Job Hunt (10 page)

“Sure I do, just not right now,” Gareth replied unexpectedly. He wrapped Jack into a bear hug and pushed himself upright until he leaned against the headboard, and their eyes met. “I wanna savor you for something special… go slow and explore, spend hours teasing you.” Gareth’s hand came up, and Jack bit back a groan when Gareth started dragging blunt nails over his scalp. “What would you say to spending the weekend with me?”

“After last night? I’d have to be stupid to miss out on a repeat performance.” The expression of relief that crossed Gareth’s face was unexpected. “You thought I wouldn’t want to?”

“You’ve always been a law unto yourself, Jack.” Gareth shrugged. “I can read you, but I find it damn difficult to predict your actions.”

“Ditto.” Jack smiled, unwilling to let go of his blissful mood. “I’ve never had something so….” He searched for a word that would adequately describe his experience. “Intense.” He finally decided. “And we didn’t really do anything.” He straightened in Gareth’s lap and brought their faces close. “Just make sure you have a fire extinguisher handy,” he said before he claimed Gareth’s lips.

Time passed in blissful exploration until Gareth drew away. “We’d better get up. You have an appointment with HR this morning to sign your contract.”

Jack struggled to remember what day it was, not to mention what was on his agenda. “Not such a good idea, since we’ve just compromised our working relationship with a one-night stand,” he muttered and pushed himself upright.

“I really can’t flatter myself, can I?” Gareth grumbled and pinned Jack with a lightning move. “I swear to God if you don’t stop spouting bullshit I’ll tie you to something sturdy, find my belt, and explain
in detail
why I spent favors and my employer’s resources to find you.”

For a long moment Jack stared, then he started to laugh like he hadn’t laughed in years. When the helpless chuckles threatened to turn into something far more embarrassing, he reached up and pulled Gareth close. “Gods, Gareth, I love you,” he mumbled against a shoulder, when he finally relaxed.

Gareth held him until his breathing evened out. “Does this mean you’ll come work for me and stop giving me trouble?” he queried as Jack sat up.

“I’ll work for you,” Jack agreed, excitement starting to thread through his mind as he began to contemplate new challenges ahead. “Not sure about not giving you trouble, though.”

The way they moved through their morning routine made Jack think of the well-trained staff behind a busy cocktail bar. It felt like a closely choreographed dance routine that allowed them to share space without one impeding the other. Jack never spent nights with lovers, and he’d expected a level of awkwardness. But nothing was further from the truth. With Gareth, everything seemed easy, everything they did just… worked. And while Jack didn’t believe that things would stay that way, he wanted to take advantage while the going was good.

“What do you say we go out for breakfast?” Gareth’s shout came from the kitchen as if he’d remembered from his previous foray how limited Jack’s culinary resources were.

“Great idea. Think you can handle the Ten Deadly Sins?” The look on Gareth’s face was worth recording for posterity, but Jack didn’t reach for his phone to snap a picture. Instead he grabbed Gareth’s hand and dragged him out the door, content to let matters explain themselves in due course.

C
HAPTER
EIGHT
T
EASE
AND
C
HALLENGE

“I
CAN
’
T
believe
I’ve eaten all that!” Jack groaned and rubbed his stomach. He felt stuffed. Content, sort of happy, but definitely stuffed. Breakfast had been magnificent, Simpson’s kitchen doing full justice to the famous meal they called The Ten Deadly Sins. Jack had devoured Cumberland sausage and baked tomatoes, indulged in liver and bacon, black pudding, and mushrooms, and followed that up with bubble and squeak, fried bread, scrambled eggs, and baked beans. When toast, jam, and various pastries appeared on the table, Jack was convinced he wouldn’t need to eat for the rest of the weekend. Now, the table in front of him was a splendid ruin, with Gareth—looking like a sleek, well-fed cat—presiding over the teapot.

“I can’t believe it either,” Gareth replied in a deep, amused rumble. He had opted for a more reasonably sized full English breakfast, but his plate was just as bare as Jack’s. “But since you do need more meat on your bones, I’m perfectly willing to indulge your appetite.”

Hmmm
. Jack hid his face in his fourth cup of coffee.
Too easy
. He slipped a foot out of the soft suede loafers he wore and slid it up the inside of Gareth’s leg. Voluminous white tablecloths had their advantages, after all.

“Jack!” The faintest hint of pink dusted Gareth’s cheekbones. He slid as far back into the seat as he could, trying—and failing—to avoid Jack’s questing toes.

“Yes?”

“This is one of London’s oldest, most respectable restaurants,” Gareth stated firmly. “I come here a lot.”

“Yes?”

“So I wouldn’t relish being thrown out.”

Jack made puppy-dog eyes. “You just said you’d be perfectly willing to indulge my appetite,” he purred.

“Food, Jack!” Gareth spluttered. “I was talking about food.”

“Of course.” Jack kept his face blank and his eyes down as he slipped his foot back into the loafer. He finished his coffee and started to arrange the used china into neat piles. Opposite him, Gareth fidgeted. He opened his mouth a few times as if to make a comment, then gave up and called for the bill instead.

When that was settled, Jack stood without a word and turned toward the exit, amused when Gareth stayed close. Too close.

“Gareth….” Jack drew out the name on a sigh, heard the hitch in Gareth’s breath, and spun around with a huge grin splitting his face. “You don’t need to step on my hems. I wasn’t planning on running in the other direction.”

“Why you little….”

Jack ducked out of the way of a fist trying to connect with the back of his head and laughed. “You should have seen that guilty look on your face… undercover work is not for you.”

“You are a manipulative little….”

“Gareth!” Jack wanted to grab the man by the front of his polo shirt and push him against the nearest wall, but he refrained. Simpson’s hallowed halls were not the place for horseplay. Not for Gareth Flynn, at any rate. “Keep calling me names and I
will
run,” he declared in his most ominous voice. “Just… FYI.”

And with that he was out the door and down the steps before Gareth could reply.

Jack slipped into the thick pedestrian traffic, walking just a bit faster than most of the people heading to work. He had never quite understood the buzz of working a crowd, but right then, dodging and weaving around human-shaped obstacles, aware that Gareth was trying to catch up without creating an obvious scene, Jack suddenly felt insanely happy. The unexpected surge of emotion stopped him in his tracks. He was… happy. And it had little to do with the fact that it was Friday or that the sun was shining. The excitement of a new job was a contributor, but most of his elation was tied to the man who was drawing level with him, eyes narrowed to angry slits and face like a thundercloud.

A broad hand closed around his bicep, holding him in place. “You deserve an ass whipping for that stunt.”

“Promise?” Giddiness flooded Jack as he rendered Gareth speechless for a second time that morning.

It didn’t last long.

“For Christ’s sake, Horwood, get a grip!”

“Sorry.” Jack drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. He was standing on the Strand during the morning rush, pedestrian traffic surging around him, and wondered why feeling happy reminded him of crazy nights drinking and laughing with Tom. It couldn’t have been that long since he felt like this, could it? He smiled into irate amber eyes. “I was just teasing.”

“Well, don’t. It’s irritating.”

The growl was more bark than bite, and the smile that crinkled the corners of Gareth’s eyes made Jack’s insides crinkle right back. With a little effort, he managed a wink and a halfhearted salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“I
SUPPOSE
I have you to thank for my rearranged schedule and this….” A slender hand waved at a thick concertina file on the corner of the desk, and Gareth tried not to flinch.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted and stepped into the one room in the building that never failed to calm him. The space suited the quiet psychologist. The walls were painted a pale amethyst gray that complemented her eyes, the furniture was dark autumn-leaf oak, and a deep red sofa and two armchairs invited visitors to take their ease. With her delicate build, expressive eyes, and neat mahogany bob, Alexandra Marston looked positively regal surrounded by hibiscus trees in dark red ceramic pots, like a female Buddha or something equally Zen.

Gareth’s office faced the city and his desk offered views over London’s skyline and the River Thames, while Marston had opted for an office with windows onto the inner, glass-roofed courtyard of the Nancarrow Mining HQ and the graceful tall birch that took up the courtyard’s center. Most days Gareth liked his view out over London, but he could appreciate the serenity of Marston’s domain, a place to relax tight controls for just a moment.

“You really managed to convince him,” Alexandra Marston said, thoughtful, inviting her visitor to take a seat and reaching for the teapot on her desk. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” Gareth huffed in mild irritation. “It didn’t go as planned.”

“Because of the police operation?” Alexandra poured tea and held out a cup. “Close your mouth, Gareth. I am still not clairvoyant. Lisa called earlier, so I know you didn’t have the most restful of nights, and neither did your Jack.”

Gareth considered scoffing at Marston’s description of his night, or taking umbrage at having Jack apostrophized as his, but in the end he did neither. Knowing Alexandra, each word had been chosen with the utmost deliberation, and it was far safer to let her say what she felt she needed to say.

“How is he handling the death of that child?”

“Professionally,” Gareth replied, wondering if Jack was even better at hiding than he gave him credit for. “A little uneven when something catches him off guard, maybe.”

“Lisa wants his help with the investigation,” Marston informed him.

“I’m not surprised. He’s good.” Gareth’s mind filled with images of Jack moving about the dim club assessing targets, exits, and potential victims, missing nothing despite a belladonna-induced headache, impaired vision, and the obvious disadvantages of using himself as bait. He’d had to run that op with minimal intel and no backup, but once there Jack had owned the space and had done everything he needed to do to achieve his objective. “Damn good, actually.”

“So you approve?”

“Not my place to approve or disapprove,” Gareth said slowly. “Not my place to stop him if he wants to help, either. Don’t think I could.” There had been a time, years ago, when he had been able to control the dangers Jack faced. Now Gareth could watch and advise, but control was outside his remit. The fact stuck in his craw, though he was honest enough to admit that Jack grown up and making his own decisions was enticing for entirely different reasons.

The beautiful woman facing him across the tea table smiled ever so slightly. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“Alex, it’s not my place to make his choices. Do I want him to stick his head into a hornet’s nest and rip open wounds from his past? Hell no! Do I want him to do what he needs to be at peace? Yes, I do. Does
that
answer your question?”

“More than you realize, perhaps.”

His teacup rattled in the saucer, and Gareth growled in frustration. It was Friday—and yes, people were a little more relaxed on Fridays—but that shouldn’t have translated into everyone thinking that teasing him would be a good idea. Jack had almost driven him insane that morning and—within minutes of stepping into his new office—had promptly recruited Frazer to join in the mayhem.

For two specialists of their caliber, defining the spec for Jack’s workstation should have been the work of moments. Or at least that’s what Gareth had thought. Instead the two started drooling over processors, memory, and various esoteric components as if they were pictures in a dirty magazine, arguing in high, excited voices and trading insults as if they’d been married for twenty years. And the way Jack, in his tight black jeans, kept bending over the desk to point at stuff in the catalogue Frazer was holding…. Gareth had left them to it in the end and had holed up in his office, intent on burying himself in work.

Only to end up watching Jack on the security feed instead. Grainy images of Jack smiling and arguing blended with images of Jack barefoot and in tight leather trousers, of soft skin under his hands, of Jack writhing and shuddering in his arms until Gareth could barely contain himself.

Yeah, he’d sure got it bad in a hurry.

“Y
OUR
APPLICATION
was most impressive.”

“Thank you.” Jack leaned back in the comfortable armchair and kept his hands loosely in his lap. He wondered if the chairs were deep red for a reason, an imaginary hot seat designed to make the occupants squirm and spill secrets they’d rather keep hidden. It was a fanciful notion but not easily dismissed given the company. The woman sitting opposite him, Alexandra Marston, might look unassuming with her neat figure and neater bob, but she had a stare like a power drill.

Fortunately, Jack was years past getting flustered by stares. Even ones as intent as hers.

“You provided an extremely detailed analysis of the shortcomings of the company’s network as part of your approach to us.” Marston began their conversation, her voice soft and melodious. “Why?”

“Network security is one of my specialties. You could say I was showing off my talents.”

“I could also draw a very different conclusion.”