New York City Detective Andre Dubois is after a drug dealer who just happens to be the same ‘phantom’ the FBI wants for suspected terrorist activities. And when Andre gets too close, he is immediately slated for protective custody.
Agent Wayne Connelly is assigned to guard Detective Dubois, who happens to be the most arrogant and promiscuous man he’s ever met. The fact that Dubois is just too good looking, and knows it, doesn’t improve Wayne’s mood in the least.
Dubois doesn’t want to be taken out into the woods for safekeeping with a man he thinks is the most anal-retentive person he’s ever met. But there’s a lot Andre doesn’t know about him...
It’s quite an experience to be interrupted in bed, not to mention embarrassing for the guy whose ass I was in the middle of nailing…some poor fuck whose name escapes me at the moment.
When Agent Anal Asshole burst into the hotel room as if he was auditioning for a role in a remake of a Dirty Harry movie, I was not impressed. In fact, I was royally pissed off, and you don’t want to see me when I get that way, especially when I’m naked, erect, and frustrated.
Needless to say when the door flew open, and I vaulted off the bed like a high wire acrobat, my erection was no longer an issue. Nothing says cock deflation like the sudden appearance of G-men holding automatic weapons.
“Jesus Christ!” I saved my most threatening glare for Agent Anal Asshole, real name, Special Agent Connelly something or another. I grabbed my jeans and hopped around the floor as I tried to pull them on. My poor terrified almost sex partner cowered on the floor behind the bed. “You might have waited until I came,” I seethed at Connelly.
He gave me a pretentious smile. “You should have told me, Dubois. We could have waited outside for the extra…ah…ah…twenty seconds or so?”
“Hurry up, Dubois,” he muttered, “put your clothes on. We’re out of here.” He walked over and looked down at the guy on the floor. “You, too, let’s go.”
“Come on, Gerry.” I held out my hand to the guy. He was trembling like a leaf. “In spite of their Robocop exteriors, they won’t hurt you.”
“Harry,” the guy corrected as I pulled him to his feet.
Agent Anal Asshole shook his head. “If you’re going to be intimate with someone, you might wanna learn his name.”
“Intimate?” I laughed. “It’s called fucking, not that you’d recognise the word.”
“I know what it’s called, garbage mouth. I just said you should try and remember someone’s name if you’re planning on…well—” He looked down at the floor for a minute.
“Fucking him?” I knew he was irritated. I suppose that’s why I took every opportune moment to repeat that word over and over. I did up my shirt, and when he didn’t react, I added, “What? I can’t be expected to remember all their names, can I? Sometimes there are three a day, four…that I fuck.”
His eyes widened a little.
I threw back my head and laughed. “Got ‘cha,” I beamed. “Come on, Perry,” I told the guy. “It’s okay.”
“Harry!” A chorus of voices this time.
I shrugged. I was no good with names. “So sue me.” I was a cop. Faces I paid attention to, not names. You could call yourself anything, but it was a little harder to rip your face off.
“We’ll have to take him with us,” Agent Double A announced as the other government clones filed out of the room.
“Take him with us where? Oh, come on,” I drawled in disgust. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“You could have said something to him. We have to be sure.”
“I didn’t bring him here to talk.” I reached over and pinched the guy’s cheek. Blond, blue eyes, a real doll and a great ass—only thanks to Agent Double A, I didn’t get a chance to take it for a spin.
The cutie, whatever in hell his name was, smiled at me and blushed.
“It’s procedure,” Agent Double A insisted. He waited as Cutie Pie got dressed.
“Fuck your procedure,” I told him. “He has nothing to do with this. Just let him go. I didn’t tell him anything. He doesn’t even know what I do for a living, okay?”
“I know,” the baby face commented, “you’re a male model, maybe a stripper. You sure have the body for it.”
“Give me a break.” Agent Double A rolled his eyes and groaned.
I ignored Connelly and laughed. I got a real kick out of that. Plenty of times I’d posed as a male prostitute to trap my prey, and I’d even done the stripper thing once. I hadn’t liked it that much, though, all those dirty old men drooling all over me.
I’d made detective three years ago at the age of twenty-six. I kept my body in great shape by religiously working out at the gym, and I was told that I had those brutishly handsome, dark good looks that made me resemble a bad boy rocker. My hair was black, shoulder length, and I had dark brown eyes that I was told could get pretty stormy when the mood took me. The department took advantage of my looks, but I didn’t mind. They gave me a lot of freedom to dress the way I wanted, and I didn’t have to cut my hair.
I loved working undercover, loved my job. That is, I did love my job, until this last week.
The cutie was still speculating on my career as I picked up my jacket and put it on. “You are too damn handsome.” He reached out and rubbed the stubble on my jaw. “So sexy. He put on a lovely show for me.” He glanced at the agent.
Agent Double A was grumbling. “Spare me the details.”
I winked at my admirer. “If only I had another half hour,” I groaned.
“Or ten seconds,” the thorn in my side said in that deep, authoritative voice of his. “Can we break it up now?”
“Who is he, exactly?” Baby Face asked suddenly when he’d collected everything. Baby Face was a testimony to that age-old presumption that beauty and brains didn’t mix.
“He’s my pimp,” I announced, grinning at Connelly.