Page 16 of Takeover
Very obvious. The tension in Sam’s shoulders, the way he tapped his foot a mile a minute during meetings, clicking the end of his pen against his leg. Little things that few would notice. Unless, of course, they watched Sam closely and frequently. Michael pressed his lips together.
Sam chuckled, but it was bitter. “Of course it is.” After they walked a few more feet, he spoke again. “I wish you could do something about that.”
Michael focused on the pavement in front of them. It kept him both from tripping on the uneven concrete near the bridge pylons and from seeing Sam’s expression. “You want me to stop noticing, or—”
“Or.”
That single word unleashed a storm of energy down Michael’s arms and legs to his fingers and toes. Other areas, as well.Keep walking. It was tricky to ignore his growing erection and hoped it wasn’t too apparent to those passing by on the trail. One of the best memories of Curaçao was of Sam relaxing under his hands, his slaps, his cock, the way the tension eased from that beautiful, willing body.
Sam spoke again. “I know. I shouldn’t mention it. But running doesn’t always cut it, and you—” He broke off and muttered something that sounded like a curse.
They neared the Andy Warhol Bridge. The nook behind the pylon was hidden from the trail. Sure, it was exposed to the 10th Street Bypass, but cars whizzed by so fast, and what were the chances people in them would be coworkers? He could pull Sam back there and—what? Kiss him? Bite him? Cop a feel? No fucking way. “You keep this up, you’re going to need to take another run.” And Michael would have to spend the rest of the afternoon walking around and around the city.
“Wouldn’t work. Not when it comes to you.”
Shit, shit, shit. They were not having this conversation. “You’re the one who told me to leave Curaçao behind. What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” Every nerve in Michael’s body sang.
Sam pushed the sunglasses up into his hair, revealing eyes that were far too harried and a little too wide. “Iaskedyou if you could leave it behind. I didn’t tell you.”
Closeted or not, Sam was nothing like Rasheed—his ex would never have propositioned Michael in the middle of the day. Or any other time, really. Desire threatened to steal all of Michael’s breath. This meeting wasn’t an accident, he’d lay odds on that. “We agreed on professionalism.” He attempted to keep his voice cold and distant. “Anything more would be unethical.”
Those proud shoulders straightened. “I’m aware of that.”
“Are you even out?”
Sam made a choking sound. “I’ve been.”
And that could mean anything. Either that Sam was out now, or he’d been out before and lurked in the closet now. Michael pulled in air through clenched teeth. Dealing with the fallout from Rasheed had been a nightmare. He kept walking.
“Look, I’m not asking you for anything.” Sam’s hands were balled into fists and his whole body seemed as tense as a band about ready to snap. It was amazing he could still move.
They passed the tempting nook under the bridge and continued toward the convention center. Michael lowered his voice. “No. You’re begging.”
Sam stopped walking. Michael took another stride, then halted as well. He turned—not completely—but enough to see Sam’s anger, and beneath that, his hope. They stood for a moment, watching each other before Sam spoke, matching Michael’s tone. “I suppose I am.”
Fucking hell. Michael’s blood might as well have been on fire. They could not remain like this, stretched and fraying like old thread. One of them was going to break, and then where would the company be? Sam, at least, needed a level head if they were to make it through to acquisition. They could always find another person to head up test. Maybe this time, he’d be the one to run away.
Or stay and pick up the pieces again.
Regardless, if they were doomed to fall—and it sure as hell looked like it—he might as well make it a controlled descent. Especially since focusing Sam, beating and fucking away the stress in his trembling body in Curaçao, had gotten Michael off like nothing else. And now he knew what Sam needed. Could be more creative.
Michael’s heart lodged itself in his throat. “Follow me.” He turned and resumed his walk. He didn’t stop when he reached the convention center, but turned up the tunnel walkway that wound through a water feature and away from the river. Sam still hadn’t caught up. He might not. That would be for the best for the both of them, in all honesty.
Intellectually, he hoped Sam had made the correct choice. Shredding the rules, their professionalism was fraught with danger. Better to leave each other alone.
Joy ripped through Michael when Sam appeared at his side at the corner of Penn and Tenth. Relief, too—and that told Michael something he didn’t want to hear, so he pushed it aside. Sam said nothing and his sunglasses hid his eyes again, but his hands were relaxed and a faint smile graced his lips.
Even when Michael entered the office building and headed to the gym, Sam did not speak. In the empty locker room, a silence full of tension and anticipation pulled a different kind of cord between them.
“Here?” Sam murmured the word. He stopped near a locker but didn’t reach for the lock.
Michael unlocked his locker, fished a towel out of his gym bag, threw it over the bench, and peeled his damp t-shirt from his body. “The sound of the showers hides a multitude of sins.”
Sam made a noise that was halfway between a grunt and an inhale. “Jesus. You’re serious.”
Michael kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, then slipped free of his shorts and underwear. He let Sam drink in the view of his erection before wrapping a towel around his hips. “You have a choice. Either get naked and into a shower, or tell me you’ve changed your mind and never bring this up again.”
Sam folded his sunglasses and set them down on the bench.
