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Any exposure would be for naught, assuming Adam didn’t know what he was already.
The knocks sounded again. “I know you’re in there, Icarus.” The gruff voice confirmed the owner of the heartbeat.
The Devil knew where he lived, and Icarus had no escape.
He looked down at himself again. He could dash back into the bedroom and quickly dress, but he’d wasted enough time already. Maybe the shock factor would work for getting rid of Adam faster.
He crossed to the door and swung it open. “How do you know where I live? And how did you know I was home?”
Adam’s gaze raked over him like a brand, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of gravel. “Because you haven’t left all day.”
“Do you have someone following me?” Like a certain coyote?
Stormy eyes flicked to his, full of lightning, enough to startle Icarus back a step. Adam took advantage, slipping past him and inside. He was in work boots, jeans, and a Henley, and had a pistol in the holster at his waist. He ambled into the living room and stood next to the couch, staring down at the bags. “This is confusing.”
Icarus closed the door and took up a spot on the wall between the bedroom and living room. “So stop trying to figure it out.”
“This one will be useful.” He picked up the satchel, and his eyes widened, surprised either at the weight of it or what he felt inside. The shape of the items, given what Icarus did for a living, was a dead giveaway. One Adam apparently caught on to and liked given his deepening smirk. “Very useful.”
Icarus darted forward, barely containing his speed, and snatched the bag away. “It wasn’t for you. I’m meeting a client.”
“Not anymore. You promised me a date.”
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t go into that bathroom and jerk off after I left you Wednesday night?” He narrowed the distance between them, less than a foot apart. “Because when I got home, I sure did. Can’t remember the last time I came that hard.”
Icarus flattened himself against the wall, creating as much room as he could between himself and the too-tempting man he wanted to plaster himself against instead. “I can’t cancel on him again,” he protested, voice breathy, not the least bit convincing.
The other corner of Adam’s mouth hitched upward, a full-on devil’s smile. He reached out a hand, and Icarus sucked in a breath, on the knife’s edge anticipating where his warm, callused fingers might go. They slipped into Icarus’s pocket, oh so close to where Icarus wanted them, but didn’t venture far enough, withdrawing his phone instead.
Icarus glimpsed a message alert from Mike onscreen. As did Adam. “Mr. Whiskey from the bar?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He clicked the call back option and put it on speaker.
“Icarus, hey,” Mike answered, sounding winded. “I’m a little late, but on my—”
“Icarus isn’t on his way,” Adam replied. “But there’ll be another whiskey waiting for you at...” Adam cut Icarus a questioning glance.
“Hotel Ellis,” Icarus answered.
“Um... Icarus, you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mike.” Icarus sighed and leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed. “But I can’t be there tonight with you. I’m sorry. Enjoy your whiskey.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’ll see you next time.”
The line went dead on whatever Mike started to say, and the phone thumped against his bags, Adam tossing it aside. Warm rough hands gently clasped Icarus’s waist, inside the robe, just above the band of his jeans. “But you won’t, will you?”
“Not if you keep fucking with my job.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Adam ran the tip of his nose along the column of Icarus’s throat. “And besides, I’m your job.”
Icarus froze midshiver. Did Adam know Vincent had sent him? That his job was to act as bait? To lead Adam to his death?
“I’m trying to refocus all your attention on me.”
Or maybe Adam meant “job” in Icarus’s usual sense of the word, in the way that involved an intimacy Adam missed, his gestures now so like the ones Tuesday night in his bathroom. He nuzzled the crook of Icarus’s neck as his warm breaths and rapid heartbeat slowed. Every second like this made whatever it was Icarus was doing with Adam feel less and less like a job and more and more like something he also wanted. And somewhere between the jumble of conflicting emotions and priorities was the one thing that mattered most: not leading Adam to his death. Maybe if he took this “job” tonight, if he gave Adam the intimacy he so clearly needed, he could find a way to warn him away from Vincent Cirillo.
Or fuck, kidnap him if he had to. Make sure he didn’t run to his death.
He lifted a hand and tangled his fingers in the coarse dark strands at the back of Adam’s head. “Where are we going?”
