Kenji doesn't know who he is or where he came from, only that he woke up one day, naked and alone on Terran A, possessing nothing in the world but a golden statue. All he knows is his survival, pouring drinks for roughnecks in Spike's bar for a living. The one bright spot in his life is Jake Fallon, a cop with Interstellar Patrol. Though Fallon is only another customer, Kenji senses something different about him, something that inspires Kenji to trust Fallon with his body and his life. When Kenji is attacked and pursued by a vicious bounty hunter one night, Fallon also becomes his only hope.

Fallon's passion for Kenji mixes with his desire to rescue the beautiful man from danger. He's already more than half in love with Kenji and falling deeper as the bounty hunter's pursuit takes them from galaxy to galaxy. For the first time since his first partner was killed, Fallon dares to surrender his heart again. However, as their race for survival uncovers Kenji's true origins, Fallon may have to let Kenji go in order for Kenji to fulfill the very purpose of his existence...

Excerpt:
A gust of cooler air breezed through, pulling Kenji from a fantasy. He looked in the direction of the door, which had just opened, closing in the wake of yet another brawny patron.

Kenji's heart beat a little harder.

The man—a stranger to him—checked his weapon.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Muscular chest straining against a white T-shirt. Dark, close-cropped hair, nice sideburns.

This one was different. Kenji's mouth went dry.

This one was hot.

By his clean-cut appearance Kenji guessed he was a cop. That was nothing unusual in this place. But there was something about the way he moved—deliberate—smooth, relaxed yet tightly wound, like he could spring in a second, that kept Kenji's attention riveted.
At that second, the guy looked up. His eyes made a brief yet slow survey of the crowded room.

And then they landed on Kenji.
Kenji couldn't tell what color they were from this distance, but he could feel them. They seemed to burn down into his very soul. They seemed to know who he was even when Kenji himself didn't know.

Everything in the roomful of rowdy tattooed, leather-clad space junkies, space cowboys and bounty hunters receded. He was more captured than he was during one of his visions.

And then he began to walk toward Kenji, his eyes never leaving Kenji's, his brawny torso flexing with each step.

Was it a few seconds or minutes before the guy stood before him, so close to his barstool that Kenji could see the dark stubble covering the strong line of his chin and jaw? So close that he caught a whiff of something spicy? Cologne that made Kenji's groin tingle.

The man pointed to the empty stool. "Is this seat taken?" He had a nice smile and incredible eyes, the color of the blue through which Kenji was falling in his recurring vision. Yet in those eyes was a touch of sadness the grin didn't dispel.

Kenji blinked. The stool next to him had been vacated within the last few seconds by the hustler sitting there. He must have gotten a hit and taken his customer to the back rooms. "I was saving it for you," he heard himself say. And froze. What had possessed him? He'd never spoken like that to anyone.

A throaty chuckle. "That so "Well, this is my lucky night, isn't it?" He seated himself and held out a hand. "Jake Fallon, Intergalactic Space Patrol."
So he was a cop. Kenji accepted the offer of handshake. Warm. Strong. Nice. "Kenji."

"Pleased to meet you, Kenji," Jake Fallon said. "What are you drinking?"

Nice accent too. From England....