“Z! Goddammit. Slow the fuck down or pull over and let me drive.”
He peered down at the speedometer. Whoops. He’d hit ninety-seven. In a fifty-five. Slowing down was probably a good idea. Z couldn’t get his foot to listen to his brain. He kept at the same speed, barreling toward the airfield.
“Z.” RT slammed his hand down on the console. “I said—”
Z smashed his foot on the brake, the Escalade coming to an abrupt stop, throwing them both forward with the momentum. The only thing keeping them from hitting the windshield was their seat belts.
But the good news, they were at their destination. Without waiting for RT to lecture him, Z ripped off his seat belt, threw open the door, and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He took a deep breath, emotion lodged in his chest, choking him.
Why had he thought he could endure even a few minutes alone with RT? Every memory he had from that trip to the beach came roaring back, battering and bruising his mind with their intensity. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about RT.
“What the fuck is your problem?” RT yelled, stomping around the truck and coming to stand directly in front of Z.
Z ripped off his sunglasses and stared back at the man he’d fallen head over fucking heels in love with. The same man who’d tossed him aside like last week’s garbage.
It took a moment to realize he was breathing hard, like he’d run a mile, the emotion sending his blood pressure soaring.
Not the time or place, he reminded himself.
“Look, Z.” RT took off his own sunglasses. “I know you’re angry.”
Z took a step forward, his fingers itching to touch RT. Unable to contain the beast that threatened to break free, Z growled. “You don’t know the fucking half of it.”
As soon as the words were out, RT surprised the shit out of him, his hand coming up to wrap around Z’s head, pulling him forward and crushing his mouth to Z’s.
Instinct. Pure instinct drove what happened next. Z spun them both around, his arms banding around RT as he slammed RT’s back into the side of the truck, his mouth fused to RT’s, the kiss hard, desperate.
Two months worth of misery, fear, anger… It all came rushing to the surface as he plundered RT’s mouth with his own. He grabbed for RT, his hands roaming over him, holding him, needing more. His touch, his taste. Z couldn’t get enough.
He could feel RT’s fingers digging into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer while he attempted to control the kiss.
A warning bell echoed in Z’s brain. He tried to ignore it, but it got louder and louder until he could no longer focus. He jerked back, ripping his lips from RT’s as he stared back at the man.
“Z.”
The way RT said his name was as though he were trying to calm a wild animal. But that kiss… RT had instigated that. Not Z. He was not to blame for this one.
“Don’t,” Z hissed, turning away from RT. “Don’t bother telling me—”
RT’s hand gripped Z’s arm, jerking him back around to face him.
Z stood there, momentarily speechless as he looked into those crystal-blue eyes that haunted his dreams.
“What the hell do you want from me, Z?” RT exclaimed, the muscle in his jaw flexing.
Z considered that for a moment. He’d endured so much at the hands of this man. He’d been tossed aside so many times he felt as though he’d been playing a vicious game of tug-of-war and RT had finally let go of the rope, sending Z careening into despair.
“Tell me, Z!” RT yelled. “Tell me what it is you want from me.”
“I want you to love me,” Z said simply, swallowing hard. He couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth, but based on the stunned look on RT’s face, they definitely had.
RT took a step closer, the warmth of his fingers sliding over Z’s jaw and him feeling that dull pain erupt in his chest again, right there where his heart was. He could hardly breathe.
“I’m sorry, Z,” RT bit out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You’re sorry? For what? For fucking with me? For kissing me? For making me think there might be—”
RT pressed the palm of his hand over Z’s mouth, effectively silencing him.
“For walking away,” RT whispered, his eyes glassy.
Z was confused. He suddenly didn’t know which way was up. He’d let the emotion get to him and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to deal with the pain again. No one had hurt him the way RT had. Z had never let himself get that close to a man, but with RT…he’d let down his guard.
RT cupped Z’s jaw again, his eyes locked on Z’s. “We have to talk. It’s no longer an option. But we have to get through this job first.”
“Right. Job.” Z pulled away. “So let’s wait until after the job is over, just in case I fuck it up. That way you’ll know how that conversation ends, right? Yeah. No thanks.”
With his heart in his throat, Z put some much-needed space between him and RT.
RYAN DESERVED Z’S WRATH. HE knew he did.
So much for keeping things professional between them. He’d given in to the longing he’d shoved aside for the two months since they’d shared the most unbelievable moments together. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ryan didn’t want moments. He wanted days, weeks, years. He wanted Z. For the rest of his life.
It was difficult to accept responsibility, but Ryan was at fault. He’d blown the mission, but he no longer gave a fuck about that. He’d fucked up with Z. Somehow the man had come to mean more to him than any job. Only he didn’t know how to express himself.
Which was why he’d kissed Z.
And Lord have mercy on him. That kiss… It’d reminded Ryan of everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever dreamed of.
Everything he’d ever lost.
Z had given all of that to him. Optimism, anticipation, something to look forward to.
The man who wouldn’t bother to look at him held all of it in the palm of his hand, and he doubted Z had any idea how easily he could crush Ryan. And maybe he deserved that, too.
The sound of a plane engine drew Ryan’s attention away from Z and over to the hangar. Taking a deep breath, Ryan willed his heart rate to slow. He needed to get control of himself and this assignment.
“Z. Can you at least look at me?”
Z turned around, his face stony, as though he’d shoved everything down deep.
Ryan understood that. He’d done it for longer than he cared to admit.
Closing the gap between them, Ryan got up in Z’s personal space once more, refusing to give up. He’d learned his lesson, and now it was time to move forward.
I want you to love me. Z’s words echoed in his mind.
“We’ve got a job to do,” Z whispered harshly.
“Yes. We do. But afterward”—Ryan held up a hand before Z could interrupt—“we’re going to talk. Or I’ll talk and you can listen.”
Z didn’t say anything. That wasn’t what Ryan was expecting, but again, he couldn’t fault Z for being angry. Ryan was acting like an idiot, doing exactly what he’d insisted had caused the problem in the first place. Allowing his emotion to interfere with the job.
“Let’s get the painting, then go get Amit. After that, if you want to tell me to fuck off, you can.” Not that he was hoping for that particular outcome, but this wasn’t the time or place. “Deal?”
Z nodded.
That was enough for now.
*
Twenty minutes later, with the real painting in their possession and Ryan behind the wheel, they headed to Courtney and Max’s house. It was the location Dom had told them to go, advising that Trace and Clay would meet up with them there.