Touch & Geaux (Cut & Run 7)

Cynthia sighed as she flipped through the rest of the shots. “These last ones . . .” She shook her head. “Those are something special though.”

Susan hummed as she looked at the last series of pictures. Ty leaned closer. They were more somber than he had thought they’d be, all black and white and gray. Zane looked pensive and melancholy, and even Ty’s playful smile seemed world-weary through the lens of the camera. The light highlighted the white slashes of scars on both their bodies. It seemed the only color in the entire canvas was the shock of Ty’s washed-out tattoo. There was nothing erotic about the picture. The sheets were barely in the frame, and it left nothing but the starkness of two warriors sharing something infinitely beyond the reach of the camera.

Ty swallowed hard, struck by the image in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Can I get a few copies of one of those?” he asked.

Susan was already nodding before his words were out. “Of course,” she answered, eyes glued to the screen. “If you’ll just, um . . . sign the usage waivers and . . .” she waved toward a pile of papers, her eyes still on the screen.

Zane walked up to the other side of the makeshift desk, shirt back on, weapons back in hand already. “Are we done?”

Ty looked up at him, mouth gone dry. He nodded and met Zane’s eyes. “Come look at these,” he requested, voice hoarse.

Zane rounded the pile of equipment as the photographer walked over to the camera. Susan followed him, still talking. Cynthia and Violet chattered off to the side. Zane stopped at Ty’s side and looked down at the screen. Ty heard his sharp inhalation.

“Good, right?” Ty whispered.

“Yeah,” Zane breathed. “They’re not going to use . . . are they?” He pointed at the last few photos.

Ty looked over at Susan, the lines furrowing her clean brow, the look in her eyes. “No. They’re going for feel-good, not . . . not that.”

He studied the photos again, wondering what people would see in them. There was nothing sexual or even romantic there. But there was something.

“That’s us,” Zane said quietly. “Really us.”

“I asked for a copy,” Ty told him, watching him closely.

“Just one?” The corner of Zane’s mouth quirked. Then he looked up from the photo, and Ty could read Zane loud and clear. He wanted that photo, but more importantly, he wanted Ty, and he wanted him now.

“I’ll share,” Ty told him under his breath. He cleared his throat, needing to look away from the expression on Zane’s face before they really gave those cameras something to shoot. He picked up one of the waivers and signed it without reading over it, then handed the clipboard to Zane. “Did you get everything you needed from us?” he called to Susan.

They came over to fawn over Ty and Zane a little more, thanking them and praising the pictures they’d taken. One of the assistants took down some information and gave them both a card. Ty’s had Susan’s number handwritten on it. Then they were left alone to go change back into their suits.

“That was kind of fun,” Ty admitted as he stripped off the jeans in the little dressing area.

“Not too bad, I guess. Depends on how cheesy of a photo they end up choosing.” Zane changed jeans for suit pants and pulled his T-shirt off again. “I might have been less out of sorts with more warning. It was just . . . weird.”

Ty nodded as he stepped into his trousers. He glanced toward the outer room, seeing that everyone out there was occupied, and advanced on Zane even as he buttoned up his pants. He grabbed Zane’s face without warning and kissed him. Zane grunted in surprise but was quick on the uptake, hands gripping Ty’s upper arms as he joined in the kiss for the few intense seconds.

“McCoy never has to know we got done early,” Ty whispered as his hands dropped to Zane’s shoulders.

“I don’t give a shit about Mac. Let’s get out of here.”

Ty nodded and stooped to gather the rest of his clothes, tossing his tie around his neck and picking up his shoes and socks. Zane pulled his dress shirt on and did up three buttons, tucked it in haphazardly, just enough to get by, and gathered up the rest.

Ty jerked his head toward the door and headed for it. They weren’t far from the house, but they would have to get a cab. He’d rather walk than deal with the photographers and their kidnapper van again.

As soon as the door to the hotel room closed behind them, Ty looked up and down the hallway and then back at Zane with a grin.

“Let’s get a room.”

Zane laughed and shrugged. “Okay? You missing hotel bathrooms that much?”

The memory of their first time together flashed through Ty’s mind, and he nodded. Zane must have seen the hunger streaking through Ty’s eyes, because he started hurrying Ty down the hall toward the bank of elevators. Ty grinned, not even worrying about the shoes he carried or the fact that they both looked like they’d already been at it in a janitor’s closet somewhere.

Once in the elevator, everything hit the floor anyway, except for Ty, who hit the wall, pinned there by Zane’s firm body and demanding mouth. Ty could do nothing but moan and wrap his arms around Zane’s shoulders.

If someone had told him this morning that a surprise FBI photo shoot would end up with them making out in a hotel elevator, Ty probably wouldn’t have been shocked. He found it funny, anyway.

Zane pulled back for breath and set one palm flat on Ty’s chest, holding him in place while stepping backward. “Stay,” Zane ordered, pulling his hand away but still pointing at Ty.

Ty nodded wordlessly, wide-eyed and unashamed. Zane did up his buttons, smoothed his sleeves, and shrugged into his jacket, somehow managing to look mostly put together, even if his face was flushed and his hair was still mussed from the shoot. He had just shoved his feet into his dress shoes when the elevator door pinged and opened. “I’ll be right back,” he said, looking Ty up and down deliberately before growling and striding out of the elevator.

Even after all this time, the prospect of what Zane intended to do to him made Ty’s chest flutter.

The phone in his jacket began to ring. “No, no, no!” He fished it out anyway, checking he caller ID. “No!”

He looked up. Several people were backing away from the doors to find an alternate way up as he stood in the elevator shouting at his phone.

“Grady,” he growled when he answered the call.

“We’re ready here,” Dan McCoy said without further greeting.