Free Whatever the Cost by Lynn Kelling Page A

right,” Yasha agrees. “The client, the request, the gender, the fetish—it’s their call, not yours. You don’t get a say. Liam doesn’t get a say. If they think you’re capable of delivering with a moderate degree of success, it’s a go.
This
is a go. It has nothing to do with feelings or your preferences, it’s a fucking
job
. Do your job. Then get paid and walk away.”
    Yasha reaches up and wraps his hand around the side of Jacen’s face, his thumb dragging in a slow arc over Jacen’s cheekbone, his fingertips sliding back over his jaw. Jacen leans in and down, his lips losing their tension, going soft as Yasha reaches up to kiss them tenderly. There’s a slow series of light brushes of lips on lips as they take the moment to enjoy each other, remembering vividly what they’ve shared and how much they trust one another. They were strangers, then friends, then suddenly, almost inexplicably, lovers—for a time. They went back to being friends after that, but the intimacy never left, and probably never will. The force and passion of the kiss deepens. Yasha’s fingers slide farther back, around Jacen’s head, bringing him in closer so that he can get more, licking over his tongue, sucking on it, mapping out his mouth, his taste, remembering how it felt to be wrapped in the soft, pulsing heat of him, how Jacen had given over to him completely, how good it had been.
    They break apart, dizzy, and Yasha’s fingertip traces over the healing wound on Jacen’s lower lip where Patrick hit him, drying the silken skin, feeling heat emanate from it.
    “It’d be his loss, you know,” Yasha tells him with more affection than Jacen can bear.
    “I don’t want to do this anymore,” Jacen hisses.
    “Well, that’s your decision. You might never see money like this again, though. Remember that. Give it a try. Make it work for
you
.”
    “You’re so smart,” Jacen smiles, his cheeks dimpling.
    “Oh, no you don’t. Your charms have no power over me,” Yasha says sternly, even as his fingers tighten in Jacen’s wavy hair, which tickles over his face when Yasha dives in for another, dirtier kiss.
    “Liar.”
    Jacen licks the taste of Yasha from his lips and pushes his hands down into his pants pockets as Yasha straddles the bike and pulls his helmet down over his clipped-short, spiky, light brown hair. Warm brown eyes shot through with amber gaze out from the shadows the helmet casts over his angular features.
    “You know where we are if you need us,” he says with a pointed look. “Let me know how it goes.”
    “Yeah,” Jacen nods. “Thanks, man. Give Val my love.”
    Yasha laughs and revs the engine. When he’s gone, all that’s left is the urgent pull at the core of Jacen’s being, telling him to go inside, to find Liam and face him.
    “I don’t want to do this any more,” Jacen moans again, telling no one, telling himself. It’s no use; he doesn’t heed his own words. His feet carry him back through the yard, into the house, up the stairs.
    Liam is in the spare bedroom, at the desk they share, their home office. Jacen lingers in the doorway, hands still in his pockets, scuffing his toe on the carpet, hang-dog expression on his face. “Lee....”
    “I don’t want to talk about it. That’s my one condition. I can’t. I
can’t
talk about this with you,” Liam says. There’s a strained roughness to his voice that Jacen doesn’t like at all.
    “I’m not your client, Liam,” Jacen says softly, hurt by the standoffishness, if not entirely surprised by it.
    “You are. Now you are.”
    “Look at me,” Jacen pleads.
    Liam shakes his head, keeping it turned away. After a moment, though, he caves and sighs heavily when he sees Jacen’s wet, shining eyes.
    “I’m glad Spencer’s gone,” Liam allows. “It’s worth it, to get rid of that asshole.”
    “You can trust me, you know. I’d never hurt you.” Jacen pledges urgently.
    “
I
don’t want to talk about it
,” Liam interjects