Page 38 of Waiting for a Prince
He came to a decision. “Look, why don’t I make us some coffee, and then you can crash on my sofa for what’s left of the night. We can talk in the morning when we’re both a little less the worse for wear.”
To his relief, Sam nodded, and Mark went to make some coffee, looking around every now and then to keep an eye on his guest. Sam rested his head against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest now more even. Mark left the coffee black and brought the two mugs over to the coffee table. He handed one to Sam and then sat down beside him, gazing at his own mug in silence. There were no sounds at all from the building.
“’M sorry.”
Mark gave a slight start. He turned to Sam to find him gazing at him, his eyes large and round. Mark didn’t know what to say. He struggled to find words. “Let’s leave the talking for the morning, all right?” He spoke quietly, for the sake of both their heads. Sam bobbed his head once more and sipped his coffee. Mark got up and went into his bathroom to fetch a clean sheet from the airing cupboard above the boiler. Then he went into his bedroom and opened the wardrobe to pull out a spare pillow. When he got back to the living room, Sam’s eyes were closed, his breathing even, his mug balanced precariously on his lap. Mark put down the bedding and gently disengaged Sam’s hands from around the mug, before setting it on the table. He placed the pillow at one end of the sofa and eased Sam into a horizontalposition, his head resting on the pillow. Mark tugged off Sam’s trainers and socks, then spread out the sheet over him.
“Thanks.” The whispered word pierced the quietness of the room.
Mark smiled. He looked down at Sam’s face, his forehead creased. “Get some sleep.” Sam stirred, small noises escaping from his lips. “I’ll be across the hall if you need me.” Straightening, he went into the kitchen and filled a glass with cold water. He placed it within reach on the coffee table and clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
Mark slipped off his robe and slid naked under the cool cotton sheet. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. His thoughts were fixed on the man sleeping in the room across from him. He didn’t understand what was so important that Sam would go to such lengths to find him, especially after the way he’d reacted in the pub.
Let’s hope everything becomes clearer in the morning.
Mark closed his eyes and tried to ignore the ache across them.
It was a long while before sleep took him.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam wokewith a start to find himself in inky darkness.
Where am I?
Then he remembered. Mark’s flat. The Scotch. That explained the suede tongue.
He sat up, trying to recall the room’s lighting. A lamp. There’d been a lamp nearby.
He reached out carefully, sighing with relief when his fingers connected with the on/off switch. Warm light spilled into the room, and he moaned when he saw the glass of water on the coffee table. He drank it all, then padded his way into the kitchen to get more.
His head ached, and he had no idea of the time.
All he knew was he’d never felt so alone.
I have to put things right.
He just wasn’t sure how.
When the thought came to him, he dismissed it. Mark would explode. But Sam’s need overrode his good sense. He left the living room and stood in the small hallway, surrounded by three doors.
Which one is it?
His pulse quickened.
This is not a good idea.
Sam had listened to that inner voice several hours ago.Look wherethatgot me.
Sure, Mark might throw a hissy fit when he woke up, but right then, Sam needed to feel like he wasn’t alone in the world.
The solution to that lay behind one of the three doors.
Sunday, August 18
Mark opened his eyes and blinked in the sunlight that poured through his bright yellow curtains. He glanced at the clock beside him and did a double take.
It was already nine.
