Chapter 1

1

Jared Harvey stared out over the sea of black T-shirts and blue jeans and shook his head. “I am so glad Leo is not here to witness this fashion travesty.”

Next to him, his assistant Theresa elbowed his waist. For a girl who put more than one vain her personal va-va-voom, she had an awfully bony elbow. “You need to be nice tonight. This is for charity.”

“And we couldn’t have saved the twenty bucks for these godforsaken shirts and tossed it into the kitty instead?” Jared sighed, though it was just as much about missing Leo as it was having to walk into a crowded dining hall wearing the same thing as every other person in the room. “I don’t even know most of these people.”

“Probably because you hadn’t actually seen Leo since you two were modeling.” Tucking her arm through his, she pulled him away from the doors and toward the open bar. “And didn’t you say everybody liked Leo? He obviously had a lot of friends after he quit the biz.”

“Yes, and now we all look like we should be wearing tool belts and laying gaffer tape. Joy.”

The AIDS dinner was meant to honor Leo’s death, the last of his requests from the very extensive will he had left. News of it hadn’t surprised Jared. He remembered Leo Bloch as generous to a fault, ready to give the designer shirt off his back if someone even hinted at wanting it. It had been nearly eight years since Leo had quit the business cold turkey, seven since Jared had last seen him alive. This particular personality trait hadn’t changed.

Several hundred people filled the dining room. Though Jared only recognized a few of the faces, he knew from the five-hundred-dollar-a-plate price tag that most of them likely had some sort of money. At the organizer’s request, he’d tried to use some of his old connections to get it some press, but the sad thing was, AIDS benefits weren’t exactly the vogue right now. It didn’t matter that he was an ex-model, or an up-and-coming designer, or even that Leo had been a bigger name than him back in the day. His industry was a fickle beast, and if it didn’t scream “It” from the top of the tallest building, nobody wanted to touch it with a five-inch stiletto heel.

At the bar, they stood behind a portly man ordering what was clearly not his first sour apple martini. He giggled at his partner, who was also obviously not on his first drink, but when he picked up the glass from the bar, he swung his arm wide, knocking into Jared’s waist and spilling the alcohol down his front.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” He grabbed a stack of napkins from the bar and began patting Jared’s stomach in a flurry of hands, trying to dry him off. When he strayed below the belt, Jared grabbed his wrist to stop him, ignoring Theresa’s titters at his side.

“That’s okay,” Jared said. “I’ve got it.”

Reluctantly, the man released his hold on the napkins and took a step back. His round cheeks reddened further as his eyes swept up Jared’s tall form. They stalled at Jared’s chest. If he’d been a woman, Jared would’ve slapped him for staring at his breasts. “Well, at least now you smell as delicious as you look,” the man flirted.

His partner slapped his arm. “Oh, you’re bad.”

“Great,” Jared muttered. “Like I need a couple of drunk queens hitting on me right now.” He sincerely hoped that wherever Leo was, he was enjoying this.

“Ben, can you get Mr. Jansen another drink, please? Though maybe we should make this one a virgin martini instead.”

The calm baritone behind Jared startled him into turning around to look at its owner. He was even more startled to realize he had to look up at him, too. At six-four, Jared was accustomed to his view of the world, and while he occasionally met men who were taller, most of the people he knew were not.

This one was. By a solid two inches. And about fifty pounds of packed muscle.

“Okay, so I guess there’s at least one person these shirts look good on,” Jared said. He looked up to meet warm brown eyes, crinkled at the corners from years of laughter. Dark blond hair fell in waves across his forehead, the rest just a little too long to be completely fashionable, but it was thick and made Jared’s palms itch. At some time in the past, the man had broken his nose. The imperfection managed to make him even more appealing.

And now, the man was smiling, or at least the corners of his full lips were turned up in amusement. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Jared blurted the innuendo before his brain could tell his mouth to shut the hell up. “Just name the time and place.”

Theresa jostled his arm as she leapt forward to step between them. Jared had the distinct urge to shove her out of his way of this man when she said, “Mr. Harvey didn’t do anything wrong. He was just standing there when the other guy knocked his drink into him.”

It took him a moment to process why she was bothering explaining, but then it hit him. A guy who looked like this, taking charge of the situation? Could only be a security guard. And in New York City, that often meant a cop moonlighting on the side. Jared didn’t usually care too much about who he hit on, but flirting with security who thought he was responsible for a minor scene was probably not the wisest choice he had ever made.