Page 36 of Blown

Rafe nodded. “It’s on me.”

Jake winced. “I can’t let you buy me a drink when I just ruined your night. And yes, before you ask, I came here deliberately to ruin your date because I don’t like the idea of you going out with another man.”

He sucked in a breath as soon as the words were spoken. It was a relief to get them out and a triumph that he’d been able to be honest, but he still felt like holy hell was about to rain down on him.

Rafe shrugged as he gave the bartender his order, then shifted to face Jake. Their knees bumped together, but neither of them tried to move away.

“I’m glad you showed up,” Rafe said, though he grimaced as he did. “I didn’t really want to be here with Steve anyhow. He’s right, I should have told him the other day at the faire and canceled the date then.”

“Wow. Okay,” Jake said, surprised by the level of honesty they were both showing. “Maybe I should have ordered a drink after all if we’re going to sit here dropping truth bombs all night.”

Rafe grinned. It wasn’t an outright laugh or something garish and fake. It was just a sweet, warm gesture of genuine affection that made Jake feel like he was walking on cloud nine. His heart beat hard and fast, but for a change, it wasn’t with anxiety or the sick dread of wondering if the lie he’d just told was the one that would unravel everything for him.

“The whole time Steve sat there talking, I was thinking about you,” Rafe said once the bartender delivered his drink and he’d taken a gulp. “I didn’t want to be with him, I wanted to be with you.” He paused, staring into Jake’s eyes with an intensity that squeezed Jake’s chest and had him silent for once. “I want to be with you,” he repeated.

“I want to be with you, too,” Jake said, too quiet in the din of the club for Rafe to actually hear him.

He didn’t need to hear. The sparks crackling between them said enough. They said everything, but Jake slipped his hand over Rafe’s as it rested on the bar anyhow.

The club seemed to melt away, and all there was in the world was Rafe’s warm, inviting eyes and full lips. Jake wanted to kiss Rafe so badly that he licked his lips. He wanted to feel Rafe over him, under him, every which way. He wanted the two of them to snuggle together on rainy days and spend Christmases in matching feety pajamas, opening presents with the rest of the Hawthorne family.

“I think I love you,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rafe said, standing and leaving his half-finished drink on the bar. “There’s a hotel right across the street.”

Jake didn’t have to be told twice. He stood, and for extra flare, he grabbed Rafe’s drink and threw back the rest of what was in the glass.

He was not expecting straight whiskey, and instead of making a beautiful, movie-worthy exit, Jake coughed and wheezed and doubled over, trying to suck air into his lungs around the burn of alcohol.

Rafe laughed and scooped an arm around him, dragging him up and propelling him toward the door. “Lightweight,” he joked as they breezed outside to the busy street.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Jake said, his voice still hoarse. “I can hold my liquor.”

“Right,” Rafe said.

They made it as far as the street corner before Rafe grabbed Jake by the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a searing kiss. If the alcohol wasn’t already spinning his head, that kiss would have done the job. He threw himself into it, grabbing Rafe in return and groaning low in his throat as he kissed Rafe back. They were in a trendy part of London, so it didn’t matter thatthey were in public. They weren’t the only gay couple making out on the sidewalk either.

As soon as the light changed, they hurried across the street to the incredibly swanky-looking hotel. Jake had to stop again once they were just outside the entrance to pull Rafe back into his arms for another kiss. It was absolute heaven. For all his questionable plans and interference, it was turning into the best night of his life.

Jake was vaguely aware of the hotel door opening beside him. He didn’t think anything of it until Rafe suddenly pulled back from him and blurted, “Oh my God, Hélène Rénard!”

Jake gasped and spun away from Rafe in a panic. Sure enough, Hélène Rénard had just stepped out of the hotel wearing black leather jeans, a silver, silk shirt, and a flowing wrap in a Japanese style.

“Hélène Rénard,” Rafe repeated, stepping after her as the woman moved to the curb and glanced around, like she was waiting for a car to come get her.

She noticed Rafe and turned to them with a banal, impersonal smile. “Yes?” she asked in her smokey, French accent.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rafe Hawthorne,” Rafe said, stepping over to her like he was approaching a temple. “And, of course, you know Jake Mathers.”

Jake froze. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as Hélène Rénard turned to him and blinked.

“Non,” she said, making the word sound vaguely like a question. “I do not believe we have met. Jake Mathers, did you say?”

Jake swallowed hard and peeked at Rafe.

Rafe’s adoring smile had already started to fade. Jake watched in horror as his hopes and dreams crumbled asRafe’s expression turned questioning, then understanding, then furious.

“You lied,” Rafe said, barely above a whisper. “You told me a big, fat lie to convince me to marry you. You don’t know Hélène Rénard at all, do you.”

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