Wicked Hearts

Romance Unbound Publishing

Presents



Claire Thompson

Cover Design by Kelly Shorten

ISBN 13: 9781448669264

ISBN 10: 144866926X

Copyright 2009 Claire Thompson

All rights reserved

“I"m bored. Whose life can we destroy today?”

Reese laughed, aware Hank was only half kidding.

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Seeley?” The waiter wore the white shorts and

dark blue polo shirt that were the staff uniform at the exclusive Denver country club.

Hank eyed the young man for a few seconds before responding, and Reese knew he

was assessing the guy"s orientation and potential in bed.

“No, thanks. We"re done.” Hank stood, tossing his linen napkin to the table. When

the waiter had gone, Hank said, “Let"s go back to my place.” This was code for, “Let"s

have sex.” Reese wasn"t in the mood.

“Sorry, I have to swing by the office and pick up some stuff for my call on

Monday.”

Reese was a salesman for Strata Systems, a Denver software company that designed

applications for computerized robots used in the manufacturing industry. He"d only

been there a few months, and it was the first job he"d had where he showered before

work instead of after.

Hank grunted, clearly annoyed. “I liked your old job better. You had predictable

hours.”

And you had more control.
Aloud Reese said, “You kidding me? I"d way rather be

sitting in nice restaurants schmoozing guys in suits than sweating my ass off on a

construction site. And I don"t miss being forced to listen to a bunch of macho assholes

trying to one-up each other on how much pussy they got that weekend.”

“Just don"t let me catch you blowing the boss for that promotion. You know I"m a

very jealous guy.”

“I"ll remember that when he offers me the promotion.” For all their easy banter,

Hank really was a jealous guy, or at least a possessive one. Since the beginning, the

pattern had been established—Hank had claims on Reese he"d yet to shake off.

It wasn"t the first time Hank had complained about Reese"s new job, but Reese

knew there was a lot more to it than just a career change. Hank resented Reese"s efforts

to better himself without any help from the Seeley family. Since Reese was seventeen,

he"d been beholden in one way or another to Hank"s family. Now things were

changing. Reese was making them change.

For the first time he felt like he had a career, instead of just a job. He liked working

at Strata Systems. No one in the small, progressive company had a fixed schedule. He

could come and go as he pleased and the business was an interesting one. Not to

mention, the owner, Bob Sanchez, was openly gay.

In fact, that was how Reese had got the job, or at least a shot at an interview. He"d

met Bob at the party of a mutual friend. Reese had mentioned he was looking to find a

new career, something with more potential for advancement, and the rest, as they say,

was history.

It wasn"t all smooth sailing. He worked on commission and had yet to build up

much of a clientele. As a result, the money he"d saved while working in construction

had steadily dwindled, leaving him nearly broke, though he"d be damned if he

admitted this to Hank.

“You can just drop me at my place. I"ll take the bike.”

“No. I"ll go with you,” Hank announced.

Reese"s impulse was to refuse. He didn"t want Hank horning in on this new thing in

his life. But he knew if he protested, Hank would only become more determined. The

inevitable power struggle wasn"t worth it, Reese decided with an inward sigh.

Hank"s driver was waiting outside the club in his Mercedes Benz SL65 AMG. Reese

would have much rather been on his motorcycle—alone. Once they were settled in the

backseat, Hank returned to his earlier theme. “We haven"t made a good bet in a while.

I"m in the mood for something nasty.”

Reese responded out of habit more than interest. “Oh yeah? What"s in it for me?”

Hank appraised Reese, lifting the corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. “What"s

always in it for you? The power of the conquest, the knowledge you can get any guy

you set your sights on. Oh, and of course, I"ll make the pot sweet.”

Despite himself, Reese found himself asking, “How sweet?”

“Depends what we come up with. It"s been a while. You need a challenge.”

It was a game they had played for years. It turned Hank on to watch Reese seduce

other men, not because he cared for them, but because he could. It was understood

between them that Reese was always the one to make the play. It was beneath Hank, in

a twisted way. He controlled the strings and Reese danced to his tune. That was the real

crux of the matter—power.

For years Reese had gone along, caught in the net of obligation, debt and desire that

had formed the framework of their relationship these many years. He couldn"t deny

that their sex was infused with an added intensity after Reese had hunted and captured

his query for Hank"s cold amusement.

But lately Reese was growing tired of the game. The glitter of seducing and then

discarding guys, just because he could, had begun to tarnish. But it was more than that.

He was trying to make something new—something that didn"t include, or at least

wasn"t controlled by this man who had been the one constant in his life over the past

twelve years.

He glanced at Hank, who was regarding him from beneath his lashes, his strong,

cruel mouth pursed in thought. He was handsome, with even features and a firm jaw,

but his eyes were like dark, wet stones, flat and cold.

In spite of himself, as he always did, Reese felt the power of Hank"s gaze. He forced

himself to look away. “Count me out on this one, Hank. I"m getting too old for that

shit.”

Hank laughed. “Twenty-nine is too old to get someone into bed? Last I checked,

you were in perfect working order, my friend.” He squeezed Reese"s thigh with thick,

blunt fingers, his hand edging toward Reese"s crotch. Reese shifted, turning toward the

window.

As if sensing Reese"s resistance, Hank added, “I"m feeling expansive. But you"ll

have to earn it, my friend. Five thousand bucks.”

“What?” Reese turned from the window to stare at Hank. The bets always carried a

monetary prize for Reese, but usually only a few hundred bucks, a thousand at the

most. Five thousand dollars sure would come in handy, with the rent due and Reese"s

bike in desperate need of new tires. It would give him the cushion he needed while he

built up his clientele at Strata.

“You heard me. Five thousand bucks to do what you do best.”

“What"s your twisted brain up to now?” Reese asked, trying to keep his voice light.

If only Hank hadn"t dangled that kind of money in front of him, damn him.

“You know,” Hank said, staring out the window with studied nonchalance. “The

old offer still stands. You could move in with me while you"re getting yourself

established in your so-called career. Better yet, you could quit that lousy day job and

spend your time devoting yourself to me 24/7. I"ve always wanted a live-in sex slave.”

Hank laughed to show he was kidding, but Reese knew he wasn"t.

“Yeah, that"s just what I want to be when I grow up, your personal whore. Me and

the houseboy could share the servants quarters.”

“Oh no,” Hank said, lifting an eyebrow. “As personal whore, you"d sleep in
my

bed.” Again the outward joke continued, but in fact Reese knew that was just how it

would be. Hank had asked Reese to move in with him several times over the years,

assuring him a life of luxury and ease, but the price was far too high.

“Not gonna happen,” Reese said with finality.

“Whatever,” Hank shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “Back to the wager at

hand. I want to come in and see what we"ve got to work with at this job of yours.”

“Oh, no you don"t.” Reese interrupted. “This bet will not involve anyone I work

with. I just got this job. I"m not going to fuck it up.” Inwardly he sighed, watching the

proffered five thousand dollars rapidly receding.

“Relax. I"m not gonna make a scene or anything. Just a casual stroll around the

place. I"ll pick the guy, you get him in bed and you win the money. Easy as pie for a

stud like you.”

“And if I lose?”

Hank cocked an eyebrow and offered a small, cruel smile. “You lose, I get your ass.

You agree to be my personal sex slave for a solid week.” Reese was silent, appraising

the offer. When Hank said sex slave, he meant it. Hank had a thing for whips and

chains. He"d tried over the years to get Reese involved, but Reese wasn"t hardwired that

way. Occasionally he"d let Hank tie him up, but it had never turned him on. Hank

found other guys for that kind of play, which suited Reese fine.

Was the bet worth the price? Easy money, if he could pull it off. The odds were

good he"d win. Reese knew he was good looking. He knew how to turn on the charm,

too. He could be what others wanted him to be. He could reflect them back at

themselves, even if there was nothing behind his smile or his words.

He scanned the men in his office in his mind, trying to think who Hank might pick.

He might choose Gary, who was over fifty and had grandkids. The odds had to be

somewhat reasonable or it wasn"t worth the risk.
Jesus, you’re going to do it.
Quashing

any lingering hesitation, he said, “No one over fifty and no women.”

“Deal.” Hank"s grin was sly and Reese knew in that moment he"d lost whatever

edge he"d had. Nothing had changed between them. Maybe nothing ever would. “The

usual rules apply—you provide me with the recorded proof of the deed, with the guy"s

face clear enough to identify.”

Reese nodded, thinking of the hidden camera Hank had bought him a few years

back to record just such a scene for their shared amusement. It no longer seemed quite

so amusing to Reese, but he shrugged. Worst came to worst, he would lose the bet. He

could deal with a little bondage for a few days.

They entered the large, one-story building, with its high ceilings and huge

skylights. Reese glanced across the open room, looking from space to space. Bob didn"t

have offices in his building, but rather what he termed “creative spaces” set along the

perimeter of the room for the programmers and marketers, with a large central area in

the middle for hanging out and brainstorming. The building was always open in case a

creative urge or sudden breakthrough propelled one of the developers to their

computer.

Reese moved toward his space, Hank behind him. Once Reese had collected the

files he needed, Hank said, “Take me on a tour. Let"s see what"s out there.” Some

people glanced up at Hank as they passed, but, as he"d come in with Reese, they simply

nodded or smiled and went back to their business.

Reese followed him through the room, apprehension prickling his skin. Hank