Chapter 1

Dane Garrison loved women. He loved their fine legs and soft breasts, the sway as they walked, their laughter and sensitive spirits. He treasured them as friends.

But Dane Garrison loved men more. It was men he wanted to bed. True beauty to him was wide shoulders tapering down to slim hips and tight butts; a deep cleft between hard muscles following down the spine to end in a place of hot release and pleasure. He’d never gone in for shaven genitals. Hair under arms and across chests and the thatch from which swollen cocks with dark, dripping heads sprang excited him so much his own dick drooled in anticipation. He reveled in the firm grasp of a man’s hand on his engorged penis, desire swamping him as strong lips whispered sensual words while they brushed and pressed against his.

In the past, he’d had no problem spreading his love around and even breaking a few hearts. Now he’d met the one man who’d forever wiped out his taste for any other. A man so locked within himself, so afraid of being revealed, that Dane despaired of ever breaking through to him.

But Dane wasn’t Dane if he wasn’t persistent. He would find a way. If he could.

* * * *

Robert Barrington, respectfully and affectionately known as Bear, was in the mountain park chatting with the other Search and Rescue (SAR) canine crew members under a sky as clear and blue as the mountain air was crisp and chilled. He was glad he’d worn a jacket and gloves. Only vaguely aware that another vehicle had pulled up and discharged its driver, he was surprised when Bill Winthrop, the team leader, called to him.

“Bear, I’d like you to meet Dane Garrison. I’m assigning him as your new SAR partner. This is Robert Barrington, better known as Bear, and Blood, his hound.”

Bear walked over to greet the men. “Mark Johns finally moved away?”

“Right. He joined a team in Orange County.”

The newcomer extended his hand, and Bear looked into a face of movie idol beauty. Dark, smoky eyes below a fringe of lashes and a brush of hair the color of midnight looked directly into his. Dane’s smile was open and friendly. He had the kind of skin that became irritated with too much shaving, and this Saturday morning he had the faint signs of a shadow on his upper lip and following the line of a jaw that was strong and angular. It only added to his sex appeal.

Lust swept through Bear—pure, linear, compelling, contained only by force of will. It wasn’t the usual stirring of his blood upon seeing an attractive man, but something deeper, more powerful. For a moment he couldn’t move.

This man was to be his partner? Damn.If he didn’t keep his distance and tamp down his reaction, there could be hell to pay. Letting his feelings for this newcomer show could ruin the illusion he’d created here years ago that he was straight, not only in SAR, but as a firefighter, too.

He’d always felt that Grogan, a former fellow firefighter, may have let his guard down in some way to lead the men to suspect he was gay. Bear didn’t know if he was, but he’d watched the man being subtly drummed out until he resigned from the fire department altogether and moved away. The station captain hadn’t noticed the harassments, and apparently Grogan hadn’t reported them.

Bear didn’t know where Grogan had gone or even if he was still in firefighting, but he was determined it wasn’t going to happen to him. He’d worked too hard to be where he was. Controlling this streak of lust for the new man meant everything. Especially if he was gay, too.

He switched his dog’s leash to the other hand and removed his glove. “Welcome. Glad to meet you.” It came out more stilted than he intended because he knew on the instant that this man spelled danger to the secret he kept about what he was in capital letters.

Dane’s grip was firm—a strong man’s handshake. Bear’s heart rate revved up at his touch. He wondered if the other man felt his bounding pulse, heard the racket his heart was making in his chest, knew of the growing tumescence in his cock. For a moment, he thought the newcomer had noticed—thought he saw a brief sensual flare to his nostrils. Then it was gone. It must have been his imagination.

It had better be or I’m in double trouble.

“This is Cinnamon, Garrison’s search partner.”

Bear looked down at a golden retriever whose reddish coat glinted in the sunlight. She danced around as if eager to play, a necessary trait in a rescue dog. By this time, Blood was tugging at his leash to reach her, to sniff her butt and take her measure.