On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(45)

Blake slid a hand over Jason’s thigh. “You’ve definitely got yourself a deal.”





When they got back to the house and went to get out of the car, they both groaned, moving gingerly. Thanks to the long flight, Blake’s joints and muscles ached like hell, and Jason didn’t seem to be any better. In fact, although he’d flown before, this trip had clearly hit Jason hard.

Fortunately for them, Blake’s house had just the facility for a couple of travel-weary flyers.

“Oh, this looks lovely.” Jason watched Blake pull the cover off the indoor hot tub. “How do you manage in these living conditions?”

“It’s rough, but . . .” Blake nodded toward the wine and two glasses in Jason’s hands. “That’s why we have those.”

“I see. I suppose a nice cabernet does take the edge off most things, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly. And the water’s perfect, so let’s get in.”

They stripped off their clothes and left them folded neatly on top of the cover.

As Jason slipped into the water, he groaned. “My God.”

“Too hot? Oh, you like it lukewarm, don’t you?”

“This isn’t too hot.” Jason scowled playfully at him. “Unlike the way you shower.”

Laughing, Blake joined him, keeping the bottle and glasses above the water.

“Well, now I’m spoiled.” Jason rested his head against the edge. “I’m going to step off the plane in London, expecting a hot bath in a tub the size of my whole flat, and I’ll be sorely disappointed.” He opened one eye. “I do hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

Blake pursed his lips, eyeing the wineglasses cradled between his fingers. “You know, we did have a bottle at the restaurant. Maybe more wine is a bit much. I could—”

“Pour the f*cking wine.”

Blake laughed and poured the f*cking wine. They gently clinked their glasses together and settled against the side of the tub, submerged to their collarbones.

“This is definitely what I needed,” Jason said. “Wine and hot water. Love it.”

“It’s usually what the doctor ordered.”

“I can see why.” Jason rolled some wine around in his mouth. “It’s funny. Jared and Tristan said you were amazing in bed. They didn’t say a word about all of this.”

“To be fair, I never brought them home with me.”

“True.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever done anything like this with anyone. Not anyone from Market Garden.”

“So you don’t bring guys like me here often?”

I haven’t met many guys like you.

Blake took a deep swallow of wine, nearly draining his glass. “Never, to be honest.”

“Not even guys you’ve dated?”

“Well, yes. But not . . .” Blake hesitated. “This isn’t going too far, is it?”

“Too far? How so?”

“I mean, when we were at your apartment, you mentioned guys trying to buy what wasn’t for sale.” He swirled his wineglass. “For the record, I have no intention of—”

“You’re fine.” Jason waved a hand. “To tell you the truth, it’s a nice switch. Being able to have a conversation that isn’t about sex or money.”

“You don’t do that when you’re an escort?”

“Not very often.” He rolled his eyes and sipped his wine. “Most of the time, they’re waving their money around like a cock extension, or they’re trying to impress me with how spectacular the sex will be later.”

“Does it live up to the bragging?”

“Sometimes. But as far as conversations go, it’s about as boring as that bloody customs line.”

Blake winced. “Wow. That is boring.”

“And this . . .” Jason met Blake’s gaze. “To answer your question, no. This isn’t too far.” He paused, tilting his head as if studying Blake. “It’s kind of funny, actually. I never get that impression from you. That you’re waving your dick or your money around.”

Blake poured a little more wine in both their glasses. “So I assume you don’t chase after men like that when you want to date someone?”

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Oh God, no. My last boyfriend was a busboy, for f*ck’s sake.”

“Was he?”

Jason nodded. “And I was absolutely smitten with him. But”—he shrugged—“he didn’t like me stripping. He hated the thought of men ogling me while I took off my clothes.”

“That must’ve been before you worked at Market Garden.”

“Right before. After my ex dumped me, I asked Tristan about Market Garden, and became a prostitute. Partially for spite, and partially because I’d felt so oppressed for so long, I wanted to prove to myself that I was completely free of that nonsense.” He chuckled. “And I guess everything about it appealed to me, so I stayed.”

“Do you think you’ll ever get into a relationship again?”

“Depends on if I can find someone who’ll look past what I do with my body and doesn’t think he can buy the rest. I’ll give it, but damned if I’ll sell it to anyone.” His eyes lost focus as he swirled his wine. “As much as I love what I do, you’d be amazed how many people think I’m either worthless because I’m a whore, or like I’m one of those trinkets you saw at my flat.”