Still crouching, the Viking reached under the cuff of his right pant leg. He pulled a small revolver from a hidden holster. Straightening, the Viking pointed the weapon at Dolan. “I’ll give you three seconds to release Marilyn and for you and your friends to clear out. Otherwise, I start shooting.”

“You gonna shoot us right here in the middle of a parking garage, Viking?” Pierre asked incredulously, rising to his feet.

“Yep,” the Viking replied, sounding deadly calm. When he twisted his torso a bit, the faux fur vest shifted, revealing a badge attached to his belt. “I’m an imaginative guy,” he drawled. “I’m pretty sure I can come up with a good story about ya’ll attacking us when we were walking to my car.”

The men glanced between each other. They evidently came to a quick decision.

Dolan lowered the knife from Morgan’s neck and released him. At the same time, he shoved Morgan’s back. Morgan stumbled forward, struggling to catch his balance on the high heels. Vacantly, he registered that Pierre and the firefighter—whose name he’d never heard—rushed past him. Dolan took an extra second to slam his elbow into Morgan’s side as he passed.

Morgan would have gone down had the Viking not stepped forward and caught him. The stranger wrapped his left arm around his waist and pulled him close to his body. Instinctively, Morgan settled his hands on the man’s chest. This time, he shivered at the feel of the firm, hard body beneath his fingertips.

Then, Morgan felt the hard pressure of the gun at the small of his back. He stiffened. Was this guy really a cop? Had he just jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

“Easy, darling,” the Viking crooned. “You’re safe now. Nothing will happen to you.”

Morgan became aware of how the man’s other hand gently rubbed up and down his spine between his shoulder blades. Realizing the man was trying to soothe him, he sucked in a slow breath, attempting to calm his racing pulse. The spicy scent of the other man’s cologne mingled with what must have been his natural earthy scent.

Humming, Morgan couldn’t resist taking another deep whiff. Very nice!

His hero chuckled softly, then asked, “You doing okay, then, Miss Monroe?”

Remembering who he was dressed up as and the Viking’s assumption, Morgan grew bold. He lifted his head away from his chest and peered up at the man from beneath his mascara thickened lashes. “I am,” he murmured throatily. “Thanks to you, Hero.”

“Hero?” the Viking replied, his lips curving into a grin.

“Uh huh.”

“Doesn’t the hero normally get a kiss after rescuing the damsel in distress?”

Smiling coyly at his hero’s playful tone, Morgan murmured, “I think that can be arranged.”

The Viking ordered, “Hold on,” his right hand moving away from his back. Morgan heard a soft click—maybe the hammer uncocking or the safety being put on—then his hero reached behind himself. When his hand came back, it was empty, and he used it to gently cup Morgan’s jaw. “Now, then,” he crooned. “Where were we?”

Morgan slid his palms up his hero’s chest and rested his hands on his shoulders. He stroked his thumbs up and down the tendon of the other man’s neck, enjoying the scrape of five o’clock shadow at the edge of the closely shorn beard. He wondered what that would feel like rubbing along his erection, but knew he’d never get the chance. This guy thought he was a woman.

Taking advantage of the moment, Morgan tilted his head and offered his lips. The Viking didn’t hesitate. He lowered his lips and settled them over Morgan’s. His tongue slipped out and swiped along his bottom lip. Morgan eagerly opened, accepting the appendage. He met it with his own, teasing and tasting, enjoying the flavor of the man mixed with traces of the beer he must have had earlier.

His hero grunted softly in the back of his throat. He slid his hold around so he could grip Morgan’s nape as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Morgan clung to him as he met him with vigor, making their tongues clash and writhe against each other in a sensual dance.

Morgan’s erection throbbed. He desperately wanted to fit his groin against the other man’s thigh and rut, but he had enough presence of mind to realize that would bring their interlude to an end damn fast. That didn’t stop him from arching his back just right so he could feel the other man’s hard erection press into his lower belly.

Fuck! He’s hung!

Ass clenching at that realization, Morgan wished he could feel it stretching his chute. He’d clamp onto that monster and milk it better than anyone the man had ever been with. Well, if he couldn’t get the man’s dick in his ass, maybe he could do the next best thing.

Knowing most men wouldn’t turn down head, no matter how odd the situation, Morgan lowered his right hand from the man’s neck. He prayed his hero was no exception as he scraped his red-colored fingernails down the thick mat of hair covering his chest until his fingers rubbed over the skin at his waistband.

His hero growled low in his throat. His skin rippled under Morgan’s fingertips as his abs clenched. Ending the kiss, he lifted his head. The man’s dark eyes were heavily dilated, glittering in the dim light. His nostrils flared as the hand at Morgan’s neck tightened and relaxed.

Smiling, Morgan took his lust-filled gaze and silence as permission. He unbuttoned the leather pants of his soon-to-be lover, discovering a button fly. With skillful flicks of his fingers, he finished opening the flaps.

Morgan watched the other man’s jaw tense, but he just continued to stare. Glancing down, he nearly swallowed his tongue at the size of the erection filling out the man’s black briefs. Morgan lowered his hand and cupped him. The thick piece of meat twitched in his grip and the Viking made that fucking sexy growl again.

“This looks like it hurts,” Morgan whispered. Smiling in what he hoped was a seductively shy way, he added, “I think I know a way to make you more comfortable.” As Morgan spoke, he lowered to his knees.

“This is a little more payment than I think I deserve,” his hero rumbled, his voice having deepened with lust. Still, the man released his grip on Morgan’s neck, making it easier for him to kneel. He moved his hand to Morgan’s shoulder as he glanced around, surveying the area. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Morgan replied honestly.