Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

back, a hand raised to the wounded lobe. Sinn grinned darkly, then licked the blood droplets from his lips. The other man scowled and then stormed away, still cupping his ear.
    Sinn picked up the full glass and drained it. He wiped his glistening lips with his bare golden forearm. The laces of the leather thong swayed with his movement. He reared his head, narrowed his gaze, again ready for the hunt he tracked around the darkened recesses of the crowded room. Searching, trolling, assessing. A measure of boredom shaded his expression. To Will it seemed the actions of a desperate man. He looked for a challenge not really expecting to find one–perhaps not even knowing what would really satisfy him. Perhaps a prince–a dark one–looking for the perfect boot to thrust his princely foot into.
    Will's instincts, that of the patient hunter, knew it wouldn't be long—not long now. Tonight–it would be tonight. It was like a two-by-four slamming into his chest when Sinn's searching gaze landed on him. And lingered. An odd look crossed his features, a tension building in him as he straightened away from his table, peering fixedly across the length of the room.
    Will didn't move a muscle. He felt that gaze burn into him, raze across his face, down his chest, centering on the bulge stuffed behind the zipper on his blue denims. Seared down over his thighs, to his booted feet, and then slowly retracing the path back up Will's body, to linger on his face. The connection was more intense than anything Will had ever felt before. But then he shouldn't be surprised. He'd expected it. Known how it would be. Thought he'd be ready for it.
    He rested more fully back against the bar, thrusting his hips, knowing the outline of his erection riding just behind the zipper was no small enticement. It took every last ounce of determination to glance away from the blond, to circuit the room, to again lift the glass to his mouth, tilt his head back, exposing his throat, and drain the last of the beer from his glass.
    A good hunter knew enough not to spook his quarry. And Will came from a long line of some of the most skilled huntsmen and trackers there were. His father was paid a great deal of money for that very skill. Finally, Will set the glass down on the bar, and slowly he returned his attention back to Sinn. His heart plummeted–the blond was gone. Had Will overplayed his hand?
    "So, young thing, are you here with someone, or are you looking for a daddy to play with?"
    Will tensed; leisurely he turned toward the voice. His heart hammered in his chest.
    Keep it cool, do not overplay this. The man thinks he knows what he wants, but you know what he needs. Don't let him herd you down the wrong road.
    Will tried to listen to the cautionary words inside his head.
    Slowly he swiveled around to look at Sinn. He straightened away from the bar. Taller than some might have thought when he drew himself up to his full measure of height of six foot three.
    He stared down into Sinn's gray eyes, a half smile on his lips as he gazed at the older man. Will was maybe an inch taller than the blond–a good fit. Just enough–close enough–for the power play he was about to engage in. He arched a black brow, slipped his thumbs behind his leather belt, took up a languid stance as he stared at the blond.
    "You offering to be my daddy tonight?" He used his best cowboy western drawl.
    Sinn's silvery eyes flared as he met his look. Will saw just the slightest flicker of uncertainty in the gaze. Good.
    This close Will noticed the lines of age etched into the rocker's lean, wolfish face. His years of hard living and dissipation had given the man a bit of dissolute edge and weariness to his demeanor. He looked even older than the 33 years Will knew him to be.
    "Looking for someone who wants to party," Sinn said. "Thought you might be up for it." He shrugged, then glanced around the nightclub. "Lots of others I can find if you're not interested, boy."
    Boy . Will hadn't been called that for a few years now. Nope. He'd paid his dues and, though some might consider him young at 25, he didn't feel so very young. Living on a ranch didn't leave room for leisurely growing up even in the 21st century. For this man, this moment, he'd made a point of maturing quickly and getting the experience he knew he was going to need.
    He tilted his head, lightly stroked his fingers over the smooth leather of his belt. "From what I've seen, you're not having much luck in finding a