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friend’s eyes, the concern. And the love. Always, with Dink, there was love. “Damn you, Dink. It will always feel right with you. Always.” Then he leaned close and kissed him, pressing his mouth against Dink’s, obviously catching him by surprise.
    He heard the leather bag hit the floor, felt the shift in Dink’s body as he strained close, wrapped his arms around Mac, and held him tightly.
    And kissed him back.
    Mac hadn’t kissed anyone with this much emotion, this much love, since Zianne had disappeared. The times he and Dink had gotten together had been as old friends, both of them ignoring the sexual tension that always simmered in the background.
    Not tonight. He felt Dink’s tongue against his lips, parted for him, drew him inside, and tasted mint and male, tasted the familiar flavors of long ago.
    Finally, breathing hard, heart pounding, Mac broke away. “Get your shower. Have you eaten?” When Dink nodded, he said, “Good.” Then he glanced at the bag on the floor. Cleared his throat, said as casually as he could, “Put your things in my room, okay?”
    Dink smiled. Leaned over without another word and grabbed his bag, and headed down the hallway toward the master bedroom.
    Mac watched him go, still breathing hard, his heart still pounding, but now his cock was straining against the zipper on his jeans. Twenty years seemed to melt away as he tasted Dink on his lips. They’d both been kids; now they were grown men. Men with histories, with a lot of life well lived. Then he thought of all he had to do tomorrow, of the long drive ahead. The project. The team.
    And he put it all out of his mind. Took a long, calming breath, and followed Dink down the hallway.
     
    The bedside lamp left most of the big room in shadows. Mac was waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed with a glass of Jack in his hand when Dink walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a dark green towel wrapped around his slim hips.
    He paused in the doorway, whether for Mac to look his fill, or maybe to give himself a moment to consider what they were going to do tonight. For whatever reason, he stood there with the bright overhead light from the bathroom glistening off his wet hair. It was slicked back, framing his face, emphasizing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips, the dark brows and lashes around his spectacular steel-blue eyes.
    This was so much more than the face the nation saw on the nightly news. This was a side of Nils Dinkemann that Mac knew very few were privileged to see.
    Dink was and always had been a spectacularly beautiful man.
    He still had a perfect body—toned and well muscled, as lean and fit as he’d been twenty years ago. More muscle, and the hair on his chest was thicker, darker than it had been, his eyes a bit more world-weary, but while he was Nils to the world, to Mac he would always be Dink, the one Mac had counted on during all those tumultuous years when they’d been so damned young, so terribly vulnerable.
    The one he knew he could count on tonight. Dink grinned and walked across the thickly carpeted floor.
    Mac handed him a drink. “Jack on ice. Hope that’s okay.”
    Dink laughed. “It is, but do you expect to talk here, like this? Do I get to put my pants on?”
    Slowly, Mac shook his head. “I thought we’d talk later. I know you—you won’t pay attention if you think you’re going to get laid.” It was only a small lie. Mac hadn’t been able to think of anything else. He’d fought the urge to join Dink in the shower. It had been all he could do to sit here, waiting impatiently until Dink had finally shut off the water and come to him.
    Laughing, Dink took a swallow of the whisky. “You’re right. So why are you still dressed?”
    Mac shook his head once again, but he didn’t look away. Kept his gaze trained on Dink’s face and wondered what was going through that amazing mind of his. He’d never been able to read Dink. “I don’t know. Started to undress,