Page 26 of Without Fail

Standing against the wall, he lit up a cigarette and drew deep on the end. Running his eyes over the cars parked around the place, he watched as a couple walked arm and arm down the sidewalk.

Flicking his gaze down the other way, he discovered a familiar SUV.

Fuck.

Yanking out his phone, he shot a text message.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Anthony wants a meeting,” came the response.

He glared at his phone and the message from Donald.

“Not a chance.”

“He’s got some new information.” The man’s reply came quickly. “I’ll set up a meeting at Conley’s.”

Marshal squeezed the phone, his mind racing. The fucker was on his last nerve—

“Whatcha doing?”

Marshal jumped. Ryker’s voice surprised the shit out of him and he fumbled with both his cigarette and phone.

When Ryker scrunched up his nose at the smoke, Marshal glared and took another long drag, but he was careful to blow it away from Ryker.

“You only have so much time, you know. Eventually, those things will catch up to you and you’re no spring chicken.”

“Spring chicken?” he groused. “Where did you come up with that?”

“My mom, she has a whole list of them, wanna hear?” Ryker’s smile was impish.

“No. Get in the car.” Marshal tossed the smoke and opened the passenger door to tuck a laughing Ryker inside.

Hurrying around to the driver’s door, Marshal shot a look down the street. There was no sign of Donald’s vehicle.

Marshal slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

He’d set things straight at the meeting.

“This felt like a date,” Ryker said after Marshal pulled into the garage and parked.

Marshal shot him an irritated look. “It wasn’t a date.”

“My ass, it wasn’t.” Ryker ticked off his fingers. “Dinner, the Ridge, ice cream, jewelry.” The slice of silver slipped down his wrist when he lifted his hand.

“That wasn’t dinner,” Marshal mumbled as if afraid to mention the bracelet.

“Then what was it?”

“Fast food.”

Ryker snorted and climbed over the seat; he didn’t stop until he had parked his ass on Marshal’s lap. It was a tight fit, but the way the man had put the seat all the way back to drive helped.

Ryker knew he was taking a chance here, but he’d seen the flash of desire in Marshal’s eyes up on the Ridge and again in the ice cream shop, and he wanted to test a theory he had—something was keeping Marshal from giving in to his desires and if he could figure out what it was, then just maybe he could break through the man’s iron control.

“Ryker.”

The low, growly tone sent a shiver up his spine and when the man’s hands gripped at each side of his hips, Ryker felt the fingers flex as if Marshal was unable to help himself.

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