If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(19)

Funny how the serious book had twenty-six thousand words, and the space opera was closing in on one hundred twenty thousand, though he’d started on that one much later. He did an easy three thousand words of battle scenes and then shut down his computer for the night.

Before he turned in for bed, he looked outside the window to see if there was any light on in the house, despite the fact that none of the guest rooms faced his way.

He checked his phone: nothing but a text from Aaron, asking him if he was all right. He answered it, giving him the migraine story.

Migraine, and you were driving?

He texted back that it had just been starting when he’d left the club, so he’d been fine to ride.

It really didn’t matter. What was much more important than a wasted opportunity to get rat-arsed was the potential the rest of the weekend held. So he turned in earlyish for bed and woke up around eleven. He keyed himself into the big house half an hour later to put on the coffee—it wasn’t really his job, but James always seemed appreciative—and offer the rentboy a lift back into town.

The rentboy appeared in the kitchen doorway. They didn’t say anything to each other. Just as the silence was getting unbearably awkward, a cab pulled up outside, and the rentboy left. Cal watched him go. At least he was off the hook for driving this one back into the city.

He made a mug of cappuccino and took it upstairs. Outside the bedroom, he paused and knocked.

“Uh, yeah?”

James didn’t sound like he’d woken from sleep.

“Callum here, sir. Would you like a coffee?”

A pause. Cal briefly chewed his lower lip. Come on, James. Peace offering. Also means you get coffee in bed.

“Yes. Thanks. Do come in.”

Cal pushed the door open and briefly glanced around. No trace of the rentboy, but he might’ve slept in one of the guest rooms. Or they both had, until James had left and come up here to his own room. He didn’t look like he’d just been f*cked, so that was an upside.

Cal walked in and paused next to the bed. “Can we . . . can we talk, sir?”

“Sure, yeah.” James rubbed over his face, then indicated the side of the bed. Cal passed him the coffee and sat down. “Thought it was your day off?”

“It is.”

Looking impossibly appealing with his bedhead and bleary eyes, James held the mug like it held some life-giving elixir and took a first sip, groaning with pleasure. And that went right to Cal’s groin.

Damn, Cal, you’re so far gone and you didn’t even know it.

“How was your night off?” James asked.

“I met some friends, but nothing really exciting.”

“Uh-huh.” James took another mouthful. “Is he gone?”

“Yes, sir. Cab pulled up ten minutes ago. He didn’t take any of the silver.”

James’s hazel eyes flashed with amusement. “Are my, uh, ‘guests’ in the habit of lifting things on their way out?”

Cal laughed, shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of, sir.”

“Cal.” James turned serious. “You’re not on the clock. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Informality. Because that made things easier.

He played with the edge of the duvet, and watched his fingers because he couldn’t quite look at James. “I think we need to clear the air about the night . . . about when we . . .”

“Go on.”

Cal exhaled. “When you invited me in for drinks that night, what exactly did you have in mind?”

James didn’t answer right away. He sipped his cappuccino, and the cup clinked quietly on the saucer before he placed both on the bedside table. “I’m not sure, to be honest.” He sat up, stretching a little, and Cal tried not to notice that they were closer together now. “Nothing at Market Garden had piqued my interest. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood. I just didn’t really want to spend the evening alone, I guess.”

Cal lifted his gaze, meeting James’s. “But was I just the nearest warm body?”

James blinked. “What? No. You weren’t. Not even close.” Before Cal could sort his thoughts and come up with a response, James reached up and touched his cheek, his fingertips gentle on Cal’s skin. “You’re good company, Cal. I . . . I like spending time with you.”

“But you’d never spent time with me before.” Cal struggled to hold his gaze and form coherent thoughts with James’s hand still warming his cheek. “I’ve driven you around, but I’ve . . .”

James wasn’t looking in his eyes. He was watching Cal’s lips. His fingers twitched a little on Cal’s cheek, just the subtlest cue to come closer.

Cal hesitated. “James, you barely know me.”

“And after eighteen months”—oh God, James was pulling him in—“that seems like a real shame, doesn’t it?”

But he didn’t give Cal a chance to answer. James pressed his lips to Cal’s, and Cal couldn’t move. Think. Breathe. James’s chin was stubbled and scratchy, contrasting sharply with the softness of his lips and the gentle warmth of his hand.

Cal broke the kiss, but pulled back only a little, the faint taste of cappuccino lingering on his lips. “I don’t understand what you want.”

“Neither do I.” James ran his fingers down Cal’s cheek. “I know we shouldn’t. And you’ve probably got better prospects than me. But I can’t help it. You’re . . . you’re just . . .” He trailed off and kissed Cal again.