Natural Selection

By Katie Allen

Previously published under a different title

There’s something wickedly naughty about love on the run

Darwin Bloom has no true identity—his laboratory creators made sure of that. Darwin isn’t his real name and living on the lam doesn’t exactly allow for deep romantic relationships, but the feelings he’s developed for engineer Tom Cooper are strong enough to try.

Tom Cooper’s life changed forever when he met Darwin. Gone are his fears of intimacy—Tom wants to do whatever Darwin asks, whenever he asks. How is it that the big, beautiful construction worker can seem dangerous and delicious at the same time?

But when Darwin’s mysterious past comes back with a vengeance, there’s more than just incredible sex at stake. Darwin promised Tom he’d never leave him…but keeping him safe might mean doing just that.

This book is approximately 68,000 words



One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carina Press
• Release date: Aug 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781488081057

Katie Allen

Katie Allen is the fabulously filthy-minded alter-ego of romantic-suspense author Katie Ruggle. She lived in an off-grid, solar- and wind-powered house in the Rocky Mountains until her family lured her back to Minnesota. A police academy graduate, Katie is a self-professed forensics nerd. A fan of anything that makes her feel like a bad-ass, she has trained in Krav Maga, boxing, and gymnastics. Connect with Katie at katieruggle.com, or on Twitter @KatieRuggle

Book preview

Chapter One

Anyone sitting here?

Tom glanced up and almost choked on his mouthful of huevos rancheros.

The guy standing next to the table had the blond, athletic good looks of a former high-school football star. The stranger seemed surreal, as if Tom would blink and the image would change, turning the man into some toothless, smelly, and depressing representation of reality.

Testing this theory, Tom blinked.

The guy kept his teeth and his pretty face, and his expression shifted from geniality to uncertainty as his question hung in the air, unanswered.

Swallowing his bite of eggs, Tom shook his head.

Mind if I join you?

Tom waved at the empty chair across from him. Sure, he said warily. Watching the stranger settle into the seat across the table, he tried to puzzle out what was happening. The guy was a solid eight. Why would he be hitting on Tom, who was a six, six-and-a-half at best? And that was in club lighting. Right now, the diner’s fluorescent bulbs were most likely not doing him any favors.

I’m Dave, the blond said, extending a hand and holding eye contact a few seconds too long for the guy to be straight.

Tom. He accepted Dave’s hand, still not quite believing this guy was picking him up at this too-bright diner. Things like this just didn’t happen to Tom.

If you think every guy who tries to pick you up has ulterior motives, he warned the cautious voice in his head, you’re never going to get laid again. You might as well buy a bathrobe, start breeding Shih Tzus, and resign yourself to being a lonely old queer.

Eyeing the blond sitting across from him, Tom wondered if maybe the dating gods were finally smiling on him. If so, it was about time. After eighteen months of being kicked in the nuts by those same fickle gods, he deserved a little luck.

Nice to meet you. Dave shifted in his chair and fiddled with the napkin-wrapped silverware. His gaze bounced around, from the tabletop to the front door to the top half of the cook, visible through the service window behind the counter. The waitress walked toward their table, coffeepot in hand, but Dave headed her off with a shake of his head.

Not hungry? Tom asked, sitting back. There was no way he was about to try to eat in front of this guy and dribble Tabasco sauce down his front. He wasn’t too upset about missing out on the eggs. This apparently gay stranger was a lot more interesting—and probably tasted better too.

Dave shook his head again, his gaze still refusing to settle on one spot.

So why’d you come into a diner? Tom asked, partially teasing and partially really wanting to know.

I was over there for a while. Dave jerked his head toward the window.

At the club? Tom asked, deciding to ignore the fact that the other man hadn’t answered the question. It probably didn’t matter anyway.

Yeah, Dave confirmed. His gaze touched Tom’s face for barely a second before bouncing away again. "So why aren’t you over there? It’s still early."

With a shrug, Tom edited his story in his head before opening his mouth. I was in there earlier, but it was too— heartbreaking —boring. I left, realized I wanted eggs, and ended up here.

Boring? Dave repeated, focusing on Tom for a moment before his gaze skittered away.

Same club, same music, same people. Although the music and the club weren’t the problem. But it’s the only option if I want to go out and not risk hitting on a straight redneck with a bad case of homophobia and a gun. Tom paused, waiting for a laugh, but Dave didn’t even crack a smile.

Tom sighed, disappointed. A sense of humor wasn’t everything, but it sure made things more fun. So if it’s not the food, what brings you in here at eleven-thirty on a Saturday night?

Leaning back in his chair, Dave stretched his feet under the table until his shoes bumped Tom’s. Same as you. Couldn’t take the club again tonight.

Tom jumped at the contact. Considering Dave’s twitchy inability to meet his gaze, Tom had started wondering if he’d misread the whole thing. That shoe-to-shoe touch made the entire odd situation—dingy diner, eggs, and a cute guy—seem more...possible. He grinned at Dave. Since Tom credited the half part of his six-and-a-half rating to his dimples, he figured it was time to bring out the big guns.

Aren’t you going to eat that? Dave asked, waving toward the eggs.

Shaking his head, Tom nudged his plate a few inches away. I’m full. Want some?

No thanks. Dave was shredding a paper napkin into tiny paper snowflakes. Not really hungry.

Watching him destroy the napkin, Tom cocked his head. You okay?

The other man’s head jerked up. Yeah, he answered, quickly enough to make it sound like a complete lie. I’m fine.

With a nod, Tom let it go. So what do you do?

What? Dave’s expression was so suspicious, Tom had to hold back a smile. Did the guy think he was asking about what he did in bed?

Your job, Tom clarified, proud he managed to hold a straight face. Poor Dave was so obviously anxious that it took the edge off Tom’s own nerves. It was a nice change to feel like the assured, confident one. Where do you work?

A dark red flush darkened Dave’s cheeks. Right, he muttered, gaze back on his hands. Sorry. I’m...in sales.

The pause raised Tom’s curiosity, but the other man’s blush kept him from prying. He didn’t want to embarrass the poor guy. Instead, Tom just nodded.

I can see you in sales, he said with an encouraging smile, even though he was stretching the truth. The guy had the natural good looks that could be used to charm customers, but he couldn’t even make eye contact for more than a couple seconds.

Dave’s expression was skeptical. Really?

Sure. Tom brought out the dimples again. I’d buy...whatever it is you sell.

Instead of enlightening Tom about exactly what kind of sales he did, Dave asked, What about you?

Engineer.

Yeah?

Tom shrugged. It sounds more glamorous than it actually is. I’m just a cube monkey, really.

Dave gave a short laugh. Aren’t we all?

Well, no, Tom teased. You could be a cube lion or a cube parrot or a cube bear...

At the last suggestion, Dave’s smile fell away, and his gaze shot to Tom’s.

Confused by the almost hostile look in the other man’s eyes, Tom frowned. Are you okay?

Want to get out of here?

Tom was tempted, but he hesitated. He couldn’t seem to get a good read on Dave. The twitchiness, the nervousness, the way his eyes looked everywhere except at Tom. This didn’t feel like a normal pickup.

At the thought, Tom almost laughed. It wasn’t as if he were an expert on correct behavior for hitting on another guy in a diner. Still, going home with a man he’d just met would freak him out, even if the stranger weren’t acting so squirrelly.

When Dave shifted his weight, still waiting for an answer, Tom sighed and shook his head. I should head home. Early morning tomorrow.

Dave’s face tightened. Right. He stood up so abruptly the front legs of his chair popped up a few inches, coming back down with a clatter, startling Tom.

If you give me your number... Tom said, trailing off when the other man gave a short shake of his head.

Forget it, Dave muttered and headed for the door.

Watching the back of his blond head, Tom sighed again. When the door swung shut behind the other man, Tom dropped his eyes to his congealing food. He picked up his fork and gave the eggs a poke.

Cold eggs and no sex, he muttered under his breath. What a fun life I have.

After paying his bill, Tom left the diner, turning right on Front Street toward his condo. Earlier, he’d had such high hopes for the evening. He’d even left his car at home and walked the eight blocks to the club, thinking he was going to be drinking and dancing and having fun for the first time in too many weeks.

Just ten minutes after he’d arrived, though, he’d spotted Andrew and the new boyfriend dancing, looking happy and sweaty and so into each other that Tom’s anticipation had drained out of him, leaving him depressed. That had annoyed him. Why was he letting Andy determine his mood? Suddenly, the club had seemed claustrophobic. Tom had escaped back into the street, where he’d decided to exchange a night at the club for a tired diner and mediocre eggs.

Jamming his hands into his pants pockets, Tom kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the sidewalk. Seriously, what a suck-ass night it had turned out to be.

Tom.

Startled, he stopped, looking around for the owner of the voice that’d just called out to him. He couldn’t see anyone. Great, he thought. Am I hallucinating? Can I add mental illness to social incompetence now?

Tom. Over here.

Whipping his head around, Tom spotted a male figure standing in the lot to his right. The man was in a darker section of the parking area, where the sodium lights struggled to penetrate shadows created by the buildings bordering the lot.

Who’s there? Tom asked, proud that his voice didn’t shake.

It’s Dave, he said, moving away from the cars so the light caught the blond gleam of his hair and brightened his face enough for Tom to recognize the man.

Dave? Tom took a step closer to the lot, relieved that the dark and menacing shadow had been identified. What’s wrong?

My car won’t start, he explained, gesturing to the SUV behind him.

I’m not much of a mechanic. I don’t think there’s much I could do to help.

Dave shook his head. I don’t think there’s much anyone can do. The thing’s dead. I forgot my phone at home. Mind if I use yours to call for a tow?

Sure. Digging his cell out of his pocket, Tom walked over and handed it to Dave. Turning toward the SUV, he frowned. It can’t be more than a couple years old. What do you think is wrong with it?

Nothing.

Confused, Tom turned around in time to see Dave flick his wrist, sending his phone flying across the lot.

Hey! Tom protested.

His baffled annoyance shifted to fear as Dave charged him, using his body to slam Tom against the vehicle.

The force of the blow knocked the wind out of Tom, and he struggled to breathe, panicking when all he could do was suck in quick, shallow breaths. Before he could get enough air in his lungs to yell, Dave’s hand covered his mouth.

Tom bit him.

Fuck! Dave snarled, slamming Tom’s head against the window hard enough that he was surprised the glass didn’t break. Do that again, you queer piece of shit, and I’ll break your neck. Got it?

When Tom didn’t answer, Dave shoved his head back again and the pain finally registered, zigzagging across his skull. His vision had narrowed until all he could see was Dave’s face, features tight and twisted and bizarrely still handsome. He managed to jerk his head in the shortest of nods, although he couldn’t recall what Dave had asked. He just knew that if he didn’t answer, his head was going to hit the window again.

Still holding Tom pinned against the SUV, hand clamped over his mouth, Dave reached over and opened the backseat door.

When Tom saw it swing open, he began to struggle, knowing if Dave managed to get him in the SUV, things would get much worse very quickly.

Tom swung his fists toward the bigger man’s sides, hampered by the difference in their heights and Dave’s proximity. He twisted his hips, trying to position himself to knee Dave in the balls, but Dave restrained him easily, not even seeming to feel the blows.

In fact, even through their layers of clothes, Tom was pretty sure he could feel the other man was hard.

Christ! he gasped, but the word was muffled by Dave’s hand and came out sounding embarrassingly like a sob. Tom didn’t know if he was about to be killed or raped or both—and not knowing made everything so much worse.

With distressing ease, Dave forced him into the SUV. When the backs of his legs hit the seat, Tom fell backward, his attacker following him down, using his legs and weight to pin Tom’s thighs against the seat. Tom’s head connected with the upholstery in just the wrong spot, exactly where the window had flattened his skull earlier, sending sharp, painful shock waves through his brain.

Ignoring the injury, he reared up, fists flailing, and managed to land a hard punch on Dave’s throat.

The other man choked and gasped, rearing back, and Tom dove toward him, hoping to knock him back and escape as Dave struggled to breathe.

Although air was rasping roughly in and out of his chest, Dave managed to shove him back. Tom’s head bounced against the seat again, and he wondered how something as soft as a car seat could hurt so fucking much.

When he could finally suck in enough air, Tom opened his mouth to yell but barely managed to make a feeble huff of sound before Dave clamped his fingers around his throat.

Don’t fight me, he warned.

But Tom couldn’t help it. His body was demanding air, and the panic of not being able to breathe overwhelmed any fear of other hurts Dave could inflict on him.

His hands pulled at the fingers choking him as his vision narrowed further, until even that tiny circle of view went gray and fuzzy.

The panic faded to a surreal sense of disappointment.

What a shitty, pointless way to die, he thought, just before blackness swamped his brain.

Chapter Two

Tom couldn’t get out of the truck.

Shit, he muttered without moving his lips, just in case someone was watching. He hated when this happened, especially when it was for such a stupid reason. There wasn’t any real danger. All that lay outside the truck door was a building site, some innocuous construction workers, and an HVAC contractor who was most likely getting impatient waiting for Tom’s panic attack to subside.

Blowing out a breath, he stared at his gloved hands. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel, Tom could feel the first cramping tremors vibrating from his wrists and across the backs of his hands.

It’s been almost six months, he told his fingers. ‘Bout time you got over it, isn’t it?

His hands didn’t agree, not relaxing at all.

He’s probably not even here, he tried, reasoning with them. Even if he is, so what? He’s not the same guy. He doesn’t even look that much like him. You going to grab the steering wheel every time there’s a big blond guy in the vicinity?

A tap on the passenger-side window made Tom jump. His head whipped around to see Schultz, the mechanical contractor, peering in at him.

Fuck. Now the guy had witnessed Tom talking to his own body parts. Excellent. He sighed.

Schultz’s curious gaze prodded him to finally release the steering wheel and yank open his door, so that was one good thing. There was nothing like a little humiliation to overcome irrational terror.

Tom reached for his hard hat and slid out of the truck. As he circled the front of his vehicle, he tried to use the few seconds’ grace time to get himself under control before coming face-to-face with Schultz. He had mixed results, managing to greet the other man with moderate calmness, although Tom knew his face was still flaming with color.

Cooper. Schultz eyed him as they shook hands. Everything okay?

Tom hated that question. He’d heard it way too many times over the past months. Of course, he assured the contractor, forcing a smile. Except for our little problem of getting an eight-inch duct through a flush beam.

Right. Schultz’s droopy hound-dog face fell even more at the reminder. Want to take a look?

Might as well. Forcing another smile, he fell in next to the contractor. As they crossed the rutted dirt area that served as a parking lot for the site, Tom tried to avoid stepping into one of the iced-over mud puddles while simultaneously looking for a certain terror-inspiring construction worker.

Tom didn’t see a tall blond figure around any of the partially constructed buildings. His shoulders lowered as some of the tension eased out of his muscles. When Schultz gestured toward one of the buildings, Tom put on his hard hat and ducked through the plastic-covered doorway, feeling almost light-headed with relief.

Let’s fix this duct situation, then, he said cheerily, glancing back at Schultz and grinning, honestly this time, as the man’s expression fell to a whole new level of gloom. How bad can it be?

Bad, Schultz grumbled.

With a shrug, Tom swallowed another smile. What was one flush beam? Nothing compared to the presence of one blond, built, too-hot-for-his-own-good construction worker.

* * *

He was here.

As soon as Darwin glimpsed the man through the skeletal framing, he dropped his nail gun.

Bloom! MacDougal’s bellow made Darwin sigh as he bent to retrieve the tool.

Yeah, boss? Darwin turned an innocent look to the foreman.

His face was as red as the hair beneath his hard hat. What are you trying to do to me, Bloom? Do I look like a man with a healthy heart? Well, do I?

No sir, he answered honestly, eyeing MacDougal’s ruddy face and beefy form.

So you’re trying to kill me, then? Is that what you’re saying? MacDougal’s face darkened to a whole new shade of rage. We’re two weeks behind schedule, a heaping fuck-load of snow is supposed to drop any day, and you’re jacking around, trying to nail your fucking foot to the ground? Is that what you’re doing?

Darwin blinked. No, sir.

Then get the fuck back to work, and quit trying to ruin my relationship with the OSHA assholes!

Sure, boss. He turned back to the framing, disappointed to see the stranger had disappeared. With a silent sigh, he started working again. MacDougal stomped away, muttering under his breath.

Darwin figured it was for the best anyway. His odd fascination with the unknown man was illogical and couldn’t lead to anything good. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. All Darwin knew was that his heart kicked into overdrive each time the man showed up on the construction site.

Stupid, he muttered, sinking another nail. If he pursued this, Darwin could fuck up a perfectly good situation—a steady job, a cabin to which he was much too attached, and a damn good hiding place. He didn’t want to have to go on the run again.

What he needed to do was keep his head down, not start a relationship with a stranger. For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know if the guy was gay.

With a self-directed growl, Darwin tried to force himself to focus on work. If he let himself get distracted, he’d slip up...work a little too fast...lift something a little too heavy for normal people to lift. He had to focus, concentrate on not giving himself away.

No. An attraction, if he acted on it, could easily derail his life. It was a damn bad idea. He knew that.

The problem was—he didn’t really care.

Stranger or not, Darwin wanted this guy.

* * *

The architect’s not going to like this, Schultz grumbled as they stepped out into the sharp November wind.

The soffit just has to be dropped a foot along that one wall, Tom said. It’ll hardly be noticeable. At Schultz’s look, Tom amended, Okay, so maybe it’ll be a little noticeable. At least we didn’t have to lower the whole ceiling. Jane would’ve really screamed at that.

Schultz heaved a mournful sigh.

Want me to talk to her? Tom offered.

Schultz’s expression lightened instantly, making Tom suspicious that he’d just been played. Would you? That’d be great.

Yeah. But next time something like this happens, it’s your turn to be the bearer of bad news.

Of course. Schultz was almost beaming now as he shook Tom’s hand. Let me know how it goes.

Tom winced, already regretting his impulsive offer. I can already tell you how it’s going to go—shitty, that’s how.

Schultz just laughed and headed toward the construction trailer. As Tom picked his way over the icy mud of the improvised parking lot toward his truck, he imagined the architect’s reaction when he told her the news. Pulling off his hard hat, he made a face. This wasn’t going to be fun. With a sigh, he reached for the truck door handle.

Excuse me.

Tom froze.

Without looking, he knew, just knew who was standing beside him. Every muscle locked in place except for his heart, which took off like a rabbit that had just spotted a wolf.

The man behind him cleared his throat. Excuse me? His voice was curious now, with an inflection of amusement that pricked Tom’s pride enough to force him out of his paralysis. He turned his head to see exactly the person he’d expected to see—the brawny, blond construction worker.

Close up, the man was huge and even prettier than he’d appeared from a distance when Tom had glimpsed him during previous site visits. The guy was so good-looking, in fact, that Tom felt an unreasonable rush of hostility. He clung to the feeling, appreciating how it helped subdue the panic a little, just enough to control the urge to bolt.

I’m Darwin, the obnoxiously beautiful man said. Darwin Bloom.