“Running the case files. Cross-referencing. I.D. searches. Paperwork. Satellites don’t show any grow-house hot-spots. No buildings putting off the kind of heat signatures it takes to grow weed covertly,” he answered, tossing the file on the counter top.
Vin tugged at the knot on his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling both from his body and wadding them up on the counter. His white undershirt strained across his chest, taunting Chris with semi-transparency and flat, dark nipples beneath.
His mouth went dry. Dryer still when Vin pulled off the band holding his hair back. The microwave dinged and Chris gladly dealt with the food. His own bare chest made Chris’ hours in the gym and special training seem ineffective.
He’d look at the satellite pictures later. When there weren’t prettier things, like dark nipples and handsome men, to look at. And why hadn’t Vin told him he’d gone to research? Shouldn’t they have discussed it?
“You didn’t think I should know the plan this morning?” Chris asked.
“You had company.”
“Over coffee would have worked.”
“Wasn’t thinking about it then,” Vin said. He motioned to Chris’ pants. “My sweats?”
“All I have are girl things. Figured you could share.”
“The guy-look works for you.”
Chris shot him a dirty look.
“So do the sweats.”
Chris handed him the plate of warmed over pasta and a bowl of canned fruit. Vin looked from the food to Chris. So help him, if Vin laughed, Chris would scalp him. How, he didn’t know, but he’d do it.
Vin wisely kept from comment and took his food to the dining room. Chris grabbed a couple of beers and joined him, plopping down in the chair adjacent.
“Did you do each other’s hair?” Vin teased. He must have read something in Chris’ expression, because he let it drop into silence unanswered.
“Find out anything?” Chris asked.
Vin shook his head. “Thanks for dinner.”
They both looked at his plate. Vin’s gaze met his and they both started laughing.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not much of a cook. There’s coffee cake, though. Doreen, Carla, and Nina were the women who came over this morning. By the way, we’ve been invited to Doreen’s house for a spring dinner party tomorrow night. Apparently they do it every year and they’re going to introduce us to more people.”
“Ah.”
“Trust me. This is a good thing. I get the feeling that I passed some kind of social test for women and they’re letting me in the club,” Chris explained.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re invited too. But just so you know, I told them that you cheated on Christy once and have been trying to make it up to her ever since. Christy uses your guilt to get what she wants, yada, yada, yada, and you’re actually a sensitive teddy bear type.”
Vin nodded, scooped up another mouthful of macaroni and cheese.
What did it take to make the man talk? Chris tried a different tack. “I think we should go casual, but not in jeans because I don’t think these people wear jeans. It’s like living in a gated community but without posted signs on how to behave and what to wear. I think I need a manicure. They all had perfect nails and soft hands. You think they could have noticed my hands when I shook theirs?”
“Probably.”
“Shit. I don’t have anything to wear for tomorrow night. Do you think I should pull out that blue dress with the high waist?”
Vin’s expression turned blank.
“The white one, maybe, with the lace shrug? That one buttons over my throat but opens to show a hint of cleavage,” Chris goaded.
“Uh…” Vin lifted his beer and sucked down several gulps.
Chris waited for him to finish, plastering a patient smile on his face and widening his eyes innocently.
“Sure,” Vin finally said, shrugging as he answered.
Absently, Chris scratched his arm and folded them on the table. The guy didn’t talk for anything. Not when freaked out, yelled at, insulted, or made uncomfortable. Something had to make Vin crack.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Chris asked.
“Takin’ the day off work to help you unpack.”
“What a guy.”
Vin frowned. He put his fork down and pushed the plate away. He’d eaten every bite.
Warmth spread beneath Chris’ breastbone. Pride and pleasure. “You want more?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Cake?”
“Save it for coffee tomorrow,” Vin suggested. He leaned onto the table too. “You still pissed at me?”
“No. I’m good,” Chris mirrored.
“Are you?” Vin’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
Ah, I’ve said something to amuse the giant again. “What do you mean?”
“Can’t tell if you’re good or not, rookie.” Vin sat back in his chair. “Can you hack the party as a couple?”
“I can hold my own.”
“I don’t know. You wimped on the fight scene in the front yard,” Vin said, caging his words in doubt.
“I did not! I had you by the short hairs with the entire neighborhood for an audience.”
“I kissed you and you freaked out. We’re supposed to be married. What happens if I put my arm around you or pinch your ass at the party?” Vin asked.
Chris’ ass tingled at the suggestion. “One, you won’t be pinching my ass at a dinner party. It’s uncouth. And two-” God, he did not want to explain Vin’s kiss giving him a hard-on. “Breaking it off was all part of the rouse.”
“Sure it was.”
“It became part of the rouse when I made it part of the rouse this morning,” Chris defended.
“But you choked at the time.”
Not admitting to a hard-on. Damn uncomfortable getting turned on with your dick tucked.
“I knew it. You choked,” Vin announced. “So what will you do when I make a pass at you during the party?”
“You want to make a pass at me?”
“You said I’d do anything for you and you use me to get what you want. Only a lovesick moron would be led around by a leash.”
Chris snorted. “Fine. Make a pass at me and see what happens.”
“Now?”
Well, that’s not exactly what he meant, but seeing the alarm in Vin’s body language egged Chris on. “My couple acting ability sucks and you plan on making a realistic pass at me during the party, right? If I’m so bad, don’t you want to make sure I don’t screw up the op?”
Vin squirmed.
Great. I’ve got the hots for my homophobic partner. “Just pretend I’m in drag, all right? I’m not squeamish. Or pretend I’m a chick or something. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Should brush my teeth first,” Vin mumbled.
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Fine. We’ll go brush up and meet in the living room. It’s work, Paul Bunyon, quit freaking out.”
As he brushed his teeth, the same question circled his mind. Do I even want to kiss a guy who’s homophobic and I’ve got no shot keeping? Great fucking question.
It was a great fucking question when he flossed and rinsed and it was still a great fucking question when he ended up in the living room with a Neanderthal hottie who looked nervous as hell. Did Neanderthals get nervous?
“We could tell people you aren’t demonstrative.” Chris spoke first, giving him an out if he wanted one.
“Too late for that.”
“Yeah, I guess move-in day kind of blows that one out of the water.”
Calm descended on Vin. He slipped his hands into his pockets. He arched a brow. It was the same look he’d worn when Chris had first stormed the conference room.
What was he waiting for, an invitation?
“Ready?” Vin asked.
Hell no.
“Yeah.” Chris shrugged.
Vin closed the four steps between them before Chris’ shoulder had finished dropping. Cupping Chris’ face between his hands, Vin swooped in. His mouth covered Chris’ roughly, possessing it instead of accepting permission to be there. Sweet peppermint lingered on Vin’s lips and flavored the firm sweeping pleasure of his tongue as it plunged past Chris’ defenses.