Nate ran. Envelope in hand. Yanking it open as he tore back to Rosemary and their workstation. Skimming words. Honey, pepper, breadcrumbs. Breadcrumbs?
Marcus had worn grey today, a dark silky charcoal suit that’d no doubt cost more than Nate’s rent, but had lost the tie and opened the collar of that white shirt just a fraction. Nate wanted to put a finger into the hollow of his throat, to trace a line down across his chest, to learn the angles and sharpnesses and shapes of him. So many discoveries. Cheekbones, hipbones, lean elegance. The astounded wistful yearning in pale green eyes when Nate had taken away and taken sips of the terrible cocktail, sharing a taste.
Marcus wanted him. Marcus was honorable and moral and upright and professional, more so than Nate would ever be—not that Na
