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  AROUND THE forehead, down the slender nose, over the full top lip. The soft charcoal line caressed that perfect face. He had to stop. He needed to work on the nude, but he’d gotten one beautiful portrait photograph as Hunter, his face soft and glowing, looked at the painting of Jerry. He’d swallowed sadness and jealousy, but he couldn’t resist the picture. He had to paint it.

  Both these paintings were a study in masochism. Why did he do this to himself? Hell, numerous perfectly good guys thought he was great. And wanted to be with him. What made him shoot for the moon? Oh shit, look at those eyes. He didn’t want to want Hunter. He didn’t. He didn’t.

  The screen rattled. Damn. He pushed the drawing under a pile of palette papers and approached the canvas on the easel.

  “Hey, Rod. You there?”

  Rod sighed. He loved Jerry but didn’t want to be reminded that Hunter had been staring at Jerry’s perfect ass in Roman’s beautiful photo. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Jerry bounded into the room. He seldom moved that fast. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Shoot.” He began laying in the darks on the painting.

  Jerry plopped onto the couch. “You know how you’re always pep-talking me? Telling me I can be anything I want? I’m not too dumb and it’s not too late?”

  “Jerry, you’re not dumb at all—”

  “I know, I know. That’s what I mean. I know what I want to do. I know for sure.”

  Rod could guess. “What?”

  “I want to be a firefighter. I do. I know it.”

  “You can’t decide to pattern your life around Hunter. You barely know him.”

  “It’s not about Hunter, honest. It’s just hearing him talk about his work, it sounds like me, ya know? I would love that stuff.”

  “They wear a lot of gear and shit, Jerry. And they have a lot of rules. You’re a free spirit.”

  “I wear a wetsuit all the time. Nothing could be more closed in. I can follow rules if I agree with them.”

  Rod shrugged.

  “There’s just one thing.”

  Uh-oh. “What?”

  “I need your help. I have trouble reading, Rod. I’m, whaddaya call it? Dyslexic. I know I need to study for the test and go to school and all. Would you help me?” He looked down at his hands, clamped between his knees. “I don’t know who else to ask.”

  Well, hell. “Of course I’ll help. I wouldn’t want you to ask anybody but me.”

  The edges of the bright blue eyes crinkled. “Honest? Thanks, man. You’re such a good friend. I’m gonna go figure out where I can get the courses I need.”

  “I’ll do a little digging too, okay?”

  “Wow, man. Thanks.” He bounded up. “I’m so excited.” He jumped in the air and swung his fist, the most energy Rod had ever seen Jerry display on dry land. He ran out the door.

  What the hell just happened? Rod had agreed to assure a happy ever after in mutual firefighting for Jerry and Hunter, the man Rod was sadly realizing he loved.

  Chapter Five

  DAMN, HE was tired. He hadn’t been that busy, really, but he felt sapped. The locker room smelled like old socks. Hunter dragged on his jeans and reached for his shirt in the locker.

  “Oh my, look at that manly chest, Hunnnn-ter.”

  He didn’t have to look. Mick’s voice was a permanent part of Hunter’s nervous system. If he ignored Mick, maybe he’d go away.

  Instead, Mick sidled over so Hunter couldn’t miss him. The asshole glanced around like he wanted to be sure no one else was there. Hunter balled his hands into fists. Didn’t want to hit him. He’d go on report. Besides, the bully would win if Hunter hit first.

  Mick stared at Hunter’s bare chest, looking mesmerized. He reached out his hand. Hunter tightened his fists. If the guy touched him, he’d flatten the bastard.

  Mick pulled his hand back and leaned forward until his lips were close to Hunter’s ear. “Why don’t you tell me what you guys do, Fallon? Tell me how you suck another guy’s big, fat, juicy cock. Help me understand what it’s like to have a dick in my ass. Hell, I’ve seen that rod of yours. Shit, that thing could rip the insides out of a hippo. Think I could take it, Hunnnn-ter?” He stepped back and returned to full voice. “Or… would I puke first?”

  Hunter’s balled fist moved of its own accord, flying toward Mick’s belly, then stopped as though lassoed. Cam stood behind Hunter, holding his arm tight. “Don’t get written up, Fallon, just because Mick is a closet homo and wants all the details of your sex life so he can dream of you tonight.”

  Bless the man. “Yeah. I forget how very interested he is. Sounds like a queen to me too. Probably a bottom. Really wants his ass reamed.” Shit, he hated playing big tough alpha. But it went with the territory.

  Mick managed a forced-looking smile. “Yeah, right. That’s what I want. To puke on Fallon’s ass.”

  Hunter rescued his arm from Cameron and pulled on his T-shirt. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

  “Hey, that won’t be a problem, faggot. Although you’re just so pret-ty you blind me.”

  Hunter’s muscles bunched again, and Cam blocked him. “Get out of here, Mick.”

  “My pleasure. Can’t stand the smell of lavender and roses.” He left.

  Hunter sat on the bench. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

  Cameron squatted beside Hunter. “For what? You’re a hell of a firefighter.”

  “I don’t know what. Maybe I’m not cut out for being gay.” He laughed. “Didn’t get to choose that one. But I wish there was somewhere that people didn’t hate me just because I’m homosexual.”

  “Laguna’s about as close as you’re going to get, I’m sad to say. And I imagine it’s no picnic.”

  “I appreciate your help. I came close to laying him out. I really don’t want to do that.”

  “The chief likes you, and he’s gotta know that Mick’s an asshole.”

  “Yeah, but the chief’s also one helluva stickler for the rules.”

  “True. You got a date tonight?”

  “Yeah. Having some dinner with Jerry.”

  “The surfer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still have trouble seeing that, my man. Bring him around sometime. Like maybe to the big night at the festival. I’d love to meet him.”

  “Thanks. I might do that.” Would he? Maybe. Jerry didn’t look or act like what people thought of as gay. He could pass. He could be around the guys without rubbing their faces in Hunter’s orientation. “Thanks again.” He slapped Cam’s rocklike shoulder. Cameron waved a hand and did his march-to-his-own-drum walk out the door. Great guy. Good friend.

  Some days he could barely take Mick’s abuse and the wary camaraderie of the others. He walked a careful line at the station, never pushing his gayness on anyone. He wasn’t ashamed… exactly.

  His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and smiled. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi. How the hell are you? How’s the department?”

  “Uh, great. Just great. I got special commendation from the chief for handling an emergency heart attack victim the other day.”

  “No shit. That’s great, Hunter. Just great.”

  “So are you guys coming down?”

  “Couldn’t keep us away. We’re looking forward to the whole thing. Even the art part. But mostly I want to see the changes you’ve made to the station and meet the guys again.”

  “Yeah. That’ll be great. So I’ll pick you and Mom up at the airport. Just let me know when you have the tickets and everything.”

  “Yep. Not long now. See you next weekend.”

  “Great. Bye.”

  “Bye, son.”

  Hunter gathered his stuff. Tears pushed behind his eyes. What the hell was that about? He loved talking to his dad. Plus, he had a lot to look forward to. His parents’ visit and tonight, an evening with Jerry. Some sex. He was excited… wasn’t he?

  ROD WORKED in the pale blue of the eyes, then stepped back. Yeah, even he co
uld see this was one of the best paintings he’d ever done. Labor of love, as they say. He’d felt his soul pour out through his brushes. He had to put the portrait away somewhere. Hunter was due and Rod didn’t want him to see it. The firefighter was too sensitive about showing his face in a painting, and Rod didn’t want to explain that this portrait was just for himself. No one else would likely ever see it.

  He carried the canvas to a little nook at the back of the studio. He was pouring a cup of coffee when the screen door rattled. Instant goose bumps. Jeez, he had to find his cool. “Come on in, Hunter.”

  “Hi. How’s it going?” Hunter looked a little wary.

  Rod pointed at the large canvas on which a nearly complete image of a beautiful nude body lay, face hidden by the upraised arm. The painting was impressionistic rather than realistic. Soft colors molded the perfect contours of the body around deep shadows that gave the hues luminance and mystery.

  Hunter whispered, “Wow.” Then he shook his head. “That’s not what I look like.”

  Rod busied himself with wiping a paint tube that didn’t need cleaning. “It is, actually. But most important, it’s how you look to me.”

  Hunter’s gaze flashed to Rod’s face. Shit, that was not a good revelation.

  “I mean, I’m the artist. My interpretation is what the viewer sees, not the reality.” Rod flexed his shoulders. Jeez, had to relax.

  Hunter cleared his throat and walked over to the small shelf crammed with books at every angle. “You’ve got a lot of poets.”

  “Yeah, I love poetry.”

  Hunter turned and really looked at Rod. “Who’s your favorite?”

  “I love a lot of them.”

  “But who came first to mind when I asked?”

  “Emily Dickinson.”

  “No shit?”

  “Is that strange?”

  “I hope not. She’s my favorite too.”

  “No shit? Nature? Death?”

  “Love them both but death, I guess, is the favorite.”

  “Because I could not stop for death…”

  “…he kindly stopped for me.”

  For a moment their gazes held. Oh, no way. He did not want to feel this connection with a man he wanted and couldn’t have. “Let’s get to work, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Hunter went to the platform and started to strip like it was no big deal. He had his pants and briefs halfway to his knees before he seemed to wake up. Pausing, he glanced at Rod, who busied himself with brushes and turpentine.

  Hunter yanked off the rest of his clothes, lay on the daybed, and thrust his arm over his eyes. Yeah. The cat who figures if he can’t see you, he must be invisible.

  Rod began to work in the subtle details on the canvas. The special glow of Hunter’s skin. Luminous. Silken. Almost like singing, words flowed from his mouth. “Route of evanescence with a revolving wheel; a resonance of emerald, a rush of cochineal.”

  He looked up to catch another gleam from Hunter’s skin and saw his eyes instead. He’d raised his arm and stared at Rod from beneath it. “‘There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture on the lonely shore….’ You taught him that, didn’t you?”

  Oh shit. “Who?”

  “Jerry. You know who.”

  He shifted his attention to the painting. “We talked about that poem, yeah.”

  “But he had never heard of it before you told him about it, had he?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure.”

  Silence.

  He glanced up to see the ice-blue eyes regarding him levelly.

  “Yes, I did tell him about it,” Rod said, “but he made those great remarks about surfing and understanding the vastness all on his own.”

  Hunter lay back down and said nothing, but his body looked tense.

  “So what the hell is a poet doing in the fire department?”

  “There’s a lot of poetry in fire.”

  “Sure, darling, if you’re staring at a fireplace with a glass of wine!”

  Hunter laughed, which seemed to drain a little of the tension. “I became a firefighter for my dad. Kind of living his dream because he wasn’t able to. He’s confined to a wheelchair.”

  Interesting. “That’s great for him, but what’s your dream?”

  “Making him happy, I guess. Not disappointing him.”

  The boy was cracked. Rod put his hands on his hips. “Shit, darling, you can’t live someone else’s dream.”

  The words hung in the air.

  “I’ve got to try.” Hunter’s words were barely audible.

  Rod dropped his brush in the turp. Somebody had to get through to the man. He took a step forward. “Tell me what you’d do if you didn’t have to think about anyone but yourself.”

  Hunter shook his head slowly.

  He took another step. “Tell me, dammit.”

  The blue eyes looked startled. “I’d teach. I’d teach literature, maybe in college.”

  “There, that wasn’t so hard.”

  “Doesn’t change anything.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t. Declaration is a big step in the battle. If you can say it out loud, you can manifest it.” He took another step. “Do you know what my father wanted me to be?”

  “What?”

  “A lawyer. A fucking lawyer, probably so I could keep the bastard out of jail when he cheated his customers. He wanted to pay for me to go to fucking Stanford Law.”

  “Wow. You turned him down?”

  “Do I look like a lawyer to you?” He struck his favorite pose à la Marilyn Monroe. “I worked my ass off to put myself through art school. I waited tables and painted pictures of people’s pets to make extra money. I even appeared in a drag show one time.”

  “No shit?”

  “You should hear me sing ‘Let Me Entertain You.’ But my point is, it’s your life and you have to live it. You probably don’t get another chance, and even if you do, you won’t be conscious of it, so this is it, darling. Get on with it.”

  “Yeah, but my dad’s different.”

  “I’m sure he is, and I’m happy for you.” He moved closer. “And you know what my father mostly wanted me to be?”

  “What? I mean, you’re a great artist. He must have seen that and wanted that.”

  “No, you know what he wanted me to be so much he would have given every dime he had to make it so?”

  Hunter shook his head, eyes wide.

  “He wanted me to be not gay.”

  Hunter stared. “My dad too.”

  Shit. Rod was now at the platform’s edge. “So that’s it. You make up to your dad for being gay by putting on this damned hero fireman act when you want to read your books in the sunshine and teach a few kids about immortality. Right?”

  Hunter shook his head.

  “I said right?” Rod was beside Hunter now. Within reach. “Say I’m right.” He climbed up the platform’s step. “Your dad doesn’t want you to be gay, so you don’t want to be gay. But there’s not one fucking thing you can do about it, so you compromise the whole rest of your life trying to make up for the way God made you. Say I’m right.”

  Hunter dropped down onto one elbow. “You’re right.”

  “Louder. I can’t hear you.”

  “You’re right, dammit.”

  His knee hit the daybed, and in a fast two count he pressed down onto Hunter’s body, grabbing his head. Holy shit, what was he doing? Mouth-to-mouth got a whole new meaning. Jesus, he was starving, and Hunter Fallon was the only food.

  Forcing Hunter’s lips open, Rod pressed his tongue deep, deeper, and licked the inside of the sweetest mouth he’d ever known. Hunter’s tense body gradually relaxed against Rod’s, then began to writhe. Oh shit. Hunter’s hips pressed hard. No way to miss the steel of that hot cock.

  The big difference in their heights made it hard to kiss and hump at the same time, but Hunter seemed determined, rolling his hips up so Rod could capture that cock between his legs. At the same time Hunter raised his head, allowing
Rod to hold it tight so they could kiss. Jeez, the harder Rod held Hunter, the better he seemed to like it, if his harsh breathing and moans were any indication, though Rod was having a tough time hearing Hunter over his own panting.

  Rod used his legs to rub that big cock hard and kept pushing his tongue farther into Hunter’s throat. Sweet. Oh, the dreams coming true filled volumes. He pulled away to tear off his paint-smeared T-shirt. Next, the pants had to go. He twisted his hips to the side but no luck. He was too tangled up in Hunter, whose eyes were squeezed shut and mouth open, gasping.

  “Hunter!”

  The eyes flew open.

  He pointed a finger. “Don’t move!” Hoping Hunter would obey, Rod pushed off that gorgeous hot skin, ripped off his pants, and ran buck naked to the little bathroom at the back of the studio. He grabbed some lube and two condoms for good measure from the top drawer and sprinted back.

  What the hell was he doing? He knew exactly, and he wasn’t going to stop.

  Hunter hadn’t moved a muscle. He lay with his legs sprawled, his eyes closed, and his cock rigid as a fire pole. Well, da-yum. Rod loved a man who could follow orders. “Turn over, darling.”

  For a second Hunter froze, then obeyed.

  “Good.” Rod crawled onto the daybed and spread his hands across Hunter’s lower back. Hot silk, baby. Slowly he let his fingers slide up the slope of that hard-muscled butt, until he could slip one finger in the crack of Hunter’s beautiful ass. Warm and moist. Hunter moaned. Umm, the boy likes it. “Tell me what you like, baby.”

  Quiet.

  “Tell me.” He slid the finger to Hunter’s hole and began to play. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” Breathless.

  “Want more?”

  “Yes.”

  Rod pulled his finger away to a muffled huff of protest. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He slathered lube on his finger, tossed the tube aside, and focused again on that heavenly ass. “Let me at you, darling.” Rod wasn’t sure how Hunter would react to that command, but he scooted to his knees, raising his perfect butt.

  Oh, heaven. The cheeks spread and that sweet pucker showed itself. Below, Hunter’s big cock stuck up at an angle, its weight not letting it slap against Hunter’s belly as it wanted to do. Kneeling beside Hunter, Rod slipped one hand down and around that dick. Oh God, ecstasy. Hunter Fallon’s cock in his hand.