ER physician’s assistant Hunter guards his heart carefully, but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Shawn, the front desk clerk. He keeps his distance from relationships for a reason, but just can’t help himself when it comes to Shawn.
Shawn is on the run from the law and love to protect himself and anyone else involved. One man is dead because of him, and his life now is simple and easily thrown into a bag at any hint of danger. Until he meets Hunter, and he no longer wants to run.
Forced into a hostage situation, buried passion explodes in the aftermath, and sex in the supply closet brings their hearts back to life. Tentatively, step by step, they begin to explore a relationship together until the past catches up with Shawn.
FBI agent Nick Truman has finally found his man, but when Shawn escapes, he focuses his attention on Hunter. Shawn returns, even though it means sacrificing himself to save Hunter from the man who framed him for murder.
Hunter opened red wine instead of whiskey and was savoring the first sip when the cell phone dinged with a text message.
Hunter? It’s Shawn.
His heart leaped into his throat. Ok.
“You brilliant asshole,” he told himself, thumbs twitching over the keypad.
The Starbucks across the damn street? U ok?
Y. U want anything? Biscotti? Muffin?
Get up here, muffin man.
He waited a heartbeat.
Fuck, the bed still needed making. Hunter raced into the bedroom, threw sheets and blankets back together, and shoved the body pillow in the space between the bed and the wall. The building buzzer went off. He ran into the living room to answer it and slid in his socks on the hardwood, nearly going down. He limped to the bathroom, combed his hair, washed his face, and sniffed his armpits. He swished cinnamon mouthwash around and managed to spit it out without dribbling on himself. Off came the pajama bottoms. He jumped into the tightest jeans he owned and changed the rumpled sleep T-shirt for a fresh one.
“Get hold of yourself, boy,” he said to the man in the mirror. “It’s not effing prom night.”
He tucked the T-shirt in, trying not to catch his swooning cock in the zipper as the door buzzer went off. He stood in front of the door, counted to three, and jumped when it buzzed again with his hand still on the knob. He yanked the door open.
Shawn stood on the threshold in a black leather jacket, holding a cardboard box with two coffees and a bag of cookies or muffins or damn biscotti perched on top. His eyes were light with hope, though his smile was tentative and sweetly unsure.