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Jack knew he shouldn’t have come. Zeph ought to be shouting at him, calling him a bastard, asking why the hell he thought he could simply walk back into his life.

He knew he had no right to be doing this.

But telling Zeph he shouldn’t have got involved with him had also been a mistake.

He’d hurt him and he didn’t want to hurt him.

He just…wanted him. Then Zeph had kissed him and Jack was lost.

When they finally pulled apart for air, he pressed his head next to Zeph’s, resting his forehead on the door while he concentrated on dragging air into struggling lungs.

He’d been brought up to be tough, right from the day Thomas had rescued him.

He was tough. He was also determined, resourceful, brave, ruthless, intelligent…

and yet he found himself afraid of rejection.

He shouldn’t care, but he did. It was unsettling to feel vulnerable.

Jack turned his head so his mouth was almost touching Zeph’s neck and breathed him in. He was close enough to taste his skin, though he didn’t. But his mouth watered.

“I waited and waited,” Zeph whispered. “You didn’t come.”

“I’m here now.” He wanted to wrap his arms around Zeph and hold him tight. Returning his kiss was as far as he’d got. Maybe he wasn’t brave at all. Maybe this was the most important thing at this moment to get right. Let Zeph decide where this went.

He felt Zeph’s hand slide between them, cradling his dick through his jeans.

“I want you,” Zeph whispered.

The breath caught in Jack’s throat. Zeph’s words gave him the courage he’d been looking for.

He turned Zeph’s face towards his and this time, Jack kissed him.

How could kissing Zeph feel like coming home?

But as hot and sweet and comforting as it was, it was no longer enough.

Jack needed his mouth on Zeph’s chin and his cheeks and his jaw and his neck.

His lovely neck. And while he was kissing and nuzzling him, Zeph was fumbling with the button, then the zip on Jack’s jeans.

Warm fingers slid inside his shorts, wrapped around his cock and Jack put his forehead to Zeph’s and stopped breathing.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” Jack mumbled.

“Nor was I.”

“Are you going to stop?”

“No.”

Zeph rolled his thumb over the tip of Jack’s cock and electricity flashed into his balls.

Jack couldn’t have said how they managed to take off their clothes and get onto the single bed while still kissing. But they did. They lay facing each other, hands linked, and Jack wanted so badly to be inside him.

“Do you have anything?” Jack whispered.

“No.”

Jack rolled onto his back, pulled Zeph on top of him and groaned into his neck. “Not even lube?”

“I ran out of a litre container two hours ago. If you’d been here two hours ago… Oh well. Bad luck.”

Jack laughed. That Zeph could still joke…

“Does shower gel work?” Zeph asked. “Well, I know it does because I’ve done extensive research, but…er…only with my hand.”

“Run out of condoms too?” Jack’s heart thumped.

“You’re fishing?”

“Any bites?”

Zeph looked down at him. “No one but you, Jack. Ever.”

“Shower.” Jack’s voice was husky.

“It’s small.”

“Good.”

As the water poured over them, Jack slipped to his knees behind him and pressed his mouth against the seam of Zeph’s arse.

He wasn’t sure he was consciously thinking about what he was doing.

He’d never done this to anyone before, but he wanted to lick and tease and drive Zeph wild.

Zeph was bent forward, half-plastered against the tiles, gasping noisily as Jack spread his arse cheeks, exposed his hole and blew on it.

“Oh my God,” Zeph blurted. “What are you doing? Don’t answer that. Fuuuck!”

Zeph was making all sorts of noises, his legs shaking against Jack’s shoulders. Jack thrust his tongue into him again and again, then used his fingers to open him up while Zeph groaned and writhed under the water.

“Oh fuck, fuuuuck,” Zeph gasped.

Jack wrapped his hands around Zeph’s hips and pulled him back against his mouth.

“Jack!” Zeph called his name as he came.

When Jack let him go, Zeph slithered down into the shower tray. His eyes were closed but he opened them and smiled. “No hands orgasm. Aren’t I clever?”

“Very.”

Jack was on his knees, back against the glass door and there was no room, but somehow Zeph managed to get his mouth around Jack’s cock and his finger inside him.

Jack only had time to think how before lightning flashed down the length of his spine and he came so hard and fast that his vision wavered.

How could this feel so good?

They lay tangled up in each other, and it grew increasingly uncomfortable but neither of them moved. It was only when the water chilled, and Zeph began to shiver, that Jack found enough energy to at least turn off the shower. Zeph crawled out and lay curled on the bathmat.

“I’ll sleep here.”

Jack smiled. He dried Zeph first. Shit. Did I give him those bruises? His arms and his legs? He’d been too rough. He should have been more careful.

He carried Zeph to the bed, and wrapped around each other they fell asleep.

In the morning, Jack woke first. He was ashamed that his first thought was to leave while Zeph was asleep. As Zeph lay in his arms, he thought about what had brought him to this point—again—and knew they were meant to be together. He didn’t want to fight it any longer.

He didn’t believe in fate. He wouldn’t have been able to do his job and put any faith in the concept of destiny.

His skills kept him as safe as he could manage.

One bullet, one knife wound was the difference between life and death.

He shouldn’t want Zeph in his messed-up world, but last night had shown him that as far as Zeph was concerned, there was no choice. He couldn’t resist the pull.

He’d tried. Once he’d recovered from the injuries he’d sustained in the explosion, he tried to shut Zeph out. But truthfully, it had been thoughts of Zeph that had helped him survive, carried him through the long physical therapy, the further operations to minimise the worst of his scars.

Jack’s breathing caught as he remembered that night.

The deck cushion from the yacht had undoubtedly saved his life.

He learned later he’d been picked up by one of the many boats that went out from Cannes to see if they could find survivors.

He was the only one, apart from the crew who’d been forced to leave the yacht by masked gunmen. The gunmen had disappeared.

He’d been too out of it for the police to question, and he pretended to be more muddled than he was, but he’d known it was only a matter of time before they returned.

He needed breathing space to think what to say.

The hospital wasn’t calling him Sebastian, so he hadn’t yet been linked to his hotel or to the casino.

But he’d only shown his passport there. A copy hadn’t been taken.

In an ideal world, he’d leave before the police could speak to him, but this wasn’t an ideal world.

He couldn’t even get out of bed to take a leak.

When he’d opened his eyes in the middle of the night and seen Thomas sitting at his bedside, he’d been relieved.

“Careful,” Thomas whispered.

Jack nodded and pain shot through his skull. Thomas leaned in. “What happened?”

“Picked me up in the Royale. Took me to his boat. Anchored up out of the harbour.” Jack took a few shallow breaths before he began again.

“Did what was needed. I called for help. Said I thought he’d had a heart attack.

One of his guys came… Did CPR. I…sensed something was off.

I saw the crew leaving. Then spotted a guy in black planting a bomb. Had to jump.”

Thomas put his hand on Jack’s. “Timer?”

“Minutes on it. I dived into the water but the explosion caught me. I woke up here. They said I’d been picked up unconscious.”

“You managed to get rid of everything but the money. Sooner or later, they’ll link you to your hotel and see the copy of your passport. I have your back story covered but we’d be better to move before the police start asking too many questions.”

“I can hold them off a little longer.”

“Pretend to be weaker than you are. The yacht didn’t sink but it’s a write-off.

Five bodies found on board with bullet wounds.

All badly damaged by fire and the explosion.

The police are still questioning the crew.

Those who saw you said you’d not been on the craft before but had come back that evening with Al-Shuaibi.

You’re not under suspicion of having done anything other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. ”

“Two contracts?” Jack whispered.

“With different targets.”

Jack shivered. “Me?”

Thomas shook his head. “Owner of the boat. I want to fly you to Switzerland. Some mountain air will do you good. We can get a plastic surgeon to look at your wounds.”

“Zeph’s at the house expecting…”

“No, he’s not. Beno?t told him the owner was arriving and he needed to leave. He’s back in the UK. Leave him alone.”

Fuck you.

“I mean it.”

So did Jack.

But he’d not been in a position to do anything.

He didn’t need to pretend confusion. His injuries had been extensive.

Serious skull fracture. A temporary problem with his hearing and vision.

Broken bones and ribs. Damage to his kidneys and his spleen.

Cuts and bruises. Significant blood loss.

He still had lines going into his veins, a catheter in his cock.

“I have to tell the police something,” Jack said.

“What are you thinking?”

“We met at the Royale. Gambling. Al-Shuaibi took me back to his yacht to play blackjack.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows.

“He said he’d double my winnings. I have money but I couldn’t turn that down. I heard shooting, saw a bodyguard get shot, grabbed my bag and jumped overboard. Must have lost my passport and room key in the sea.”

“Are they going to believe that?”

“No one alive to contradict me.”