On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(39)

“You can if you want. If you want to spend your entire visit in customs.”

“Hmm, true. What should I put, then?”

“Actor? Dancer?”

“I suppose those fit.” Only slightly louder, he added, “Perhaps a bit less suspicious than ‘Cum-guzzling manwhore.’”

Across the aisle, another passenger spat out his drink. Blake glanced over, and was met with a look of wide-eyed horror and surprise from a suited guy who was scrambling to wipe brandy or whatever off his dress shirt. The man glared at them, and then got up and stomped toward the lavatory at the front of first class.

“Teach you to eavesdrop,” Jason said under his breath.

Laughing, Blake turned to him. “That’s got to be the least British thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Jason shrugged as he signed the bottom of his customs form. “Arsehole’s been giving us the evil eye since Heathrow. Might as well give ’im something to tell his mates.”

“The evil eye?” Blake cocked his head. “Why? How the hell would he know there’s anything going on?”

“Don’t know, but . . .” Another shrug, and Jason handed back Blake’s pen. “If I was imagining it before, I won’t be now.”

The other guy returned, and neither Blake nor Jason was imagining the dirty look he shot them both. Blake just smiled sweetly, which made the man’s lips tighten before he dropped into his seat with a huff.

Jason snickered, patting Blake’s arm. “Told you.”

Blake laughed and shook his head.

In Newark, they shuffled from the plane to customs, where they had to separate. Blake stood in the mile-long cattle line for American passports, while Jason joined maybe two dozen people in the “all other passports” line. He flashed Blake a smug grin, and mouthed I’ll wait for you on the other side.

Blake chuckled. Apparently Jason couldn’t yet see that there was only one customs agent working that group, while at least ten were processing the Americans.

As predicted, when all was said and done, it was Blake who was waiting for Jason beyond the border while the lone customs agent processed all the scary foreigners.

As Jason joined him, Blake batted his eyes. “What took you so long?”

“Bite me,” Jason grumbled. “Much more of that, and I was going to offer to suck him off in the car park just to be done with it.”

“I suppose that’s one way to get through customs faster.”

“Think it would work?”

“Not as well as you’d hope.”

“Eh. It was worth a try.”

“I dare you to do it at Heathrow on the return trip.”

“I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind.”

“Smart man.”

They continued through the airport maze with their suitcases in tow.

All his adult life, Blake had been vigilant about when and where he could get away with public displays of affection with men. Hand-holding was a risk. In certain places, a kiss was on par with an Evel Knievel stunt—a hell of a lot of danger for a momentary thrill.

And yet, as they made their way from baggage claim to long-term parking, he very nearly rested his hand on the small of Jason’s back. He just needed to touch him after being an arm’s-length apart for the last several hours.

To be on the safe side, he tucked his thumb under the strap over his shoulder, anchoring his hand so he would—hopefully—keep it to himself.

Eventually, they made it out to the parking lot where Blake’s Land Rover waited. After they’d dropped their luggage into the back, they took their respective seats, and Blake turned on the engine. Since it had been sitting here for a while, he let it idle to warm up while they adjusted the air and got situated.

Jason started to put on his seatbelt, but hesitated, focusing on something outside the windshield. “This whole place is empty, isn’t it?”

“What, the parking lot?”

“Yeah.”

Blake glanced around. “Seems that way. Sometimes you get little floods of people if a bunch were on the same flight, but—”

“But it’s really empty now?”

“Yep. It’s—”

“Good.” Jason lunged across the console, grabbed the side of Blake’s neck, and kissed him. Startled, Blake hesitated, but then wrapped his arms around Jason and kissed him back, wondering how the f*ck they’d made it this far without doing a hell of a lot more than kissing. If the airlines hadn’t turned into such *s about it in recent years, he’d have gladly taken Jason into the lavatory to join the mile high club, but he’d restrained himself, and they’d made it, and God, now he was kissing him and loving every second.

Jason broke away, and they both blinked a few times.

“Sorry.” Jason licked his lips. “Too many hours of . . .”

“Yeah.” Blake nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You still thinking it?”

“You?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then we’d better get back to my place, hadn’t we?”





As it often did, the euphoria of being on the ground quickly wore off, and jet lag and exhaustion kicked in. By the time they reached Blake’s house, neither was in the mood for anything besides a shower and a few minutes to breathe air that wasn’t pressurized, recirculated, and shared with an eavesdropping homophobe.