While pain radiated through his back from his weightlifting attempts, the scene replayed in Drew's memory.

Dazed by the man's inhuman strength, Drew had let adrenaline take over to marshal every ounce of energy he possessed. In kill or be killed mode, Drew heaved the guy off him.

The suspect landed on the edge of the swamp, eliciting a painful grunt.

Drew had rolled to his feet while reaching for his service weapon. Come on, motherfucker. I dare ya. "Stay down. You're under arrest."

Foamy, blood-streaked, white spittle leaked from the assailant's mouth. With a shaking hand, the greasy-looking man wiped the drool away. A spreading stain of swamp water and muck covered his left side. Climbing to his feet, the suspect looked strong enough to be a human freight train. His breath left his lungs in dry-sounding barks. Not a trace of rational thought registered in those black eyes, rimmed with crazy ass high. Poaching gators was lucrative, but when the drug money spigot was turned off, this guy would be in deep weeds. The junkie was fighting for survival, and Drew stood in the way.

Drew leveled his .45 caliber SIG SAUER at the lunatic's heaving chest. "Put your hands where I can see them."

The man's gaze shifted as fast as scattering rats searching for an exit.

"You're under arrest. Put your hands up."

From the west, tires crunching on gravel signaled help was near—at least, that's what Drew hoped.

With his hands steady on his weapon, and his voice firm as cured concrete, Drew explained the options. "It's the gators or me. What's it gonna be?"

Sometimes, Drew wished those guys would choose the gators. People who pull stunts like this are too stupid to live. His backup had arrived and carted the asshole off to jail. For once, Drew hadn't had to transport a suspect reeking of swamp sludge. At least there's some reward for having to go to the hospital.

"Are you done for the night?"

The voice snapped Drew out of his fog. He turned to face his sometimes lover, Kyle LaMontagne, who was mopping sweat off his face and neck with a towel.

"I am. I thought a workout might ease some of the pain in my back and shoulder, but I couldn't even move the big wheels."

Kyle lifted the shoulder seam of Drew's tank top and looked at his back. "That bruise looks like hell. Maybe you should try the sauna to loosen things up a little."

Drew wanted to correct Kyle for his repeated mispronunciation of the word sauna, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He hadn't heard anyone pronounce it correctly—sow-nah—since he'd left Minnesota, last year.

"In this heat, I could stand outside and probably accomplish the same thing." Drew wiped off his bench and flung the towel over his shoulder.

"Are you going to work tomorrow, or did they give you a few days off to recover?"

While leading the way to the locker room, Drew contemplated an answer to Kyle's implied question about whether he could spend the evening, and maybe the night, together.

"The doctor gave me nine days on top of my regular rotation days off. I've got another week. What about you?"

"Off tomorrow, and then back at it."

When Drew arrived at his locker, he took a breath to steel himself before reaching over his head to take off his T-shirt. Pain, sharp as an ice pick, shot through his muscles.

"Jesus H. Christ." Waiting for the spasm to subside, Drew clamped his jaw shut and held his breath.

Kyle pulled the hem over Drew's head, helping to remove the damp shirt.

"Thanks, man." An angry throb started his ribs, bubbled its way to Drew's shoulder, then back down like a yo-yo.

"You sure nothing is broken?" The concern in Kyle's voice was evident.

If he could have twisted to look back that far, Drew would have. "The doctor said badly bruised ribs. Why?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but it looks rough. You're purple, green, and red from here to here." He traced the shape of the bruise with his finger. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you hadn't even been wearing your shirt. You're going to have a mass of scabs on top of this mess, too."

Drew pulled down his shorts gingerly, then sat on his towel. "The perp was shutting the tailgate when I surprised him, so he didn't have a chance to grab a weapon. He must have weighed two-hundred-fifty pounds. I felt like I was in a bad Rocky movie when he threw me down. If I hadn't turned before I landed, I probably would have had the wind knocked out of me. There'd have been plenty of time to get a gun or maybe a gaffing hook. No doubt, the guy was high enough to enjoy killing me." Drew shuddered. "Crazy motherfucker."

"You're lucky Skeeps showed up, too."

Drew nodded. Although Kyle and Drew were both in the Region 8 offices of the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, they weren't partners. A court appearance that day for his partner, Jordan Skeeps, had separated them. The situation could have been deadly for Drew, and everyone knew it.

He pitched his sweaty clothes in his bag, and then grabbed a fresh towel. Grimacing, Drew wrapped it around his waist, tucking in the end.

"I couldn't have gone two rounds with him, that's for sure." He shut his locker. "I'm going to hit the shower, and then go home. The doc prescribed some pain meds, so I'll camp out with some television and hope the pills take the edge off the pain. I didn't sleep worth a shit last night."

Kyle snorted. "You're getting to be such an old man."

The remark caught Drew off guard.

Kyle squinted at him. "What? Hearing going, too?"

Drew turned toward the showers. "I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can do some knitting together in the park."

Kyle's chuckles bounced off the lockers in the mostly-vacant room. "Sure. Take care of yourself, old man."

In the shower, Drew leaned on his right arm, and turned his back to the hot stream. At times, even the water pressure sent twinges of pain through him. Drew shifted, searching for a comfortable angle under the water. All the while, Kyle's comment about being an old man kept replaying in his mind.

Luis.

Drew could still see Luis' dark eyes light up, and the lazy grin that spread across his beautiful lips when Drew teased him about being an old man. Eight years Drew's senior, Luis was well-known as Daddy Luis.

Drew hadn't talked to Luis in almost six years, and yet the dull ache remained. The man rattled around in Drew's heart, never quite finding his way out. Teak Hildalgo had tried his damnedest to erase Luis from Drew's affections. Hell, he'd even followed Drew to Minnesota. And got stranded there when we fell apart. At least, that's how Teak managed to be in the right place at the right time to meet Kevin.

Drew lathered his washcloth with soap. Washing his body with his left hand became a chore. Grunting, he forced his arm to move a little faster, hoping to work through the pain. Realizing the efforts were futile, Drew flung the washcloth against the shower wall. Landing with a slap, the cloth stuck for a moment before gravity claimed it.

His breath left his lips in a hiss. Maybe Kyle is right. These ribs might be more than just badly bruised.

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Wet heat pooled between Amy's legs as she watched Bryce through the kitchen window. Knees trembling from the insistent throbbing of her clit, she pressed her thighs together, knowing her panties were already damp.  She really wanted to suck her husband's cock.

 Bryce took off his T-shirt, and draped it over the neat pile of split logs. In the heat of the day, perspiration glistened on his chiseled torso. One handed, he thrust the axe head into a tree stump, his bicep rippling.

A jolt of sexual electricity zipped through her every time he moved. Her nipples strained against the white cotton tank top she wore.

Amy needed to calm her jangled nerves. She inhaled the earthy scent of the forest wafting through the open kitchen window. White lace curtains fluttered on the light breeze. The frilly sheers were one of the few feminine accents in the rugged décor.

She traced the wood grain of the butcher's block with her fingers. Their cabin was built of white pine, saddle notched logs. Rough-hewn plank floors and functional, yet elegant, Quaker furniture added a certain Spartan charm. Amy didn’t mind the rugged design. All of it seemed an organic compliment to the lush beauty of Norford Falls, Maine. And their vacation home seemed a natural extension of her husband, Bryce, who'd built the retreat. Bryce Gage thrived on hard work, and even though he was CEO of Gage Commercial Constructs, he always said he still enjoyed getting dirty.

Amy relished his large, calloused hands roaming her body. A mischievous grin played on her lips as she grabbed a can of beer from the refrigerator. She sauntered out the kitchen door, and strode down the sloping lawn, with her hips swaying theatrically in her tight Daisy Duke's.

At the sound of the screen door slamming, his head turned toward her. She had his attention with her firm, pert breasts bouncing suggestively as she walked.

His gunmetal-blue gaze swept over her body.

She shivered with anticipation.

The corners of his mouth turned up, a grin curiously lupine in appearance.

"Thought you might like a cold one, babe." Amy offered him the beer.

Bryce smiled wider, revealing even white teeth, the lines of his unshaven face an alluring masculine contrast. He reached for the can.

Amy pulled it back, holding it between her breasts as she slid her hand into her shorts.

>His expression morphed from curious to aroused. His nostrils flared, muscles visibly tensed.

She dipped her fingers into her moist panties and between the folds of her sex. She shuddered over the provocative, erotic sensations, but never let her gaze waver. Removing her hand, Amy traced her moisture over the rim, popped the tab, and handed the beer to him.

Bryce brought the can to his lips. His tongue darted over the dewy metal before swallowing.

She sucked in her breath under his intense gaze.

He placed the can on an upturned log, his jaw clenching.

With anxiety rolling in her stomach, Amy watched in silence, waiting for her husband to give voice to her churning thoughts. The look in his eyes told Amy she'd surprised him.

Would he let her have her way?

Emboldened, she pressed against him. The full impact of her seduction manifested itself. Every hard line and angle of his body seemed to bulge with heat. Without breaking eye contact, Amy reached up and drew his lips to hers.

Curiosity, mixed with passion, flared in his eyes. He didn't resist, didn't blink.

She licked his full, lower lip, detecting a faint remnant of her musk there. Her pussy throbbed.

Bryce took the upper hand. Pulling her snug against him, his tongue probed her mouth while he dug his fingers into her ass cheeks.

The combined sensations were beyond erotic and exactly what she'd hoped for. Amy reached for his crotch and pressed hard against the erection that threatened to burst from his faded jeans.

Her chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm that her voice mimicked. "Fuck me, Bryce. Right here. Right now."

He kissed her with renewed vigor, seeming to give in to the invitation. He reached into her jeans with one hand and massaged her rear. Then, he worked his fingers into the wet crevice between her legs.

Amy let every whimper and groan slide onto his tongue. She unbuttoned his jeans and reached into his briefs. The tip of his cock was damp with silky pre-cum. She grasped his shaft, rubbing the tip with the pad of her thumb.

Bryce bent at the waist, making her release him.

His turnabout shocked her. "What's the matter?"

"I have so much to do before I leave tonight."  His breathing labored, Bryce made no effort to pull his clothes back together. In fact, the waistband of his shorts held his beautiful erection in full view.

Amy couldn't take her eyes off his cock. She'd already passed the point of playful seduction. Hot and horny, she wasn't going to accept his answer.

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