Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts (3 page)

Montegue passed him and pulled a dress shirt off a rack.

“Nuh uh,” Hank corrected beside him. “People I hang out with don’t wear business clothes. At least not at clubs.”

Hank extended a black T-shirt with silver skulls all over it. Then he laughed.

“Just kidding. Even I can’t see you wearing this.”

Montegue folded his arms across his chest, waiting. It was a good thing the kid knew better because if Hank came at him with black eyeliner like the Goth kid wore, he’d have to break Hank’s arm and that would show on his service record.

Hank went to the other side of the store. Montegue followed, glad that the kid had closed the shop before beginning what would prove to be a monumental spending spree. Hank held up a tailored button-down shirt in blue polished cotton.

“Here. You can wear this with your uniform pants.” Hank pulled a shiny black belt with black buckle off another rack. “Wear it with this. You can still be pretty and agenty and show off those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Was that a concession to the forced change in Montegue’s attire or a flirtation designed to make Montegue uncomfortable? He couldn’t be sure.

Hank unbuttoned Montegue’s service jacket and rested his hands on Montegue’s waist.

“Wow, you’ve got more muscle than it looks like. No wonder they put you boys in suits. They have to hide the goods.” Hank nodded appreciatively.

Though his hands felt both good and too good at his waist, Montegue didn’t budge until Hank began untucking his shirt. Then he gripped Hank’s wrists and gave a firm shake of his head.

“Don’t be shy, love-muffin. Lemme see what we’re working with. Or do I need to call your boss and tell him you aren’t cooperating?” Hank seemed to have no qualms about flinging around his power.

“Letting you put your hands on me has no bearing on keeping you safe,” Montegue pointed out.

“It does if it means getting the fit right in order to blend you in so I don’t stand out so much.”

“You’ll blend in. Hands off,” Montegue snarled.

Hank raised an eyebrow. Though he took a step back, the challenge in the soft gray depths held firm. There was no doubt in Montegue’s mind that the argument wasn’t over—just merely tabled until another approach could be made.

By the time they got back to Hank’s condo, Montegue was ready to butcher the next salesperson who tried to measure him.

“Hit the shower, hot stuff. Time to get cleaned up and dressed for a night out,” Hank told him.

Montegue took his position by the front door and clasped his hands in front of himself. He lifted his chin and stared straight ahead.

“Really? You’re going to go out with street grime all over you?” Hank asked.

Montegue stood firm. A shower sounded exactly like what he wanted, but taking his eyes off the slippery son wasn’t an option.

“I promise not to go anywhere,” Hank offered, as though reading his mind.

And Montegue would be an idiot to trust him.

“Suit yourself. I’ll leave your clothes here. Change into them while I clean up.”

Montegue snatched up the clothes and followed him into the bedroom. The Secret Service still didn’t know how Hank gotten away the night before. He certainly wasn’t going to take the chance that it happened again.

Hank walked backward into the bedroom, looking more than a little amused. “Can’t get enough of me? You know, if you aren’t going to let me out of your sight, the best option would be to join me in the shower.”

Montegue didn’t take the bait. He took up a position inside the bedroom door, waited until Hank went into the bathroom then reluctantly removed his jacket. He sighed as he folded the shoulders together neatly and draped it over the back of a near chair. Unbuttoning his shirt was almost painful. It was the admission that Hank still managed to get his way and usurp Montegue’s control by taking away the emblem of his pride—the black suit.

He looked at the short-sleeved, fitted shirt. This one was black and had black buttons, but there was nothing about it that looked professional. When he put it on, it hugged his body. Hank had put out worn jeans—new from the store—to go with it. When he pulled them on they hung on his hips. He cinched the belt around his waist. Montegue had to admit he looked pretty good, if not exactly his own style.

The bathroom door opened and steam spilled into the room. Hank crossed to him with a towel wrapped precariously around his waist. “Not bad.”

Montegue made a point of ignoring him and put in his earpiece.

“That’s not going to be very productive.”

He pinned the mic to the inside of his collar and threaded the wires into the front of his shirt.

“It works better if you just unbutton your shirt,” Hank suggested.

Montegue shot him a pointed look. They both knew he wasn’t going to undress in front of Hank, and Hank’s smile only grew as they continued to stare each other down.

“Gonna have to fix your hair, though,” Hank said. He reached up and tousled Montegue’s hair.

Montegue tried to dodge, but Hank succeeded in mussing it up.

“There.” Hank stood back and blew out slowly. “
Gawd
, you’re sexy.”

With the look the kid was giving him, Montegue had to fight not to rip the towel off Hank’s lean hips and bend him over the side of the bed.

Hank winked suddenly. He took a few more steps and dropped his towel. He wiggled his brows and laughed as he went for his closet. “I’d do you,” he told Montegue as he turned away.

The urge to teach Hank a few manners was nearly overwhelming, but Monty kept himself firmly in check. Losing his control now would only be a win for Hank, and a professional loss for Montegue.

“Too bad you changed while I was in the shower, Monty. I’d like to see the whole package.”

As he talked, Hank got dressed. His silk shirt flowed over his smooth skin like liquid. Not bothering with underwear, Hank pulled up a pair of black slacks that set off the emerald top perfectly. That Hank’s cock was only a zipper pull away was going to torment Montegue for the rest of the night.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat and go. I’m ready to hit the nearest party, and I know right where it is.”

“Location,” Montegue barked.

“I’m not putting the place under watch, Monty. It’s the home of a friend of mine who’s having a smallish get together at his Georgetown townhome.”

“Location,” Montegue restated.

“33rd Street Northwest.” Hank disappeared into the bathroom again but left the door open.

The hairdryer went on. The water ran. A drawer or cupboard opened and closed. Finally, the light went off and Hank stepped out looking like perfectly polished trouble. Montegue was screwed. As long as his hands were tied where Hank was concerned, Montegue’s tight rein on himself would be put to the test. When today was over and he got to go home to his modest place in the suburbs, he’d be punching the sandbag hanging from the center of his garage. Hell, at this point, he might even put a picture of Hank’s smug expression on it for aiming purposes. The guy was a nuisance to his self-control. He needed a better plan in dealing with the kid.

Montegue had been on the defense so much he’d forgotten that his best weapon was in the offense. If Hank wanted to play dirty, Montegue could reciprocate. With a new goal in mind, he set his observation skills toward finding something that would put Hank on the defense instead of him. Something that would really get him going and finally wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

Chapter Three

If there was one thing Hank had discovered about his sexy bodyguard it was that he hated discussions that bordered on intimate. So far discussing sex, having sex, suggesting he was sexy all had the same effect on Monty: it pissed him off. And touching. He didn’t like being touched either.

What he didn’t know was how much of that was because of his effort to keep things professional when Hank pushed them into personal territory, and how much was genuine annoyance. Monty’s expressions didn’t give much away.

If this were any other circumstance, Hank wouldn’t have come on so strong. But just like Monty seemed to hide behind his suit and earpiece, Hank hid behind his sass. And there was nothing more entertaining than watching Monty adjust to the sideways hits of Hank sassing him. It was pretty evident that Monty wasn’t used to dealing with it, or not having the upper hand in the situation.

This party would push him even more. Hank could hardly wait to see how Monty handled the noise, crowd, glitz and booze of a party-boy’s all-out slap in the face of calm and trendy Georgetown. It was time to see just how much of a deterrent Monty would be to his fun. Hank looked out the window for the short drive. Maybe he’d finally get through to his dad—finally get him to deal with their issues like a real father. Welcome to the land of dysfunction.

They stopped at Café Bonaparte around the corner from the party location. They were shown in as soon as Hank was recognized. Who needed reservations when your dad was the president? The tiny table, off to one side of the small storefront, was perfect. Though the place was packed and occasional laughter did ring out, the environment lent itself to a more subdued clientele.

“This doesn’t seem like your scene,” Monty said as they took their seats.

“What do you know about my
scene
?”

“Loud. Parties. Young men with black paint on their eyes. Piercings.”

Hank scoffed. “Do I wear black liner or have piercings?” He leaned in. “Do I? You’ve seen me naked a couple times now. Am I hiding metal anywhere?”

Monty stared him down then gave a slow single shake of his head.

“Exactly. You don’t know anything about me,” Hank said, sitting back and picking up his menu to dismiss the other man.

“I know plenty.”

“You’ve been wrong so far.” Hank reached across the bistro table and patted Monty’s hand. “Don’t worry. There isn’t a test later.”

Monty picked up his menu too. As soon as his eyes left Hank’s face, Hank swallowed. That piercing blue stare never failed to unnerve him, to make him want to please Monty. He had to fight it with every trick in his book because the last time he’d tried to please someone, they’d become president and decided family was even more of an inconvenience than before.

He wouldn’t go there again. Not ever.

Monty put his menu down. “You’re an attention seeking spoiled brat who has daddy issues. How’m I doing?”

Hank laughed. “That’s quite a superficial estimation of my character you have.”

“I call it like I see it.”

Hank put his menu down too. “I’m still making my assessment since I wouldn’t want to jump to any conclusions—unlike
some
people. But, you have control issues. You’re anal about your control issues.”

A strange smile tugged the corners of Monty’s lips. It was the first smile of his Hank had ever seen and frankly it weirded him out. The waitress came over and took their order. It would be another night for firsts since he was also about to see Monty eat which he’d never done in Hank’s presence. The little window into normal human behavior excited him. Which was ridiculous because, of course, the guy ate and smiled. It was just that Hank had never seen Monty do anything but guard, glare, growl and disapprove.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Monty noted, mirroring Hank’s position with his arms across his chest.

“I didn’t think it deserved one.”

“Your dad,” Monty pushed.

“Is a jackass.”

“Is the President of the United States of America,” Monty corrected.

Hank snorted and suddenly leaned forward to pin Monty with a look that he hoped Monty recognized as on the edge of a line he shouldn’t cross. “Do you really think I need reminding?”

“You seem to. No matter what you think of him as a man, he’s still your president.”

“Look,” Hank said, exhaling with annoyance. “I know who he is and what he is to the country. You may not believe it, but I’m mature enough to distinguish between the roles.”

“Are you?” Monty questioned. “Because you never let up on him.”

Hank stared at him with disbelief. “You’re on-board to protect him with your life. I’m not. Maybe recognize that there are things that I don’t happen to agree are worth protecting.”

“You’d see him killed?” Monty raised a brow.

Alarm bells went off in Hank’s mind. “I’d like to say yes to that, but I’m not that big of a shithead. He’s my dad. Of course, I don’t want him dead.”

“Just some of his principles?”

“As a father, yes,” Hank agreed.

“What about as a president?”

Hank frowned. “He’s a good president,” he conceded.

That seemed to surprise Monty. His gaze darted between Hank’s eyes like he was suddenly trying to figure him out.

“Then why are you trying to sabotage his presidency?” Monty asked quietly.

“Maybe I’m angry. Maybe I know my dad’s first love is his office and not his family, and if I want him to feel it like we did, I know I have to attack it.”

“We?”

“Mom and me.”

Monty nodded. The waitress brought their food and asked if they needed anything more. Neither of them acknowledged her, only stared each other down with equal intensity. Monty seemed to be warily assessing him. Hank just wanted him to stop asking questions.

“She was a sweet woman,” Monty said after they were alone again.

Hank’s stare faltered. “Yeah, she was.” He picked up his fork and rocked the side of it on his crepe.

“She got lost in the politics,” Monty added.

“We all did,” Hank replied. “But some of us didn’t let it control us.”

Monty seemed to accept that as a conversation ender. He didn’t add any more or open another discussion, which was just fine with Hank. He didn’t feel like talking. He tried to remember why the fuck he was going to the party tonight. To piss off Monty. Yeah, it wasn’t as much of a fun prospect as it had been.

* * * *

They pulled up, and the party was already well underway. Montegue wasn’t pleased to see that Hank’s idea of a close group of friends getting together in Georgetown was actually a full-out party with booze and behavior that appeared to be
enhanced
.