Strut (Style, #2)

by Jay Hogan

Alec was six foot two of smooth, blemish-free lean muscle, blond hair, deep ocean-blue eyes, and a boy-next-door-look with a naughty edge and a wicked come-hither smile. He was fucking irresistible. At least to me. And when he prowled the catwalk with that odd swagger he had, women drooled and men adjusted their dicks. He was sex on a stick and money in the bank to the lucky clients that booked him. Bad enough I couldn’t take my eyes off him when we’d worked together, but once I held him close and he’d come in my hand, yeah, I was so fucking done for.

And it was in all the unsaid things that hummed between us, like shadows on the wall. Words that wriggled deliciously under the laughter and peeked out from behind those smiles. Tempting words. Dangerous words.

“I didn’t run from you in the club because what we did meant nothing.” His brown eyes darkened in the lengthening shadows, their intensity burning straight through me. “I ran because it meant more than I was willing to admit.”

“I didn’t know what to make of the fact I wanted more than what we did, more than a hook-up. You . . . scared me, and I needed to put you back in the box.”

“No. I won’t be long.” And I wasn’t. The call lasted all of three minutes. Three minutes that were about to change my life.

“Look, Hunter, no matter what you say, you didn’t come to New York wanting a relationship. You had a year to find me, write to me, send me a text, anything, but you didn’t. I think that says it all.” He smiled sadly. “And what you said about why you ran, Hunter. That you thought I was dangerous. I understand exactly what you mean because you’re too damn dangerous for me as well. I’ve got more skin in this game than I can afford to lose right now, and I don’t think you’ve even stuck your little finger in. So I’m saying, no.”

Rhys smirked. “Then I only have one thing left to say to you.” I thought about ignoring the smug bastard, then caved because . . . best friend. The path of least resistance was just common sense. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what?” He smirked. “I’ve never known you to be a quitter, Hunter. Why would you start now?” “That’s two things,” I pointed out and ended the call.

“I’m nervous about how you make me feel. And with very good reason, it appears.” He studied me and a slow smile spread over his face. “Well, in case you were wondering, the feeling is mutual. You’re not the only one with your heart exposed, Hunter Donovan.” I brushed a wisp of blond hair from his eyes. “I know that. And I don’t want to hurt you.” Alec returned my earlier kiss, lingering just a little before pulling away. “Then don’t.”

It reminded me I was twelve years younger, something I rarely thought about. I considered the age difference for all of two seconds, realised I didn’t give a fuck, and let it go.

This damn city. Mayhem, violence, and impossible acts of kindness, all rubbing shoulders with about six inches of personal space per person. You just never fucking knew.

I pulled the hair back from his ear and whispered, “I love you.” He mumbled something and gave a huge sigh, and just like that, he was asleep. I smiled against his hair and pressed kisses to his shoulder as his breathing slowed. This. This was what it was all about. This was living. This was everything.