that Tatsu wanted to kiss with a sudden, irrational passion. Above that mouth, a regal, straight nose, nostrils slightly flared. High cheekbones, the left marked by an odd scar. What should have been a disfigurement only added an exotic allure. Some trick of shadow hid the eyes, yet Tatsu mentally colored them a rich, chocolate brown.
Every cell in Tatsu’s body resonated with an inexplicable call to this man. Tatsu’s heart, already pounding from the fight, dove straight down into his groin. He hardened so fast he hurt.
“Who—?” The question was cut off by the press of the man’s mouth, hot, demanding, a tiny slip of a wet tongue, the taste alien at first then turning achingly familiar. An accepting moan slipped from Tatsu’s throat.
Those warm lips moved again, a briefer kiss filled with the sense of discovery and promise in the fleeting touch. Then gone. Tatsu opened his eyes. Stood alone, body pulsing with want, cock hard beneath his jock. Mind reeling with the mystery, he turned to ask Bana if he’d seen the stranger. Needed confirmation that he was not crazy. Saw with dismay that the Irishman, head turned away, was still talking on his phone.
“You are kurutteiru ,” Tatsu called himself all kinds of crazy. Flustered, he snapped his katana into its saya and turned to Bana who looked up in confused surprise.
“What the fekkin hell happened? Where’d that one come from?” He jerked his chin at the fifth corpse twitching at Tatsu feet.
Tatsu’s reply stuttered from lips still zinging from the tender press of that mouth. “Jumped me.” What could he say? That some man—some gorgeous, Japanese man wielding a tanto —had just materialized out of the dark, saved his ass then kissed him? And what a kiss. Kuso, he’d must have hallucinated it, right? Some kind of adrenalin overload brought on by the insanity of the fight. Yet the humming in his cock and burning on his lips told him otherwise.
Bana gave Tatsu a long, suspicious stare then shrugged. “Okay, c’mon then, I’m parched. I’ll buy ya a billie-dee while I wait for the clean-up crew.”
Determined to get answers and needing to hear the solid reality of another voice, Tatsu followed the stocky man back into the bar. They hunkered down in the booth nearest the back door and let their combat-strung nerves relax. Bana ignored the staccato of Tatsu’s questions. Instead, he waggled two fingers in the direction of the waitress.
The Irishman muttered a “Thanks, luv,” when Doris brought their tall stouts. He gulped his in three immense thirsty swallows. “Keep yer gob shut, boyo,” Bana menaced as he slammed his empty mug down hard enough to rattle the table. He fingered his throat above his collar. Deep purple blotches already blossomed around the wounds.
“Another word an’ I’ll personally slice off yer clackers. Go home. I’ll find ya in the bye-and-bye an’ we’ll talk.” His cell phone rang. Without another word, Bana shoved the instrument against his ear and stalked out the back door leaving Tatsu speechless for the second time that night.
Mere minutes before the first glimmer of light touched the snow-capped Eastern range, Arisada arrived at the sanctuary of his home on Mercer Island. He showered then locked himself in his bedchamber in the basement. That he’d been tracking those same rogues that attacked the older man was no mere coincidence. That the lovely green-eyed boy—the reincarnation Arisada had sought for eight centuries—just happened to be at that very time and place, also no coincidence. The timing only could be the result of karma .
Arisada had been tracking the rogues and felt no regret when the humans killed them. Saving the boy’s life was pure instinct. Kissing him was pure desire. After hundreds of lifetimes, Arisada’s need shattered his self-control and within seconds he found his lips fastened to that pretty, surprised mouth.
Able only to think about the Japanese hunter fighting in that
Every cell in Tatsu’s body resonated with an inexplicable call to this man. Tatsu’s heart, already pounding from the fight, dove straight down into his groin. He hardened so fast he hurt.
“Who—?” The question was cut off by the press of the man’s mouth, hot, demanding, a tiny slip of a wet tongue, the taste alien at first then turning achingly familiar. An accepting moan slipped from Tatsu’s throat.
Those warm lips moved again, a briefer kiss filled with the sense of discovery and promise in the fleeting touch. Then gone. Tatsu opened his eyes. Stood alone, body pulsing with want, cock hard beneath his jock. Mind reeling with the mystery, he turned to ask Bana if he’d seen the stranger. Needed confirmation that he was not crazy. Saw with dismay that the Irishman, head turned away, was still talking on his phone.
“You are kurutteiru ,” Tatsu called himself all kinds of crazy. Flustered, he snapped his katana into its saya and turned to Bana who looked up in confused surprise.
“What the fekkin hell happened? Where’d that one come from?” He jerked his chin at the fifth corpse twitching at Tatsu feet.
Tatsu’s reply stuttered from lips still zinging from the tender press of that mouth. “Jumped me.” What could he say? That some man—some gorgeous, Japanese man wielding a tanto —had just materialized out of the dark, saved his ass then kissed him? And what a kiss. Kuso, he’d must have hallucinated it, right? Some kind of adrenalin overload brought on by the insanity of the fight. Yet the humming in his cock and burning on his lips told him otherwise.
Bana gave Tatsu a long, suspicious stare then shrugged. “Okay, c’mon then, I’m parched. I’ll buy ya a billie-dee while I wait for the clean-up crew.”
Determined to get answers and needing to hear the solid reality of another voice, Tatsu followed the stocky man back into the bar. They hunkered down in the booth nearest the back door and let their combat-strung nerves relax. Bana ignored the staccato of Tatsu’s questions. Instead, he waggled two fingers in the direction of the waitress.
The Irishman muttered a “Thanks, luv,” when Doris brought their tall stouts. He gulped his in three immense thirsty swallows. “Keep yer gob shut, boyo,” Bana menaced as he slammed his empty mug down hard enough to rattle the table. He fingered his throat above his collar. Deep purple blotches already blossomed around the wounds.
“Another word an’ I’ll personally slice off yer clackers. Go home. I’ll find ya in the bye-and-bye an’ we’ll talk.” His cell phone rang. Without another word, Bana shoved the instrument against his ear and stalked out the back door leaving Tatsu speechless for the second time that night.
Mere minutes before the first glimmer of light touched the snow-capped Eastern range, Arisada arrived at the sanctuary of his home on Mercer Island. He showered then locked himself in his bedchamber in the basement. That he’d been tracking those same rogues that attacked the older man was no mere coincidence. That the lovely green-eyed boy—the reincarnation Arisada had sought for eight centuries—just happened to be at that very time and place, also no coincidence. The timing only could be the result of karma .
Arisada had been tracking the rogues and felt no regret when the humans killed them. Saving the boy’s life was pure instinct. Kissing him was pure desire. After hundreds of lifetimes, Arisada’s need shattered his self-control and within seconds he found his lips fastened to that pretty, surprised mouth.
Able only to think about the Japanese hunter fighting in that
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