If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(16)

On second thought, he added a fifty. If Nick had told him to, he’d have given him all of it, because right now he was so floaty that he didn’t give a damn.

Nick took the money from his hand, folded it and pushed it into his left trouser pocket, his jacket dangling from his shoulder.

“Uh, money for the cab . . .”

“I’ll take the Tube.”

Did he live on the Circle or Metropolitan line somewhere?

Spencer cleared his throat. “So do I have to, uh, go into that Market Garden place again?”

“Dunno. Do you?”

“I mean, to see you again.”

Nick shook his head. “I have private clients I meet outside.”

“Are you free . . .” Like, tomorrow? “Soon?”

“Here’s my number.” Nick handed him a card. “Text me.

I’ll let you know. But next week.”

51

No explanation for the long wait. Exams? Too many clients? Spencer realised he was thinking about negotiating with a rentboy while naked and f*cked out. He still didn’t give a shit. “Uh. Thanks.”

Nick nodded. “See you soon.” He turned and shrugged into his leather jacket on the way out. He zipped it, though from the back Spencer couldn’t see if he zipped it all the way or left some of his bare chest showing. He took off out the front door, leaving Spencer alone in a house that echoed with the sharp commands, the silent smirks, and the insane f*cking that had left him aching all the way to the bone.

Something in his mind suggested he should stand there and wonder about Nick for a minute or two. Where he was going. If he’d be safe. Why the hell he did this at al . How in God’s name he’d turned a bought-and-paid-for f*ck into that.

But all that thinking bullshit could wait. For tonight, he had just enough left to get back to his bedroom, strip off the covers that would need to be washed tomorrow, and col apse into bed.

And for the first time in months, Spencer slept like the dead.

52





Chapter


fivE


here weren’t any visible bruises. If there had been, most Twould’ve been covered by Spencer’s suit anyway, but he’d scrutinized himself, front and back, in the mirror on Saturday morning, on Sunday night, and again before he went to work.

By the time he dressed Monday morning, he wasn’t so much paranoid about someone seeing a bruise as he was convinced there should have been some kind of mark. Some sort of black and blue graffiti proclaiming Nick was here. He certainly felt the remnants of Nick’s presence in the stiffness of his muscles and the barely-cooled burn on his skin. Sitting comfortably in his office chair was a challenge, though true to his word, Nick hadn’t left him unable to do so.

Yeah, Nick was here all right, but he hadn’t left a single mark. Even the scratches, the streaks running down his chest and converging just above his cock, had mostly faded by Sunday and were gone this morning.

Not a single scrap of evidence on Spencer’s body. No one would possibly know.

No one, that is, except Percy. At least the smug son of a bitch had had the decency to close Spencer’s office door before he said anything.

“So.” Percy strolled across the room and deposited himself in one of the leather chairs in front of Spencer’s desk. “Get your money’s worth?”

Spencer’s cheeks burned. “You could say that.”

“You surprised me, mate.” Percy shook his head. “Of all the guys there, I didn’t think Nick’d be your type.”

53

Something twisted in Spencer’s gut, and he told himself it was not jealousy. “You’ve been with him?”

“Me?” Percy waved his hand and shook his head again.

“No, no. Nick is . . . yeah, he’s not my type. At al .”

“Really?”

“Entirely too full of himself.” Percy wrinkled his nose. “I rent one of those guys, the only thing he’d better be full of is me.”

There was no one on the planet who could be quite as crude and to the point as Percy. Well, except maybe Nick.

“I don’t know.” Spencer leaned back in his chair, absently turning a pen over and over between his fingers so he’d at least look casual and unfazed by this whole thing. “I like his attitude. He’s feisty.” And while he’d never cared for these discussions with Percy, his own remark had devolved this conversation into a realm that made his skin crawl. Like he was stooping to the level of the other guys who commented behind their hands about the receptionist’s arse or that courier’s tits. Reducing someone— Nick, of all people—to a slab of meat.

To someone who was bought, paid for, and used.

Does what it says on the tin.

And although Nick had put himself on the market to be bought—at least for a few hours—that didn’t mean others shouldn’t treat him with respect.

Respect. Listen to you, Spencer. You’re still halfway on your knees when it comes to him.

“Well, whatever turns your crank, Spence. You do look a hell of a lot more relaxed. I keep saying, a good whore is the same for us as a weekend at a spa for the missus.”

Only your missus kicked you in the balls and walked away with five of your millions and your favourite house in the countryside.