Ace glared at Joker and Jack. “You guys are assholes.”

  “Hey,” Joker scolded, shaking his head at Ace. “Who’s the one who gave himself food poisoning to get out of spending time with his boyfriend’s mother? I mean, come on, Ace. That was a dick move.”

  King tilted his head, his mouth full of Cuban bread. “He has a point.”

  Ace growled in frustration, most likely realizing that—heaven forbid—he was actually wrong, before he went after Colton.

  “I hope they’ll be okay.” Laz looked toward the hallway where Ace disappeared to, his eyes filled with concern.

  “They’ll be fine,” Lucky assured him. “Ace isn’t stupid, even though he sometimes does stupid things. He’s crazy about Colton, so now he gets to make it up to him. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get the empanadas.” He was back in no time, presenting the plate to Mason. He pointed to one side. “This side is guayaba, that side picadillo.”

  “What’s picadillo again?” He knew guayaba was guava, but he always forgot the other one.

  “Ground beef.”

  “That’s right. I’ll have one of those.” He took a ground beef pastry because it was breakfast and he wasn’t really a sweets-for-breakfast kind of guy.

  A cell phone rang, and Laz pulled out his phone, his expression lighting up. “It’s Gio. Excuse me, guys. I need to take this.” Laz jogged out of the dining room and slipped outside through the glass doors to the patio.

  “Ah, Saint Gio.” Joker grunted. “Does that guy even fucking exist?”

  Red scowled at him. “Yes, asshole, he exists.”

  “Why haven’t I ever seen him, then? I mean, come on. A billionaire who travels the world saving people? Who is this guy? Batman? All we hear is how amazing he is. No one is that good.”

  Red rolled his eyes. “First of all, he’s not a billionaire. Second, believe it or not, Gio has better things to do than worry about whether you believe he exists.”

  Joker waved a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, yeah. Being a saint is tough. Whatever.”

  Jack frowned at his friend. “What is the deal with you and this guy? You’ve never even met him, and you’ve got a hard-on for him.”

  “I do not have a hard-on for him. I just think he’s hiding something.”

  “J,” King warned. “Ease up.”

  “Come on, King. There’s no way this guy is as perfect as everyone thinks he is. He might have all of you fooled, but until he’s in front of me and I can look him in the eye, I’m not buying it.”

  Red stood and narrowed his gaze at Joker. “Fine, but you keep your opinion to yourself. Gio means the world to Laz, and I don’t want you upsetting him. He’s also Colton’s best friend. It’s hard enough for them with Gio being gone all the time.”

  “I won’t say a word.” Joker held his hand up in promise.

  The room erupted into cheers when Colton and Ace returned. Colton’s cheeks were flushed, his suit a little rumpled, and his tie crooked. He was smiling from ear to ear at something Ace whispered. They made a very handsome pair.

  “I hope you made him grovel,” Joker told Colton, laughing at Ace’s glare.

  Colton took a seat at the table. “There was a sufficient amount of groveling.” He kissed Ace’s cheek. “He’s making it up to me.”

  Ace nodded. “Yep.” He turned to King. “By the way, I need next weekend off. I’m taking Colton’s mother shopping in Paris.”

  “Must be nice to have a boyfriend with a private plane,” Joker grumbled.

  Ace stuck his tongue out before turning his attention back to King. “So, yes?”

  “I’ll need to do a little shuffling around with the schedule, but sure. Should be fine.”

  “And on that note, it’s time for us to go.” Lucky stood, patting Mason’s shoulder. “Let’s hit the road, Cowboy.”

  Mason stood, thanked Colton for his hospitality, and shook hands with the rest of the guys, leaving King for last. King was surprising him a lot lately.

  “I just wanted to say good job yesterday. The client was exceptionally pleased. The security contract with their current company is ending next month, and they won’t be renewing. The team we had in place was supposed to be temporary, but thanks to everyone who worked the case, we now have a new contract with Techu Technologies, so thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Not gonna lie, it felt good knowing I had whatever I needed at my disposal.”

  “Budget cutbacks are a bitch,” King agreed.

  Mason nodded. So much of his job involved a never-ending stream of red tape, budget cutbacks, not enough cars, equipment, personnel. He’d become a cop to help people, to make a difference, but at times it felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Sometimes justice wasn’t served, and there was little he could do about it.

  Thankfully the tension between Joker and Red had eased. The good thing about the Kings was that they couldn’t seem to stay pissed at one another for long and preferred to talk things out. Joker acknowledged he was being kind of a jerk, and Red accepted that it was coming from a place of concern for both Laz and Red. From what Mason had learned about Joker, the guy was the least trustful of the group and the most cynical. He didn’t know what Joker’s deal was, since the guy never talked about himself, but he was glad to see things had quickly gone back to normal between everyone. Well, as normal as things could be with this group.

  “That was nice, by the way.” Mason fastened his seat belt as Lucky pulled out of the drive way. “Thank you for bringing me along.”

  “Of course. You’re part of the family, Mason.”

  “Still. It was nice.” He saw Lucky wanted to ask something, and he worried it was going to be about his family, or lack thereof, so he quickly changed the subject. “Who are we protecting?”

  “Sienna Scott.”

  “Why’s that name familiar?” They drove down Palm Valley Road, Nocatee Parkway, and Country Road 210 to get onto I-95 South. Traffic was pretty shit, but then it usually was at this time of day, despite having missed morning rush hour.

  “She played a kick-ass comic book superhero in that summer blockbuster movie. It made her career explode, so this conference is going to be a little crazy. It’s not a huge con like Comic Con or anything, but this is Sienna’s first big event since the movie came out. From what her agent told me, she’s very shy. There’s an entire security team in place, but the two security agents with food poisoning were her personal bodyguards, one who was brought in at the last minute because of all the crazy. We’ll be taking over for them. We keep her safe while the other security agents handle everything else.”

  “I’m guessing you got equipment for us?” Mason frowned at the black Jeep in their lane two cars back. Was it the same one that had been behind them when they’d left Colton’s?

  “I’ll go through everything after we check in at the hotel.” Lucky cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, drawing Mason’s attention.

  “What?”

  “Hm?”

  Mason was so not buying that innocent expression. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s not a big deal. Thing is, the hotel has been booked solid for months because of the conference, especially after the movie came out, so there were no more rooms, which is fine, because the bodyguards we’re filling in for were staying next door to Sienna.”

  “Okay.” Mason peered at him. “What’s the problem?”

  Lucky cringed. “Well, no problem. Maybe. I don’t know. There is only one bed.”

  “One bed? Were the bodyguards sharing?” Mason checked the passenger-side mirror for the Jeep, relieved to find it was gone. Working security must be making him paranoid. Having almost been run down by a speeding SUV the previous night probably didn’t help either. He’d been a cop so long that it was second nature to question everything and look for connections that often weren’t even there. In his book, coincidences were a rare occurrence. Lucky’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

  “Yes. Remember I said one bodyguard was brought in at the last minute? Originally there was only the one bodyguard scheduled to come, but with the craziness, things changed, so they added a second personal bodyguard. There were no more rooms, so they were going to share.”

  Mason waved a hand in dismissal. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s a couch or something.”

  There was no couch.

  After checking in, they’d followed the bellman and luggage cart containing their bags—and a large trunk that looked like it belonged in an armored vehicle—to their room. Their one-bed, couchless room. Everything had been arranged before Sienna made it big, which meant no entire floor booked just for her and her entourage, no luxury penthouse suites, and no chance of cancellation due to the number of fans who’d come to see her.

  Their room was nice as far as hotel rooms went. Mason had stayed in far worse places with questionable hygiene. The hotel being full to capacity meant no cots were available either.

  They stood in front of the king-size bed, staring at it.

  Fuck.

  Shit, don’t think fuck. You should not be thinking of fuck.

  “It’s fine,” Lucky declared. “You take the bed, and I’ll call for extra pillows and blankets, a duvet, and sleep on the floor.”

  “What? You’re not sleeping on the goddamn floor,” Mason growled.

  Lucky waved a hand in dismissal. “Pfft. I’ve slept in much worse places for days on end, Cowboy. I can handle sleeping on a carpet for two nights.”

  “Who the hell knows what’s in that carpet. I will not be responsible for you contracting some kind of hideous disease. You’re not sleeping on the damn floor. It’s a king-size bed. Plenty of room for both of us.”

  “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Was Lucky blushing? Probably just the lighting. “We’re adults.”

  “Yes, we are. Adults who’ve had sex twice, even if once was over the phone.”

  “You saying we can’t sleep in the same bed without having sex?”

  Lucky shrugged. “I don’t know. Can we?”

  “That’s not helping.”

  “I’m only speaking the truth.”

  “I can keep my hands to myself.”

  “Are you saying I can’t?” Lucky crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed.

  Mason shrugged.

  “Fine.” Lucky grabbed his black leather duffle bag and placed it on the bed.

  Mason didn’t know much about designer stuff. He’d been wearing the same brand of Wrangler jeans since he could remember. He’d heard of Coach, however, and knew they were expensive as hell.

  “What is it with you and designer brands?”

  Lucky cast him a sideways glance, and Mason quickly put his hands up. “I’m not having a dig. I’m genuinely curious.”

  “I would rather spend good money on something that is functional and fashionable that will last me for many years.”

  “And you can’t get that with a less expensive brand?”

  “You can,” Lucky conceded. He let out a heavy sigh and dropped his gaze to his bag. “Growing up in Cuba, I had almost nothing. Whenever we got anything sent to us from overseas, it never lasted. It would be taken from us by members of the Comité.”

  “The what?”

  “The Comités de Defensa de la Revolución. The CDR. A system formed by Castro back in the ’60s. Sort of a fucked-up version of your neighborhood watch. It’s a way for the government to spy on its people, often giving power to immoral and repulsive individuals. The president of our CDR wanted my mother, and because she refused him, he made our lives a living hell.” Lucky took a seat on the bed and ran a hand through his short hair, staring off in the distance at nothing in particular. The pain in his eyes was clear as day, and all Mason wanted to do was reach out and bring him into his arms, but he didn’t dare move.

  “When money, food, or clothing was sent from our family, the president’s men would either steal it the moment it entered the country or come to our house and take everything. My father struggled to find a job because no one would hire him. One bad referral from the president of your CDR and your family was marked. Had I stayed, I would not have been accepted into any college, my options most likely limited to joining the government. There were days when we had no food or had only scraps of bread. Our neighbors had been warned. Anyone who gave us food or help in any way would be marked as well.

  “The president didn’t care if we starved. One week, we had no food for two days, and I remember crying, telling my mamá I was very hungry. My father was in Havana, trying to find some work, and wouldn’t return for another week. My mother held me, kissed my head, and told me she loved me very much. She tucked me into bed that night and said to stay, be good. I didn’t understand why. She left and returned many hours later with a bag full of groceries. I was so excited. I had never seen so much food in the whole of my life.”

  Mason felt sick to his stomach. “Did she…?”

  Lucky pursed his lips and blinked away his tears. “It was only when I was old enough that I understood what she had done, the sacrifice she had made. When my father returned from Havana, my mother burst into tears. I was sent outside to play. For a long time, my father felt like a failure, but it was not his fault. When I was fourteen, my tía sent for us. I don’t know how she did it, but she found a way to bring us here.” He removed a toiletry bag from his duffle bag and held it in his hands like it was something precious. It broke Mason’s heart.

  “When my family arrived in this country with only the clothes on our backs, we worked hard. We were determined to make the most of the opportunities given to us. It wasn’t easy. When you are ‘fresh off the boat,’ people are not always kind to you, not even some fellow Cubans. They believe you’ve come to live off them or take advantage of the American government. My parents worked in factories during the day and cleaned offices at night to save up for a home to call our own. I have worked since I was fourteen, doing whatever job I could that would pay money. It took many years, but we built lives for ourselves. I promised myself I would never be in the position my family was in ever again, that my mother would never want for anything. I know they are just things. Meaningless possessions.”

  “But they’re not, are they?” Mason said softly, taking a seat beside Lucky. “They’re a way for you to measure how far you’ve come, to physically see your success.”

  Lucky grimaced. “I think that sounded better in your head, no?”

  “What I mean is, that everyone measures success differently. You’ve been through a hell of a lot in your lifetime, Lucky. You’ve seen and experienced terrible things. You’re a successful adult who co-owns a business and works damn hard for what he earns. If you want to buy yourself a pair of Guiseppe Manicotti—”

  Lucky burst into laughter. “Zanotti. Manicotti is a pasta.”

  “Close enough.”

  Lucky snickered. “Okay.”

  “What I mean is, you don’t need to justify your actions to anyone. Not even me.”

  Lucky worried his bottom lip before speaking up. “That’s not entirely true.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe I care what you think.” He shrugged. “Maybe I worry you think I’m shallow and materialistic.”

  Mason put his fingers beneath Lucky’s chin and turned his face so their eyes met. “I would never think that of you. You’re an amazing man, Eduardo Morales.”

  “Thank you.” Lucky popped a quick kiss on Mason’s lips, then made to dart away, but Mason caught his arm.

  “Whoa there, hotshot. Where’s the fire?” He pulled Lucky back to him, spreading his knees for Lucky to step between them. He smiled wide at Lucky’s flushed face. Emotional Lucky tended to go off like an explosion. Vulnerable Lucky, he tried to hide. There’s no hiding from me, darlin’.

  “What?” Lucky’s grumble was sweet.

  “You think you can just lay one on me like that and take off? What if I want to reciprocate?”

  “Um, I’m not sure what that means.”

  “Return the favor, darlin’. I want to kiss you.”

  “Oh. We need to get to work.”

  “And we will. No funny business.” Mason held a hand up and gave Lucky his most charming smile. “You have my word, Cariño.”

  Lucky eyed him suspiciously, making Mason laugh. “Okay.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Mason’s, his eyes drifting shut as Mason tilted his head and parted his lips, welcoming Lucky’s tongue. The kiss was slow, their tongues dancing, exploring, savoring. Lucky moaned against his lips, and Mason pulled back with a hum, smiling against Lucky’s lips.

  “Now we can get to work.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “I think you meant to say wonderful.”

  Lucky pretended to think about it. “No, I’m pretty sure I meant impossible.”

  “What’s the game plan?”

  Lucky tapped away at the tablet and brought up what looked like the layout of one of the hotel’s floors, more specifically their floor. He went through the plan of action, pointing out the route they’d take, locations of the emergency exits, the elevators, and where the dressing room was in relation to the signing area. When he was done explaining the plan and backup plan in detail, he looked up at Mason. “Got it?”

  “Yep.” It all seemed very straightforward.

  Lucky put down the tablet. “When we go into a room, I always go in first. You stay next to Sienna. When we get to an elevator, you go in first with Sienna, and I’ll follow.”

  “Why is that?”

  “If there is a threat, they have to go through me first to get to you and Sienna.”

  “You mean Sienna.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You included me. I’m not your priority.”

  Lucky nodded, his jaw clenched tight before he answered. “You’re right. Sienna is my priority, but I included you as well because I won’t let anyone get to you either.”

  Mason’s heart skipped a beat at the admission. Good God, the man’s honesty was going to kill him. “Okay.”

  “You follow no one’s orders but mine unless Sienna’s life is in danger. Then you follow your instincts. I don’t need to tell you what danger looks or feels like. You have plenty of experience with crowd control and spotting potential threats.” Lucky walked over to the huge armored case and motioned him over. “You’re the only other person in this hotel with access to this case. Enter your security pin on the keypad and press the hashtag key after, then press your index finger to the biometric scanner.