into the cool plaster wall and closed his eyes, letting some of the tension drain from away.

When he opened them, a wall of tan over a very well-defined chest blocked his view of the room. One look up and those dark, curious eyes pinned him in place again.

Christ!

If he googled 'tenacious' Carson bet this guy's picture would turn up with the definition. He'd check when he got home. Home. It sounded like a good idea right about now. His headache was back full-force.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

A whiff of aftershave mixed with the food odors, dark, sharp and spicy. The vision of this macho guy rubbing a mixture of gun oil and cinnamon on like cologne popped into Carson's head. Then the gun oil dripped onto other body parts and Carson had to blink to clear away the mental picture before his jeans strangled his dick.

“Why don't I drink?” His cock ached and his sac turned heavy, the weight frustratingly thrilling. He hated to admit it but being this close to the guy was like being handed a big bag of warm, buttery popcorn and then being told you could look and smell, but not have any.

“Why did the guy hit you?” A large finger pointed at his face. Carson instinctively flinched then reddened at his own reaction. Frowning, the guy froze in place. Slowly he lowered his hand to tap Carson's unbruised chin in a brief, tender caress. He dropped his hand, adding, “You can answer about the drinking later.” His low voice was sounded huskier to Carson for some reason.

He fought the overwhelming urge to spill his guts. It wasn't like he could tell his friends about his latest dating mistake. And he wouldn't have to. By the time the first of the year rolled around and he was due back to work, most of the outward evidence of the assault would be gone. That's one of the reasons why he

was here helping out in the soup kitchen instead of attending one of the many holiday parties planned with his buddies from work. At least the whole mess had distracted him from thinking about Jim being dead and his having to spend his first holiday truly alone since their parents had been killed.

But this stranger demanded to know what he couldn't tell anyone else. And damn it, Carson wanted to tell him. Whoever the hell he was.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.” The man shrugged and then smiled, a smile that touched his dark eyes. “Someone who doesn't like seeing beautiful things crushed. The world can be ugly enough without some A-hole marring some of its best scenery.”

He paused, studied Carson's face intently then flatly stated, “You've got great eyes. Not just the color, that's a looker, sure. But the swirls of white make them almost hypnotic. You could be damn dangerous to be around.”

Was this guy actually trying to come on to him?

“And you're crazy.” The last person he expected poetic charm from was this muscle-bound, mountain of spit and polish. It was unexpectedly sweet but…. “Crazy with a capital 'C'.”

Pain flared in his face. Carson gently pressed his fingertips over his bruised eyelid, the burn increasing with each passing minute. Fumbling in his pants pocket he worked the tube of eye ointment out into his palm, the warm metal of the tube oddly reassuring. Relief was on its way. As soon as he got rid of Mr. Romance.

“Crazy? I guess you could call me that. But most call me China.”

“China? Like in dainty porcelain?” Surprise made Carson arch his eyebrows. Pain shot through his face. “Sonofa-!”

A tear ran down from the corner of his eye and he carefully palmed it away. He couldn't wait any longer. The emergency room doctor had cautioned him to keep the scratch from becoming too dry. He didn't need an infection in his eye.

He opened the tube of ointment, but needed a mirror to do it right. Maybe the dirty glass in the kitchen door would work. Before he could take a step away the tube was plucked from his hand.

“Give me that.”

A rough finger under his chin gently tilted Carson's face up. He tried to keep his gaze focused on anything except the rugged face looming six inches away. The smell of spice and physical heat made him inhale sharply. He lost the battle to refrain from making eye contact.

China stared back at him, dark eyes watching, powerful body still as death until Carson realized the man was waiting for some indication that he could continue. The guy was big enough to flatten Carson like a bug, take whatever he wanted, and he was silently asking for permission to touch him.

This was unexpected. Nice and unexpected.

Looking at the pitted, grease spotted ceiling tiles, Carson nodded, steadying himself with a hand on the wall behind him. His legs felt shaky. “Crazy, like I said.” He was startled to hear the slight waver in his voice. Maybe China wouldn't notice but Carson somehow doubted much escaped this guy.

“They both start with 'c' but, China works better. All my friends already know it.”

The lower edge of Carson's irritated eye was eased downward. He tried not to blink, anticipating a spurt of ointment flooding his eye. Instead, a thin ribbon flowed onto his lower lid, easing into his eye as the skin was slowly eased back into place.

It felt so good. Like the heat of the warm palm pressed to his jaw and throat holding him steady, encouraging him not to jerk away. A blunt fingertip massaged the red-purple skin in light, soothing strokes.

Carson automatically closed both his eyes, letting the medication melt with his body heat. Back against the cool wall, his chest nearly touched a wall of sweltering human heat. Carson's cock moved on its own, trying to close the small

gap between them. He tried to move away, but there was no where to go. Thank god the alcove blocked them from the direct view of the dining room.

Take a step back, big guy, before I embarrass myself.

Coffee laced breath fluttered his eyelashes. Low words brushed his cheeks. “China. Like in the third largest country in the world, not counting disputed territories. Can you say that for me?”

The sarcasm wasn't hard to detect, even with his eyes closed. “Like a bull in a China shop?” Carson blinked through the blurry goop and focused on China's face.

The wry smile there startled him. GI Joe had one killer smile when he tried. Especially when that sparkle of mischief glinted in his eyes. Carson felt his insides melt. This guy is in serious danger of losing his straight card!

“You know the Chinese invented the compass and gunpowder?”

“Important needs for an action figure like you, I bet.”

The teasing was fun but the tight squint was back around the dark eyes. The sparkle was still there but the squint kind of canceled it out for Carson. Carson nodded at the tattoo on China's muscular forearm proclaiming its owner a member of the US Army. “I mean…you being military. World travel, guns, bombs.”

“They are important. How can a guy find treasures like you and set off fireworks to celebrate it without them?”

Okaaay, GI Joe never owned a straight card. Ever.

The hand dropped from Carson's face but its heated imprint lingered. A funny, twisted, tingling sensation uncoiled beneath Carson's sternum. It surprised him, made him duck his head like a school girl. It even pulled a smile to his lips. “Christ, you are crazy.”

“Never said I wasn't.” But the squint vanished. “Sometimes crazy can be a good thing.”

Crazy for you, maybe?Yeah, right. In the space of three minutes. Dreaming doesn't make it so.

There was that certain…something about the way China look at him now and then, like he was supposed to be able to read between the lines and hear the rest of the man's thoughts, the ones that were to private to say out loud. It was irritating and intriguing. It made Carson want to spend more time with him just so he could figure out the unspoken communication code the big man used. The guy was becoming a challenge to Carson's puzzle solving fetish.