Ian continued to watch him, not hiding his interest or his attraction, though he was too smart to act on it. Thanks to Owen’s penchant for secrecy, no one knew what to make of Owen Stallbridge. A millionaire playboy who dated beautiful women? A closeted gay man with a penchant for kink? Or maybe something else? Owen knew all too well what the tabloids speculated but frankly didn’t care.
Owen smiled and studied Ian, taking in the man’s beautiful face, his features too pretty to go unnoticed. Ian’s sky-blue eyes sparkled with indignation. His dark hair brushed his shoulders and framed a face that called to mind visions of naked limbs and long nights best spent in bed. And that mouth, such soft, sultry lips made for sucking cock.
Owen had often pictured his hand wrapped in Ian’s hair while he guided Ian’s mouth toward him. A fantasy he intended to make real sooner than later. The little thief blinked at him, and Owen raised a brow in question.
Ian’s face darkened. “I don’t trust that look.”
“You shouldn’t.” Owen said nothing more, just sipped his bourbon and stared at the fading sunlight going down over the water.
“I…” Ian sighed. “Oh hell. Give me what you’re having, would you? And while you’re at it, you want to tell me what really happened the night Linda Cavendish died in your office? ’Cause one minute she was going to shoot you, and the next she dropped dead of a heart attack seconds before you passed out cold. I think I’m entitled to an explanation. I haven’t said anything to the cops or Jack about it, you know.”
“I do know. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’ll be quite useful to me, Ian. You and I have some work to do together.” He stared at Ian over the rim of his glass, taken once again with Ian’s good looks. Stunning, was all he could think.
Ian seemed unsure of himself, and Owen hid a smile. Good. The forger took too many liberties with his safety and the law, always one step away from getting caught. But this time, Owen had set his trap, and Ian belonged to him.
He just didn’t know it yet.