Page 35 of For Real

My arms were already aching, but I carried him inside anyway because it seemed like the romantic thing to do and something about Toby made me want to be romantic.

No fool like an old fool.

Less romantic was the groan of relief I couldn’t quite suppress when I dropped him heavily onto the sofa in the living room. But he didn’t seem to mind, just pushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled at me again, a little shyly this time.5

I took off my coat and flung it over the arm of a chair. His eyes followed me hungrily. And when I sat down next to him, he reached out, took the end of my slightly crumpled tie and tugged me forward. My gasp roared in my ears, far too loud, far too desperate, as I stared at the blue silk between his fingers, holding me leashed.

“You’re always so smart. Are you a lawyer or something?”6

“No,” I said dazedly. “I’m a doctor. Consultant, actually.”

“Wow, hotshot, huh?” He twitched my tie. He hadn’t even touched me, and I was hard for him. “What do you consult about?”

“Emergency and prehospital medicine… And I…I’m with London’s Air Ambulance. Toby…I…”

“I work in a café.” He pronounced it caff, a touch of East London creeping into his voice. “Just so you know. Started as a kitchen porter, then Hairy, who was the chef, broke his leg, so I got a promotion.”

I gazed at him, breathless and aroused. Why was he telling me this?

“I just thought you ought to know what a classy gent you’re getting, Dr. Dalziel.” Clearly, he thought he sounded terribly cynical. But he just sounded hurt. “What a catch I am.”

I slid my hand over his wrist, holding him there holding me. “It’s Mr., and I don’t want you to be anything but you.”

He pressed his spare hand between my legs, stroking until I groaned for him. “I guess you do want me.”

“Oh God. I do. It’s madness but I do. However you’ll have me.”

“Then why the fuck did you let me go?”

I’d closed my eyes at some point during the sweet torment of his caresses, but now they snapped open. “Why did I…?”

“Before. You let me go. Would it have cost that much to say, ‘What’s your phone number?’”

I’d had reasons, and they’d seemed sound at the time, but now…now I could barely remember them. Or find the energy to care. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t do that shit.” He huffed out a breath, stirring the tips of his fringe. “It’s been crap, you know. Trying to figure this out without you. I’ve been fucking miserable.” He wrapped my tie around his hand and leaned in to meet me, stretching up so his lips could brush mine, my jaw, my cheek, the edge of my nose, the dark circles I knew lay beneath my eyes. “And you’ve been miserable too. I can tell.”

I shuddered and nodded. Was that more acceptable than sorry? All my need and longing and shame, exposed for him.

“You know, I went back to that club looking for you. Twice. The second time they caught me, so I waited on the pavement. You didn’t show up.”

“No, I was—”

“Avoiding me. I get it. I tried to get over you too. I really did. But nobody else is right.”

“I know.”

He scowled, tugging on the tie, pulling me in even tighter. “You’d better not do this to me again.”

Oh God. I wasn’t ready to make promises. I was barely ready for whatever was happening now. Barely ready and desperate at the same time. “I…I’ll try.”

We were silent a moment, both of us strangely solemn.

He blinked, looking young suddenly, and confused. “So…we’re…like…boyfriends? I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Not a proper one.”

“And you don’t have one now.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

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