Two men from opposite sides of the track; Michael Vernon, the rich spoiled brat living off the fat of his father's cash, and Jarrod Hunter, desperate for work, broke, living from hand to mouth. One fateful day the two men literally crash into each other and their lives spiral out of control. One bound and gagged, the other in possession of a handgun, the dangerous mind games become inevitable between them, but in the long run, they can’t hide who they are inside. And as the hours tick by and they share their deepest thoughts, something else begins to take over, something stronger than hatred or jealousy. What seemed at first to be as different as night and day became common ground, and neither could deny the growing attraction. But, will the ingrained mistrust and disdain they have for one another’s worlds be the end for them? Or just the beginning?
Michael sneered, "For better or worse? Till death do we part? What the hell's that all about? What are you, my wife? I don't want anything to do with you! Do you get it? You need a shrink, not a hostage. Just let me go and I'll never tell anyone about what you've done. Okay? Go on your merry way, kill yourself, and then we can forget this whole thing happened."
A strange look came into this handsome blonde's eyes. Michael stiffened up his back when Jarrod's warm hand rested on his thigh. Swallowing down his excitement, he couldn't understand what it was about Jarrod that completely aroused him. It was more maddening than the fear. He had this image of kissing him. He wanted to kiss him so badly he almost felt the urge to lean forward and go for it. Jarrod had that amazing golden boy next door look that he adored. None of his snobby acquaintances came close to this man's fresh masculine appeal. A fantasy of watching Jarrod in a tiny black Speedo playing volleyball on the sandy beach in Malibu haunted him. Jarrod was so fit and tall the idea of writhing on him was driving him to distraction. That hand on his thigh…how he yearned for it to do naughty things to him. He would beg him, urge him with lascivious looks, licked lips, thrusting pelvis, anything to get Jarrod's hands on him again. Why? What was it about this fabulous male that was making him foam at the mouth for a taste?
"I suppose that would make sense to you. Your ego and self-importance would never allow you to be concerned for another human being, would it, Mick? No…just keep thinking about your own skin. That's the way of rich-America. I, me, mine. You know, I do love that about you young republicans. So full of self-righteousness and shit." Waiting for a reply, Jarrod stared into Michael's dilated brown eyes and noticed his breathing had deepened while his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He glanced down when Michael's eyes did and realized he had planted his right hand close to Michael's crotch. "You're very gay, aren't you, Michael?" he whispered softly. Nothing was said in response. He could swear Michael was holding his breath in anticipation. "Is that why you and your dad are at odds? Did he have some vision of a house full of grandchildren that you will never fulfill?"
Jarrod smiled moving his fingers up and down that tight muscular thigh seductively, like a creeping spider luring a fly. "If you weren't such an asshole, you'd be damn good looking."
After a long moment, Michael hissed quietly, "Ditto."
Perking up, Jarrod smiled. "Really? Huh."
"Don't get a swelled head. I still think you're a complete moron, peasant."
"Yeah, but you think I'm a good-looking complete moron. I assume coming from such a self-obsessed asshole like you, that's high praise."
"Shut up and get your hand off me."
"Telling me what to do again?" Jarrod mocked, laughing. "When will you learn that you are the captive and I am your master?"