On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(50)

“I’d say I have enough.”

“For what? A small army?”

Blake chuckled. “I have my weekend toy, my everyday car, and one with some decent cargo space and four-wheel drive in case it snows.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Jason grinned. “Somehow I doubt the arrangement happened for such practical reasons.”

“Not really, no.” Blake shrugged. “But hey, they’re paid for in cash, free and clear, and I take care of them. So why the f*ck not?”

“Far be it from me to judge.” Jason’s smile underscored the lack of sarcasm in his voice—it was a gentle, amused observation, not nose-wrinkling or snark.

“Anyway.” Blake picked up Jason’s suitcase and gestured at the door. “After you.”

“I can get that.”

“It’s all right. Doesn’t weigh a thing. And you’ll get to carry it plenty when you get to Heathrow.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I have to carry the bastard in the bloody Tube.”

Blake thought for a second. “I could always have one of the drivers pick—”

“No, no. You’ve already spoiled me quite rotten. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.” Jason paused. “Thank you, again, by the way. I know this trip didn’t play out like either of us wanted, but I . . . I did enjoy it.”

“Me too.”

Their eyes locked, and they both smiled, but it was a struggle for Blake.

Any chance I could still reschedule your flight?

Jason cleared his throat and broke eye contact. “Anyway.” He started toward the door, and Blake followed.

On the way out, Jason paused, gazing at the covered Lamborghini.

“Something wrong?”

“No. No.” Jason looked over his shoulder. “I guess it’s hard to believe you’ve got cars like these right here in your garage.”

“Well, I can’t exactly keep them in the living room.”

Laughing, Jason rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. These seem like cars that live in show rooms.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe they’re out here either.” He glanced at the cars, and then realized Jason was no longer staring at the vehicles, but at him. “What?”

“It’s . . .” Jason hesitated. “I guess it’s funny. Whenever I’ve spent days at a time with someone—with a client—they remind me at every turn that they’re made of money. But with you, it kind of fades into the background unless we’re negotiating a price or drooling over your Lamborghini. Otherwise, you’re just . . . a regular guy.”

Blake cocked his head. “Is that a good thing or a bad one?”

Jason smiled again. “It’s a good one. A very good one.”

“For what it’s worth,” Blake said quietly, “that goes both ways.”

“Really?”

Blake nodded.

And there it was—that long, unflinching eye contact that had put Blake off-balance the night they met, but now seemed to be . . . almost normal. A comfortable thing between them.

I’m looking at you because I don’t want to look at anything else.

He forced himself to break eye contact, though, and fussed with the keys in his hand before he found the button to pop the Land Rover’s hatch and the other to unlock the doors. “We should get moving. I don’t want you to have to rush through security.”

“Right. Right.” Jason climbed into the passenger seat while Blake lifted the hatch to put the suitcase away.

Then Blake got in beside him and started the engine. As it idled, he said, “Well, as I said, flu bullshit aside, it was nice to have you here. I’m . . . gonna miss you.”

“I enjoyed it too.” Faint amusement curled the edges of his lips. “Flu bullshit notwithstanding.”

Blake chuckled, though it took more effort than it should have. “Maybe next time, you’ll get to see New York.”

“Yeah. Next time.” Jason’s eyes drifted toward the Lamborghini. “When will you be back in London?”

“It’s hard to say. If I could drop everything and go on a moment’s notice, believe me, I would.”

Jason faced him. “No need for that. Besides—” he laughed dryly “—I’m sure New York has the equivalent to Market Garden somewhere.”

But it wouldn’t have an equivalent to you.

“Either way, I’ll be counting down to my next trip.”

“Me too.”

Blake didn’t look away. Neither did Jason. Much more of this, and they wouldn’t be pulling out of the garage anytime soon.

But . . .

To hell with it.

Blake leaned across the console, touched Jason’s face, and drew him into a soft kiss. Jason’s fingers slid along Blake’s neck and up into his hair, and he kissed him back as if he were this close to suggesting they get the hell upstairs.

But then Jason broke away, and drew his tongue along his lips. “We should . . . we should go.”

“Yeah. We should.” Blake straightened in his seat and rested his hand on the gearshift. He stole one more glance at Jason and considered stealing one more kiss for good measure, but then Jason would miss his flight for sure.