Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

much it hurt. He wouldn't stop, not until he got it right. He owed that much to Nate.
    After all, it was his fault Nate was dead.
    Ben fell to his knees at the curb, uncaring of the shards of glass shredding his jeans, cutting his knees, reopening previous wounds. He gently pushed a hank of dark hair out of Nate's open, unseeing eyes. He tried not to notice the smear of blood his fingers left behind on Nate's forehead, or the crimson pool spreading beneath Nate's head.
    "Nate? Baby, can you hear me?" He didn't expect an answer. The eyes staring up at him, the electric blue ones he loved so much, were dull and empty. Nate wasn't there anymore. A broken shell was all that remained.
    Although he would've sworn he had none left to shed, his eyes welled with tears. He choked them back and struggled to his feet. Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer. He needed to leave the scene before the rescue unit or police arrived. If he didn't he'd only be detained answering questions that would help no one, as he had during the first dozen or so jumps. In the beginning, seeing Nate lying battered on the pavement had been too shocking; Ben couldn't force himself to leave, and since he'd harbored a fragile hope back then that the rescue team would revive Nate, he'd waited for them to arrive. He'd answered their questions, all the time watching their frantic efforts to resuscitate Nate, only to have his heart broken again when it became clear Nate was beyond all help. After a half dozen repetitions, he learned to leave before the ambulance arrived.
    He turned away, unmindful of the tears that finally escaped his control. "Next time, Nate. I swear it. Next time, I'll save you."
    Pressing the button on the remote, he returned to the present, the one where Nate was already a year dead, to try again. His mind, however, was trapped in the past, remembering his life, however brief, with Nate.
    CHAPTER 1
    Dressed in sleek, form-fitting, black leather pants, a t-shirt stretched tightly across his broad chest and shoulders, his feet clad in motorcycle boots, and a helmet tucked under his arm, the dark-haired man standing in the doorway was quite simply sex-on-a-stick.
    Ben blinked repeatedly, almost surprised the man didn't vanish, a mere optical illusion caused by sleep deprivation and stress. After all, Ben had been putting in eighty-plus-hour weeks in the lab for the past couple of months, and a schedule like that was bound to take its toll. Hallucinating hot men was not outside the realm of possibility.
    The man didn't disappear, though, no matter how vigorously Ben blinked. He remained where he was, his shoulders nearly spanning the width of the doorway, a god clad in leather and cotton blend.
    "Are you having a seizure? Should I call somebody?" His voice was as sexy as the rest of him, deep and smooth, like audible velvet. One sleek eyebrow arched at a cocky angle.
    The words, however, cut through Ben's fugue, making him acutely aware that, not only had he been compulsively blinking as if his eyes were strobe lights, but there was a distinct possibility he may have been drooling as well. "Uh, no. Sorry. Long hours." He jabbed a finger at the monitor. "Complex algorithm kicking my ass."
    Complex algorithm kicking my ass? Oh, God. Now he knows I'm a dork.
    He glanced down at himself.
    As if the lab coat and pocket protector didn't give it away first. He swallowed a sigh. "Can I help you?"
    The man grinned, showing a mouthful of straight, bright white teeth. He pulled a piece of crumpled paper from the pocket of his pants, and waved it in Ben's direction. How he managed to squeeze a piece of paper into the body-hugging leather was an exercise in physics Ben could happily explore for hours.
    Honestly though, looking at the man's smile was like staring at the surface of the sun. Rather than risk blindness, Ben blinked again and concentrated instead on the paper the man was holding out.
    "I'm Dr. Nathan Garrerra. I'm looking for Dr. Benjamin Hall and the Theoretical Physics Lab."
    Shock brought Ben's gaze up to meet Garrerra's eyes again. He suddenly noticed they were blue, the exact same shade as a Bunsen burner flame, in fact. Bright blue. Electric blue. They practically crackled. God. "You're Dr. Garrerra? From the Creed Institute?"
    "Guilty as charged."
    Ben felt the blood in his head drain to his feet. He forcibly cleared his throat, fearing his voice might jump up a few octaves into fanboy range. In the world of theoretical