One man is betrayed by a faithless lover. Another is devastated when his lover is lost to an act of terrorism. Can they put the past behind them and come together to forge a new bond? Ben and Rick must not only fight the ghosts of their pasts, but also face a real and present danger when a child is kidnapped by his white supremacist father. Will they be able to overcome the sinister forces that threaten to destroy those they love and keep them apart forever? MLR P A Ress uthoRs Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay erotica and mysteries today! Derek Adams Z. Allora Maura Anderson Simone Anderson Victor J. Banis Laura Baumbach Helen Beattie Ally Blue J.P. Bowie Barry Brennessel Nowell Briscoe Jade Buchanan James Buchanan TA Chase Charlie Cochrane Karenna Colcroft Michael G. Cornelius Jamie Craig Ethan Day Diana DeRicci Vivien Dean Taylor V. Donovan S.J. Frost Kimberly Gardner Kaje Harper Alex Ironrod DC Juris Jambrea Jo Jones AC Katt Thomas Kearnes Sasha Keegan Kiernan Kelly K-lee Klein Geoffrey Knight Christopher Koehler Matthew Lang J.L. Langley Vincent Lardo Cameron Lawton Anna Lee Elizabeth Lister Clare London William Maltese Z.A. Maxfield Timothy McGivney Tere Michaels AKM Miles Robert Moore Reiko Morgan Jet Mykles William Neale N.J. Nielsen Cherie Noel Gregory L. Norris Willa Okati Erica Pike Neil S. Plakcy Rick R. Reed A.M. Riley AJ Rose Rob Rosen George Seaton Riley Shane Jardonn Smith DH Starr Richard Stevenson Christopher Stone Liz Strange Marshall Thornton Lex Valentine Haley Walsh Mia Watts Lynley Wayne Missy Welsh Ryal Woods Stevie Woods Lance Zarimba Mark Zubro Check out titles, both available and forthcoming, at www.mlrpress.com R etReAt to I C sLAnd ounty d A eRek dAMs mlrpress www.mlrpress.com This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright 2012 by Derek Adams All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published by MLR Press, LLC 3052 Gaines Waterport Rd. Albion, NY 14411 Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet: www.mlrpress.com Cover Art by Deana Jamroz Editing by Amanda Faris ebook format: ISBN#978-1-60820-826-5 Issued 2012 This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. C o hAPteR ne “Hey, Frank, I got here as soon as I could. I couldn’t check my messages until I got out of class.” I tossed my book bag in the storage closet and hung up my coat. I slipped into the white jacket worn by the bussers at McPherson’s Grill, grabbed a stack of napkins, and started folding. “Evening, Ben.” Frank looked at me disapprovingly, but it didn’t bother me, because the only time he smiled was while talking to customers or savoring a particularly good tip. I didn’t even rate a smirk, but to be fair, he always tipped out generously. “We’ve got a busy night coming up. Hope you brought your A game.” “Hey, I’m ready for anything.” This time the look was doubtful, but he made no further comment. I kept folding and Frank went out into the dining room to detail the tables in his section. I always made it a point to do my best, because the money I made here was surprisingly good for a job that required me to do little more than set tables and carry dirty dishes to the kitchen. I was desperate for funds to augment my meager monthly scholarship allowance and this paid a hell of a lot more than flipping burgers or working in the campus cafeteria. I set the last napkin atop the pile on the counter and looked up at the clock. It was time to get out on the floor and do whatever it took to make Frank’s evening run smoothly. The first turn was uneventful. I managed to keep tables re-set, water glasses filled, and dirty plates removed so effectively that although Frank didn’t exactly smirk, I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch a little bit. Of course, I could have imagined that. And then he came in with a group of businessmen, who, to judge by the premium table reserved for them and the fact that the owner escorted them to it personally, were very important. 2 Derek Adams As I cleared and re-set other tables in the room, I kept glancing over at him. He was the handsomest man I’d ever seen. Curly, jet- black hair, gray eyes, cleft chin, full lips—he was perfect. Once, when our eyes met, he winked at me. A bolt of sexual electricity shot through me that made it hard to breathe. “Ben!” I jumped at the sound of the manager’s voice. “We need help delivering entrees to that large party in the banquet room.” I nodded and scurried off to the kitchen, grateful to have something to distract me from the hot guy on table seventeen. My reprieve was short-lived. “Ben, change those wineglasses. I’m bringing a new bottle to seventeen.” Frank sailed past me on his way to the wine room. Seventeen. His table. I took a deep breath and approached, palms sweaty, heart pounding. I had placed three glasses safely on my tray and was reaching for the fourth when he looked up at me and smiled. Utterly distracted, I brushed against the last glass with my fingertips. It wobbled. I grabbed at it, missed, and watched in horror as it tipped forward and the dregs of the wine bloomed scarlet on the starched white fabric of my dream man’s shirt. He pushed back from the table and jumped to his feet, but it was too late. “Oh my God!” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.” “Ben!” Frank clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder and spun me around. He had murder in his eyes. “Get club soda and a cloth. Now!” I scurried out of the dining room to the bar. The bartender poured a small glass of soda and handed it to me, along with a folded napkin. I turned around, and my field of vision was blocked by an expanse of white, marred by a familiar stain. I forced myself to look up and meet the man’s eyes, ready for whatever tirade he wanted to unleash on me. But he just smiled at me and tilted his head, beckoning me to follow him. I trailed after him to the door of the men’s room. He opened it and motioned me inside. “Ben…right?” I nodded sheepishly. “Well, Ben, you made this mess, so you’d better clean it up. Sounds fair, don’t you think?” “Yes, sir,” I mumbled as I dipped the napkin into the soda RetReAt to IsLAnd County 3 water. I dabbed at the droplets down near the waistband of his trousers, to very little effect. “Give it some elbow grease.” I started to rub harder. “That’s cold!” He stepped away from me. “Why don’t you put your hand behind the stain? Then you can exert some pressure, and I won’t freeze.” “Put my hand behind the stain?” “Just slip your fingers between the buttons, Ben. You can do that, can’t you?” I nodded and did as he told me. My knuckles brushed against bare skin. He leaned against the sink and braced his hands behind him. The move stretched the fabric of the shirt taut against his belly, trapping my fingers against a warm, well- muscled wall of flesh. The drops gradually faded as I scrubbed. The last of the stain was over the prominent swell of his left pec. I slipped my fingers between the buttons and into a dense patch of silky hairs that sent more sparks arcing down to my groin. My tongue flickered across my lips as I struggled to concentrate on what I was doing. As I blotted away, my fingertips nudged against the point of his nipple, and I distinctly heard a soft moan. He shifted his position and suddenly his thigh was between my legs, rubbing against my rapidly stiffening cock. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said, his voice a soft, sexy growl. I glanced down and saw the thick bulge that stretched along the inside of his thigh. I swayed forward and it nudged the growing bulge in my own pants. I gasped and swayed forward again. “What time do you get off work?” “Midnight, sir.” “My name’s Keith. I think this might be a good time to start using my name, don’t you.” “Ye…yes, sir,” I stammered. “I mean, yes, Keith.” “Good. I’ll be waiting for you.” I nodded my agreement, not trusting myself to speak. He put his right hand under my chin and pulled my head up. “You’re a gorgeous guy, Ben.” His lips 4 Derek Adams brushed mine briefly, then he pushed me away. “You’d better get back to work, or that waiter will have your head mounted on a spike out in front of the restaurant.” I turned on my heel and bolted out of the bathroom, almost knocking a customer flat as I went. I made it through the rest of the night with no more catastrophes and was waiting on the sidewalk when Keith pulled up to the curb exactly on time. He leaned across to the passenger door and opened it for me. I slid in beside him, enveloped by the scent of expensive leather upholstery and the faint musk of his aftershave. I didn’t talk. I was too nervous. I just sat there, watching him as he maneuvered through the late-night traffic. We parked in the underground garage of his condo building and walked to a bank of elevators. The doors slid open and we stepped inside. He pushed the button for the top floor, but before the doors closed, a voice called out. “Wait for us, please!” Keith looked at me and winked, then held the doors for an elderly couple. They got in, pressed the button for their floor, and exchanged pleasantries with Keith as the elevator ascended. He stood close to me, all his attention focused on them. Or so I thought. While he chatted about some building maintenance currently in progress, his right hand pressed firmly against my lower back. I tried not to gasp or squirm when he pushed his fingers inside the waistband of my slacks. The downward movement continued until his middle finger was wedged firmly in my crack. He wiggled it, and his fingertip touched my hole. I swallowed noisily and felt my face get hot. He continued talking, his voice steady, his finger increasingly insistent as the elevator made painfully slow progress to the elderly couple’s floor. We finally arrived, good nights were said, and the doors closed, leaving us alone at last. He pulled me toward him, forcing me to stand on tiptoe as his mouth made contact with mine. I was breached by tongue and finger simultaneously and had to hold on to him to keep from falling. The kiss ended when the elevator doors opened, but his hand remained in place. He guided me down the hallway, every step RetReAt to IsLAnd County 5 I took wedging his finger deeper inside me. When the door of his condo clicked shut, he pushed me back against it and kissed me again. He used his free hand to unfasten my pants. They slid down to my knees. He pushed my shirt up, baring my torso. “Very sexy,” he purred, grinning at me lewdly. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror behind him. My rigid cock angled toward my belly and my pale skin was flushed with passion. He rubbed the ball of his thumb across my insanely sensitive nipples, and I gasped with pleasure. His hand trailed from my chest to my belly, down to my groin. His finger was still wedged firmly up my backside. He wiggled it around and sparks of sexual electricity shot through me, focusing every fiber of my being on the orgasm that was now only seconds away. “I’m gonna…” I groaned, my knees buckling. He squeezed my cock against his palm, pressed it hard against my belly. I cried out when the first spurt of my jism bisected my torso and splattered against my chin. He growled his approval as my body spasmed again and again. When I was finished, I put my arms around him and held tight, panting raggedly. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Sorry for what?” he whispered, his lips soft against my ear. “For being so…so quick.” “Hey, I admire your enthusiasm.” He chuckled softly. “And your body.” He kissed my chest. “And your green eyes.” His lips brushed against my lids as they fluttered shut. “And your lips.” He kissed them. “And your other assets.” He squeezed my cock and I shuddered with pleasure. “You don’t do this very often, do you?” “Never,” I whispered glumly. “I feel like an idiot.” I couldn’t believe it. Less than sixty seconds with the man of my dreams and I’d blown it—literally. I was on the verge of tears. “You know what I feel like, Ben?” I shook my head. “I feel like the luckiest man in the city.” He picked me up and carried me down the hall to his bedroom. He deposited me on the bed and began to strip. As he peeled out of his clothes my cock