...The sound of their breathing overtook the heavy quiet, but only when the rush of blood in his ears got too loud to ignore did Tommy break contact. Their mouths made a slick sound as they pulled apart. Leo tugged harder on Tommy’s belt loops, grinding his thigh between Tommy’s legs in a slow circle that felt like the start of a whole new chapter in the history of more-yes-now and for-God’s-sake-don’t-stop.

But this couldn’t go any further. As incredible as it felt, it was against every professional instinct and every shred of loyalty Tommy had to the family business, not to mention Missy.

He opened his mouth to call a halt, but what came out instead was, “Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, you’re wicked good at this.”

Leo—who was busy nuzzling in the hollow of Tommy’s throat—laughed. “Surprised?”

Tommy didn’t have time to decide whether honesty was the best policy in this case because his brain was no longer connected in any way to his mouth. “Hell, yeah. I’m freakin’ amazed.”

Leo laughed again, gravel-rough and rumbling. The buzz against Tommy’s skin made him shiver like a struck tuning fork, which in turn made him pull away and fight for a little equilibrium. He was Tommy Mulvaney, for Christ’s sake—the guy one of Missy’s girlhood friends had called “the biggest slut north of the equator.” He’d spent his twenties honing his technique on all the available men and half the women in South Boston, and he’d be damned if he’d let some psychic brainiac get the better of him, no matter how good he looked or how well he kissed.

Leo grinned down at him, as if he knew exactly what Tommy was thinking and it amused him to no end. “Let me guess—you want to know how a geek like me learned to seduce a guy like you, right?”

Shit. Really gotta work on the poker face.

“I told you to quit reading my mind.” Tommy looked away and tried to scowl, and was pretty sure he failed spectacularly, mostly because of the way Leo’s pelvis rolled against his, slow and inevitable as the tide.

“And I told you I’m half-Cajun. Seduction’s bred in the blood, cher.” The sudden deepening of Leo’s bayou accent made him sound older and a lot more sure of himself. Plus…

The stammer’s gone again.

Tommy snapped his gaze back to Leo’s face.

But Leo’s expression was open and guileless. When he kissed Tommy again, there was nothing but sweet heat and the nag of Tommy’s conscience reminding him what an irresponsible fuck-up he was to let this happen.

“You all right?” Leo asked, his lips moving along Tommy’s jaw.

And yes, Tommy was all right. Tommy was better than all right—he was fan-fucking-tastic—but that didn’t change how out of control this was getting, or how it needed to stop. Like, yesterday. Yet every time he tried to speak, Leo shut him up with a hard little bite to his bottom lip.

“Leo,” he tried to say, and it came out like the dirtiest groan this side of a porno flick. Not exactly the discouraging note he was going for. He needed to pull his shit together and—

“Shh.” Leo’s hands came up to cradle Tommy’s face, like he was something precious. “You think too much.”

Tommy would never admit it—not on pain of death—but it was the tenderness in Leo’s touch that undid him. Nobody touched him like that. He guessed maybe he didn’t invite tenderness or care. And that was fine, since he had no need for either.