Jumping at Shadows Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also from Dreamspinner Press

  Also from Dreamspinner Press

  Also from Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  382 NE 191st Street #88329

  Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Jumping at Shadows

  Copyright © 2011 by R.G. Green

  Cover Art by Reese Dante http://www.reesedante.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-61372-215-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  November 2011

  eBook edition available

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-216-9

  Dedication

  For Geo, who believed writing should be for the love of writing, and Shannon, who always offered brutal honesty in such a kind and gentle manner.

  Chapter One

  The Main Street Pub was packed, especially for a weekday night, with enough bodies crowding the floor space to force the nearly naked servers to slither and slide as they maneuvered between them. Brimming mugs and mixed drinks were balanced perfectly on scratched wooden drink trays, and the sheer act of pulling them away from the unexpected stumble—or merely raising them out of danger—created enough teasing displays of sweaty male flesh to draw a good number of eyes in their direction. Eric Geller certainly wasn’t the exception, and more than one sweat-dampened chest caught his attention as he worked his way closer to the sure-to-be-crowded bar at the back. The beat of some rock tune sounded grindingly over the burr of voices coming from every conceivable space—the tables, the corners, the overflowing dance floor—though Eric couldn’t hear enough to actually name the music, let alone dance to it. But that suited him just fine. Most days—or rather, nights—he enjoyed the dance floor as much as anyone; tonight just didn’t happen to be one of them. A cold beer and a warm body were about all he was in the mood for, and he knew he would likely find both at the bar, once he made it through the swarm.

  The Pub wasn’t usually this crowded on weekends, let alone on Thursdays, but the recent, severe drop in temperature added to the number of people looking for a night out in a warm place, and the Pub certainly fit the bill. It didn’t hurt that Sparklers—Main Street’s chief rival in Breten City’s gay nightclub scene—had temporarily closed amid rumors that more than cold beer was for sale. The charges were true, of course, and everyone knew that tricks and hustlers were just as common here at the Pub, although this club’s management ensured their services were offered discreetly, and without the high-handed encouragement to accept. But still, they were present—they always were—and given the various stages of undress in the crowd tonight, Eric would have been hard pressed to distinguish the hustlers from the clients, and either from the guys just here to enjoy the beer and music.

  Eric took a deep breath, which brought with it the smells of alcohol, sweat, and the tang of too many combinations of aftershave and cologne, but at last he could see the line that formed along the bar front through the crowd. He picked out the spot he would nudge his way into almost immediately. A jut of his elbow was all that was needed to slip him into place. Glancing down the line, he located Brian Mays, Main Street’s most popular bartender, as he moved from customer to customer, delivering drinks and conversation in equal measure. With his green eyes, thick, dark hair, and buff, firm body—compliments of a nearly religious gym regimen—Eric could only imagine the amount of tips and propositions the man was getting. Times like this made him glad he and Brian had never taken it upon themselves to compare income.

  Sweat prickled under the worn bomber jacket and Henley shirt Eric was wearing, and the thin T-shirt he had put on under them both was already clinging to his skin. Outside, it may have dropped below freezing the moment the sun went down, but inside, the heat was oppressive, or it would be soon enough. The man seated on the black-cushioned stool to Eric’s right was no doubt smothering in his outdated wool dress suit, at least if his glistening, nearly bald head was anything to go by. The few strands of hair still clinging to his scalp looked like seaweed in the shaded lighting, although the sweat coating his jowls might have as much to do with the number of empty martini glasses in front of him as it did with the heat. Eric caught his eyes briefly in the mirror behind the bar, and the look the man returned was obviously appraising and more than a little suggestive. Eric gave him a brief nod, but nothing more. Bald and Sweaty was in no way, shape, or form the reason Eric had chosen this particular spot.

  That reason was leaning on the bar on his left.

  Tall, dark-haired, and leanly muscled under a faded gray sweatshirt, the man on that side of him was slouched low enough to rest one elbow on top of the bar and was turned in such a way as to make it nearly impossible to slip in behind him without brushing his denim-covered ass, something Eric hadn’t even tried to avoid when he’d taken up his position. The strong, cut profile reflected in the mirror completed the package nicely, and Eric felt his cock tighten in agreement.

  Shrugging his jacket from his shoulders wasn’t easy, but he managed it without too much intrusion into Martini Drinker’s space. Eric kept his eyes aimed left, however, to make sure there would be no misinterpretation of an accidental bump. Apart from the image in the mirror, Eric’s view was limited, and he couldn’t see much of the flesh-and-blood man he had his eye on beyond the strong, veined forearm displayed beneath a pushed-up, heather-gray sleeve, and the defined, long-fingered hand curled lazily around the barrel of a nearly empty mug almost floating in the rings it had left on the bar top. The foamy remains appeared to be one of the Pub’s premium light lagers—Firebrick would have been Eric’s guess. Not Eric’s personal first choice—he preferred the flavor of dark brews over the malty taste of that particular Minnesota brand—but he could drink it if he had to, and had even done so on occasion.

  A subtle shift of fleece and denim to Eric’s left as his coat slipped off his arms signaled that he had been spotted in the mirror, and the flash of heat in his cock the shift inspired reminded him that an intellectual discussion of beer varieties was not on the agenda. Eric’s lips curved in a slow smile as he tossed his jacket over the top of the bar, overlapping the almost identical jacket that already lay there.

  Brian appeared in front of him, and Eric’s call for a dark draft barely reached his own ears over the noise around him. Making himself heard wasn’t really necessary, though, since he had been a customer long en
ough that the bartender knew what he wanted without asking. And judging by the wink, the lewd smile, and the not-so-subtle glance at the man on Eric’s left, Brian was equally aware of whom. A frosted mug of dark brew landed in front of him in short order, and Eric returned a wink of his own before Brian moved on down the line. Several heads turned to watch him; the flex and sway of perfectly toned flesh would undoubtedly work miracles when it came to tips. Eric was tempted to increase his own in thanks for the show, but that could wait until later. The beer was here, and it would do for now.

  Eric sighed with pleasure as the first sip of the toasted, grainy dark went down. As he swallowed, he finally took in his own reflection in the mirrored wall in front of him. His image was a little blurry through the streaks and smudges smearing the surface of the glass, but what he saw was clear enough. It wasn’t flattering. His dark sandy hair, short on the sides and a little longer and spikier on top, was still tousled from the winter wind, making him look more like he had just crawled out of bed than walked in from the street. His eyes, usually a warm, rich hazel—or so he had been told—were bloodshot, and the narrow scar under his left brow stood out clearly on his wind-burnished skin. His long, straight nose, which he usually considered one of his best features, suffered from the distraction of a dark shadow of stubble, and his wrinkled Henley certainly didn’t improve his appearance. It had been a long day, and one he was glad to see the end of.

  With a heavy sigh, Eric raised a hand to shove it through his hair, and felt the bump as his elbow met the solid body on his left. It might truly have been an accident, but it didn’t go unnoticed, and Eric was rewarded by a delicious shifting of weight that ended with the brush of a firm ass against his hip. A glance at their reflection in the mirror told him that the flirting was intentional, and Eric grinned as he returned the favor with a light brush of his hip against the other man’s back pocket. Eric’s smile widened when that tight ass pressed back a little harder.

  The touch and feel was fun, and it went a long way toward relaxing Eric’s tired nerves, but he left off his flirting long enough to take another appreciative swallow of his heavy, dark beer. He couldn’t resist a lick at the condensation forming on the side of the mug for good measure, however, just in case the man was still watching him in the mirror. He wasn’t surprised to find that Bald and Sweaty on his right was observing him attentively, and judging by the leer on the man’s face, he was obviously assuming that swipe of the tongue had been for his benefit. Lecherous wasn’t a good look on him, and drunken lechery was even worse. Eric shook his head slightly at the reflection, and watched the leer turn to a sneer as the man raised his martini glass sharply at the rebuff. Eric almost pitied him but left him to his own devices to concentrate on the healthy flavor of the dark beer and the way it warmed his stomach.

  A nudge from his left brought his attention back to his other side. His body was so close to the dark-haired man’s now that Eric could almost smell the heat from his skin. If the man were to stand up straight, he would top Eric’s height by almost two inches, and at 6’1”, Eric certainly wasn’t considered short. The dark hair at the nape of the other man’s neck was just long enough to begin to curl—the perfect length for tangling fingers into, and Eric could picture himself doing just that before the night was over. The man had also waited until he was sure he had Eric’s attention before he tilted his head back, draining the remnants of his beer in one long swallow, giving his Adam’s apple prominent display in the mirror. That was enough to change the picture in Eric’s mind from tangling his fingers in the man’s hair to licking the sweat from that solid knot in his throat, preferably while the man was naked and stretched out under him, and after Eric had ridden him through the mattress. The temptation to grope in hopes of speeding things up was strong, but he took another sip of his beer instead and listened in on the ongoing conversation led by a blond guy on the man’s other side.

  “I said, whaddaya say we blow out of here and find someplace a little more private?” the blond repeated loudly, his voice nearly dripping with suggestion.

  Eric smirked as he picked out the blond’s reflection from a little farther down the bar. He didn’t miss the guy’s Hawaiian-shirted body shifting closer to the jeans- and sweatshirt-clad man beside him, even as he wondered how the hell the misplaced beach bum could stand to wear that shirt and board shorts in weather like this. But the thought vanished as he caught sight of one tanned hand reaching out to run meaningfully over his neighbor’s fleece-covered waist in a move so blatant and deliberate that Eric couldn’t possibly miss it. Eric raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head away from the mirror, and a look over the sweatshirted shoulder of the man beside him brought him nearly face to face with the California surfer lookalike who seemed far better suited to life in a different state. The bleached blond might have come up even with Eric’s height—barely—standing on his tiptoes, but he had a blinding smile that made up for his shortcomings, and it was currently aimed squarely at the man between them. Eric’s brow went a little higher as that wandering hand worked a little farther around the fleece-covered waist and began a slight but obvious dip downward.

  “Cold night to be outside,” the dark-haired man answered in a deep, sexy drawl that rippled over Eric’s skin and drew his jeans even tighter. The shift of that ass against his hip told Eric that the tone had been intentional, and it distracted Eric enough to pull his attention away from the blond and focus it on the stubbled jawline. “What’d ya have in mind?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the blond continued, stepping in a little closer, slipping his hand a little lower, aware or not that his fingers nearly brushed the front of Eric’s jeans in the process. “Something dark… and cozy… and alone.” The last word was loud and pointed and aimed directly at Eric as the surfer dude’s deep blue gaze shot over the dark-haired man’s shoulder to lock with Eric’s hazel one.

  The dark-haired man smothered a chuckle as he raised his mug to sip the foam clinging to the rim, and Eric smirked as he dislodged the blond’s hand from his jeans and put his own hand in its place. It didn’t take much more movement than that for Eric to slide both hands the other way around the man’s waist, stopping only when his chest pressed against the man’s fleece-covered back.

  “You could always set fire to the trashcan in the alley,” Eric said cheerfully, smiling as he rested his chin on a gray fleece-covered shoulder. “That would work for ‘dark and cozy’. And given the weather outside, you should have ‘alone’ to boot.”

  A snort from the blond accompanied a definite laugh from the man in the sweatshirt, who lifted a fleece-covered forearm over Eric’s head as he turned to place his back to the bar. His hand settled familiarly at the small of Eric’s back, and eyes the color of dark chocolate twinkled over a jaw as stubbly as Eric’s own. Eric met them with his own twinkling eyes as the arm tightened to pull him closer, but he couldn’t resist a glance at the blonde, who now stood with one hand closed into a fist on his outthrust, khaki-covered hip while the other rested heavily on the bar.

  “I’ve also heard the alley is a great way to meet people,” Eric told the blond lightly, slipping a hand under the Irish Pub logo on the front of the sweatshirt and sliding it over the taut skin beneath. “You know, they accept all kinds there.”

  The dark-haired man chuckled as he leaned into Eric’s touch, and then almost purred as he turned enough to bring his stubbly jaw closer to Eric’s cheek. Eric had to curl his fingers in the fleece when his cock pressed into a solid hip hard enough to make him nearly start humping right there in front of everybody.

  “Main Street is a great way to meet people too,” the blond cut in briskly, glancing at the back of the dark-haired man’s head before settling his gaze pointedly on Eric. “At least until other people show up.”

  Eric laughed softly and felt warm breath dusting the skin below his ear a second before the kiss. “Sorry to cut your night short, Jace, but this one’s taken.”

  Eric felt the man smile against hi
s neck, then the pinch of teeth nipping lightly at his ear. Had they not been in a public place, he would have encouraged the nibbles instead of pulling back enough to force the teeth to leave his skin. The twinkling dark eyes that met his own as their owner leaned back had grown softer—and much, much warmer—though they still held the teasing laughter he knew so well. They were the eyes of his lover for the last eight years, his husband for the last seven, and the ones he wanted looking at him for the rest of his life. To this day Eric still counted himself lucky to have landed one T.J. Briscoe all for himself.

  “Yeah, they always are,” Jace muttered from behind them, putting a world-class touch of self-pity in his tone as he turned to snatch his own mug of beer from the bar top. “Two more minutes, Eric my man, and I would have stolen your man.”

  T.J. snorted as he moved to tease Eric’s ear with his teeth again, but Eric answered Jace anyway with a breathy, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I showed up when I did.” A sharp bite to his lobe told him that the comment was unnecessary, though the warm sweep of a tongue afterward soothed more than the sting.

  Just being close to his lover was easing the tension from Eric’s body, and the stroke of T.J.’s hands down the length of his back was soothing in the way only T.J.’s touch could be. When Eric finally pulled his ear free to look into his lover’s face, his own smile had turned mischievous and his hands continued to move under the sweatshirt. “So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”