Wicked Hearts (3 page)

Armstrong?

You did, you idiot. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d taken your cock out of your

pants and sucked you off then and there. And you, coward, you walked away.

Yes. He"d walked away. For a second, he"d seen the sincere, earnest look in Reese"s

eyes replaced by something cold and hard, and it had sent a shudder of warning down

Jeff"s spine.

Reese was after something, and until Jeff figured out what it was, he wasn"t about

to let himself be blindsided by the guy"s charm and charisma. Since Reese had joined

the fast-growing company, Jeff had watched him from the sidelines. He"d seen the easy

smiles, the jaunty walk, the sleek, sexual confidence the man oozed like sap from a

maple tree.

I want someone sincere. Someone honest and kind. Someone like…you.”

A part of Jeff wanted to believe him; ached to believe him. Imagine being with

Reese Armstrong, the man who had suffused his fantasies since the second he"d

sauntered into Strata Systems, though only when he was masturbating, never when he

was rational.

Jeff watched himself in the mirror through slit eyes, pretending it was the blond

god watching, his own cock hard in his hand, his tight ass spread and waiting for Jeff to

fuck him hard. Jeff groaned, fisting his cock as he shuddered and jerked into his hand.

He sat still as stone for several seconds, his mind for once blissfully blank. Turning

his head, he caught sight of the digital clock—2:42 AM. With a sigh, he reached for the

washcloth he kept nearby and wiped his cock and sticky fingers. Dropping the cloth on

the floor, he turned off the bedside lamp and fell back against the pillows, praying he"d

fall asleep before dawn.

~*~

“How"s the seduction going?”

“Hello to you, too,” Reese said into his cell phone.

“I bought a new toy, just for you. It"s a pony tail. It"ll be fun to shove it up your ass

and make you prance around the house, once I win the bet.”

Reese snorted. “When I win, I"ll take the cash in tens and twenties.”

Hank laughed. “You gotta deliver first, babe.”

“You"ll have your video, don"t you worry, and by Sunday morning. The wheels are

in motion. We had lunch on Tuesday.”

“Lunch does not equal wild, sweaty sex recorded on video. What"s next? Dinner

and a show? At this rate, you"ll seduce him by, what, next month?”

Reese grunted into the phone, forcing a confidence he didn"t feel. “Relax, ye of little

faith. It"s only Thursday. I"ve got it all mapped out. Guys like him take a little finessing.

You don"t just slam them up against the wall, jerk their pants down and tell them to

bend over.”

“Too bad. I"d
love
to watch that.”

“Yeah, I know you would, you sick bastard. Listen, gotta run. I have another call

coming in.” Reese clicked the phone shut and stared morosely out the window at the

majestic view of Longs Peak rising dramatically over the eastern plain.

Why am I doing this?
Usually the men Hank chose for their little games were players

too—guys who understood the game, even if they didn"t realize they were being taken

at the time. Jeff was such an innocent. It seemed almost unfair.

Reese realized the irony of his newfound conscience. Hank and he had been playing

this game for over a decade. He could still recall with vivid clarity the first time he"d set

eyes on the brooding, sexy Hank Seeley, though he"d done his best to ignore him at

first.

Back then, as he usually did when placed in yet another foster home, Reese had

fallen in with the wrong crowd—tough boys who skipped school, smoked pot and stole

cars for fun. Hank, of course, had nothing to do with those boys, or anyone else for that

matter. He rarely spoke in class and never hung out with anyone.

He always seemed to find a seat next to or near Reese in class, though he never

spoke directly to him. Yet, even back then Hank had exuded a kind of unspoken power,

a certain sureness that made him seem older than the rest of them. It was like he had a

secret none of them would ever know.

When he stared at Reese in class, which he often did, Reese could feel his eyes

boring into him. It was like Hank could see into his thoughts—like he knew what no

one else at the time did—that Reese was gay, despite the macho jock image he projected

to keep himself safe.

He wanted to approach Hank on several occasions, but didn"t quite dare. Instead,

about two weeks into his new school, adopting the tough-guy tone of the boys he hung

out with, he finally dared to ask, “Who the fuck"s that?” He pointed to Hank, who sat

alone at a table in the lunchroom, seemingly deep in the pages of a book.

Ray Sipos, the natural leader of the group by virtue of his size and belligerence,

volunteered, “That"s Seeley. Hank Seeley. He"s a stuck-up little prick. His dad"s some

millionaire or something.”

“Yeah,” said another, “Seeley thinks his shit don"t stink because he"s got money.

He"s a faggot, is what he is. He stares at guys in the locker room.”

“We should teach him a lesson and make him squeal,” Ray added. The other boys

at the table guffawed.

Reese said nothing to this, instead asking, “If he"s so rich, what"s he doing here?”

“I heard he"s been kicked out of every private school in the area. He"s got issues

with authority.” This was offered by Tim, a short, plump boy who hung on the edges of

Ray"s group, barely tolerated. All eyes turned to him at this bit of knowledge and he

flushed, adding, “That"s what I heard from Cindy Nolan. She talks to the guy.”

Reese probably never would have talked to Hank Seeley, if it hadn"t been for the

hailstorm. He was walking home from school one afternoon when the skies turned

gunmetal gray and then opened, unleashing a torrent of blinding rain and hail.

As if on cue, a small, sleek sports car had pulled up alongside him, Hank at the

wheel. Without speaking, he"d opened the passenger door and simply waited. Reese

had climbed in, and that was the beginning.

With patience and a certain almost clinical approach, Hank systematically taught

Reese all the basics and then some. They had sex as often as possible, usually in the pool

house behind Hank"s home, occasionally, when Hank could convince him, in various

unoccupied spaces on the high school campus grounds.

It was during such a tryst, two months into their relationship, that the defining

event of Reese"s life occurred, a horror he could still barely bring himself to think about.

Hank had been there, though he was out cold when it happened. But after, pulling

strings as it seemed only the very wealthy are able, he"d saved Reese from himself, and

since then he and Hank had been tangled together, by hook or crook.

During those early years, Reese confused gratitude and fear of loss for love. Early

on, he had made a few faltering attempts to express that love, or what he thought

passed for love, but Hank would only laugh. “There"s no such thing. The sooner you

figure that out, the better off you"ll be.” Based on his own life experience, Reese was

inclined to agree.

Love, Hank asserted, was something invented by sentimental saps as a means of

control. What mattered were power, loyalty and sex.

For years, Reese had believed this too. Since the death of his parents in a car

accident when he was eleven, he"d seen very little in this world to make him think love

existed. Lust, power, fear of loneliness—these were emotions he could understand and

embrace. Desire, for as long as it lasted, which was never long.

Though both Hank and he dated other guys, it was understood they would always

return to each other, sharing stories of their conquests and subsequent dismissals of

countless men over the years.

Jeff was proving to be more of a challenge than he"d anticipated. What had gone

wrong at lunch? He"d run over the conversation a dozen times, but couldn"t put his

finger on where he"d lost him. To top it off, Jeff had disappeared. He didn"t go back to

the office after lunch. Nor, when Reese returned yesterday from his client visit, was Jeff

anywhere to be found.

Could he have gotten Hartman all wrong? Was he straight, after all? Hank had

chosen the guy. Maybe he had inside information he wasn"t sharing. Hank had ways of

finding things out. Money, as Hank was fond of saying, talked. Maybe he"d rigged this

whole thing in order to have Reese at his beck and call for a solid week.

He had been kidding about that pony tail thing, hadn"t he? Reese shook his head.

Focus.
Yes, he needed to focus on the task at hand. Approach it like any other problem

that required a solution. What he needed was to think like Jeff—get inside the geek"s

head.

He closed his eyes, recalling every nuance of Jeff"s words and body language over

lunch. The guy had been nervous, until he got him into his comfort zone of computer

code and programming language. But it wasn"t the nervousness of a straight guy being

hit on by a gay one. Jeff had been attracted to him, he was sure of it.

At the same time, Jeff didn"t trust him. Reese had brought his considerable skills to

bear to put the guy at ease, but it hadn"t worked. He was operating from the negative

now—he needed to redeem himself in Jeff"s eyes.

To repair the damage, he"d need to put himself in Jeff"s shoes, in his Converse

sneakers and tattered T-shirts, and then ask himself the question—what would make a

guy like that trust a guy like me? He drifted, letting his mind sort through ideas and

possibilities without trying to control their direction.

All at once, Reese sat up straight, his eyes blinking open. Pulling at a desk drawer,

he extracted the company directory and flipped through it, drawing his finger down the

alphabetical listing until he found what he was looking for.
Jeff Hartman, 224 Hamden

Avenue, Apartment 4
…

~*~

When the doorbell rang, Jeff was dressed in workout shorts, shirtless. He"d been

lifting weights for the past thirty minutes, and he was sweaty, his hair disheveled. He

glanced at his watch. Who was stopping by at five-thirty on a Thursday evening? The

pizza he"d ordered two hours earlier had already been delivered and consumed. In the

nine months since he"d moved to Colorado he hadn"t made any real friends to speak

of—not the kind who just drop by.

Deciding to stop speculating and go see, Jeff set down the barbells and headed

across the room toward the front door. When he looked through the peephole he caught

his breath and recoiled as if struck.

What the hell was
he
doing there?

The doorbell rang again. “Jeff? You in there? It"s Reese. Reese Armstrong.”

“Coming,” Jeff called, hurrying back to his bedroom to grab a T-shirt. He returned

to the front door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.

The dark blue of Reese"s linen button down shirt was striking against tan skin and

the honey-gold blond hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were the color of the sky

at dusk. The shirt was unbuttoned enough so Jeff could see the tuft of dark blond at his

sternum. His long, strong legs were encased in faded blue denim, instead of the usual

finely tailored trousers Reese wore at the office.

What was Reese Armstrong doing on his doorstep? What was this guy"s deal,

anyway? Hadn"t Jeff made it clear he wasn"t interested in whatever game Reese was

playing? Except, if he were honest, he
was
interested. Very interested.

“What"re you doing here?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized

how rude they sounded. He felt his face grow hot.

“I wanted to see you. I hope that"s okay.”

Jeff could feel the hard ache of his cock as he stared at the handsome man in his

doorway. He prayed his loose shorts would hide the telltale bulge.

Reese was watching him, his head tilted and a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“You going to invite me in?”

Flustered, Jeff stepped back, pulling open the door. “Sure,” he said, hoping he

sounded nonchalant. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” Reese stepped across the threshold. “Look, I"m really sorry to come

barging over like this. I just—I just wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For the other day. At lunch. I was—it was stupid.”

What was the guy"s angle now? Jeff was confused, but held his tongue.

“Mind if I sit?” Without waiting for a response, Reese strode toward the sofa on the

opposite wall.

As much as to give himself a chance to get his bearings as anything, Jeff offered,

“Can I get you a beer or something?”

“Sure, that"d be great. Thanks.”

Jeff went into the kitchen, trying to comb his messy hair with his fingers as he went.

The sweat was drying beneath his T-shirt. Hopefully he didn"t stink.

The evening had taken on a surreal cast. The unattainable Reese Armstrong was