

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“Duh.” His dodge hadn’t worked. He could hear the eye-roll in Clay’s voice. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s all right.” Trent didn’t want to talk about anything. But if anyone would listen and not judge, he thought that person might be Clay. He took a deep breath. “Remember when I told you about my undercover work? About RJ?” “The leader of the gang. Yeah.” Clay’s head brushed Trent’s shoulder as he nodded. “I told you I forgot he was the enemy. It was a little more than that.” Trent paused, the guilt, confusion, and anger thinking about RJ always caused rushing through him. “I had…feelings for him.” Feelings. A weak, sanitized word for the wild tangle of emotions that had threatened to destroy his career, and maybe his life. By the end of the job, he’d had a hard time remembering that RJ was a murdering, thieving scumbag who had hurt countless people with his selfish and cruel actions. All Trent had been focused on was being Jonny Trent, and on how RJ treated him. He’d fallen into his role too far. A part of him had known that the night he ended up in bed with Crystal and RJ, but he hadn’t cared. He’d gone blind when it came to RJ. If the job hadn’t ended, he could have made some even more critical error in judgment that would have not only ruined him but endangered his colleagues. “Were you in love with him?” Trent couldn’t read Clay’s tone. His normally expressive voice had a careful, measured aspect. Maybe he was trying not to show his disgust. “I don’t know. The best way I can describe it is to say Jonny Trent was. RJ wasn’t a good man, but he was good to Jonny. I know Jonny was me, but sometimes I felt like he was someone else.” He sighed and turned his gaze away. He knew how his words sounded, which was why he hadn’t said them to the shrink. 104

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“I guess that makes me sound crazy.” “No. Not crazy.” Clay put a hand over Trent’s heart. Oddly, Trent was reassured. Clay shifted up onto his elbow. “You were in a dangerous situation for eight months. Your life depended on convincing them you were Jonny Trent. I can’t say I understand, because I’ve never been through anything like that, but I can see how it could get hard to separate your real life from your cover.” Trent let out the breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding. “Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is I fucked up. How can I ever trust myself again?” Hearing his own words, he was grateful for the dark. What was it about Clay that made him want to confess everything? Clay didn’t seem to mind, if his response was any indication. “I know what you mean. I’ve made so many mistakes looking for someone to love me I’m starting to wonder if there just isn’t anybody out there. I pick the wrong guys, then I let them walk all over me until they get tired of me. And every time afterward I tell myself not to do that again.” The defeated tone of Clay’s voice tugged at Trent’s heart. He rubbed Clay’s arm. To lighten the mood, he said, “It sounds like we both need an intervention.” Clay laughed. “I guess so.” He lay back down, this time with his head on Trent’s shoulder. “I’ll call Dr. Phil first thing in the morning. Until then, let’s get some sleep.” Trent chuckled and closed his eyes. Whoever said confession was good for the soul had definitely been onto something, because he fell asleep in minutes. *

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The next morning, Trent woke to the sound of singing. He opened his eyes and listened, a smile spreading across his face. He crawled out of the sleeping bag and got to his feet. His ankle twinged. He put a bit of weight on that side to test it, grateful to find that his pain had gone down to a tolerable level. If they moved slowly, he should be able to hike today. Still grinning, he pushed open the tent flaps. The sight that greeted him was both arousing and amusing. Clay wasn’t a great singer, but he was belting out an Adam Lambert tune with a lot of enthusiasm. He was dancing around, shaking his ass to the beat of the imaginary music while he prepared breakfast. He whirled around when Trent laughed. His face turned tomato red. Trent stopped laughing and tried to hide his smile. “Why’d you stop? I was enjoying your performance.” Clay covered his face with his hand. “I thought you were still asleep.” Trent moved to Clay’s side and pulled his hand away. “Hey, don’t do that. I wasn’t making fun of you.” Clay didn’t look convinced, so Trent kissed him. Clay melted against Trent with a soft sound of surrender. His lips parted, and Trent took the opportunity to tease Clay’s tongue with his own. Clay broke the kiss abruptly and smiled up at him. “Oh, I just noticed! You’re walking. How’s your ankle?” Smothering a sigh at the interruption, Trent shrugged. “It’s okay. I won’t be able to run or anything, but I think we can move today.” “Great!” Clay actually clapped his hands. “I can’t wait to get to camp. Not that I’m not enjoying being out here with you or anything, but—” “Clay.” Trent held up his hand to end the stream of words. 106

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“Take a breath, sweetheart. I know what you mean. I’m looking forward to real food and a shower, too.” He didn’t realize what he’d said until Clay stared at him. Sweetheart? He hadn’t called anyone by any kind of endearment in a long time. Not and meant it. He’d called Crystal “baby” all the time, in a condescending way like the other men in the gang did to their girlfriends. Sweetheart was a new one for him. The word fit Clay, but Trent had no right to be using it. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Clay’s lips turned up in a soft smile. “We’d better eat and get going, then. You sit. I’ll pack up the tent. And I’ll look at your ankle before we go, too.” Grateful Clay hadn’t said anything about his slip, Trent obeyed. The sooner they got ready, the sooner they could hike back to camp. And back to their normal lives. *

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Less than two hours of slow, painful slogging up a hill later, Trent realized they had been a lot closer to camp than they thought. Not far ahead was a cluster of buildings, partially hidden by the forest. He pointed through the dense trees. “Look. Down there.” Clay must have spotted the same thing Trent had, because Clay clapped his hands again. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “We’re almost there!” He raced ahead and started scrambling down the hill. Halfway down, he stopped. “Oh. I forgot about your ankle.” Trent had to laugh. He was excited, too, but no way was he going to run. His ankle throbbed from overuse. “No problem. Not your fault I’m so slow.” He picked his way through the undergrowth until he caught up with Clay. 107

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Together, they continued down the hill until the ground flattened out. A trail twisted along beside the hill. Unlike the slightly clearer areas that had passed for trails when they first began their hike, this was a clear, well-used path. They only had to follow it for a few minutes before they emerged at camp. A cluster of small cabins surrounded a larger main building. Clay let out a whoop of triumph and hugged Trent. “We did it!” Then he seemed to realize where they were. He released Trent and backed off. “Sorry.” Relief and annoyance—mostly at himself for worrying about someone seeing them—were not a good combination. Trent shrugged. “It’s okay.” Clay looked away. “Let’s go. I could really use that shower.” “Yeah, me too.” They started toward the main building. The door opened before they got there, and Jim Tanner stepped out, a smile on his face. “Congratulations, gentlemen. You’re the third group to make it in.” “Yes!” Clay pumped his fist and jumped around for a second. When he noticed Jim and Trent staring at him, he let his arm drop. Jim clapped Clay on the back hard enough to move the smaller man. “You should be proud, son. I saw the way you two came in. It’s shorter, but hard as hell. Good job, both of you.” Clay blushed at that. “Thanks.” Clay’s sense of accomplishment must have been rubbing off on Trent, because Jim’s praise warmed him as well. “Clay was the one who wanted to try the shortcut.” “It paid off.” Jim pointed toward three tiny cabins that stood off to one side. “Since you’re the third group to come in, you get the last private cabin. Anybody that comes in from here on out has to share with three other groups.” 108

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“Private cabin? Tell me it has a shower.” The expression of longing on Clay’s face was comical. And cute. “Yep. The bathroom’s tiny, but there’s a shower.” Jim pointed toward another building on the other side of camp. “The guys in the communal cabins have to go over there for showers.” “Oh, man, this is so great.” Clay probably didn’t realize he was bouncing again. Trent decided not to draw attention to it. Clay would be embarrassed, and he much preferred seeing Clay happy. He turned his attention to Jim. “Which one’s ours?” “Number three. Go on in and stow your gear. Relax for a while. Dinner will be at five.” Still bouncing on his toes, Clay bounded toward cabin three. Jim raised an eyebrow. “I’ll bet hiking with him was never dull.” Trent grinned. “No, sir, it wasn’t.” “Well, you made it, and in a few days you’ll be back to civilization. I’m betting you’ll both be glad for it.” Trent murmured something mindless and agreeable, trying to ignore the twinge in his chest at the thought of going home in a few days. He nodded to the older man and followed Clay toward their home for the next couple of days, already anticipating a hot shower and a nap, and maybe some time with Clay in a real bed. He’d tell himself it was just sex, and maybe by the time they went back to their lives he’d actually believe it.

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CHAPTER 13 Clay pushed the door of cabin three open and peered inside. He’d never been so glad to see a tiny room with a pair of twin beds before. He tossed his backpack into the corner and went to explore. The main room held nothing of interest other than the two small beds and a tiny table that passed as a nightstand. The table was bare save for a small, single-bulb lamp. Crossing the room to an open door, he found a bathroom. Jim hadn’t been kidding about it being small. Still, there was a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a shower. No tub, but he didn’t care. The shower was enough to make him giddy. He headed back into the main room and flopped down onto one of the beds. The door opened wider to admit Trent, who smiled at him. “Tired already?” 110

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“Like you’re not. It’s been a long week.” Clay put his arms over his head and stretched. He didn’t miss the way Trent’s eyes locked onto the sliver of stomach revealed when his shirt inched up. He pretended he hadn’t noticed and stretched a little bit more. Trent licked his lips. He must have realized what he was doing, because his gaze shifted back to Clay’s face. “Yeah. I admit I’m ready to get off this ankle.” “I forgot about that again.” Clay popped up like a jack-in-thebox and patted the bed, feeling terrible. “Get over here.” The poor man had to be exhausted and in pain after walking on a sprained ankle all morning, and all Clay had been able to think of was a shower. Trent closed the door and crossed to sit beside Clay. His sigh as he lowered himself to the bed was pure relief. Clay slipped off the bed and knelt on the floor. He reached for the lacing of Trent’s boot and untied the knot. As gently as he could, he opened the boot and slid it off. Trent hissed. “Shit, that hurts.” After Clay peeled off the sock, he could see that Trent’s ankle had swollen again, worse than before. “Of course it hurts, you ass. Look what you did to yourself. Why didn’t you say something to me? We could have stopped.” Trent shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t have pushed so hard, but I’m not sorry.” His gray eyes were warm and soft as they met Clay’s gaze. “You wanted to get here before the other guys did. I wanted that for you.” “Idiot.” Clay couldn’t decide whether to melt or smack the man upside the head. He ran a fingertip over the tight, bruised skin. Trent could have really hurt himself. Clay would have felt awful. It was hard to stay angry when Trent was giving him that sweet 111

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look. Emotions rushed through him: tenderness, protectiveness, annoyance…love. Fuck. He turned his face to the floor and struggled to compose himself. “Hey.” A big hand caught Clay’s chin and tilted it up until he was forced to meet Trent’s gaze again. Trent watched him with concern. “What’s this? I’ll be okay.” “I know.” Clay wasn’t sure about himself. Letting himself fall for Trent was the fuckup to end all fuckups. At least all the other times he’d gone for the wrong guy, they’d lived near him, and been fully out. He’d had a chance. Even if Trent lived near him and was interested in something more than a vacation fling, Clay was willing to bet he wouldn’t want to be openly dating a man. Clay would die a little each day being Trent’s dirty secret. No matter how he looked at the situation, there could be no happy ending for him. He tried to smile. “I’m being silly.” He loosened the laces on Trent’s other boot and pulled it off. “Lay down for a while with your foot up, and we’ll see if that helps at all. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower. I can wrap your ankle again after you take yours.” “Sounds good.” Trent gave him another one of those sweet smiles and swung his legs up onto the bed. Clay fled for the bathroom. *

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He remained in the bathroom as long as he thought he could get away with, berating himself the whole time. How stupid could one man possibly be? He kept making the same mistake over and over, in a progressively worse fashion. 112

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Somewhere out there had to be a nice guy who would care about Clay for himself, rather than looks or sex or anything else. Someone out, proud, and available—emotionally and otherwise. Someone who wouldn’t think he was too fem, or wouldn’t care. The guy didn’t have to be as smoking hot as Trent was. All Clay wanted was a man who wanted him, in every way, for more than five minutes. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. Clay sighed and wiped the fog off the mirror. When he got home, he was going back to his old self. No more of this pretending to be butch shit. He had wanted to prove to himself that he could hack it out here in the big bad wilderness, and he had succeeded. He was done trying to be what other people wanted. “One good thing came out of this,” he whispered to his reflection. A pale stranger stared back at him, sad yet resolute. His heart tried to tell him that meeting Trent had been good, too, but he squashed the thought. He needed to start steeling himself for the inevitable end of their fling. *

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Clay’s resolution to steel himself lasted until after dinner. When he’d emerged from the bathroom after his shower, Trent had been napping. Clay let the other man sleep more out of selfpreservation than anything else. If Trent had been awake, he might have been tempted to say, or do, things he shouldn’t. He woke him with just enough time to shower and wrap his ankle before they had to go over to the main building for dinner. After days of camp food, their dinner of grilled burgers, potato chips, and coleslaw tasted like ambrosia. Even talking to the other 113

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groups wasn’t so bad. Clay felt like he had something to contribute to the conversation, unlike the first few days of the retreat. The big, bearded redhead and his partner had been first to come in, two days ago. They had taken a shortcut that sounded like a living hell to Clay, but listening to their adventures on the way was funny. The other pair that had come in before they had were guys he didn’t recognize. They were both quiet, focused on their food. Four other groups had made it in while he and Trent rested, all rueful about missing the last private cabin. Clay couldn’t stop smiling as they congratulated him and Trent on their success in reaching camp third. Watching a few bedraggled groups make their way into camp while he ate only made Clay enjoy his dinner more. He and Trent would be returning to their tiny sanctuary, while the poor guys coming in would be forced to bunk with a bunch of other people. Maybe he was mean to be happy about their misfortune, but didn’t feel bad—especially when the elder Blume and one of the sons showed up covered in mud. Dessert was chocolate pudding. Clay had two helpings, hoping indulging in chocolate might help him avoid other temptation. It didn’t work. *

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Like with so many of his resolutions over the years, Clay didn’t quite succeed in steeling himself for the impending separation. It was hard to remember that in a couple of days they’d be moving on when Trent didn’t act any differently. Trent made no visible effort to distance himself from Clay. If anything, the man was more affectionate than ever, at least when they were alone. The 114

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first night in their cabin, he drew Clay down onto one of the beds and kissed him with a tenderness that brought tears to Clay’s eyes. He teased and caressed until Clay was ready to explode. Clay was worried about his ankle, but Trent put his fears to rest by lying on his back and having Clay ride him. It was slow and sweet. Clay came so hard he saw stars. Afterward Trent hobbled off to get a washcloth to clean the stickiness from both of them, and then he pushed the two small beds together and pulled Clay into his arms. Part of Clay wanted to pull away, to create the distance Trent didn’t seem to want, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Being in Trent’s arms felt too good. The next day, they participated in a few fun team-building activities Jim and the rest of the staff had put together. Clay and Trent worked together as if they’d been a team for years. They won one of the games and managed not to lose any of the others, which Clay considered a victory. Trent’s behavior also felt like a victory, even though Clay tried not to let himself think of it that way. In front of the other guys Trent made it clear he and Clay were friends. He congratulated Clay on a good performance with high fives, and when they went back to the cabin he slung an arm around Clay’s shoulders in a buddy-type embrace in front of everyone, which was more than Clay had expected from him. Clay had been half-expecting Trent to revert to the uncommunicative grouch he’d been before they started their “wilderness adventure.” That night, the younger Blume brother, whom Clay was pretty sure was Gene, and his partner finally straggled in, dead last. When he found out about being last, Blume started in with the “it’s not fair” routine he’d tried before they left camp. Trent smirked and leaned in to Clay to whisper, “Look what the cat dragged in. I guess he should have taken the little fag after all.” 115

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Clay laughed, loudly enough to catch a glare from Blume, but he couldn’t have cared less. He’d proven his point in a lot more ways than one. He grinned at Trent. “Or the cop.” Trent shrugged, nonchalant. “Yeah, we’re both awesome.” That made Clay laugh harder. He liked funny, lighthearted Trent. Of course, he liked all the different Trents, even the surly one. Which went to show that he must be an idiot. Making an exaggerated show of yawning and stretching, Trent announced, “Man, I’m worn out.” He caught Gene Blume’s gaze and narrowed his eyes. “And I could use a shower. Good thing we’ve got one, huh?” Although the words were said to Clay, they were clearly directed at Gene. Blume’s lips tightened, and the tips of his ears reddened, but he said nothing. Trent stood and headed for the door. Clay followed, unable to resist a quick glance back at the fuming man they’d left behind. He looked ready to spit nails, which was no more than he deserved for being such an asshole. Clay hid his smile until they got outside, then he elbowed Trent in the side. “What was that all about, huh?” Trent slipped his arm around Clay in a hold that was more lover than friend and gave him a squeeze. “He was a dick to you. I just wanted to give him a little of his own back. Was that too Neanderthal of me?” Clay let his head rest against Trent’s shoulder. “No. It was kind of sexy, actually.” Trent pulled Clay closer and leaned in to nibble at his neck until Clay giggled and tried to get away. Trent mock-growled, “Why don’t you show me how much you liked it when we get back?” 116

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Clay considered pulling away for about half a second, but he didn’t. His heart was already as involved as it was going to get. He might as well enjoy the time with Trent while he could. He slid his arm around Trent’s waist. “Just wait ’til I get my hands on you.”

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CHAPTER 14 The morning of the last full day of the retreat, Trent woke abruptly, dazed and sweating. The nightmare had been a familiar one, right up until the end. He’d been undercover again, and the job had gone bad. RJ had made him as a fed—only instead of RJ shooting him in the head while the gang watched, Clay had somehow appeared. RJ had grabbed Clay and put the gun to his head instead, saying since Jonny had taken something from him, he’d take something from Jonny. Trent shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees. He might be feeling better after getting away for a while, but clearly he wasn’t over his undercover experience yet. Maybe he would never completely shake the paranoia and guilt. That wasn’t new, or unexpected. He’d been warned before he took the job. No amount 118

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of role-playing had prepared him for how difficult it would be to be undercover for so long, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t known the risks. Dreaming about Clay, and about losing him, was new. He didn’t have to be a shrink to see that having a dream about losing a guy he was trying not to care about meant something. What, he wasn’t sure. Or maybe he was and just didn’t want to admit it. He shook his head, annoyed at himself. He had never been one to sit and analyze his feelings before, and he didn’t want to start now. “When did I become such a fucking girl?” Beside him, the small, covered lump on the bed shifted. The top of a tousled auburn head appeared from beneath the sheet. Trent waited to see if Clay was awake, but the other man didn’t move again. Trent smiled and brushed his fingertips over Clay’s soft hair. Looking down at Clay’s slight form, a rush of protective warmth filled him. Clay shifted, maybe because of his touch, and sleepy dark eyes blinked up at him. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” He smiled and slid back down to lie beside Clay, propping himself on an elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a schedule for this morning.” Clay closed his eyes. His lips inched up. “Smartass.” “Aw, you’re going to hurt my feelings.” “Poor baby.” Clay’s slight smile became a devilish smirk. “Let me make it up to you.” Before Trent could think of a comeback, Clay slithered beneath the sheets. Trent sucked in a breath as Clay peppered his stomach with kisses. Clay’s slender fingers slipped into his boxers and grasped his dick, which came to attention almost instantly. In one smooth movement, his dick was engulfed in the hot, wet 119

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cavern of Clay’s mouth. Trent sucked in a sharp breath and lay back, unable to do more than reach down to thread his hand into Clay’s hair. He tugged, trying to get Clay to speed up, but he wouldn’t be hurried. Clay set a slow, steady pace. He didn’t just suck Trent’s dick, he worshipped it. His lips and tongue caressed and teased, using long, deep strokes. Trent wanted to let Clay take charge, since he seemed to want to, but that would have to wait. He caught Clay’s shoulders and pulled him up. There was a pop as Clay came off his cock, pouting. “What? I was having fun.” Trent took one look at Clay’s red, swollen lips and his control snapped. He rolled Clay beneath him, pinning the smaller man easily. “Now it’s my turn to have some fun.” His voice came out a growl as all the ideas he’d had while they were hiking but been unable to act out flew through his mind. Clay’s eyes widened, but he didn’t protest. He lay there unresisting, which only inflamed Trent more. Trent grabbed Clay’s hands and wrapped them around one of the slats of the headboard. A bandanna he’d tossed on the floor the night before caught his eye. He grabbed the cloth and wound it around Clay’s wrists. Clay’s rapid breathing and huge eyes shook him out of his sudden attack of dominance. He paused and rubbed Clay’s arm. “Is this okay?” “Fuck, yeah,” Clay breathed. Trent could see the words weren’t for his benefit. Clay was as turned on by the idea as he was. Smiling, he finished tying Clay’s wrists. He made the knot secure but not painful. Clay gave the bandanna a couple of experimental tugs, his breath quickening. “Oh, God.” He closed his eyes. “Touch me.” Trent bent down and bit Clay’s nipple just shy of too hard. 120

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Clay whimpered and writhed, his eyes falling closed. “Keep them closed,” Trent ordered. Part of him wondered where the hell his words were coming from. Most of him didn’t care. It felt too good to seize control to question the impulse. Ready to make Clay scream, he kissed, sucked, and bit his way down Clay’s torso, lingering over his taut stomach. When he reached Clay’s groin, he licked a stripe along Clay’s lightly furred balls. Clay tried to wriggle down, probably hoping to get Trent to suck him, but the bandanna stopped him. He groaned. “Please don’t tease me.” “I haven’t even started yet, sweetheart.” Trent sucked one round, tightening orb after another into his mouth. Before Clay had time to get used to that, Trent pushed his thighs up and went lower. At the first pass of his tongue over Clay’s entrance, Clay gasped and stiffened. “Oh, fuck.” Trent had never been a fan of rimming, giving or receiving, but Clay’s reaction hit him faster and harder than any drug. He lapped at the soft, wrinkled skin again, and again. Above him, Clay hissed and whimpered. Trent smiled, pointed his tongue, and pushed inside. Clay’s hole was tight and hot, with a musky, clean male flavor that wasn’t at all unpleasant. Trent moistened one of his fingers and pushed it in next to his tongue, opening Clay’s body farther. By that point Clay was incoherent. He’d had enough prep, and more importantly, so had Trent. If he spent any more time getting Clay ready, he’d pop the second he got inside. He pulled away and reached for a condom. He paused for a moment, caught by the sight of Clay spread out before him, bound, eyes closed, his cock standing straight up. 121

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“Fucking sexy.” He tore the condom packet open and sheathed himself. Clay’s eyes slid open. His gaze held arousal, and also a sliver of doubt. Trent wasn’t going to allow that. “Close your eyes.” When Clay obeyed, Trent kissed him quick and hard. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Believe it.” Any protest Clay might have made was silenced as Trent lifted his legs and pushed inside in one long stroke. They moved together, fast and hard. Each one of Trent’s thrusts moved Clay’s whole body up the bed. Clay didn’t seem to mind. He cried out for more. Too much sensation spread through Trent’s body. He grabbed Clay’s straining erection and pumped it a couple of times. Clay howled and spurted all over his stomach and Trent’s chest. The sudden tightening of Clay’s channel was all it took for Trent to come as well. He thrust through his orgasm, prolonging and expanding the feeling until he thought his whole body would fly apart. His dick pulsed into Clay again and again. Then it was over, and he collapsed onto Clay, drained. They lay there in silence for a few minutes. He knew they were sweaty and covered in cooling semen, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Clay was warm and real and perfect beneath him. All he wanted to do was float. *

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They spent most of the day in bed, sometimes making love, other times dozing together or talking. Trent didn’t know when he’d started thinking of what they were doing as making love, but 122

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he knew he was in trouble. His chest ached every time he thought of the next morning. How could he give this up? But how could he not? While they talked, the subject of their home cities had come up. The wild, hopeful part of Trent that had hoped Clay would say he lived in or near Chicago had been crushed when he said he lived in St. Louis. Three hundred miles wasn’t insurmountable, but the distance added yet another nail to the coffin of any vague thoughts Trent might have had of continuing their affair beyond this trip. His job was the other big obstacle. It was time-consuming, stressful, and sometimes dangerous. He’d never been involved with a man before in any real way, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be now. Being outed at work wouldn’t be great for his career. Clay had already dated his share of douche bags. He didn’t need to add a stressed-out, closeted federal agent to the list. He deserved someone who could love him fully and openly, and not just one weekend every month or two. Knowing all that didn’t ease the ache in Trent’s chest. He glanced down at Clay, who had fallen into an exhausted sleep on his shoulder after their third—or was it fourth?—round of the day. Asleep, Clay’s face was younger. The feminine aspects of his appearance were more obvious without the energy and hint of aggression he had when he was awake. Trent didn’t mind. The guys who’d thought Clay was too fem were morons. Clay was exactly who he was supposed to be, and he was beautiful. Trent slid down to the bed beside him and pulled him close. Clay smiled in his sleep and curled against Trent. The knot in Trent’s chest wound ever tighter. He pressed a gentle kiss to Clay’s temple and closed his eyes. 123

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CHAPTER 15 The last morning they almost missed breakfast. Clay woke early from a fitful sleep. He got up and packed his things to go. Then Trent woke up and coaxed Clay back to bed, where he made love to him like a man possessed. He touched Clay like every touch was the last, which it was. It was slow and intense and heartbreakingly tender, and when he came Clay had to bury his face in a pillow to hide his tears. They ate breakfast in silence, surrounded by the loud conversations of the men around them. Nobody seemed to notice anything amiss with Clay, something he was grateful for. He didn’t want to face any well-meaning concern. He would probably break down if anyone was kind to him, and he had promised himself he would not be clingy or emotional this time. Trent was going back 124

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to his life today whether Clay wanted him to or not. Clay wanted Trent’s memories of him to be of great sex and fun, not of a pathetic guy who got too attached and bawled like a baby when they went their separate ways. This time, he would keep his dignity. He held tight to that thought as they loaded into a van and headed for the airport. He stared out the window, feeling brittle and cold despite the heat. He wanted to look at Trent, or talk to him, but he was afraid to. From behind him, Gene Blume’s sneering voice interrupted his thoughts. “Guess you’ll be glad to be getting back to the city, huh? We all know you would never have made it to camp if it wasn’t for Trent.” Under his breath, Gene muttered, “You little fag.” Clay stiffened but didn’t turn. He could feel Trent fuming next to him. He put a hand on Trent’s arm to stop him from saying anything. People like the Blumes weren’t worth their time. Confronting them wouldn’t change anything. They would still be narrow-minded bigots. Trent must not have agreed. To Clay’s shock, he turned to face the Blumes. Clay turned, too, worried about what Trent would say, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Fuck you, Gene. Clay suggested the shortcut that helped us beat you, and he even insisted we stop when I hurt my ankle. We would have beaten you by another day if he hadn’t.” Trent smiled and laced his fingers through Clay’s. “You got your ass kicked by a couple of fags. What does that say about you?” Gene stared at Trent, his mouth open. “You…you’re…” Clay was too busy being astonished at Trent’s actions to relish the reaction. He stared down at Trent’s hand. A couple of fags. Trent didn’t bother to answer. He turned back to face the front 125

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of the van, fingers still cradling Clay’s. He held on all the way to the airport. Clay clutched Trent’s hand in silence, torn between shock, elation, and confusion. *

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Clay didn’t break down until his plane was in the air. For once he was grateful for the aisle seat. He slipped out of his seat belt the second the fasten seat belt light went out, locked himself in the tiny airplane bathroom, and let the tears come. For five minutes, silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He’d never been one to worry if crying was “too girly,” and he wasn’t about to start now. After five minutes, he pulled himself together and washed his face. Time to suck it up and put on a happy face. The emotional release had helped a little, but now he felt drained and empty. He curled up in his seat and tried to sleep. *

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Back at Lambert Airport, Clay shouldered his backpack and made his way to the pickup zone. He spotted Rex right away. His brother leaned up against his truck, reading a magazine. To his horror, Clay felt tears prickling the back of his eyes again. He stopped for a second to blink them back, not wanting to cry in front of Rex. His brother would freak out. His pause must have caught Rex’s attention, because his brother stood up straight and strode toward him. “Hey! How was your trip?” Clay accepted the hug Rex offered gratefully. Against his 126

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brother’s big shoulder, he muttered, “Good.” Rex leaned back and put Clay away from him, his face creasing into a fierce frown. “Clay. You didn’t.” Clay knew exactly what his brother meant. He had the worst habit of getting hurt at every turn. Rex understood him like nobody else did. Unwilling to lie, he shrugged. “Shit, bro, you were on a wilderness adventure. How the hell did you find a guy at a place like that?” The expression on Rex’s face was somewhere between exasperation and fondness. “Just lucky, I guess. Or unlucky.” Clay shrugged again. “Let’s talk about this later, okay? For now, I just want to go home.” Rex’s gaze said you’re not getting out of telling me forever, buddy, but he nodded. “Hop in.” Clay sighed and obeyed. It was time to get back to his normal life. And this time, he was living it on his terms. *

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Clay’s first order of business was to dye his hair back to the way he liked it. Dante, his favorite stylist, was thrilled to see him, and together they decided on dark, chocolate brown with bright red streaks. The base color was a bit more restrained than his usual raven black, and the finished product resembled a wilder version of his natural color, but he liked the way the colors looked with his skin tone. He went back to his usual routine right away. Work helped keep his mind off his loneliness. Nights and weekends he filled with friends and spending time with Rex and Ellie. For once, he didn’t try to find a new guy right away. His bruised heart wasn’t ready. When he went to clubs, he let his friends do all the picking 127

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up. He restricted himself to drinks, dancing, and a little harmless flirting—and he wore whatever the hell he wanted to, fem or not. Overall, his plan to take his life back seemed to be working. Then, on a boring Friday afternoon at work, a few weeks after he returned, he got an email from “Jonathan T. Raines.” He almost deleted the message unread, until he remembered that Trent’s name was actually Jonathan. Clay’s finger hovered over the mouse button for several minutes while he considered his options. He was finally starting to get over Trent. He thought. Would opening the email send him back to square one? And what if it was nothing more than a stupid forward, or something equally lame, and he was getting all worked up for no good reason? Finally he told himself to stop being a dumbass and make a decision. He clicked on the message. The short missive left him confused. Hey, Clay, I hope you remembered Jonathan was me. Just wondered how you were now that we’re both back in civilization. I’m back at work, desk duty for now. It sucks. How’s everything with you? Trent On one hand, Trent had reached out to him. That was more than Clay had expected. On the other hand, the email was about as generic as it got. There was no mention of anything personal. Clay chewed his lip and considered his reply. 128

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Trent, Hey, good to hear from you. I’m glad you’re back at work, even if it’s boring old desk duty. I’m sure you’ll be out there catching bad guys again soon enough. As for me, I’m back to my normal life. “Fem” and all. And you know what? I love it. C That ought to do the trick of reminding Trent who he was in case the man had gotten nostalgic and forgetful since they parted. Clay hit send and shut down his computer, ready to relax. His phone pinged the signal for new email before he even got home. He made himself wait until he got inside his condo before opening it. Good for you. You shouldn’t have to change who you are. Just realized I’ve never seen this so-called “fem” version of you. Before he gave himself time to think about what he was doing, Clay had taken a picture of himself on his phone, bright hair, wry smile, preppy-argyle-sweater-over-collared-shirt, and all. He attached the picture to an email and sent it. Less than a minute later, his phone chimed once more. His heart started to pound. What if Trent didn’t like the real him? And what the hell did he care? The man lived hours away. He closed his eyes and tapped the new email. Then, holding his breath, he 129

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opened his eyes. I love the hair. And is that eyeliner? Whatever it is, it looks good. Looks like you. I miss you. Clay stared at the last line. His lower lip wobbled, and he bit into the soft flesh hard enough to hurt. Did Trent really mean that? *

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Clay laughed and leaned back over the arm of his couch. The odd pose gave him a whole new perspective of his living room, including the dust bunnies under the cabinet in the corner. He grimaced and sat up. Trent was still talking on the other end of the phone, and he refocused his attention on the story Trent had been telling. “So what did he say to that?” He could almost hear Trent rolling his eyes. “He said that wasn’t his fucking job. If it’s not his, who the hell is supposed to do it? All this paperwork is kicking my ass. I’m just glad the trials are over.” Over the past few months, he and Trent had graduated from frequent emails to chatting online and on the phone several times a week. At first they’d just talked about everyday things, like friends—until one late night Trent confessed that he still missed Clay and thought about him all the time. Since then they’d been in a long-distance relationship of sorts, made up mostly of phone or online sex and a few, scattered weekends when Clay could get up to Chicago. Rex thought Trent was using him to have the fun of a 130

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relationship without the work, or having to be out. His brother was very vocal about his disapproval. Clay knew Rex was wrong. The visits proved the connection they’d had on the wilderness trip wasn’t a fluke. The sex was incredible, but even better was the way they could talk about anything, and the sweet protectiveness Trent showed toward him. Each time Clay had to leave Trent and come home, his heart broke a little bit more. It wasn’t quite the kind of relationship Clay had dreamed of, but he couldn’t bear to break things off. He loved Trent too much. He dragged his mind back to the conversation. They’d talked a lot about Trent’s anxiety regarding the trials of his former gang cohorts. Trent hadn’t been allowed to say much in the way of specifics, but Clay knew the stress of the trials had been wearing him down. The last one, RJ’s, had concluded with a guilty verdict earlier in the day. Recalling what Trent had said last, Clay said, “Me, too. You need a break.” “Yeah.” Trent paused. The silence stretched long enough for Clay to know something was up. He frowned as worry threaded through him. “What’s going on? Are you okay, really?” “I’m fine.” Trent paused again. “You know I care about you, right?” Oh, shit. How many times had he heard that line before? He was being dumped. Clay sank his teeth into his lip and made an affirmative noise. Trent continued, not seeming to notice Clay’s lack of verbal response. “Well, I did something kind of crazy.” Okay. Maybe he wasn’t being dumped after all. Clay sat up. “What did you do?” 131

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Before Trent could respond, the doorbell rang. Clay wanted to ignore it, and he would have, but it rang again. “Damn it. There’s someone at the door. Hold on a second.” He put the phone down on the couch and hopped up. Whatever Trent had to say had sounded important, and he resented the interruption. He hurried across the room and yanked the door open. If Rex had chosen that moment to come over unannounced, he would kill his brother. Slowly and painfully. “Hey.” Trent stood there, phone still pressed to his ear. His hair was a little longer, and looked as if he’d run his fingers through it countless times. He looked thinner. Dark circles ringed his eyes. He lowered the phone and offered Clay a tentative smile. Clay could only stare. His heart pounded in his ears so loudly he could barely hear anything else. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Trent’s smile faded. “That’s the crazy part. I asked for a transfer. To the St. Louis office.” “What?” Certain he couldn’t be hearing what he thought, Clay remained where he was. He was dreaming. That was the only logical explanation. Trent’s hand speared into his hair. “It will take a while to go through, but… I hate being away from you. I want us to be together. For real. I love you. I…” Misery swept over his face. “Fuck. You didn’t want this. I should have asked you first.” “No.” Clay shook his head, hard. Trent loved him. What else could he possibly want? “No, I want this. I want you. I just didn’t even dream—” Trent grabbed Clay and yanked him into his arms, pressing his lips to the top of Clay’s head. “I thought you were going to tell me you didn’t want me here.” “Of course I want you here. For as long as you want to be 132

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here.” Clay pulled the man he loved down into a deep kiss. Trent was the one to break the embrace. He grinned down at Clay. “So, I think we should celebrate. What would you say to us taking a trip together, as a couple?” Clay smiled and snuggled back into his embrace. “I’d love that. Where?” “Oh, I was thinking maybe a wilderness retreat.” “Why not? I need another challenge.” Clay laughed and pulled Trent down for another kiss.

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CASSANDRA GOLD

By day, Cassandra is a (relatively) mild-mannered middle school teacher. At night, she lets the characters in her head out to play as she writes stories of men falling in love. Unfortunately for her husband, neither of Cassandra's personas enjoys doing housework. For more information on Cassandra, please visit her website at: http://www.cassandragold.com *

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Don’t miss Quinn’s Hart by Cassandra Gold, available at AmberAllure.com! Quinn Delaney has never had much luck with men. Shy and uncomfortable with his height, he’s always tried to blend in rather than stand out. When his former foster sister and best friend cons him into going on a singles’ trip to Walt Disney World, Quinn is certain he will be miserable. Then he meets Josh. Being dumped by his high-maintenance boyfriend a couple of weeks before a trip to Disney World isn’t what Josh Hart had planned, but he’s determined not to let it get him down. Rebooked on a singles’ trip, Josh intends to make the most of his first trip to

an amusement park. On the first day, he meets shy, sexy Quinn, but the man is clueless about his own appeal. If Quinn wants to catch the man of his dreams, he’ll have to be willing to risk the one thing he’s never put on the line before—his heart.

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