If It Drives (Market Garden, #7)(5)

“Do you remember, oh, a couple of months ago? When I hired that pair from Market Garden?”

Cal shifted, trying to get comfortable without leaning back against his boss’s arm. How the hell could he forget those two? That cocky kid and his slightly shier—but strangely cocky in his own way—partner. Maybe it had been part of their gimmick, but Cal thought they might’ve been a couple. “I remember them, yes.”

A knowing smile pulled at James’s lips. “You weren’t fond of them, were you?”

“What?” Cal sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

James lifted one shoulder in a barely noticeable shrug. “Am I wrong?”

Cal gulped. “I barely saw them. Just on the way in and out of the car.” And he’d heard devilish laughter through the privacy screen. Caught the scent of sweat and leather when they got out of the car. He hadn’t missed the way James’s cheeks had been flushed and the slightly quieter rentboy had wiped at his lips just before stepping out of the car. Cal had ground his teeth until long after the three of them had gone into the house, and had fantasised about letting them find their own bloody ride back into—

James chuckled quietly. “That’s what I thought.”

Cal’s face burned. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“You tell me.”

Fuck. James wasn’t as out of sorts as he’d been earlier, that much was for sure. Two glasses of wine? Really? That was all it took?

“I’m just curious.” James’s hand rustled softly on the couch behind Cal. “Was there something about them that you didn’t like?”

Besides the fact that I knew they were teasing, tormenting, pleasing, f*cking you all bloody night? And I wanted to—

He cleared his throat. “They just gave me an odd vibe, I guess.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Cal’s mouth went dry. His boss’s scrutiny unsettled him, but he couldn’t make himself look anywhere but right at James. “I. Um.”

“Relax, Cal.”

Cal? Not Callum? That was a switch.

“I’m . . .” Cal took a breath. “Why exactly are we having this conversation?”

James opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but hesitated.

Movement drew Cal’s attention to the back of the couch, and he shifted his gaze just in time to see James lift his arm. He held his breath, watching James’s hand hover in his peripheral vision for a couple of seconds.

And then his hand was on Cal’s shoulder. Warm. Heavy. Undeniably there.

He looked James in the eyes, and that confidence in James’s expression faltered.

Should I be doing this? Should we be doing this? What the f*ck are we doing?

Cal’s heart pounded. James swallowed hard. His hand lightened slightly on Cal’s shoulder.

To hell with it. They’d already crossed the line, hadn’t they?

James took a breath. “Cal, I—”

Cal grabbed the loosened red tie, dragged James across the cushion between them, and kissed him. He did have the wine as an excuse. James had telegraphed what he wanted, and the fact that James didn’t jerk away, didn’t push him off or so much as protest, gave him confidence.

Instead, James opened up to him almost immediately, tasting of wine and need, and all Cal’s restraint just went out of the window. He grabbed James by the shoulder, pulled him closer, sensing all the coiled strength in that body, as if he were ready to fight, because that was what those damned alpha males did all day, anyway, right? But James didn’t fight him. Didn’t seem intent on fighting him at all.

The kiss made Cal’s head spin. He pushed James down across the cushions with his own body weight, worried that James would tell him to stop, or to loosen his grip, but James let himself be pressed against the cushions. Cal let go of his shoulder and ran his fingers down the man’s chest, brushing a hard nipple almost by accident on his way down, then reconsidered and twisted it. James gave a muffled sound into the kiss, and Cal twisted it harder, then rubbed it. God, this was hot, but he wanted skin.

Except that meant getting undressed, which meant letting go.

Maybe skin was overrated.

He moved further down, felt James breathe hard, felt the muscles under his touch with nothing but a fine white tailored shirt between skin and skin. The heat bled through, and the rest was visual memory, of his chest and abs, that body from running and weightlifting. He wrecked himself every morning in his own damned gym—Cal had seen him through the window a few times, and what had really turned him on was the sweat, the exertion, and those grunts that came through the open window when James battled on despite the pain.

Cal ran his hand up the front of James’s shirt, feeling those toned abs quivering under his touch. Though he’d been a little alarmed when James had thrown himself extra hard into his gym routine right after the divorce, the man hadn’t injured himself, and the results—f*ck, the results. He curled his fingers and ran them downwards, nails trailing across James’s shirt with a soft hiss.

James broke the kiss, arching his spine and tilting his head back. “Cal . . .”

Cal dived for James’s neck. He kissed the exposed flesh from the stubbly jaw all the way down to the collar of his shirt, and damn it, now he needed that skin to skin contact, even if it meant letting go.