Like clockwork, a knock rattled the back door.

My ride, silhouetted in lavender, filled the doorway. If I hadn’t expected him, his menacing shadow would have scared the crap out of me, particularly after this morning’s adventures. Sure, Poppy and I worked in a decent neighborhood, but New York was New York. And Dan enjoyed playing the part of sneaky bastard. His livelihood depended on stealth, and I swear he got a thrill every time I jumped.

As it was, my pulse fluttered at the sight of him, but I didn’t let on. I unplugged my laptop. “You can come in. Don’t lurk on the stoop.”

“I’m not lurking. I’m knocking. This is polite social behavior.”

Classic Ce and Dan—funny, exciting, adventurous, damn sexy, and witty. There is never a dull moment, and did I mention sexy? —Joyfully Jay

“You are now, and always have been, ever the gentleman.”

“You better believe it, baby.” He opened the door, and his smile faded. “Why isn’t this locked? Anyone could have walked right in.”

“I just literally unlocked it.” A half-truth. “You were expected.”

“Expected,” he grumbled and made a show of flipping the latch, which seemed excessive since we were leaving and only an idiot would break in with Dan’s strapping shoulders clogging the entrance. He wore his usual blue jeans and black T-shirt, but without the butch biker boots. So no motorcycle—he’d taken the car and planned a stakeout.

“Did you speak to the police?”

He tucked his sunglasses away and watched me putter. “They were about as helpful as that kid this morning.”

The summer sun had bronzed his cheekbones, and five-o’clock shadow covered his jaw, thick enough to be a beard by morning. He rested his butt against the gleaming stainless-steel counter next to the sink and stuffed his hand deep into the front pocket of his worn jeans, right next to his weighty package. Anyone else would have dug for a cell phone. Dan remained alert and ready for action, his eye on me.

My gaze drifted toward his crotch and hung there for a second.

“See something you like?”

“Mmm. Maybe.” I met his smile before returning to the scintillating task of coiling my power cord. “Exhibit A.” I nodded toward the glass of Sprite as I stowed the cord into a zippered pouch. “Your cable guy is a jerk.”

My fingers brushed across one of the numerous condoms I carried for emergencies. Poppy had thrown them inside my bag willy-nilly, and all fifteen or more of them were clumped together. I frowned at the disarray, and when I looked back, Dan peeled his shirt over his head.

I froze. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He tossed the shirt on the counter, and his chest rippled. Laid bare were the thin scars that intrigued me, terrified me, and reminded me of all the things I hadn’t asked him but should.

Dan folded his shirt, unhurried but determined, and I nervously followed the thin arrow of hair that disappeared into his waistband. “You do know the sign says, ‘No shirt, no service’?”

“If I keep my shirt on, will you service me?”

“I…”

He smiled evilly, and I bit my lip. Servicing him here at work? We’d never. I mean, it was simply not done. Not here. Not by us. Not yet, anyway.

Blood rushed south despite my lame protest. “I just cleaned the counter.”

“Then we won’t use the counter.” He unbuckled his belt, and my pulse hammered. We could not have sex in the restaurant kitchen. There were rules about this sort of thing. Health-code rules.
Sex in the bathroom? Well, those things happen. Sex in the storeroom? Absolutely. Banging in the food-prep area? A serious no-no. And, if caught, some kind of violation.

Dan stripped his belt, and I had one last concern. “The door is wide open.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, baby. Do you?”

My heart flipped. “Not since last time, no.” My gaze pivoted between the countertop, the alley door, New York City’s strict How to Wash Your Hands instructions above the sink, and Dan’s bulging, beguiling crotch. I whispered like someone might be listening, which was ridiculous because we were alone. “I’m serious, though. Someone could come in. What are you doing?”

The belt joined the shirt, and he growled, “You know what I’m doing. You love what I’m doing.” He flicked the top button of his jeans, the next, and one more, and he didn’t have a stitch on under there. Thick hair and a beautiful cock lay just within reach.

Dan flew so fast, I didn’t have time to react. No. Lie. I didn’t want to react. Not that I could react. My hard-on hindered movement. Plus, today had been a long, long day, and I could use some relief.

His touch wiped away every thought of health codes or violations or stray bodily fluids or pubic hairs or the fear of discovery. The only thing that mattered was the feel of him, and the familiar scent of mint and cardamom that clung to him. The taste of chewing gum and coffee. His eyes turned the bitter brown that thrilled me, and his rough palm curved my jaw. “Kiss me, Caesar. I’ve waited all day for you.”