Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(15)

“Yeah.” Frank took one last glance at the driveway. “Yeah, I think I will. Thanks.”





Mike and Geoff didn’t live that far from Frank—twenty minutes by car further into Kent—and he wasn’t in the mood to face his own empty, too large house. Taking Stefan to the field had been a bad idea, even though it had worked as planned, and he was rattled. More so than he wanted to admit. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts tonight, so he followed his old friends’ taillights out of the forest and back to their nice mock Tudor. More bedrooms than they could fill on their own, as Mike had said once.

Frank parked his car next to theirs inside the large garage. He was relieved to be off the road. He wasn’t thinking very clearly about anything except that feisty ex-soldier. Yeah, it was definitely good to not be alone tonight.

“I’ll feed the cats.” Mike headed off to the kitchen, while Frank hung up his jacket.

“Go, have a shower.” Geoff nodded towards the upstairs. “We’ll find a couple beers and start the fireplace. Or do you want to sleep?”

It wasn’t quite ten yet. Way too early. “I’ll have that shower.” Frank went upstairs.

Every room in the house was comfortable and cosy, even a little bit too much so, with frills that nobody really needed, like intricately carved mirror frames and antiques scattered everywhere. The bathroom was the kind of place where the towels matched small elements in the decor, but the walk-in shower was one of the best Frank knew, spewing out a thick wall of water from four angles with enough pressure to revive him.

He didn’t linger, and quickly towelled off and changed into his clean jeans and T-shirt.

When he came back down, Mike had put some nibbles on the table. Cheese cubes, olives, chorizo bites, crackers, and a six-pack of some type of French artisan beer. Mike took being gay very seriously like that.

He settled on the couch while Geoff got the fireplace going, and the natural fire warmed the room in no time at all. Mike joined them a little later, hair still damp, and Geoff managed to peel the three cats off his lap long enough to head upstairs for a shower, too.

Frank held out some fingers to Jackson, the leader of the feline pack, and the Russian blue sniffed at him and then decided to tolerate his existence for the time being.

“So.” Mike ran his fingers through his wet reddish curls. “You are going to tell him, yes?”

Frank sighed and impaled an olive on a toothpick. He popped it into his mouth and then carefully scraped the flesh off the stone. First time he’d stayed over, Mike’s derision for stoned olives had nearly cost him a molar.

“It’s a work thing. It’ll spread.”

Mike slid closer and put a hand on his thigh. “But you want that guy.”

“I do, but . . .” Frank sighed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’ll see. He and Chris are going to have spectacular sex and pick out the curtains next week. Long as he still works for me . . .”

“You’re kidding yourself, big guy.” Mike touched his head to Frank’s. “That sounded pretty miserable.”

“Oh, f*ck off.” But the protest was halfhearted at best. “Can I have one of those beers?”

Mike grabbed a bottle, popped the top, and handed it to him. Without a slim glass with ice or whatever abominable habits he’d picked up from his lifestyle magazines, thank God. Beer needed to be consumed like a goddamned beer, not a cocktail or a wine cooler.

Frank heard footsteps, and they both turned as Geoff padded barefoot into the room. All the camouflage paint was gone from his face, though a hint of green still darkened the edges of his blond hair. He’d traded the camo pants and tactical vest for a pair of snug and undoubtedly expensive jeans and a black tee that stretched perfectly across his chest and abs. These two even made dressing down and slacking off look classy.

Frank had to admit this was much nicer than sitting in track pants and an old jersey in front of his television with store-bought beer and munchies that weren’t nearly as civilised as the ones artfully arranged on Geoff and Mike’s coffee table. Especially since the company was a distraction from the lack thereof in his own house.

One of the cats sauntered closer and crouched down, eyeing the food.

Mike quickly leaned forwards and snapped a finger at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

The cat straightened. Glared at him. Frank snickered; that face had “bitch, please” written all over it.

Mike snapped his fingers again. “Get away from the table.”

She sat down and narrowed her eyes as only a cat could do, creating the most elegant, dignified picture of go f*ck yourself Frank had ever seen.

Geoff snorted. “Guess she told you.”

“Mm-hmm.” Mike glared at Geoff, then turned to the cat again. “That’s enough of your sass. Out.” He pointed at the living room doorway.

Naturally, the cat didn’t move.

“I have a better idea.” Geoff got up and picked up the tray of munchies. “You want any more of this?”

Frank shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Mike?”

Mike shook his head too.

Geoff took the tray back into the kitchen, the cat hot on his heels.

“Cats. I swear.” Mike rolled his eyes. “They’re higher maintenance than he is sometimes.”