Chapter 2

When he entered, he had to blink more than once to adjust to the change of light. The scent of sawdust hung in the air, and a large workbench consumed the center of the small space. It took several seconds for Mason to see that Anton had circled the bench for something unseen on the other side, and he followed, drawn as much by curiosity as he was the man’s magnetism.

His eyes widened when he saw the broad headboard. It was unfinished, but its elegant lines already emerged from the dark wood like one of Michelangelo’s statues. Intricate cutouts created a starburst pattern that repeated down its length. It only needed to be sanded and polished, Mason thought. Then it would be a masterpiece.

“It was supposed to be a Christmas gift.” Anton caressed the edge like a lover. “I do not know what Se?or Cantu will want me to do with it now.”

“I don’t know either,” Mason murmured, more fascinated than ever by Anton’s hands. His fingers were so careful, so precise. He felt like he was all thumbs, but Anton knew how to find the shape waiting in the wood. Waiting for him. Without thinking, he reached out and took Anton’s hands. He brought them up to chin level, studying the creases in his palms.

He expected Anton to protest. At the least, to pull away. Anton did neither. He stood there, patiently, allowing Mason the time to learn the rough pads, the weathered lines, the blunt nails.

“They are ugly,” he said. “But, unfortunately, this is all I know.”

“They’re not.” Mason held him for a moment longer, enjoying the scent of pine and oak and finishing oil. It went right to his head, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Anton smelled like that everywhere. His mouth watered at the thought of finding out, and he forced himself to lower Anton’s hands. “Not at all.”

Before he could pull his own away, Anton grasped Mason’s wrists and repeated the gesture. “See?” His broad thumb stroked along the heel of Mason’s hand, though Mason couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not. “Yours aren’t marked as badly as mine. Pedra would consider Miguel far luckier than her, I’m afraid.”

Fresh sweat already gathered on his neck and back, but Mason shivered at the contact. At that moment, he considered Pedra the luckiest one of the four of them. If Anton didn’t let him go soon, his thin shorts wouldn’t be able to hide his erection. “Then I think she needs new priorities.”

“I don’t know.” Anton held Mason’s hand flat and skimmed his fingertips from the wrist, across the palm, along his fingers and back again, his eyes lifting to weigh heavily upon Mason’s. “I think I would prefer your hands, as well.”

Mason felt hypnotized by the steady, unbroken motion of Anton’s fingers. Each brush of contact sent a sharp spark of electricity from his wrist to his neck. As electrifying as the touch was, though, it was the soft words that tightened his groin. “Where do you want them?”

A ghost of a smile curved his full lips. “I don’t remember offering a where.”

Mason blinked. “No, but I just did.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know you well enough, I think.” Mason paused, glancing from Anton’s long fingers to his dark eyes. If Anton would stop touching him, he would stop speaking. “I know how good your hands feel.”

Anton didn’t respond. Stepping forward, he finally released Mason’s wrist to lift a hand and brush his callused thumb over his lower lip. “I should not do this,” he murmured, though the words were so low, Mason was unsure whether or not Anton meant them for his ears.

Mason parted his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the salty-sweet skin. He moaned at the contact, immediately greedy for more, then closed his mouth around the tip. Anton bent his knuckle, sliding his thumb out of Mason’s mouth, then straightened it, pushing against Mason’s lip

“I know,” Mason said, matching his low voice. “But you don’t have to stop.”

“I do,” Anton disagreed. “But not yet.”

His fingers spread, molding over Mason’s jaw. He ignored the sweat, the heat, the shivers that ran through Mason. All he seemed to care about was holding him still, each caress of his fingertips small and shattering. Angling his head, Anton leaned forward, stopping only when their mouths brushed against each other.

Mason parted his lips with a soft sigh. Anton didn’t take the invitation, though. He kept the kiss almost chaste, but that didn’t discourage Mason. Far from it. It made him throb. Anton’s breath was warm against his skin, and it smelled sweet, like chocolate. But then Anton’s tongue touched his, and Mason melted into the kiss. He couldn’t help it; he didn’t have the strength to resist it.