On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(53)

He parked in the usual place near the train station, walked the usual route, and took his usual place on the platform. And as he always did while he waited, he checked his email.

And nearly dropped his phone.

Jason.

He opened the message.

Sorry for the radio silence—been a busy couple of weeks.

He typed back, It’s ok. Hope it’s been a good kind of busy?

A moment later: Def. good. LOL Lucrative.

Ah, that explained it.

First there was relief that Jason was all right and still in contact. Then came a weird panicky feeling. A sense of urgency that came out of nowhere.

I need to see him.

I need to see him. Now.

In the back of his mind, some sort of doomsday clock was suddenly ticking, as if he didn’t just need to see Jason, he needed to see him soon before . . .

Before what? Before Jason went to work and made money doing the job Blake had known about from the start? Why did the thought of that fill him with panic?

His phone vibrated, signaling that another message had come into his inbox, which was still open on the screen.

I’ll be on Skype tonight if you want to chat.

Then and there, Blake almost called in sick so he could go home and get on Skype, but that would’ve been stupid. He’d already taken too much time off as it was. Between Jason’s visit and the flu, he’d missed quite a few days, and he didn’t need to press his business partners’ good will. Especially not with several meetings coming up with potential new clients.

And yet, he was still considering it.

He was losing his damned mind, wasn’t he?

Maybe, but he wasn’t going to f*ck up his job, so he wrote back, Yeah, I’ll be home at my usual time.

One thing was for damn sure—he was going to be useless for the entire day.



After too many hours of watching a clock move too slowly, Blake emailed Jason from the train station to let him know he was on his way home. After the longest train ride ever, he got into his car and broke at least a dozen laws between the parking garage and his house.

In his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie, but didn’t bother changing clothes yet. Instead, he sat on the bed with his laptop and logged into Skype.

Within minutes, Goldenboy_Jason appeared.

Then the screen changed, and . . . there he was. He looked tired, but better than while he’d been sick, and though it might’ve been the lighting, Blake swore Jason was tanned.

Whatever the case, seeing him now did strange things to Blake’s pulse. Had it really only been two weeks since they’d seen each other? Why the hell did it feel like years? Like when he ran into his old crush at their ten-year high school reunion, and it had hit him how much time had passed?

Blake smiled, and found enough breath to say, “Hey. It’s been a while.” Has it been that long since I’ve touched you?

Jason smiled too, a little sheepishly. “Sorry I’ve been scarce. One of my clients was apparently trying to reach me while I was in America, and as soon as I got here, he wanted to take me on a trip.”

Something twisted in Blake’s chest. “A trip?”

Jason nodded. “Just flew in this morning from Santorini.”

“Santorini?” Blake grinned despite that tightness getting even more uncomfortable. “That must’ve been gorgeous.”

“Oh, it was. I’ll have to show you some photos when you’re back in the City.”

Blake forced a smile. “I can’t wait.”

Silence fell, and it was almost getting awkward before Jason cleared his throat and asked, “So how have you been? It’s, um, been a while.”

Too long.

“I’ve been all right.” Blake laughed halfheartedly. “Seems someone infected me with a respiratory bug, though.”

Jason grimaced. “Sorry.”

“I’ll live. I assume you recovered well enough?”

“I did. The flight back wasn’t pleasant, but I was fine by the time I left for—” He chewed his lip, avoiding Blake’s gaze for a second. “Yes, it cleared up, thankfully.”

“Good. Good.”

The silence set in and wouldn’t move. After an uncomfortable moment, Jason glanced at his phone, and scowled. “Well, it’s late here. I suppose I should sleep. Frank wants me back at Market Garden tomorrow night.”

That tightness behind Blake’s ribs was going to start creating diamonds at this rate. “No rest for the weary?”

“Afraid not.” Jason smiled. “It was good speaking to you.”

“Likewise. I should have an itinerary for my next trip soon, so I’ll keep you posted.”

“Brilliant. Looking forward to it.”

So am I. More than you know.

After they’d signed off, Blake stared at the screen for a long time, and then made himself close the laptop and go get some dinner. All the while, though, he replayed the conversation over and over in his mind. And every time he imagined Jason at Market Garden tomorrow night, a sick feeling swept over him. It wasn’t jealousy. Well . . . maybe it was, but he wasn’t angry or resentful. He wasn’t even surprised—after all, this was what Jason did. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how or why he felt this way. Or what exactly it was he felt. If anything, it was a twitchy panic. As if whoever caught Jason’s eye tomorrow night might whisk him off to Santorini, or Dubai, or New York. And maybe it wouldn’t be ten days this time. Maybe longer. A john had already bought him a penthouse, and though that one had creeped Jason out, there was always the possibility of someone else coming along and really winning him over.