Six Degrees of Lust (51 page)

“What the hell did I do last night?” he whispered, peeling

back the bandage to look at the design.

“Fuck my life!”

Sam’s voice came loud and clear through the bathroom’s

closed door, but whatever it was, it would have to wait until Mac

364 Taylor V. Donovan

was finished freaking out himself.

The tattoo was big. Outlined in black and a combination of

green and the same shade of blue as Sam’s eyes, the exquisitely

drawn Celtic knots formed a perfect numeral 515 that covered

the inside of his forearm from elbow to wrist.

It was so big it probably took several hours to get done…and

still he couldn’t remember getting it. He couldn’t even remember

planning on getting it!

“Shit…”

“Mac!” Sam’s yell snapped him out of his bewilderment.

After taking a last, closer look at his tattoo, he opened the door

and went back to the room.

The last thing he expected to see was a totally naked Sam

sitting cross-legged on the bed with his right arm extended in

front of his eyes.

“Do you have any fucking idea what the hell this is?” he

asked without bothering to look at Mac.

“Oh, Jesus…”

Other than the fact that it was located on Sam’s right forearm,

the design was an exact replica of his own. Honestly, he wasn’t

all that surprised. They’d been inseparable from the moment they

met at the airport, so why wouldn’t they go to the tattoo parlor

together as well?

“Looks like at some point last night we decided to get inked,”

he finally said.

“You got inked too?”

Mac couldn’t decide between laughing or locking himself up

in the bathroom when he saw the terrorized look on Sam’s face.

Boy, was this going to be fun.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotten inked before. It doesn’t really hurt, but at the very

least it tickles,” Sam said carefully, not looking away from Mac.

“Want to tell me how it is that I don’t remember even a sting

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from this one?”

“Too much alcohol afterwards, I’d say.”

“So we went for drinks, somehow decided to get tattoos, and

then went and got hammered enough to not remember any of

this?” He took a deep breath. “I remember going to the beach

and walking by the tattoo place…I don’t remember shit after

that.” He rubbed his face and looked at the window, wincing at

the bright sunlight coming through it before looking at his arm

again. “How the hell did we even make it back to the hotel?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, darlin’.”

“What’d you get?”

“I…”

Hard as he tried, Mac couldn’t figure out how to say it. Not

that it mattered. Regardless of how he broke it to Sam, the guy

was going to get upset.

Something flashed in Sam’s eyes. It was so quick Mac almost

missed it, but it looked like recognition, or even realization. Had

he remembered anything?

“Well?”

“I got the same.”

There was no reaction to his words. Anybody else would have

assumed Sam didn’t hear him, or that maybe the words hadn’t

registered at all, but Mac knew better than that.

Silence from his guy meant a storm was brewing and the

results would be catastrophic. Anything from Sam trying to chop

off his own arm, to Sam putting an end to their arrangement

could happen in the next five minutes, and Mac couldn’t allow

that.

“I think mine’s predominantly blue, like…”

He shut his mouth. It wouldn’t be smart to bring up the fact

that they’d somehow chosen ink that matched each other’s eye

color.

Sam didn’t look at him. He just kept tracing the swollen and

366 Taylor V. Donovan

reddened edges of the tattoo with a slightly trembling finger, and

the more he traced, the more tense his shoulders got. Mac had

seen him wound up before, but nothing that would compare to

this moment. He was dreading Sam’s reaction, but that didn’t

stop him from walking up to the bed and sitting next to his

guy, careful not to touch him but close enough to force him to

acknowledge his presence.

He’d been able to get Sam to calm down a few times in the

past. Maybe he’d be able to work a miracle and do it yet again.

“It’s not that big of a deal, darlin’.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Sam’s voice was so low he almost didn’t hear him. The fact

that he wasn’t biting Mac’s head off for calling him “darlin’” at

that particular moment did not bode well for their future at all.

“Look—”

“I’ve your goddamn lucky number permanently inked on

my body, Mac. The room number we’ve stayed in every time we

fucked.”

Mac closed his eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath,

and tried again. “It could also be your number. Didn’t you get

your FBI credentials on May fifteenth? It’s been a special date

for you way before you met me. No reason to associate it with

me… right?”

Mac swallowed hard. There. That was good.

It was a logical explanation that’d hopefully erase the possible

presence of an emotional one.

But Sam wasn’t buying.

He shot Mac a look that chilled him to the bones, then jumped

out of bed and started pacing around the room in all his naked

glory.

“At least we weren’t stupid enough to get each other’s names,”

Mac added. “I mean…imagine trying to explain that to future

partners.”

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Mac’s eyes zeroed in on Sam’s flaccid cock. They were both

naked and it was morning and Sam’s cock was flaccid. It troubled

Mac that he wasn’t hard.

He wanted him hard. He wanted his Sam horny and hot

for him and ready to go. He wanted for his guy to forget about

the stupid ink and come back to bed and fuck him through the

mattress, just like he’d done every single morning they’d woken

up together.

It scared him how much he wanted it.

“I don’t do this kind of shit,” Sam said. “I don’t get so drunk

that I make harebrained decisions and I most certainly don’t get

matching tattoos with a guy that’s nothing but the flavor of the

month.”

Mac closed his eyes again and tried to remember if there were

any painkillers in the room. His headache was getting so bad his

damn eyes were tearing up.

“But we got drunk.” Was he getting a cold? His voice sounded

hoarse and his throat felt like there was something stuck in it.

“That settles it, then. No more Patron for me if I’m with a

lay,” Sam said on his way to the bathroom, not once looking at

him. “Last thing I need is to wake up with a Holiday Inn logo

tattooed on my forehead the next time I hook up with a guy.”

No sooner than the bathroom door was slammed shut Mac

was on his feet and getting dressed. Cargo shorts and tank top

were followed by a hat and his sunglasses in a matter of seconds.

Then he grabbed some money, slipped his feet in the flip flops

he’d left by the door, and left the room without making any noise.

He wasn’t planning on staying out long, but he needed to get

some aspirin and some allergy medicine. Not only did his throat

feel itchy, but his eyes were seriously leaking by the time he got

in the elevator. Besides, it was his last day in sunny Miami. Might

as well use the few hours he had left to get some souvenirs for

his friends.

§ § § §

368 Taylor V. Donovan

“Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Sam gripped the handle of the bathroom door and bumped

his head against the solid wood time and again. He considered

going after Mac. He knew that if he hurried he’d be able to

catch him before he got to the elevator, but embarrassment and

remorse weighed him down to a point where he couldn’t move.

He needed a few minutes to get himself together. To analyze

the situation and determine how much damage he’d done. He

needed to figure out what he could possibly say to Mac after

belittling him in such a malicious way.

Lord, but Sam had disgraced himself in that room. He

admitted to being an asshole on a good day, but this was low

even for him. And Mac had so much dignity. The way he’d heard

him out and even tried to make Sam feel better about the whole

thing, the way he’d taken his abuse when it was so obvious he

didn’t have to.

Fuck.

Sam was such an asshole.

He knew that the comment about explaining a name tattoo to

a future partner had been made on his behalf. That it was Mac’s

way of letting him know he still wasn’t making assumptions even

though so many facts were hitting them both in the head, but he

couldn’t deny that it made him see red.

He let his naked body slide down until he was sitting on the

bathroom floor, eyes fixed on his brand new tattoo. The bandage

was still hanging from one corner, and he removed it completely

before taking a closer look at the design.

It was perfect; every single Celtic knot and curve, the colors an

exact match with his and Mac’s eyes. Now that he was fully awake

Sam remembered drawing it and, once it was traced, bugging the

shit out of the tattoo artist until he got the ink colors right.

Neither he nor Mac had been drunk when they got inked.

Sam bumped his head against the door again and pulled at

his hair.

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369

With the exception of one hour every day in which Mac went

out for a run by himself and Sam used the hotel’s gym, they’d

been pretty much attached at the hip, and the past four days

together had been incredible. He couldn’t remember having so

much fun with anyone before, or wanting them so much.

Sam was out of his mind hot for Mac. No matter how many

times they were together, it was never enough.

He couldn’t afford to become addicted to the guy.

He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

He was a hard ass. He was an island. He was an emotional

loner.

He didn’t share his personal shit. He didn’t do courtships. He

didn’t get jealous and threaten to beat up other guys.

He hated that he was having thoughts he didn’t want. Hated

that he’d felt the need to mark this man as his. And he hated

himself for acting like a total douche bag and hurting Mac.

Coming to South Beach had been a terrible idea, and now he

had to deal with it.

He had to get a hold of himself. Get on track and make sure

he never lost focus again.

And he needed to apologize to Mac and somehow get him to

forgive all the things he’d said.

After attending to his bladder and brushing his teeth, he went

back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone from his jeans. He

didn’t give the usual careful consideration to his words. He just

typed the first thing that came to his mind and sent it to Mac.

I’m sorry

He blinked at the words and waited for a reply. When several

minutes went by and his phone remained silent, he typed

something he was positive he’d never said to anyone else in his

entire life.

Please come back

370 Taylor V. Donovan

Still no response.

He was trying to decide what to say next when he spotted

Mac’s cell phone and room card key on their little breakfast table,

along with a plastic bag. “Shit.”

He looked inside the bag and found it contained some extra

bandages and ointment for their tattoos, then he glanced at the

phone again, annoyed that he couldn’t get in touch with Mac but

relieved that at least he wasn’t ignoring his messages.

A quick look at his watch told him it was almost noon.

“Shit!”

Why was Mac still out? How long had it been since he left?

They were supposed to check out of the hotel by two and be at

the airport by four to catch their flights. Flights that would take

them to different states in separate planes, which meant Sam only

had a little over an hour before they had to get ready to leave.

He reached for the jeans he’d been wearing the night before

and put them on. He had no idea where to start looking for Mac,

but he couldn’t just sit there and wait.

Not wanting to waste time he didn’t have, he decided the same

shirt would do, and pulled it from the back of the couch. He was

buttoning it up when he noticed a white piece of paper on the

floor. Thinking it was a note from Mac he rushed to unfold it,

only to find out it was the original design for the tattoo.

Amazing how firm and perfect it was, considering Sam had

been tipsy and in the throes of a jealousy attack when he’d drawn

it. He folded it back and left it next to Mac’s phone. He wanted

him to have it. Even if Mac couldn’t remember getting it, Sam

wasn’t about to pretend the tattoo hadn’t been his idea.

He brushed his hair with his fingers and slipped on his flip

flops, remembering to grab his card key right before leaving the

room. He didn’t get far, though. No need to, as the first thing

he saw upon opening the door was Mac, sitting on the floor and

resting his head against the wall across from their room. The