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  The phone continued to ring insistently.

  Zane nodded at Sebastian and picked up the call, setting up the speaker function so Sebastian could hear too. “Hello?”

  “Where are the damned plaques?” a voice snarled.

  “Where’s my damned money?” he responded in as threatening a tone as he could muster.

  “Don’t get cute with me, pretty boy. You’ll be dead before you know what hit you.”

  “Then you’ll never get your plaques back,” Zane said lightly, even though he felt like he might barf any second. Sebastian nodded encouragingly and made a hand gesture for him to continue talking. He took a deep breath and continued, “Surely you don’t think I’ve still got them on me, do you? What are those, anyway? Surely there’s something wrong with them if you’re willing to fork over so much cash for them and you’ve got armed guys shooting up alleys.”

  “That’s none of your concern, and that shooter wasn’t ours.”

  “Then who the hell was it?” he blurted. It seemed like a logical question if a guy didn’t know it had been Sebastian on that roof. Maybe it would convince the bad guys he was still working alone and give Sebastian a little cover.

  “We’re working on that.” A pause. “Where did you put the plaques?”

  “How stupid do you think I am? I hid them. If you kill me, you’ll never find them.”

  A long, pregnant pause was the only response on the other end of the call. He could practically hear the person on the other end of the line reassessing him, reevaluating how to deal with him, now that he’d shown himself not to be a complete patsy.

  At length the voice said, “Where do you want the money delivered?”

  “Electronically transfer it to my bank account. You bragged that you would have no trouble finding my account information, so find it. Pay me. And then we’ll talk.”

  Sebastian mouthed, Hang up.

  Zane was more than happy to do so. He pushed the button that disconnected the call and threw the phone down onto the cream sofa, staring at it in distaste.

  It started to ring again.

  “Don’t answer,” Sebastian told him. “Let them stew. They’ve blown their first, best opportunity to get the plates, and now they’re going to have to play by your rules.”

  “I have rules?” he asked.

  “You do now.”

  “Will they really pay me?”

  Sebastian shrugged as he pulled out his own cell phone. “I’m counting on it.”

  Zane openly eavesdropped as Sebastian made what looked like an overseas phone call. “Hey, Pere. It’s me. I need you to watch for any big deposits to a bank account. They’ll be from an Erebus source. Payment for the printing plates.” A pause, then, “They fucked up the exchange and now we’re dictating the rules of the game.” Sebastian lifted the phone away from his mouth. “What’s your checking account number, Zane?”

  He rattled off the digits.

  Sebastian repeated them into the phone, adding, “Right. Zane Stryker. Erebus is going to have to find his account and then wire money to it. Maybe your guys can connect the funds transfer to an account Interpol didn’t freeze in last month’s sweep. I’m interested to see where this money comes from, given how locked down most of their assets are, and given how thorough your inside man was in finding their accounts around the world.”

  Clever. Zane smiled in approval at Sebastian.

  Sebastian gave a brief account to the caller of last night’s failed handoff, editing it a bit so Zane didn’t come off as a hopeless amateur and portraying him as brave and helpful. The call ended after Sebastian asked Pere to look into reports of any guys shot in alleys last night in Manhattan.

  “Now what?” Zane asked Sebastian.

  “Now we wait.”

  “I have the photo shoot this afternoon at 4:00 p.m.,” Zane reminded him. “It’ll run till around midnight. I already agreed to do it, and I can’t back out.”

  Sebastian frowned. “This could work to our favor. You’re undoubtedly going to be under surveillance from here on out. If Etienne and I act as your bodyguards and make you obviously and visibly difficult to kidnap, the counterfeiter may have no choice but to fork over the money for the plates.”

  “Difficult to kidnap?” Zane echoed in alarm.

  “They’ll have to keep you alive long enough to tell them where the plates are stashed. They can’t just kill you, now.”

  “Uhh, good?”

  “That’s very good news. Snatching a person is a much trickier proposition than a straight-up murder.” Sebastian added, “Now that we’ve got Martin watching your bank, we want to force a money trail to happen.”

  “Martin?”

  “Martin Wylde. He and Peregrine Cardiffe founded and co-own Wild Cards, Inc. Martin is in charge of the intelligence gathering and analysis for the firm. He has assembled and trained an excellent computer surveillance team.”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned him before?” Zane asked.

  “Didn’t know if I could trust you to keep quiet or not. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he or the Wild Cards are tracking the currency plates.”

  “Remind me to thank your friend if I ever meet him,” Zane said.

  Sebastian grinned. “Will do. Which reminds me. I have another call to make. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

  Sebastian disappeared behind a sleek stainless steel door and left Zane to wander the penthouse. It wasn’t huge, probably around three thousand square feet—three bedrooms, three-and-a-half baths—but it was three thousand square feet of pure luxury. And then he discovered the terrace, which was close to the size of the entire condo. It was a shaded oasis with full-size trees in giant steel planters and grasses, flowers, and even an herb garden in long, low planters around a swimming pool. The pool was black, long and narrow for swimming laps, with an infinity edge and glass fencing that meant someone in the pool could look out at the skyline of Manhattan at night without any obstruction of the view.

  And then he saw the knee-high edge of what looked like a hot tub. He peeked under the removable cover and steam rose up. Yes. He could seriously use a good soak. He felt like one giant knotted muscle. On impulse, he stripped down and eased into the deep, hot, bubbling water. It had a faint saltwater odor. Perfect. No harsh chemicals to dry out his skin.

  He lay back in the tub, resting his head on one of the neck pillows dangling along the water line, and closed his eyes. He let the foaming jets soothe away the stress and tension of the past few days until he was utterly boneless.

  Without warning, the water level rose in the tub sloshed around him. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see Sebastian submerging, shirtless, into the white bubbles. Please God, let him be entirely naked under the bubbling surface of the water.

  “Wait! I didn’t get to see you climb in. Do it again!” Zane complained.

  Sebastian grinned. “Your loss. Gotta be on the ball if you want to see the good stuff.”

  “Dammit.”

  Sebastian sat diagonally across the square tub from him, giving them both plenty of room to stretch out their legs and soak unimpeded. The afternoon was warming up fast, and Zane was close to overheating when Sebastian heaved out of the hot tub in a flash of muscular ass that made his heart pitter-patter. Several long running strides, and Sebastian dived into the swimming pool. He came up shaking water out of his hair and eyes and hung on the edge of the pool, grinning.

  “Come on over here and jump in. I dare you,” Sebastian declared.

  Zane’s eyes narrowed. He pushed out of the hot tub and strolled over to the pool, enjoying a moment of raw exhibitionism, confident in how great his body looked. And Sebastian was not shy to take in every detail of his physique. Those dark eyes lit up like torches, and Zane’s own grin widened as he reached the edge of the pool.

  “Should I dip a toe in first?” he teased.

  Sebastian shrugged. “Real men dive in headfirst all at once.”

  Zane laughed. “Well, then…
.”

  The shock of the icy-cold water on his well-cooked skin ripped the breath out of his lungs and, as he surfaced, wrung a noise reminiscent of a dying chicken from his throat.

  “Good God almighty,” he groused. “That made an innie of my naughty bits and an outie of my belly button!”

  Sebastian laughed. “Going from hot to cold and cold to hot is good for you. It stimulates lymphatic flow.”

  “It stimulates fucking heart failure.” Zane threw his head back, dipped his hair in the water, and slicked it back with his hands. “This is one to check off my bucket list. Skinny-dipping in Manhattan in broad daylight.”

  “No one can see you.”

  “Damn. I may have to leave it on the list, then. What’s the fun if no one’s looking on and being jealous as fuck?”

  “Don’t I count as a witness?” Sebastian asked. The sexy timbre of his deep voice made Zane’s toes curl against the bumpy pebble bottom of the pool.

  “I don’t know. Are you jealous?”

  “Seeing as how I own the swimming pool, not so much. But I am a little jealous at the idea of other people getting to see you like this. Does that count?”

  “You most certainly do count, Mr. Gigoni.” He swam over to hang on the side of the pool next to Sebastian. The cool water swirled around his body deliciously, and the hedonist in him reveled in the sensation.

  “God, I never get tired of looking at you,” Sebastian murmured. “You’re too perfect to be real. Are you sure you’re not a hologram?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And thank you.” He couldn’t resist adding in a tone that dared Sebastian to react, “Are you planning to do something about it, or are you just gonna look at all this hotness?”

  He might as well have dangled a steak in front of a starving tiger. Sebastian turned, splashing water, and hooked his hand behind Zane’s neck, dragging him forward into a kiss. Zane braced for something carnal and aggressive, but Sebastian surprised him by kissing him gently, seductively, almost reluctantly. Or maybe that was just Sebastian taking his time.

  Sebastian sipped at his mouth, moving his lips and tongue lightly, almost teasingly, sampling him like a fine vintage and savoring him, if the groan emanating from the back of his throat was any indication. He did that to Sebastian? Joy unfolded in Zane’s belly.

  “You taste good,” Sebastian mumbled.

  Some people had a sweet tooth—he’d always had a taste for salty snacks, and today was no exception. “I taste like salt, and so do you,” he retorted, enjoying the silken slide of lips on lips and exploration of tongue on tongue.

  “Saltwater pool and spa. Hence the salty taste,” Sebastian replied, licking at the corners of Zane’s mouth.

  “Shut up and kiss me,” Zane whispered.

  Sebastian’s laugh was low and charged. He turned and pulled Zane’s naked body against his. The solid heat of Sebastian and the liquid cold of the water mixed together in a sexy cocktail that turned him on ferociously. Belly to belly, chest to chest, buoyant and weightless, they kissed with their entire bodies, twining around one another both physically and emotionally.

  Zane wanted this man so bad it shocked him. He loved Sebastian’s strength and intelligence and badassery. He loved how private the guy was, how he wasn’t stuck-up. Goodness knew he had a right to be. He might be ridiculously successful, but he was 100 percent a self-made man, and not many people could say that.

  Sure, the guy had some trust issues. Maybe that came with the territory of being rich. How was a person to know if people liked them for themselves or their money? He’d seen it before in the super-rich. Although Sebastian’s trust issues seemed deeper than that. Like he didn’t trust people to stick around.

  Zane knew the feeling. His family had abandoned him when he’d needed them most. He’d been a confused young kid, trying to figure out who he was, scared of the fact that he fantasized about making out with boys and not girls, and they’d been ashamed of him. They’d hidden him from their friends and family and they’d hidden from him. He’d been an embarrassment, swept under a rug to the best of their ability.

  They made a hell of a pair, him and Sebastian. The long-in-the-tooth model and the ex-soldier real estate tycoon. But they were both survivors. They’d made something of themselves in spite of the lack of support from their families. They’d succeeded against all the odds in each of their chosen careers. What were the odds that they were emotional wrecks in the exact same way?

  He knew one way to find out.

  Zane was busily considering the logistics of sex in the pool when Sebastian stunned him by turning him loose and pushing away, porpoising over to the end of the long, narrow pool.

  Well, hell. Had he done something wrong? He’d thought their kisses and naked bodies in the pool were hellaciously hot. If Sebastian was half as turned-on as he was, the guy had a seriously overflowing rudder under his boat right about now. He watched Sebastian swim back and forth, knifing through the water with powerful, smooth strokes. He glimpsed flexing shoulder muscles, a long, ridged back, clenched buttocks, and the bottoms of Sebastian’s feet flashing as he kicked.

  Was Sebastian playing hard to get? Or was he more hung up about being gay than he was letting on? Zane had always been a live-and-let-live, anything-goes sort of kid, long before he’d known he preferred boys to girls. Once he’d made peace with who he was, it hadn’t been much of a stretch to kiss the boys in the corner of the gym instead of the girls. But he could see Sebastian as the kind of kid who identified with being strong and macho. Realizing he was gay must have been a hell of a shock to him.

  The idea of slow-walking Sebastian into his full sexual potential exploded across Zane’s mind with all the flash and excitement of a comet. Oh, man. That could be an amazing trip. And it would be the perfect thank-you to Sebastian for saving his life. He would save Sebastian’s in return—just in another way.

  Seducing the reclusive rich dude—it sounded like the script from a movie. And yet the billionaire was only a few feet away from him and unquestionably in need of rescue from himself. Yup, this was going to be fun.

  Unfamiliar excitement unfolded in his gut. He rather liked the idea of doing something generous for someone else for a change. Most of the time, people were too busy sucking up to him to give him an opportunity to do anything for them. It was one of the downsides of being beautiful. He was often perceived as a trophy and not an actual human being.

  Sebastian swam laps with smooth, powerful strokes that were mesmerizing to watch. Zane was a runner when he bothered to exercise outside of what was needed to maintain the body sculpting. It helped keep his muscle long and lean. While there was a market for buff male models with bulging biceps and pecs, the high-fashion industry demanded lean body types that clothes hung on elegantly. Even the clunkiest of fashions could look decent on a thin enough model.

  Across the pool deck, he spied a glass-front cabinet holding folded towels, and he hopped out of the pool, fetched one, and wrapped it around his hips. He strolled over to one of the curving steel-mesh chaise lounges and stretched out on it to watch Sebastian swim. He lost count of the number of laps but guessed Sebastian went at least a mile before hopping out of the pool himself.

  Sebastian was his polar opposite, dark to his light, brawn to his beauty, all raw masculinity to his androgynous elegance. Maybe that was why Zane found him so completely captivating. Sebastian was everything he’d wished he’d been as a kid. When the other kids had been bullying him and picking on him for being scrawny and thin, interested in things the other boys weren’t, he’d desperately wished to be big and strong enough to make them all shut up.

  Sebastian flopped, naked, beside him on a chaise, eyes closed and face raised to the sun. Damn. He’d swum off his hard-on.

  “I’ll bet you never got beat up as a kid, did you?” Zane asked wistfully.

  “All the time.”

  Zane stared. “Really?”

  Sebastian cracked open one eye. “You thought being a gay kid in the
street gangs of London many years ago went well for me?”

  “It’s just that you’re so big and strong.”

  “I am now. And besides, when a half-dozen other kids jump you all at once, no matter how big and strong you are, there’s not much you can do but take the beating and hope they don’t kill you.”

  “Jesus, Sebastian.”

  “Times have changed. Now I could probably give a half-dozen punks a run for their money.”

  “Is that why you joined the Army? To learn how to defend yourself?”

  “I was young and stupid. I thought fighting was the way to be a man. I know better now. It’s being able not to fight that makes a person a man.”

  Zane was staggered. How many people could come from as rough a background as Sebastian and come to the same realization? “You’re a remarkable person,” he murmured.

  “Ha. I’m a low-class thug—all dressed up and the rough edges polished off these days—but I don’t fake out anybody. The rich, classy people in this town won’t have a thing to do with me.”

  “And you’re sure they’re not intimidated as hell by you?”

  “Intimidated? By me?” Sebastian snorted.

  “You do realize that you exude a serious badass vibe, right? You walk around on your toes with fists already half-formed, almost like you’re daring someone to mess with you. The upper-crust snobs are probably scared silly of you.”

  “I do not walk around like that!”

  Zane laughed. “Let’s recall that I’m a runway model. I make my living portraying various images by how I walk. I study human movement professionally. And I’m here to tell you, you walk like a pissed-off commando looking for an excuse to pound someone into dust. With your bare fists. And you’re going to enjoy it….”

  “I am a commando. Or at least I was.”

  “Exactly. And it’s who you portray yourself as. It’s why they steer clear of you. They don’t know what to do with someone like you. That kind of self-possession and capability is completely outside their experience.”