Killer Liaison (Book 1 of Danger Games) (MM)

“Here’s to a long day’s work.” Damien held up his glass as he settled deeper into the soft cushion of the armchair, sighing out an appreciative moan. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Michael said, holding up his own drink in salute before bringing it in for a sip. He let the single malt roll on his tongue, tasting the hint of smoke and salt before letting it slide down his throat. “Nice choice.”

“On company dime? Of course.” Damien laughed. “So, Michael, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in international banking,” Michael answered. That wasn’t a lie, per se. Michael Smith, investment banker, had been the identity his agency gave him when he first started. His old identity, as far as he knew, had been completely erased from records—it was like that person never existed.

Damien smirked. “That must’ve been one hell of a client to make you look like you did in the elevator.”

Michael could tell that Damien didn’t quite believe him. It didn’t matter; they’d probably never meet again after tonight.

“You could say that.” Michael smirked, shifting in his seat to get comfortable, but ended up biting his tongue to stifle a moan as the smooth fabric of his pants rubbed against his hard-on. Hiding his discomfort with another sip of his drink, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. “What about you? What brings you to Monte Carlo?”

“Photographer.” Damien pointed to the shoulder bag he was carrying. “I’m on assignment.”

“You don’t look like a photographer.” Michael arched an eyebrow, unconvinced, as he eyed the man sitting across the table from him. He hadn’t noticed it in the elevator because of the lighting, but the man was rather muscular despite his lanky build—the kind of bulk that could only have come from years of combat training. He should know—he went through the same thing. “You look more like you’ve served a few tours somewhere.”

Damien laughed. “Well, I’ve covered a few foreign conflicts in the past when I was just starting out. The guys in the unit I was attached to taught me a few things and it stuck.”

Michael nodded, still not quite convinced. The way the man handled himself was nothing like any photographer he’d ever met, motions economical and fluid. Doyle made fun of his paranoia but Michael would rather be safe than sorry. Occupational hazard.

Slowly, one drink turned into three, and while Michael could hold his own, he was starting to feel happily buzzed. Buzzed enough to seriously consider doing something about the hard-on he was still sporting.

“Listen,” Michael whispered, hooking a finger telling Damien to lean closer until they were practically breathing the same air. “I’ve got a room down the street at the Soleil. What do you say we head over there and have some real fun?”

Damien grinned as he waved a waitress to their table. “I thought you’d never ask.”