If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(33)

Spencer watched the other guy leave, and surprise faded in favour of anger. He clenched his jaw. “What the hell was that about?”

Nick shifted his weight. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Okay, that was unexpected. Nick? Asking permission?

Spencer still had his guard up, but he nodded and gestured at the chair across from him. Nick took the seat and folded his 109

arms on the table. He leaned over them, almost hunched over them, like he was cold and didn’t want anyone to know.

“Long time, no see,” Spencer said.

“I know.” Nick didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t say a bloody thing beyond the simple acknowledgement.

“So after two weeks, why are—”

“We should get out of here.” The words came out of nowhere, as did the sudden, intense eye contact.

Spencer didn’t move, though. “You think I want to leave with you? After you bolted out the door and disappeared for two weeks?”

Nick lowered his gaze, and his lips tightened. It was hard to tell in the low light, but Spencer was sure Nick’s cheeks had coloured. Without regaining eye contact, and speaking barely loud enough for Spencer to hear him, Nick said, “I’m sorry.”

“For which part?”

The wince made Spencer almost regret the bitterness in his tone. Anger still kept the upper hand.

Nick closed his eyes and exhaled. Finally, he looked at Spencer again. “It startled me, okay? What happened last time?”

“Startled you enough to—”

“I f*cked up. I get it.” Nick couldn’t quite keep the unsteadiness—nervousness?—out of his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“And how is going back to my place right now going to make any of this better?”

“Because maybe it’ll give me a chance to pick up where we left off.”

Spencer’s heart jumped into his throat. “I . . . what?”

Nick swallowed. He fidgeted, squirming like he wanted to look anywhere except right at Spencer, but he didn’t break 110

eye contact. “The mistake . . . my mistake was going away. And staying away.”

Spencer blinked.

This time, Nick did look down, focusing intently on playing with the end of one of his black-painted nails, like there was a rough edge he was bound and determined to smooth with only the pad of his finger. “Maybe I’m just stubborn, or a slow f*cking learner, but it took until . . .” He paused, gnawing the inside of his cheek before he looked at Spencer through those long lashes. “Until I saw you with another Dom. And then I . . . God, this is hard. I never get jealous of another Dom. I don’t. But I could have murdered him for laying a hand on you. And that just brought home what the whole problem is, that night and all the f*cking nights since then.”

Spencer folded his arms on the table and leaned forwards.

They were inches apart now. Either of them could bridge the gap with ease, but they didn’t. “I’m still not quite following.

You just want to pick up where we left off. You want me to trust you again like I did up until that night when you kissed me and then bolted.”

Nick winced again, looked down at his boots. Uneasy as Nick seemed to feel, Spencer half-expected him to turn and go, but Nick didn’t move. He stood his ground regardless of the embarrassment, didn’t turn away and leave him, this time for good. Why not?

Spencer went on, “You didn’t want to talk about this that night. You told me we’d talk about it last Friday.” He shook his head and started to sit back. “And now you want me to cough up a grand for—”

“I don’t want your money.”

Spencer halted, having only widened the gap between them by a couple of inches. “I beg your pardon?”

111

“I don’t want your money.” Nick looked him straight in the eyes. “I want you.”

“Me? What about me? You hardly know me.” Though his stomach was fal ing out of his body and rapidly approaching the core of the earth.

Nick stared at him, an echo of the old Nick, merciless and cocky. This stare seemed annoyed, but Nick didn’t shut down, didn’t tell him to go f*ck himself. “I want you, Spencer. Your trust. Your surrender. Your courage. That’s all . . . strong stuff.

Felt like you were made for me—never freaked out, no bad habits from some arsehole that I had to train out of you. You went into it with everything, all out, and there was nothing you wouldn’t have given me if I’d asked for it. That’s huge for me, Spencer. I’ve never really had that, and now that I’ve had it, I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you, Spencer.”

Oh God. Oh dear Lord.

Spencer deflated, not sure how to take it. He’d have preferred those words in between pain so he could actually focus, could actually listen to every small inhale or exhale.

That Nick could need him seemed too much to comprehend.

Nick’s black-painted fingernails tapped rapidly on the table. “I want to beat your shitty week out of you and give you a new start. I want to f*ck it out of you, clear your head so there’s nothing in there but me. The money doesn’t matter.

I want to do it for you. For me.”

Oh God. Spencer was reeling, but Nick’s stare didn’t waver, nor did his voice. “I want to give you what I have, Spencer, and take everything from you. But that shit’s not easy when there’s money involved. The things I want to give you—you can’t buy those. Nobody can. They aren’t for sale.” He swallowed hard.