Destiny Calls Read online

  Destiny Calls

  Samantha Wayland

  Patrick didn"t think it would be a big deal to kiss his best friend Brandon. Hell, they"d done crazier things to avoid a bar fight. He was totally unprepared to be wildly turned on, the kiss opening up new avenues of pleasure he"d never dreamt of—Patrick, after all, was straight, even if Brandon wasn"t.

  Destiny"s never been afraid to ask for what she wants. When she sees Patrick and Brandon together, she knows exactly what she wants—the three of them in bed together, preferably with her in the middle of a hot, naked-man sandwich with her two best friends.

  When Brandon finds himself hunted by an unknown enemy, the three friends find themselves fighting for their lives—and their hearts.

  Ellora"s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Destiny Calls

  ISBN 9781419934155

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Destiny Calls Copyright © 2011 Samantha Wayland

  Edited by Meghan M. Conrad

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book publication July 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora"s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora"s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher"s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author"s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author"s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  DESTINY CALLS

  Samantha Wayland

  Dedication

  For D. You make everything possible.

  Acknowledgements

  As ever, I must thank The Quirky Ladies. This book, these characters and this writer wouldn"t exist without their contributions and support. Patrick"s story was a long time in coming and they never gave up on me. Indeed, had it not been for the pep-talks and martinis, I might not have ever finished this book nor survived the construction project from hell.

  And to that same end, I cannot express enough gratitude to the lovely and talented Meghan Conrad, who patiently waited for the completed (revised and revised again) manuscript and didn"t give me a hard time about just how long a wait it was. I promise I will never, ever remodel anything again. Ever.

  Samantha Wayland

  Chapter One

  He should have just stayed home.

  Brandon swept his eyes over the crush of men around him, lingering on the more beautiful among them before turning to the man by his side. Brandon"s already snug black leather pants grew even tighter as he studied Patrick"s handsome face. Bright-blue eyes fringed with sinful black lashes, full, kissable lips, a rugged pink stain on pale cheeks. Dropping his gaze lower, he admired the strong lines of Patrick"s neck and the breadth of his shoulders. The way his thin sweater hugged the swell of his pectorals and accentuated the flat plane of his belly was sexy as hell. And those jeans. Jesus H.

  Christ, they looked like they"d been made to love Patrick"s body, cupping his firm ass and hugging his long, thick thighs to perfection.

  There wasn"t much about Patrick that Brandon didn"t find attractive. The man was gorgeous.

  And it absolutely irritated the shit out of him.

  He dragged his eyes forward again. Better to admire the men waiting in line around him than the one he"d arrived with. Better to admire just about anything other than Patrick.

  Cursing his raging hormones and his now-regrettable choice in clothing, he shifted, trying to ease the ache in his cock where it was trapped behind hot, unforgiving leather.

  His tight white t-shirt was too short to hide much of anything, so instead he struggled to get his wandering thoughts and burgeoning erection back under control. The entire situation could have been funny, but after almost twenty years of reining in his attraction to Patrick it had lost some of its humor.

  He sighed, the sound lost to the noise of the crowd as they eased one step closer to the bouncer checking IDs and collecting the cover charge at the entrance to the Blue Door Tavern. Boston didn"t have a lot of gay bars and the Blue Door only catered to this crowd one night a week. In hindsight, it was a complete mystery to Brandon how he had been talked into going out to see their friend"s band play here, of all places, on a Saturday night, of all nights, with Patrick, of all the straight and beautiful people. He should have said no. He should have left town, claimed an illness, worked late, had a leg amputated— anything rather than end up surrounded by hot men he barely noticed because he was so hung up on the one standing right next to him. The one he couldn"t have.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  He looked again, trying not to flinch when Patrick dug his ID and money out of his pocket, pulling the soft denim tight across what Brandon knew to be a considerably sized cock. Not that he had ever gotten any up-close-and-personal time with said 6

  Destiny Calls

  member, but having gone to high school, college and the police academy together, he"d seen Patrick without his clothes on enough times to fuel a lifetime of fantasies.

  Patrick glanced at him and he snapped his eyes back to safer places above his friend"s neck. Shit. It wouldn"t do to get caught staring.

  With one last shuffle forward, they arrived at the door and paid the cover charge.

  Brandon was careful to keep his shield hidden as he pulled out his wallet and flashed his driver"s license. They weren"t here on business. They were just two old friends out to see another buddy"s band.

  Once inside, they had to fight their way to the bar. The place was a mad house.

  Charlie"s band had a good following, but the real numbers came from the men who had so few options for a safe, fun night out on the town. Massachusetts may have been on the cutting edge of gay rights, but the nightclub scene remained seriously lame and limited. Saturday night at the Blue Door was worth the hassle, if for no other reason than the sheer number of people forced a lot of bodies up against each other. If he"d been out with anyone but Patrick, Brandon might have worked his way around the room just to check out who was there. Instead, he slid onto the bar stool next to his best friend.

  “Nice work snagging this space,” Brandon said, pitching his voice to be heard over the house music. Charlie"s band wasn"t slated to take the stage for another half-hour.

  Patrick smiled at him, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I can"t take the credit. I got the impression that the young men who vacated these stools were headed to the bathroom for more intimate pursuits.”

  Brandon laughed and shook his head while Patrick ordered their beers.

  Anonymous bathroom sex—or any bathroom sex, for that matter—had always been a mystery to him. He"d had his share of short-term flings in college, wi
th both men and women, but he"d never been a one-night-stand person. In the decade or so since college, he"d been in two serious relationships—almost two years with Nina and a little more than a year with Derek. But since the thing with Derek had ended, he"d joined the Organized Crime Task Force of the Boston Police Department, which had eaten up a lot of his time. He loved his work, but right now it didn"t allow for much in the way of a social life.

  He"d once thought a man with the advantage of being equally attracted to both sexes would have little trouble finding someone with whom to connect, but it wasn"t the case. He could, of course, try harder, make more time, but he found he was comfortable with his life as it was. And countless fantasies about Patrick helped him ease the ache when needed.

  Which was abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.

  He sighed again, feeling like the idiot he knew he was. He had to let go of his thing for Patrick. Patrick was straight. He was also completely aware of Brandon"s bisexuality and had been since high school. If Patrick had ever entertained thoughts about trying a 7

  Samantha Wayland

  taste of the other half of humanity—the male half—he"d never so much as hinted at it to Brandon.

  Which sucked. But on the bright side, thinking about how he"d never have Patrick was totally killing his erection.

  Spinning on his stool, he leaned back against the bar. There were at least a hundred single, attractive men in the room and a handful of women too. He should find one, brush off his somewhat rusty flirting skills and see what could happen. He might just meet someone. It could be good. It could be great.

  It could be that the king of unrequited love was giving himself pep-talks in his own head and still couldn"t psych himself up enough to pick his ass up off his bar stool.

  Damn it. The truth was that the prospect of meeting someone left him completely cold. Someone wasn"t Patrick.

  Once again, abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.

  Determined not to be a complete loser, he renewed his efforts to find an interesting face in the crowd. He almost cringed when his eyes locked with those of a huge man dressed in full biker leather strutting directly toward him. Long strings of frizzy black hair hung over a beat-up leather vest, charmingly accented with nothing more than sallow, bare skin and lots of coarse chest hair curling over the neckline. Yuck. Filthy jeans hung limp, presumably from a belt that was lost beneath the swaying bulge of his belly. And while the wardrobe was regrettable, it was nothing compared to the look in the man"s eye. Yikes. His beady eyes ate up Brandon like he was the all-you-can-eat roast-beef buffet at the Elk"s Lodge.

  Whirling back to face the bar, Brandon dove into the debate between Patrick and the pretty bartender about the Red Sox"s chances at the pennant this year and prayed Big Ugly Biker Dude would go away.

  When an enormous paw landed on his shoulder with a painful thump, he barely resisted the urge to slump his head down onto the bar. Why him? He really wasn"t in the mood to deal with this.

  He briefly toyed with the fantasy of spinning around and telling the guy to take a hike, but he knew it wouldn"t be wise. Instead he straightened, plastered a smile on his face and looked over his shoulder. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “I"m buying you a drink,” Big Ugly Biker Dude informed him and at least twenty people in their immediate vicinity.

  Brandon tried not to let his revulsion show. It wasn"t easy. And it didn"t help that after casting a brief glance over his shoulder, Patrick stayed facing the bar. Some wingman he turned out to be. Brandon could see Patrick"s smirk out of the corner of his eye, his delicious dimple winking. The jerk was laughing at him.

  Brandon kept his focus on Big Ugly Biker Dude, his smile and his voice courteous.

  “No, thank you. I"m all set.”

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  Destiny Calls

  Completely ignoring him, Big Ugly Biker Dude looked at the bartender. “Get him another of whatever he"s drinking.”

  Brandon turned to catch the bartender"s eye. “No, thank you. I don"t want that drink.” He hated the look of sympathy she sent him. Patrick"s hand came up to rub over his lips, obviously trying to suppress a grin. Brandon shot him a dark look.

  Facing Big Ugly Biker Dude once more, he dropped his smile and spoke firmly.

  “Thank you for your offer, but I"m not interested.” Praying that the guy would take the hint when it was smashed over his head, he turned back to the bar and took a swig of his beer.

  The bottle nearly fell from his hand when that huge, sweaty body pressed along the length of his spine, wet lips drizzling spittle as the Big Ugly Biker Dude spoke directly into his ear. “I"m buying you a drink, boy, and then I"m going to take you to the men"s room, bend you over and shove my entire fist up your ass.” Brandon"s eyes automatically fell to the ham-sized hand clenching the edge of the bar. There was a black crust embedded under the jagged fingernails and thick, nicotine-stained calluses, flaked white with dead skin, lined his fingers.

  Brandon shuddered. Good god, the horror.

  When the butt-ugliest man in the entire bar made a beeline for Brandon, Patrick almost busted a gut trying to hold in his laughter. Only Brandon. The poor guy hadn"t gotten laid in months and the first man to offer to remedy that was this giant mass of stink and grease. It was nothing short of hilarious.

  He figured Brandon, who even Patrick had to admit was blessed with the face of an angel, had plenty of practice beating back unwanted advances. So rather than help, he left his friend to his own devices and sat back to enjoy the show. Only because of their long years of friendship could he see the revulsion and he admired how well Brandon hid it from his…err…gentleman suitor, keeping his green eyes wide, his smile polite.

  The guy wasn"t backing down, though, and Patrick gleefully anticipated Brandon dropping his nice-guy act and telling the guy to fuck off. When he was riled, Brandon was every bit as intimidating as the hardened criminals they worked to take off the streets.

  To say the guy was invading Brandon"s space was like saying the Pope was just a little bit Catholic. The man"s body pressed the length of Brandon"s, his lips brushing against Brandon"s blond curls. Patrick was actually starting to get a little irritated by this guy. Hell, maybe more than a little. It had to be pushing Brandon to his limits.

  But when the guy announced his intentions for their trip to the men"s room, Patrick could do little more than sit with his mouth hanging open.

  His whole fist? Seriously, that was just way over the line.

  Standing, Patrick rose to his full six foot three inches, deliberately taking up as much space as possible by pulling his shoulders back and anchoring his hands on his hips. While Brandon"s strength in tense situations was his ability to play it cool and 9

  Samantha Wayland

  smooth things over, Patrick knew his best asset was pure physical intimidation. He was a damn big guy and he didn"t hesitate to use it to his advantage when needed. It went a long way toward encouraging assholes to leave him the fuck alone.

  Looking down, he locked eyes with the creep trying to wrap himself around Brandon"s rigid torso. He had an almost violent urge to shove the man away, to force his oily hands off Brandon"s body. Suppressing that impulse tightened his chest and forced his voice down to a growl. “You need to back off. Now.” Cold, little brown eyes narrowed. “Why should I?” Patrick didn"t blink but his mind scrambled for a response. He needed a way to end this quickly and without creating a scene. The truth— my friend isn’t interested in your nasty skank ass and you mauling him like that is really starting to piss me off—wouldn"t do.

  He could just imagine the guys down at the station being called in to break up the fight at the gay bar and finding two of their fellow officers right in the middle of it. File that under “Not Pretty”.

  No, a fight, though sorely tempting, had to be avoided. Instead, he tried the other obvious way out. “He"s with me, asshole, and I"m not in the mood to share.” If he hadn"t been working so hard to look big and mean, he might have cracked a smile when he
glanced at Brandon. It was hard to say who looked more incredulous—

  Brandon or his biker friend. Fortunately, Brandon"s face was hidden from everyone except him and the bartender.

  Regardless, Brandon"s new boyfriend wasn"t buying it. “I"ve been watching you two. Your pretty boy here,” he snarled, thumping a hand against Brandon"s back, “has been scoping out the scene while you"ve been more interested in your beer and the hot number behind the bar.”

  Well, crap. He had to give the creep high marks for powers of observation, but goddamn, he was not going to be caught out by this idiot. Reaching out, he manhandled Brandon from his stool and spun him around so they stood together, a united front. He looped his arm around Brandon"s waist, clenching the soft black leather covering Brandon"s hip and hauling him close.

  It was a damn good thing Brandon was an expert at fronting a calm façade, since shock radiated from every inch of his body.

  “Just because I like to flirt with the bartender doesn"t mean he"s not with me,” Patrick said.

  The big man laughed. “If you"re gay, I"m the Queen of England.”

  “Nice to meet you, Liz. You look different in People magazine,” he shot back, his mouth outdistancing his brain for a moment. Damn it. He gave himself a mental kick in the pants and told himself to shut up. As often as Brandon"s quick talking had gotten them out of a fix, Patrick"s big mouth had gotten them into one. He needed this to not be one of those times.

  Predictably, his wit was lost on their biker friend. “You"re not funny. And you"re not gay.”

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  Destiny Calls

  “I am so gay!” he declared vehemently, ignoring the stares from the people around them. They were starting to draw quite a crowd. Not good. He briefly wondered if anyone believed him. It didn"t help that Brandon"s entire body had convulsed with suppressed mirth when he"d declared his homosexuality. He shot his friend a dirty look.

  “If you two are together, prove it,” the biker challenged.

  He turned back to the ugly man. “What?”