“Because I said so. And either you follow directions or you take a little nap and wake up behind bars. Up to you, sugar.”
Reece rolled his eyes but stuck his hands in the air.
“Take three steps backward,” Grayson said. “So your back is against the wall. And keep those hands up.”
With obvious reluctance, Reece obeyed, never taking his eyes off Grayson.
Grayson transferred the gun to his left hand, lowering it but keeping it at his side. He stepped within arm’s reach of Reece, close enough he could scent the shampoo again. Close enough he could feel the warmth Reece always radiated.
Reece raised his chin. Grayson was more than a head taller, dwarfing him this close, so that Reece fit like a puzzle piece into the small space between Grayson’s body and the wall. “I’m trying not to touch you, but you decided not to wear gloves. Which means if our hands brush, it’s bare skin.” Grayson had lowered his voice without planning to. “So unless you’re itching to pass out on this floor, keep those hands nice and high and out of the way for me.”
Reece exhaled, and Grayson felt the air skate over his collarbone. He was hyperaware of Reece’s lips, his own lips suddenly tingling with the memory of just how good their one stolen kiss had been. He’d be lying if he pretended part of him wasn’t aching to lift Reece right up against the wall and steal another.
But the more they touched, the more they risked Reece becoming immune to his knockout ability. Grayson slipped his hand in the hoodie’s left pocket, finding nothing. “Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to go into your jeans,” he said as he checked the second pocket and found it empty too.
“Not like it’s your first time.” Was it Grayson’s imagination, or had Reece’s voice also gone lower and more strained?
Grayson rested his hand on the wall, just to the side of Reece’s hands, as he eyed the jeans in question. “You couldn’t’ve worn them looser?”
“I thought you likedtight fits.” Oh, Reece’s voice was definitely lower, and he was still breathing too hard. His hands remained up against the wall, on either side of his head, his fingers occasionally flexing, like all that empathy at his literal fingertips was being held back from reaching for Grayson.
Grayson tried to push all those thoughts out of his head, but it was so much harder to ignore how much his body still wanted Reece when he had himright fucking here. “Front or back?”
“That seems like a very forward question.”
“Pockets,” Grayson drawled, even though Reece had known damn well what he was asking. He hooked his finger through the belt loop on Reece’s hip and tugged. “Unless you’re really counting on a layer of denim to protect you from my touch?”
“It will,” Reece said. “And guess what? That’s not a lie.”
“Just meansyoubelieve it.”
“Mmm, maybe. But if you’ll cast your memory back to our little interlude in the truck, you’ll remember we locked lips for a few seconds before I passed out.”
“I’m not exactly gonna forget,” Grayson said, his whisper low and gravelly. “But what’s that got to do with your jeans?”
Reece took a breath through his nose. His cheeks had a flush that seemed out of place in the freezing, unheated air of the old EI facility. “Do the math, Evan. If we can kiss, I don’tthink you can knock me out through denim. In fact, I bet the next time we touch, I’ll last even longer. So to speak.”
Grayson slid his hand around Reece’s hip to run it over his back pocket, feeling for the outline of a flash drive. Reece inhaled sharply, his head falling back against the wall and exposing his throat.
“You go right ahead and test that theory,” Grayson said, letting his palm come to rest over Reece’s back pocket. “Put your hand on me and see what happens.”
Reece’s throat moved as he swallowed. “As if you’re not beinghandsyenough for both of us. Is this how polite Southern boys behave?”
His sarcasm was belied by the breaths that hadn’t slowed, but then, Grayson was breathing more shallowly himself. Every nerve felt hyperaware of Reece, scent and sight and sound overwhelming his own good sense.
His hand was still on that back pocket, right on Reece’s ass. Grayson flexed his arm, using his grip to nudge Reece just that tiny bit closer. “You could just give me Nichols’s research.”
“What makes you think I have it?”
Grayson squeezed his ass pointedly. “If youdon’thave it, you could just tell me instead of making me grope you to find out.”
“We’re not on the same side, asshole. I’m not here to draw you maps.” Except Reece was pressingintohis touch, not away from it, a small arch of his back, stretching up just one more inch. “Why did you leave those office maps in Traynor’s office anyway?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Youknowwhat I’m talking about.”
Reece wasn’t making a lick of sense—or maybe finally having his hand on Reece, even through jeans, had wreaked havoc on Grayson’s ability to form thoughts.
