If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(41)

“I, um . . .” James’s eyes flicked towards Cal, but only for a second. “I need to think.”

And with that, he headed up to the house, leaving Cal beside the open car door with his heart dropping to his feet. As James disappeared into the house, Cal swore under his breath and shut the door.

Numbly, running on autopilot, he put the car away and headed down to his cottage. He toed off his shoes, shuffled into the living room and dropped into one of the armchairs. Rubbing his temples, he closed his eyes and sighed.

What the f*ck was I thinking?

Doing things behind James’s back at first—but he’d had to tell him. This whole thing couldn’t work without James knowing what he was getting into. What he was trying to get James into.

Respect.

Was that really the thing that was holding James back? If he needed orders, needed direction, needed some way to let go and give up control, why would that even potentially harm the respect between them?

Besides, he’s your employer, so of course you respect him on that basis alone.

Cal switched on his computer, fired up the document he’d been working on, but the cursory read kicked him back out of the text. It wasn’t bad prose, but in this mood, he couldn’t dive into the writing at all. Not a swimming pool, but a shallow puddle, with nothing underneath the pretty reflection. This situation was definitely messing with the place he took his words from.

What if Nick joined them, kind of like a UN Blue Helmet, just there to watch and oversee? If James were to agree in the end, if they were all together, what if James decided that Nick was just so much better at it (Cal couldn’t hope to compete with a pro)? What if it went beyond what Cal was comfortable with? And what if it had been a rotten idea and James would really be okay with just getting topped within an inch of his sanity?

He’ll get it somewhere else.

Cal stood and went to the bar, stared at the line of bottles—a couple different beers, hard liquor. But he didn’t really drink on the nights before a work day. He should be at his best tomorrow, assuming tomorrow even happened. He should be sharp.

It had been a terrible idea. It had looked good—learn what he needs, give it to him, and then there’d be some sort of happy ending. What kind of happy ending this type of thing could have, he could barely imagine.

All of this seemed pretty messed up from the outside. Fucking your employer was all kinds of wrong, from whatever angle. But part of him insisted that he might be exactly what James needed, and that was the greatest lure of all—to be needed, to be wanted, to hold somebody together when they went through the bleak times James was going through.

But how did that desire to please and care and even serve fit with the Dom thing? No idea. It seemed deep and honest, but even if he dug deeper and tried to get to the why, all he found was that most normal of all human desires. To be loved and cherished.

And who was he kidding? He wanted James. Plain and simple. The physical attraction had been there since day one. The more Cal had got to know him—well, as much as he had got to know him—the more he’d wanted to help him, but also to have him.

The intercom beside the door buzzed. Cal nearly jumped out of his skin. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind coming back up to the house?” James’s voice crackled through the speaker.

Cal cringed. He was so getting fired. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He wanted to spend a moment psyching himself up, but that would just give him more time to get nervous. So he pulled his shoes back on, bolted out the door, and walked as quickly as he could up the path to the house.

At the front door, his hand hovered in the air as he debated knocking versus just going inside. Finally, he settled on the latter, and pushed the door open. He’d been through this door a million times before, but half-expected it to creak on its hinges like he was walking into a haunted house or some ridiculous thing like that.

“James?” The echo reminded him a little of being in a haunted house.

“In the living room.”

Cal walked towards the sound of James’s voice. When he came around the corner, James was sitting in the armchair beside the couch where— Oh God, don’t even think about that night.

“Do you want a cup of coffee or anything?” James asked quietly.

Cal hesitated. “How long am I staying?”

James shrugged so subtly that Cal wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been so tuned in to every movement. “How long do you want to stay?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“I need a coffee.” James rose. “What about you?”

So I’m staying long enough for a cup of coffee, apparently.

“Uh. Okay. Sure.” Cal swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Have a seat.” James motioned towards the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Cal nodded. They brushed past each other, and Cal eased himself onto the couch. There were plenty of rooms in this house where they could have this conversation, but no, James had chosen this one. Beside the dark, cool fireplace that had been glowing and crackling the night they’d talked, and then kissed, and then f*cked.

Could we do this in a room that’s not quite so haunted?

He curled his fingers on the edge of the couch cushion, listening to the sounds coming from the next room. A spoon clinking inside a cup. Cups scraping on the counter. He could smell the coffee now, and had to admit it was enticing; James never skimped, so this was the good stuff. Cal’s stomach growled; he’d forgotten to eat or drink anything since that poor excuse for a lunch he’d inhaled while James had been in a meeting.