Page 19 of Remote Access

Quincy choked on a swallow of beer but he managed to tear his gaze away from Lane to see the waiter gaping like a fish, his mouth opening and closing. "Moist?" he squeaked, his gaze eating up Lane's fit body.

So, gay then. Very gay apparently. And very interested in Lane. Not that Quincy blamed him.

Lane sat forward and swirled his fork in his potato. He lifted a bite and slowly wrapped his lips around the tines of the fork, drawing the cheese out before licking it into his mouth. He left those lips shining and wet.

Quincy's eyes watered with the effort of holding back his laughter when the waiter groaned. The poor guy.

"The pie…the pie." The waiter stopped and cleared his throat. "The pie is good."

He had to cover his mouth with his hand then because he could tell even Lane was having a hard time not laughing.

"Good, huh? Yeah, bring me a piece of warm, moist, good pie. With a side of vanilla ice cream. One for my husband here, too."

"Husband?" the guy said, his gaze flying to Quincy. "Oh my God, I'm sorry. It's coming." His face turned even redder. "I mean the pie. The pie is coming!" He turned and scurried off so fast, he nearly ran down a waitress.

"You are bad," Quincy managed to choke out before he gave in to the laughter.

"He's pretty cute. Think we can change that one room thing to two?" Lane said this with those gray eyes locked on Quincy's.

It took effort but he managed not to snarl at Lane. "Nope. Still don't trust you that much. You'll have to keep it in your pants until we're done here."

"Too bad," Lane murmured as someone new brought their pie and set it down with a nervous smile. He looked down at it, waited for the waitress to leave, before saying, "You think it's safe to eat this?"

Quincy just rolled his eyes, grabbed a fork, and stole a big bite. He groaned when the very warm and very moist apples hit his tongue.

* * *

Around ten, Lane drummed his fingers on his thigh as they scouted out the storage facility. The temperature had dropped slightly with the loss of sunlight and there wasn't a lot of moonlight to guide their way, but the place was lit up like a concert stadium. This would be tricky. He glanced over at Quincy, who sat sprawled in the driver's side of the car like he didn't have nerves eating him alive, but Lane knew he did.

Quincy had been quiet on most of the drive. It hadn't been Lane's imagination that the joke he'd played on the waiter had affected the man. He'd laughed, yeah, but he'd been turned on, too. And he'd gone out of his way not to look at Lane very often. Not even when they'd run back to the hotel so Lane could change. In fact, his expression when he saw the outfit Lane wore for jobs had been the most flattering he'd ever received. His eyes had slid to half-mast and his mouth had fallen open, a heady mix of lust and admiration.

"I can't believe you wear skintight black clothes for real," the mind reader murmured as he shifted in his seat. "I thought that was, you know, a Hollywood idea of what a thief wears."

Lane smoothed his hand down the skinny, stretchy pull-on pants and skin-tight shirt. "Not every burglar wears stuff like this, but the smart ones do. Black cotton, which is a common fabric so fibers aren't an issue."

Quincy nodded, a smirk playing about his lips as his gaze raked down Lane's legs.

"That's right, cop. Buttons and zippers or anything that can catch on something is a bad idea. Stretchy and tight with a good range of movement."

"And the wig?"

"If I am spotted, I will look completely different. I also shaved more than my face, so I don't leave behind any hair."

Quincy's startled expression made him laugh.

"You're picturing my body hairless now, aren't you?"

"I'm trying not to," he said under his breath. "I like hair, though." He paused and cleared his throat. "You look really good in that outfit."

Lane knew he did, but it was still nice to hear it. Gymnastics had given him a tight, lean, and strong body and he was proud of it. He resisted the urge to preen and show off for the man because Quincy was obviously having such a hard time not looking at Lane. He felt a surge of answering warmth inside him and had to glance away at the storage office. He’d started to like the guy—a lot more than he was comfortable with. "Normally, I'd watch a place longer before doing something like this on my own. Hayrick always had intel ready for me. So, we're going to have to do a grab and run."

"Even with the security disabled?" Quincy looked at the apartments on their other side. "I guess someone from there could see us."

"Yep. So, we're going to have to be quick." Lane tugged his bag of tricks onto his lap and pulled out a can of silly string. Quincy hadn't bothered to ask what it was for when they'd picked it up earlier. He'd probably seen the stuff in action on the job. It worked great to block out cameras. "I almost forgot to bring this. You have me off my game."

He rolled his head on the backrest to look at Lane and the stare lasted long enough to send a responding heat through Lane. "You seem on your game to me," he finally said.

Something filled the space between them or it stretched between them—Lane couldn't come up with the right description because it wasn't easily explained by words. As always before a job, adrenaline raced through him like he'd taken speed. But whatever this was—it was damn strong. A feeling that connected him to Quincy for some reason. There was lust, yes, and it was there at all times now, but this was something different. It was like they were both alone in the world and that somehow drew them together.

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