Kisho answered, “We were talking about Delancey. So what did you find out from your good friend at the bar?”
“Well, I learned…”
Kisho didn't catch more than three words before Morgan settled those green eyes on him.
Just like that, a brief glimpse of the past—or was it a dream?—filled his mind like a forecasting vision.
“Damn, what did they do to you?” Morgan growled as he leaned over Kisho lying on the scarred pavement of the Sunfield building's vacant lot. “Kitsu, you're going to die if you don't reach out. Come on, baby. Feel me.” Strong arms lifted him and carried him into the building.
Kisho blacked out. He woke to straps holding him to a wobbly table.
“So you won't fall off and hurt yourself more,” Morgan explained as he cinched down the ties. “Sorry, but this is going to hurt.” He leaned closer, the green of his gaze mesmerizing. And then the pain…
“Delancey has eyes and ears all over the place. That's why you didn't catch Montaña in Bahia,” Morgan was saying.
Jules growled, “We already knew that.”
Morgan didn't take his gaze from Kisho. “But did you know Bill Delancey has a thing for redheads? From what I hear, he's been partying like he's about to deploy for a year. Bastard is playing fast and loose with a lot of cash, and he's attracted attention. Rumor has it a man who sounds an awful lot like Colonel Ricardo Montaña has been palling around with him. And Montaña has real specific tastes he likes to indulge in on the luxury yacht he's been sailing the last month. Before that, I couldn't tell you where they were.”
“The ocean? I thought we'd covered that base. So the bastard has been hiding at sea?” Jules asked, his eyes bright.
Morgan nodded.
“How the hell did you get all that?” Kisho wanted to know.
“Yeah, considering our own government hasn't seen him for months. You've been here for three days and spent no more than half an hour with your contact. What the hell?” Jules added.
Morgan sat down next to Kisho and brushed against his thigh.
A jolt of energy shot straight to Kisho's cock, and he frowned at the satisfied smile Morgan gave him before Morgan returned his attention to Jules.
“I've had feelers out for Montaña since Mrs. Sharpe contacted me months ago. The key to finding Delancey is finding Montaña. To do that, you have to know what the colonel likes.”
“You'd think our government would know that,” Jules said.
“They do. Problem is, someone doesn't want you to know that.” Jules blinked. “Who?”
“Not sure. That, I haven't been able to learn yet.” Morgan stretched and looked skyward, exposing a length of bronzed throat.
Kisho had the distinct urge to bite down and taste that golden flesh. His beast rumbled with hunger. “Where were you before this assignment?” he asked, suddenly wanting to know.
Where did Morgan come from? What was his family like? And what was that faint accent Kisho heard when he listened with all his senses?
Tersch gave him a subtle nod, as if to prod him closer. The seduction plan. If the Viking only knew the disaster that lay in that direction. Sleeping with Morgan would lead to a future Kisho didn't want to come to pass. But lately, his hormones were trying to take control of the rational man in charge of his beast.
“Before this I was in South America. I was on another job. One you're not cleared to hear about.”
Jules snorted. “Oh yeah, I've used that line a time or two before. You know, Morgan, I have my reservations, but if this info pans out, I'll have to take back all the things I've said said about you.”
Morgan blinked. “All?”
“Well, maybe not all, but most.”
“At least you're calling me Morgan, and not dickhead, asshole, or fuckwad.”
“Fuckwad was mine.” Tersch beamed with pride.
Kisho shook his head. “It's a rite of passage. You come to the team, you prove yourself.”
“Hey, I've offered to prove myself, but you sensitive squids won't let me near your precious gym.” Morgan scoffed.
“Did he just call us sensitive?” Tersch growled.
“Did he just call us squids? SEALs, dickhead, not squids.” Fallon frowned. “And keep your distance from Oliva, while I'm at it.”
Kisho understood Fallon's problem. Morgan was fine with a capital F. Tall, dark, and handsome, with that bad-boy appeal that screamed danger, an aphrodisiac to most women—and Kisho as well. He'd been fighting it by keeping his distance, but just a few heartbeats away from Morgan made his body hum in a manner he'd never felt before.
Sex with men satisfied, to an extent. Sex with Circs enabled him to stave off that psychotic madness so many of his fellow friends had perished from. It provided a closeness he needed and a physical release from building tensions. But he had a feeling sex with Morgan would be unforgettable.
Kisho cleared his throat and rose, putting some distance between him and the tall drink of temptation. “Well, it's late, and I'm beat. Let's head home, and we can talk about it tomorrow.” He glanced at Morgan. “If you're so keen to get your ass handed to you, meet me in the gym tomorrow morning.”
Tersch chuckled. “Oh man, if I didn't hate mornings so much, I'd stop by to watch Hayashi kick your ass. Good luck.” He snickered and left for the SUV.
Jules and Fallon followed him, grinning ear to ear.
“Good going. Remember, we need this,” Fallon sent him.
I need this, Kisho thought. Sex doesn't have to lead to forever. I know better than most that happily ever after is a myth. Maybe if I sate this craving, it'll go away. But thinking about it didn't settle his nerves any.
Morgan followed him to the vehicle, so closely, Kisho could feel his body heat.
He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A spark of something wild lit Morgan's eyes, turning them black in the moonlight.
Morgan bumped into him, and he stopped Kisho from falling over by gripping his waist.
Hard.
A noticeable erection pressed against Kisho's ass, and he fought for control. But he couldn't help the rumbled growl from his beast, wanting more.
“Sorry. My mistake,” Morgan murmured. “I'll try not to be so clumsy tomorrow.” As if they had never touched, as if Kisho didn't know how long and hard the man was, Morgan stepped around him and joined the others.
After a few tense breaths fought fighting his beast for control, Kisho joined them.
The next day, he left his room early and nearly ran over Morgan, who stood waiting for him in the hall. To his dismay, Morgan smelled of soap and a musk that made his head spin, a subtle scent of citrus he wanted to inhale and never let go. The ex-merc wore shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt and seemed impervious to the chill in the air.
Morgan looked him up and down and grinned. “You know, for a man who hates compliments, you really show off the whole package nicely.” His own “package” stirred at Morgan's nearness, and the jackass smiled even wider.
“Shut up and get your ass to the gym. You need a few lessons in manners.”
“I can't wait.” They walked past Morgan's room, which irritated Kisho to no end because it was right next to his.
Mrs. Sharpe refused to bend on that detail. Needless to say, her popularity with the team had hit an all-new low.
They reached the empty gym, and Kisho said a prayer of thanks. Dealing with Morgan at all had become harder to bear, mostly because in the man's presence, Kisho wanted nothing more than to sample those firm lips and touch that smooth skin. A shade darker than his own, Morgan's tan spoke of the outdoors and fresh living. Kisho instinctively sensed that the man hadn't gained so much muscle from a gym, but from a life spent protecting himself from danger and wreaking havoc on those who deserved it, a notion Kisho's beast liked very much.