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fury.
    I pivoted to face him and watched as he swallowed hard.
    “I need to talk to you,” he whispered. “We need to go home right now.”
    “Yeah. I need to talk to you too.”
    “Oh? About what?”
    I grimaced as Arad reached the cell and unlocked it.
    “Speak,” Mike ordered as the door rolled sideways.
    “I think it might be time for you to move out.”
    He nodded like he was taking that in. “Okay.”
    I was surprised. “Okay?”
    “Yeah, sure. I’ll move out of the guesthouse and into your house, no problem,” he said, following Arad out the door and into the main area of the police station.
    I stood there, confused, then turned to look at Blake through the bars.
    “Mike’s moving in with you?” He appeared as befuddled as I felt. “Why did I think he was straight?”
    “Because he is.”
    “Clearly not,” he said dryly. “He wants to live with you.”
    “That makes zero sense.”
    “I’m probably not the one to be discussing it with,” he said, pointing after Mike.
    “Yeah… I….”
    “And I won’t press charges for you making me run.”
    “You’re really a prick, Blake.”
    “As are you, Hutch.”
    We left it at that and I went after Mike.
    I was only a few moments behind him, but by the time I reached the booking area, Mike already had my possessions and was standing at the door waiting for me. I thanked Arad for some stupid reason, like being on autopilot, and was outside seconds later.
    “So let’s talk,” Mike said, grabbing hold of my wrist and dragging me around the side of the building, into the bushes where no one could see us.
    “What’s going on with you?”
    “A lot,” he said right before he crushed me into the stucco wall and then covered me with his hard, muscular body.
    I caught my breath, and he stared at me, into my eyes, and as we were both six foot tall, there was nowhere else to look but at each other.
    “I have a theory,” he said gruffly before he leaned in and kissed me.
    Everything stopped.
    My heart, my pulse, the blood rushing through my veins, everything in me stilled and savored and coalesced into one aching, drowning, devouring need.
    I wanted Mike Rojas desperately.
    He pulled back, and I saw the look of confusion come over his beautiful sharp features, and it hit me that in my discovery of the meaning of life, I’d forgotten to kiss him back.
    “You…,” he began hesitantly.
    “No-no,” I corrected quickly before I took hold of his face and kissed him, hard, so he could feel it down to his toes. I mauled him, opening him up, used my tongue to explore his mouth, all of it, missing nothing.
    The sounds he made, the husky moans, made it impossible not to touch him, pull at his clothes, tug the button-down oxford shirt out of his jeans, and get my hands on his hot, sleek skin. I traced over the bumps and dips of his chiseled abdomen as I stroked his tongue with mine, taking and tasting, coaxing him forward into me, until he was the one with his back against the wall and I had him there, at my mercy, as one hot, wild kiss became another and another.
    “Fuck,” he growled, shoving me off him, panting hard, dragging in air.
    All I could do was stand there, taking deep breaths as I waited to hear if the swearing was a good or bad development.
    “Couple months back,” he said hoarsely, “I was standing in the backyard at the grill, and I looked up and you waved to me and I had this feeling that I used to get when I walked into the house and saw Janey… like I was home.”
    Anything I said would be wrong, so I stayed quiet.
    “And I was pissed, right, because what the hell? You’re not her. You can’t take her place! If she hadn’t died, I’d still be there in San Francisco with her, so what the fuck?”
    I nodded.
    “But that’s not what happened. She died and I lived, and we used to talk about it all the time and back then I thought—” He took a breath. “—my wife is crazy maudlin.”
    I would have probably thought the