He didn't fidget. Or blink.
This might not be like any business meeting he'd ever had, but it was still a business meeting, and he did business meetings well. Conducting a business meeting with a hard-on was a first though. A whole new, completely unsettling experience.
RG's eyes narrowed. That indecipherable gleam in her eyes intensified and then, with a nod of her head, she unfurled from the seat and stood. "Tonight." She scooped up her messenger bag from the floor and slung it over her head. "Nine p.m. Wockpool at the Rocks. Bring your marketing campaign, the packaging art, and your planned roll-out for HH2."
Bran didn't rise to his feet. It might be what professional etiquette dictated he do, but hiding an erection took priority.
Also a first for a business meeting.
He held RG's gaze and, heart beating faster than it should, curled his lips in a relaxed smile. "Of course. I can do that."
He deliberately emphasized I. In any other case or conversation like this, he would have mentioned his award-winning marketing director's name and his award-winning creative director's name as fellow attendees. There was no point now. RG's interest lay solely with him.
Just him.
She'd made that clear.
"Excellent. I look forward to it." She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, its wide green strap running between her breasts emphasizing how full and round they were, and then turned and walked away from his desk.
He flicked his gaze to her incredible backside before he could stop himself.
"Oh, and Bran?"
He jerked his focus back up to her face as she stopped at the door and shot him a grin over her shoulder.
"Bring this … work associate of yours."
Chapter 2
Ruckus had been raised by a man of austerity.
Not his father (who the fuck knew where Ruckus's father was? Ruckus didn't), or even a relative, Meitek de Wees had taken in Ruckus-then a wild, angry eleven-year-old street kid-and given him a home.
Given him an upbringing that included the best private school education in the country, a deep understanding of morals, of wrong and right, and a safe place to sleep at night.
They spent their dinners discussing world politics, classic literature, art, diplomacy, and the decay of society. Ruckus spent his weekends tinkering in the massive garage with its eclectic collection of classic cars, reading whatever book caught his fancy from the eccentric's extensive personal library, or teaching himself how to draw or paint.
There were no unnecessary indulgences for him, no televisions, no console games or electronic devices beyond the house's one radio-permanently tuned to the news station-and one laptop granted to Ruckus for educational purposes only.
For Ruckus, who had spent his life homeless on the brutal Sydney city streets since the age of seven, that upbringing was a luxury.
All that the billionaire recluse asked of Ruckus was that he use his brain, his mind, not waste it, and help maintain the sprawling mansion in which Meitek lived.
And, above all else, not waste water.
By the time Meitek passed away, leaving his billions to the country's main animal welfare charity group and three charities supporting research into childhood illnesses, Ruckus could comprehensively wash himself squeaky clean in less than three minutes.
At eighteen, once again homeless and without a job or penny to his name, but richer than anyone he knew, Ruckus had stood beside the fresh grave of the billionaire and said goodbye to the man he knew had saved his life.
Apart from the reverend and the groundskeeper, he'd been alone.
Leaving the cemetery, Ruckus had walked the streets until he felt it was time to stop, and entered the closest business.
That business turned out to be a high-tech security firm. He convinced them to hire him in less than an hour. Convinced them to pay him double their offered wages.
Convinced them to advance him a fortnight's salary.
That night, in his newly rented apartment, furnished with nothing more than a bed, a desk, and the best PC his advanced income allowed, Ruckus took a shower that lasted forty-five minutes.
He cried for Meitek the whole time.
A lot of water, both clean and salty, washed down the drain.
The billionaire would have been horrified.
That was fourteen years ago. In the time since, he'd become the best I.T. systems security expert in Australia.
It was the last shower exceeding three minutes he ever took. Until tonight. Tonight, he indulged. Splurged. A long shower, and a bar of sandalwood and goat's milk soap, a combination that awoke his senses and helped him find his center.
He needed to find his center.
After months of no contact, his ex had called him out of the blue and asked him to dinner.
Lifting his face into the stream of warm water flowing from the showerhead, he closed his eyes and pictured his ex.
Brannum West, AKA West Wind.
Ruckus had given him the nickname. A week after their first sexual encounter-eight months after Bran had contracted Ruckus's security firm to test Virt.Real Distributors' system-Ruckus had told him he was wilder and hotter than the west wind.
The moniker had stuck. When Bran had confessed one night, in a post-fuck state of sated languor, he was a MMRPG player, Ruckus confessed he too was an online gamer. He hadn't mentioned that his gateway into the world had been RG Bailey, nor that she was a close friend, despite Bran's line of work. RG was a private person, and Ruckus wasn't one to divulge unnecessary information.
Bran had studied him, stroking his chest, and asked if he'd ever had sex online in character.
A week later, Ruckus had told Bran how to meet him on Hell's Harbour's notorious floating bar only found in the restricted-access area of the game and fucked his brains out.
Online.
An hour after that, he'd fucked his brains out for real.
They'd kept up an on-again-off-again relationship for months. Many months.
They'd agreed not to be monogamous, promising to be careful. To use protection.
The only other person who'd stirred Ruckus like Bran did, was RG, although he hadn't initiated any move on her. Something held him back. He hadn't told Bran he'd been monogamous though. He had been in danger of losing his heart to the quiet, thoughtful man; but he hadn't been ready to confess it, and admitting the only man who floated Ruckus's boat was Bran would have been the final nail in the I'm-not-settling-down coffin.
It was when Ruckus discovered Bran had been monogamous, that his lover had fucked no one, dated no one, seen no one, not even a casual coffee date, since Ruckus had entered his life, that Ruckus had ended what they'd had.
It was for the better. Complicated, involved relationships only ended in pain.
Ruckus didn't do pain.
With a frustrated growl, he killed the shower.
What the hell was he doing? Not only had he allowed himself to waste who knew how many liters of water, he'd done so getting ready for a date with a man he'd cut from his life four months ago.
What he should be doing was processing the conundrum that was RG. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she'd fallen in love with him. She'd freak out completely when she finally did accept it. How he was to proceed when she did … that's what he should have been thinking about. How he was going to handle it, how they were going to deal with it.
How they were going to move forward after the inevitable freak-out.
As much as he'd tried to tell himself he could walk away from her, would walk away if she made the mistake of falling in love with him, he couldn't stop sleeping with her. Couldn't stop seeing her. Couldn't stop craving her.
He should have been thinking about that, about what it all meant for him and for her. He should have been fucking freaking out.
But instead, Bran's lips, Bran's throat, Bran's wide shoulders and lean hips filled his head. Bran's incredible arse and amazing legs. His cock and its uncut perfection …
Snatching a towel from the rack, Ruckus rubbed himself dry. He ignored his erection. If he touched it now, he would be mentally fucked for the night.
He had no idea why Bran had contacted him, why he'd asked him out to dinner or where they were going, but if he wanked himself off now, with Bran on his mind, the dinner would become nothing but foreplay most likely ending with Ruckus eating Bran's cock in an alley somewhere.
When it came to sex with Bran, location had never impeded them.
Ruckus's cock pulsed at the thought of blowing Bran off, a hungry spasm that came with an equally hungry heat in his balls and the pit of his gut.
A demanding hunger.
Damn it.
Closing his eyes, he stood motionless, drew in a slow breath, counted to ten, and then exhaled.
Repeated the action three times until his heart, body, and center were calm.
He opened his eyes.
And found RG leaning on the bathroom sink, grinning at him. "I broke in. Sorry. Thought I should practice those breaking and entering skills you taught me a few weeks ago." Her gaze flicked to his groin for a second. "You seem flustered. Want to tell me what's got you so-"
He destroyed the space between them and crushed her mouth with his. Took utter and complete possession of her lips, her tongue, fisting his hands in her hair as he did so to hold her exactly where he wanted her to be.
She groaned into his rough kiss, grinding the curve of her sex to his rigid cock as she clawed at his chest, his neck, down his back.