Page 82 of In Step

I shot Judah a grin to find him studying the two of us with a curious look that sat somewhere between puzzled and fond. I guessed he was still struggling with old feelings about Kane, but if he was, he kept them to himself.

“I have to admit, you guys looked pretty good on the floor together,” he said.

A flush swept up Kane’s throat and I wanted to put my lips to it. Which was no surprise, since I always wanted to put my lips on him, and any excuse would do.

“I told him, he’s a natural.” I shot Kane a wink and the blush deepened.

Morgan appeared and held his hand out for Judah to take while keeping his eyes on me. “FYI, that tango you and Kane demonstrated was barely a lube squirt short of actual fucking. Henry’s eyeballs nearly dropped out of his skull, although his lady friend seemed... riveted.”

“Shut up.” Kane aimed a playful kick at Morgan’s shin, which he skilfully sidestepped, just missing Cora, Leroy, and Fox coming up behind. Leroy had his arm around Fox’s waist where it had pretty much been glued since he’d returned from his latest five-day fisheries observer role.

“Martha and I will clean up,” Cora instructed. “You guys have done enough, all of you. Now, get out of here.”

Judah’s groan of relief said it all, and I couldn’t agree more. There was a brief mad scramble for jackets and shoes and then we were gone. Judah and Morgan peeled left toward the boathouse, while Leroy, Fox, Kane and I headed up the hill, laughing and chatting, two couples, hand in hand.Hand in hand. I tried to remember the last time I’d ever held hands with a guy and... couldn’t.

When we got to the bedsit stairs, Leroy turned a wicked grin on Kane. “You need a wake-up call, Sugar? Or maybe room-service breakfast?”

Kane’s cheeks fired red. “Shut up. And no, I don’t. I’ll be on time like Ialwaysam, arsehole.”

Leroy shrugged. “Just checking. I mean, we apparently run a full-service hotel.” He flicked a glance over Kane’s shoulder to Abe. “And by full-service, I mean—”

“Leave them alone.” Fox shoved Leroy toward the front door. “Night guys. See you tomorrow.”

I pushed Kane ahead of me up the stairs, my hands clamped on his tight arse as he grumbled about Leroy’s teasing. At the top, he paused, fumbling with the new double lock system the guys had installed, all of which gave me time to crowd him against the door and grind my dick into his crease.

“Oh. My. God. Stop.” He griped, glancing up at the new camera. “They’ll see that on their fucking app.”

“So?” I nuzzled my lips into the back of his neck, drawing his collar down to hit that spot that sent him straight to jelly. “I consider it payback for all that monkey sex they forced me to listen to the first week I was here. Those two have no shame.”

“Forcedto listen to, huh? Ugh, finally.” The door swung open and we practically fell inside.

I slammed it shut and stalked Kane into the kitchen. “Now where were we?” I made a grab for his jacket and he jumped back with a grin, wagging his finger at me.

“Behave.” But his eyes said the opposite and I lunged again. He danced out of the way and made a run for the far side of the kitchen island. I snagged the back of his jacket, but he immediately shrugged out of it, laughing. I flung it aside, barely missing the cats curled up together at one end of the couch, and hot-footed it after him.

Kane circled the island, throwing a tea towel at my head before making a dash for the bathroom. But I caught him before he could make it through the door and we fell in a heap on the floor, pissing ourselves with laughter. I was thrown to my back—to be fair, I didn’t exactly put up much of a fight—and then straddled with my hands held above my head. He stared down at me, grinning like a loon, until ever so slowly he lowered his lips to mine and slid his tongue into my mouth, melting against my chest like butter in my arms.

Fuck, I loved the taste of him, couldn’t get enough of his mouth. Couldn’t get enough ofhim.Almost two weeks sharing the bedsit had passed in the blink of an eye. Two weeks of long conversations with a cat in each lap or all four of us in the bed. Two weeks of cooking together—Kane teaching me his favourite vegetarian recipes while I teased him mercilessly. Two weeks dancing together, watching movies, making love, comfortably sharing a tiny space—pretty amazing for a guy who lived and died on the hill of non-attachment, as Kane liked to call my aversion to commitment.

Two weeks already gone, with me desperately tryingnotto focus on the two that remained. Who was this needy guy? Two more weeks and I’d be gone. It wasn’t enough, even though it would have to be. Two more weeks and I’d be back in London where I had interviews to attend for a couple of up-and-coming ballet companies I hadn’t worked with before and a messed-about schedule due to my extended New Zealand trip. I’d had to find a replacement for a contract, which left my income lean and no new contract to fill the gap. I was going to have to scramble for some work. But above all that, there was this growing panic about what staying any longer with Kane might mean for my heart.

“Mmm.” He slid off me and onto the floor, spreading his arms wide. “I’m exhausted.”

“Exactly how exhausted?” I rolled to face him, running a finger down his chest, all the way down to the buttons on his jeans, which I began popping, one by one.

His blue eyes darkened. “My, my, my, whatever are you do—” He jumped as the front door slammed back against the wall like a gunshot, and I spun just in time to see an older man take a leisurely step inside the bedsit.

Kane’s shocked intake of breath and a vague memory from two weeks before told me exactly who it was. Gerald Martin. At well over six feet, he was a solid brute of a man, and knowing his history of violence, along with the distinct aroma of alcohol pervading the room, I wasn’t taking any chances. He was steady enough on his feet to hold his own.

Kane scrambled to his feet and I quickly followed suit. His eyes lit with anger. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Gerald spun, took in our slightly dishevelled state, and curled his lip at me. “Who the fuck are you?”

“None of your goddamn business. Get out of here.”

He turned to his son. “So, youarea fucking fag, after all. Your mother would be—”

“Proud of me.” Kane snapped, to my gratified surprise. “She knew about me before she died, and she was proud of me.”

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