The Tracker Claims the Cutie - Rescue for Hire West 2 http://www.bookstrand.com/the-tracker-claims-the-cutie
Tristen Earl turned the antique brass
doorknob until the latch disengaged from the frame. He held his breath thinking
words of hope before pushing the front door open. When the hinges of the door
remained quiet, Tristen found he could breathe again. His by-the-seat-of-his-pants
plans to sneak into the hacienda came into realization as he stepped over the
threshold and closed the door, careful not to make any noise. Tristen slipped
the emergency door key into his pocket of his shorts. He would return it to its
hiding place under one of the front patio stones later.
Elation kept the creeping exhaustion at
bay. Tristen had driven straight through from Texas to Nevada, only stopping
for bathroom and snack breaks along the way. Anticipation of being with Garrett
McKay had kept him going.
Okay, if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that on his last
visit to Los Héroes, the kiss he’d shared with Garrett was good, but not great.
The sleepless nights, restlessness, and not being able to eat had started when
he got home. Images of the men of Los Héroes haunted him. No matter what he
tried, he couldn’t stay away. Was it yearning or a magical string pulling him
back? He wasn’t sure. Tristen only knew he had to return.
The soft glow of a nightlight plugged
into the wall near the huge stainless steel cooking range helped Tristen
navigate through the spotless kitchen. At the edge of the room where the
hallway to Garrett’s rooms began, Tristen paused. Closing his eyes, he strained
to listen for any sounds. The refrigerator turned on with a sharp click, but
nothing else broke the silence.
Trying to be as quiet as he could, he
started down the short hall. Tristen was so ready for someone to love him that
he was willing to knock on Garrett McKay’s door and present himself for
whatever Garrett wanted.
Tristen hesitated. After a long moment, he told himself he must have imagined hearing a whisper of movement. A few
more careful, quiet steps had him standing in front of the door to Garrett’s
bedroom. He had made it.
After drawing in a deep breath, Tristen
held it for a moment before letting his lungs slowly deflate. He shrugged,
trying to ease the tension tightening his muscles. This was it.
An iron band of muscles wrapped around Tristen’s
chest, pulling him back against an unyielding body. At the same time, a large hand splayed across his throat,
forcing him to lift his chin until his head pressed
against a solid shoulder.
Tristen’s body shook with fear.
Never before had he ever been in such a vulnerable position, trapped as he was,
with his neck arched back exposing his throat.
“You are in the wrong place, fofinho,”
the deep voice with a rich Brazilian accent rumbled in his ear.
“I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was going to
visit Garrett,” Tristen whispered back.
“Garrett doesn’t need your visit. He is
twenty years older than you. You need to be standing at my door,” the voice whispered while the hand on Tristin’s throat
tightened.
“Santos, I don’t think—” The world
twisted and tilted as Tristen found himself lifted and slung over Santos’s shoulder.
“No need to think anymore, fofinho.
I will take care of you,” Santos said.
Tristen struggled to suck air into his
lungs with Santos’s solid shoulder jarring his stomach as the big man carried
him back down the hall.
“You can’t just decide to pick me up and
take me away.” Tristen objected. Secretly he was thrilled. This was one of the most exciting things that
had ever happened to him.
“It seems that is what I have done,”
Santos said. “I think you should be quiet now until we get to my room. You don’t
want to wake up the rest of the house.”
Tristen concentrated on taking shallow
breaths and ignoring the blood rushing to his brain
until his backside landed with a bounce on a firm mattress. He shook his head,
clearing the long strands of blond hair away from his face.
A glance around showed Tristen a stark
room, devoid of personality. A chest of drawers and a dresser with a mirror
took up part of one wall, and there was a large pillow lying in one corner.
That was all the large room contained except for the king-sized bed he was half
reclining on and the gorgeous man leaning against the closed door with his
arms crossed over his chest.
Looks wise, Santos Ebarize was in direct
contrast to Tristen. The dark-skinned Brazilian tracker for Rescue for Hire
West was six-four with wide shoulders, thick thighs,
and long legs. Tattoos covered heavy muscles that Tristen longed to explore. Tristen’s
lean body didn’t compare, especially his height, which was five-foot-eight when
he lied about the extra half-inch he always tacked on. Tanned by hours out in
the sun, Tristen’s skin still paled next to Santos’.
Santos’s thick black hair was cut close
to his head, and a short beard and
mustache couldn’t have been more opposite from clean-shaven, long, blond-haired
Tristen. Dark brown, almost black, eyes looked at Tristen from under a thick,
heavy brow. Tristen’s wide hazel eyes and pouty lips only added to his overall surfer-boy
look.
“Do I have to call anyone and let them
know you’re here, fofinho?” Santos
asked.
“No,” Tristen answered. He wasn’t going
to tell Santos that, before he had come into the Hacienda, he had called his
mother and let her know he’d made it safely. While his brother Jimmy had always
been closest to their father, it was their mom who was Tristen’s confidant.
Muscles rippled under the material of
Santos’s thin jeans and T-shirt when he moved forward. “Put that pouting lip
away, or I will be forced to take it between my teeth,” Santos said.
Tristen pressed his lips together and
scurried back onto the bed. Santos
followed, pressing one knee between Tristen’s legs before coming down onto his
forearms next to Tristen’s head.
“What are you doing?” Tristen asked.
Santo’s face was getting closer.
“It’s time we share our first kiss,”
Santos said.
Tristen put his hands against Santos’s
chest, trying to push the man away. Santos didn’t move.
“Wait,” Tristen said. “When I was here
last time, all you wanted to do was talk. What’s changed?”
Life had been so much fun weeks ago
during Tristen’s and his father’s visit. Never before had Tristen flirted so
much, as he had with the other members of Rescue for Hire West. He’d exchanged
kisses with a few of them, and others had pulled him close against their
bodies. Tristen had loved it.
Except for Santos, the exasperating man
wouldn’t cooperate with Tristen’s fun. Instead, he wanted to talk about their
childhoods and what Tristen wanted to do with his future. Tristen would be lying if he didn’t admit he had been
disappointed that Santos hadn’t tried anything.
“Before, you were here to straighten
things out with your brother,” Santos said, pausing. “Now you’re here to find the
man for you.”
Santos’s sharp teeth began nibbling on
Tristen’s lips. Tristen no longer pushed at the wide chest above him. Instead, he clutched the material of the
T-shirt between his fingers.
Santos lifted his mouth a whisper away. “Open
for me, querido,” he demanded, the
raspy voice making Tristen shiver.
Tristen parted his lips and let the
world faded away. The only thing left was Santos and what his kiss was doing to
him. Santos’s tongue swept inside, demanding Tristen’s participation. Their
flesh met, dueling in a dance of pleasure. Tristen reached up and brushed his
fingertips over the soft strands of Santos’s beard.
Santos lifted his head,
ending the wet kiss. For long moments, Tristen enjoyed looking up at the
handsome man while Santos gazed back at
him. A wide, rough finger skimmed over the thin skin below one of Tristen’s eyes.
When Tristen became tired, dark bruises always
formed. He suspected they probably looked almost black by now.
“You need to get undressed, fofinho. You are tired and need to sleep.”
Tristen disagreed. 
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