Gabe’s feet were moving before he realized his intentions. Grabbing Pagan by the throat, he slammed him into the wall and pressed the gun under his chin.
“Why the fuck are you in my house?” The too-familiar musk of spice and heat hit his nose.
“Watch where you put that gun.”
Gabe’s knees weakened at the lazy drawl. The man he’d been trying so hard to forget was in his arms. He pulled off the black wool cap covering Pagan’s head and watched in starved fascination as long dark hair tumbled over his wide shoulders.
“Pagan.” Wincing at the hoarseness in his voice, Gabe cleared his throat. Long, curled lashes fluttered, lifted. Those expressive brown eyes met his and he bit the inside of his cheek.
One word and Gabe was back inside that interrogation room.
“Why are you here?” He ignored the needy cock twitching between his legs and kept hold of the gun with a not-so-steady grip.
Those eyes held him captive. He couldn’t look away, he didn’t want to even as the voice in the back of his mind demanded he run.
“Lose the SIG, amado
Gabe blinked. Ama-who? “No.”
Pagan smiled and Gabe had no problems breaking eye contact then. He dropped his gaze to those lips curved just so and bit back a groan. God, the many times he’d lain awake next to Trish imagining ways to abuse those lips, that mouth.
He jerked his gaze back to Pagan’s eyes. Shit. Shouldn’t have.
“Six weeks is way too long, amado
.” Pagan rocked into him, his arousal bumping Gabe’s.
Gabe closed his eyes on a hiss. Heat crawled up his spine. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”
, cop.” Pagan touched him; warm fingers dipped under Gabe’s collar and brushed his nape.
“Look at me.”
His eyes flew open at the harsh command. Pagan stared him down, nostrils flared.
“You’re drinking too much.” Concern flashed across Pagan’s face before he smoothed it away. “You can’t numb it with alcohol.”