He yawned and stretched under the blankets, noticing the pleasant ache in his ass and a lingering burn on his skin where China's five o'clock shadow had left a reminder of their lovemaking. Carson luxuriated in the reminder, hating the fact it would be a long time before it happened again. If ever. He had no idea how long China planned to stick around before he was due back on base. Before he went back to a life that Carson couldn't be a part of.

At least not openly.

But maybe…when China was formally discharged….Maybe.

The bedroom was normally chilly in the mornings but Carson could hear the furnace running. China must have turned up the thermostat to drive the chill

off before he got in the shower. That was nice. Coffee laced the air, making his stomach growl and his taste buds beg.

Giving in, he threw back the covers and rolled to his feet, grabbing his discarded jeans off the floor from under China's fatigues. The heavier pants clunked to one side, coins, a scrimshaw-handled penknife and a folded photograph tumbled out onto the carpet. Barefoot and bedraggled, Carson paused to scoop the items back up intending to return them to the pants. The coins and knife rattled back into the pocket of the fatigues but curiosity got the better of him.

What picture's so important you carry it in your front pocket, China-man? Or maybe—who is so important?

Insecurity reared. What if China had lover? They hadn't talked about things, they had both allowed the attraction between them to rule the moment last night. Who else would a guy carry around with him beside someone special to them?

With a guilty glance at the closed bathroom door, Carson couldn't resist unfolding the photo. He had to look. He didn't want to admit it, but he might be falling in love. If China was involved with someone else, Carson was going to have to deal with it. He rather do that on his own terms, in his own way without making a fool of himself in front of the other man.

He smoothed open the somewhat worn, wallet-sized photo, holding his breath, hoping to see a picture of China's parents. What he did see choked him on his next breath, his eyes blinking rapidly to be sure he was seeing right.

It was a photo of him. The one Jim had taken of him on his last birthday. It was shot outside in the local park, sunshine making his pale hair look white as it was tossed by the light wind. He'd been smiling, delighted in the impromptu outing, excited by the day with his usually absent brother.

Even he admitted it was a good photo. Jim had carried it with him all the time, torturing Carson by showing it to waitresses and cashiers whenever he could, bragging about his brilliant little brother.

It hadn't been in the personal effects the army had sent back. Carson assumed it had gotten destroyed when Jim was killed. His brother who had accepted him, raised him, and loved him. Who had been proud of him, proud enough to carry his picture with him all the time. But now, now that photo belonged to a stranger.

He dropped the photograph on the bed next to crumpled trousers. The clothes of a stranger.

A stranger who had entered Carson's life under false pretenses. China was just as bad as Steve. He obviously had known Jim and how close he and his brother had been. But here he was, stalking Carson, using him, making him feel comfortable and secure while he was being lied to and deceived.

The sound of the shower stopping jarred him out of his stupor. He needed answers but right now he needed space. Time alone to think things out. Grabbing his boots and a clean shirt out of the nearest drawer, Carson fled the room, dressing on his way to the front door. He pulled on his boots, swept his coat of the hook by the door and was gone.

The sound of China calling his name made him pause outside the closed front door but only for a moment. Shaking his head, he tossed all those school girl ideas of a lasting relationship back into the closet along with China. There was no future here. Not with someone who would deceive him like this.

How could he have been so wrong about the man?

“Carson?”

The bedroom was warm and silent. It smelled of sex and coffee. It was probably his imagination but China thought he detected the faint scent of cranberry he associated with the taste of Carson's kisses.

Towel partially over his head to dry off his hair, China walked blindly into the room, stopping when he felt the bed covers brush his naked leg.

“Carson?” He dropped the towel and peered out the open bedroom door. “If you're getting coffee, grab me a cup, too. Black.” Dragging the towel down his chest he turned to locate his pants.

It was then he saw it. The photo his sergeant and friend had pressed into his hands during his last few minutes on earth, along with a request China couldn't refuse. Didn't want to refuse.

But Carson wouldn't have known. He'd have recognized the photo and known who it had belonged to, known China hadn't be completely truthful to him. He should have explained from the start and now…now it was too late. The first time he'd ever meet a guy that made him think there could be a meaningful life outside the Army and he'd fucked it up.

The photo was worn a little rough in spots, places where his thumb had rubbed over the corners. He folded it and shoved it into his pants packet, making sure it was safely deep in the bottom. He dressed in a rapid tug and pull of pants, T-shirt, sweater, socks and boots, grabbing his jacket and cap on the way out the door, pausing only to make sure the coffee pot was off.

The snow had fallen most of the night and now, in the very early morning, the sidewalks were thick carpets of white undisturbed by the start of the day's usual traffic. It was easy for China to track the tread of Carson's chukka boots all the way to the church. He found the younger man in a small chapel off the main hall. He guessed it was used as a place for private grieving and meditation.

He sat down on the plain wooden pew beside Carson, slightly encouraged that Carson didn't move away or make a move to punch him. He would have stopped him from moving but not from throwing a punch. No one deserved to be socked more than he did.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Carson's face, desperate to see some sign he could fix this. Carson's

skin was paler than usual, his head bent, his blond curls blown around his face like a halo. China wanted to look into those green eyes and read Carson's thoughts but the other man keep them lowered, half-veiled with long eyelashes.

“Do I get a chance to tell you the truth?”

Then those eyes he wanted to see so badly were looking at him. Harsh. Accusing. Hurt. His chest actually ached when Carson demanded, “Why start now?”

“You lied.” It was hard, accusing and cut straight through China's carefully constructed neutrality. The amount of hurt in Carson's burning glare made him feel like a heel and gave him hope at the same time. Carson wouldn't be this passionate about hating him if he didn't have strong feelings for him.

“No, I didn't.” China sat up straight and slid his hand into his pocket. Despite the cold his hands were sweating. The edges of the photograph wedged in the crease of his palm, sticking. He let it stay there, needing an anchor to the reason all this happened. “I just didn't tell you everything. Yet.”

“Yet? Kind of late isn't it?” Carson spun to face him, braced for a fight, a white-knuckled grip on the pews in front of and behind them.

“There's time if you give it to me. And it will take time. The situation is…complex.” His gaze never left Carson's face, studying, searching, looking for that one shred of hope this could work out. That at least Jim's brother wouldn't hate him when the truth was out.

So far all he knew was that Carson could go white as snow and still be alive and angry as hell.