If It Flies (Market Garden, #3)(7)

“Thanks. What about that safeword?”

“Don’t think I’ll need it.”

Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Humour me.” Delivered so deadpan and no-nonsense that Spencer was taken aback. “Just for when shit goes wrong.”

“Fine.” He glanced at his bookshelf. “Bonaparte.” He’d been reading a biography.

Nick nodded. “Now, to your fantasies. What do you like?

Anything in particular you want to try?”

“Err.” Spencer pulled at his tie. “Just normal sex will be fine. I’m not that interesting. I’ll probably be one of your less weird clients.”

“I’m assuming you don’t want to do this in your kitchen.”

Spencer glanced around. They were still standing in the kitchen, weren’t they? “Right. Of course. This way.”

Down the hal , to the left, and when the hell did he start bringing prostitutes into his bloody bedroom? Tonight, apparently. Oh God.

Once the door clicked shut, Nick straightened like the sound was the boxing ring bell and it was game on. He faced Spencer and gave him the same appraising look, his lips quirking and one eyebrow arching thoughtfully. Then, “Take off my jacket.”

22

Spencer instinctively reached for the button on his own coat, but it wasn’t there. Nick’s words replayed in his head: Take off my jacket.

His hands froze in mid-air. “Pardon me?”

“Take off. My jacket.” Nick’s chin dipped and he looked at Spencer through his blond fringe with don’t make me repeat myself written all over his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer stepped towards Nick.

Funny how Nick was intimidating when he approached in all his cocky here I f*cking am glory, but approaching him was even worse. What the hell? Spencer could make juniors stammer and bend clients to his will. But this blond kid who’d wrapped himself in leather and arrogance turned him into a stuttering, stumbling idiot. It didn’t— Nick cleared his throat.

“Right. Sorry.” Spencer reached for the half-zipped jacket.

The metal was cool, but as he drew down the zip, he could feel the heat radiating off the bare flesh underneath. Earlier tonight, he’d imagined himself groping and pawing at a prostitute just like Percy was likely doing right now, but he carefully kept himself from even grazing Nick’s chest or his smooth, flat abs. Not until Nick told him to.

Wait, what? Who the hell is paying for this? I’m in charge, not—“Clock’s ticking, Spencer.” Nick glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Go on.”

“Sorry.” How many times was he going to apologise tonight?

The zip caught at the bottom, and he tugged it until it separated. Relieved, he drew back his hands, but a sharp jump of Nick’s eyebrow gave him pause.

23

“I didn’t say to unzip it,” he said. “I said take it off.” He lowered his gaze to his right sleeve, then his left, looked at Spencer again and cocked his head. The Well? wasn’t spoken, but holy f*ck, it was there.

Spencer went around behind Nick and pulled the jacket by the shoulders, stepped back and slid it down his arms.

Smooth, smooth shoulders, perfectly shaped. Nick’s poise was as controlled and grand as if he were a stage magician.

And yet he didn’t seem melodramatic at al . Something about that easy confidence twisted Spencer’s balls, and he wasn’t even sure why. He folded the jacket and placed it on a chair, stealing a glance at Nick’s back even as he did it. Nick was cut, front and back. Smooth, too. Waxed, lasered, or just naturally hairless.

Nick didn’t turn to face him, so Spencer swallowed a moment of hesitation and walked around him. Quite subtly, Nick made him do things that he simply hadn’t imagined himself doing. Small things, but, shit, poignant.

“Like what you see?” Nick asked.

Spencer nodded. “You’re in shape.”

Nick grinned. “Only the very best for my boy Spencer.”

Wait, what? Who was the boy here?

“Take off the cufflinks and tie.”

Spencer’s hands were up to his throat before he could think better of it. He pulled at the fine Italian silk and smoothed it before he dropped it on—well, not the chair with Nick’s jacket. Somehow, those piles of clothes should stay separate. He put it on the bed, fiddled the cufflinks out of the French cuffs. They flared open, making his wrists feel naked and vulnerable.

He dropped the links into his trouser pocket so they wouldn’t get lost.

24

“Your shirt.”

Spencer unbuttoned it, eyes on Nick’s smooth chest, pulled it free and opened the last few buttons. He was about to take it off, when Nick’s “Stop” stopped him.

Nick looked him up and down. Again. One more time.

Some sort of mindf*ckery, Spencer had no doubt, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Nick gave him a nod, indicating to finish that part of the striptease, and Spencer finished removing his shirt. Under Nick’s scrutiny, he was glad he did work out whenever possible—swimming, running, because otherwise the job stress would simply murder him.

And now, it amazed him just how exposed he could feel while he was still dressed to the waist.

Nick motioned him forward with two fingers.

Spencer followed, moved right up to where Nick indicated.