Page 25 of Now Comes the Dark

Mallon leaned closer, his breath hot against Roman’s face. “You’ll see.” He gave his thigh a squeeze.

The taxi came to a stop in front of a new building that been completed approximately two years ago. It was modern and minimal and didn’t really suit the architecture of the waterfront. One of the those building Roman saw most days without ever paying any interest. They got out, and Mallon paid the driver. As Roman looked up at the building, which had to be at least twelve storeys high, he realised it was a fancy apartment block with balconies looking out onto the river.

“You’re staying here?” he asked as Mallon came up beside him and tapped his arse, encouraging him to the main entrance.

“It’s cheaper than the hotel now that I have to be here for more than a few nights. Alas, no penthouse apartment, but it’s sufficient for the time I spend here.”

He used a key card to enter the secure door, leading into to a fancy foyer. It was still one-hundred-percent nicer than any of the hotels Roman had stayed in, except for his night with Mallon at the Vermont. He moved towards the elevator.

“We can take the stairs,” Mallon said with a smile, guiding him to a passageway on the left. “I told you, no penthouse. My apartment is on the first floor.”

Mallon’s word caused Roman to lower his expectations, which was a mistake. Mallon’s apartment was much bigger and swankier than the room he’d had at the hotel. The main living area was open plan with a high-end kitchen area on one side, all modern white units and black granite surfaces, while there were brown leather sofas and a huge mahogany coffee table in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a balcony terrace.

“Fuck,” Roman gasped. “What the hell is the penthouse like, if this is what you get on the first floor?”

“I don’t know,” Mallon said, taking off his jacket and hanging it over a chair at the breakfast bar. “I haven’t been up to see. But this will do for now.”

“What do you do to be able to afford all this?” The words were out before Roman could stop them. He knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know.

“I’m a project manager. Ever heard of AgeronBus?”

“No. Never.”

“You will. It’s a French engineering and manufacturing company. We are expanding with a new factory right here on an estate outside of the city. A lot of jobs and investments will come on the back of it. It will soon be a very big deal in Blyham” Mallon moved behind the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. “Vodka for you, right?”

“Great,” Roman said, pulling off his gloves and scarf and attempting to brush his hair into some kind of style. He took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair beside Mallon’s. He knew he should text Ashley and let him know where he was, especially after the fuss they had made, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood. He would do it in a while.

There was nothing personal about the apartment—no family photos or books, not even a stray magazine lying around. It was just as anonymous as the hotel room where he’d stayed before.

“How long are you here for?” he asked.

“The lease is for six months,” Mallon said, pouring a generous splash of whisky. “It can be extended if needs be. I won’t be here all that time, though. I’ll be travelling back and forth between Blyham and Lyon.”

“Wow. That’s quite a lifestyle.” Roman was quietly pleased to hear Mallon would be around longer than expected. If he were lucky, this didn’t have to be such a casual arrangement.

Mallon came from behind the counter, moving with languid sensuality. His jeans hugged his long limbs, bulging at the crotch. He wore a navy-and-white striped sweater, which hung beautifully on his wide shoulders and toned chest. He handed Roman his drink and raised his own glass.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Roman gazed into his pale grey eyes as they clinked glasses.Shit. He’s even sexier than I remembered. He sipped the drink, which was a lot more vodka than mixer. “Whoa. That’s strong.”

“It’s good, though. None of that cheap shit you drink in the bars.”

Roman laughed. “Cheap shit is all I can afford. You’ll get used to it, if you stick around long enough.”

“I’ll never get used to such inferior muck,” Mallon grimaced. He sat on the sofa and crossed an ankle over his knee, a pose Roman remembered so well. “I’ve missed your ass.”

Roman laughed uncertainly. Mallon’s directness could be beguiling. “Don’t you get all the arse you want in France?”

Mallon cocked an eyebrow and his dimples deepened. “Not like yours. Take off your pants. Show me what I missed.”

Roman glanced at the huge windows. He could see across the river and lights in the buildings on the other side. “They’ll see.”

“They can’t see. It’s too far. Stop delaying. Ass now, please.”

His boldness was impossible to resist. Roman put his drink on the coffee table and sat to remove his winter walking boots. He was aware of Mallon watching every move as he stood again and undid his belt and fly. His shoved his jeans to his ankles and stepped out of them. When he’d come out this evening, he’d had no plans to go home with anyone, and the underpants he’d chosen were functional rather than sexy—a pair of thick, navy trunks that came midway down his thigh.

“I didn’t expect to meet you tonight,” he said, tugging at the heavy cotton.

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