Page 40 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“Is that your way of accepting?”
Percy smiled his still ridiculously handsome smile andnodded. “Then yes. Let’s go to Libya, kill several monks, and steal some religious artefacts.”
“It’s a date. Next week. But tonight, let’s get drunk and send some postcards home.”
“Drunk?” Percy mused.
“Drunker,” Joe corrected. “Let’s get drunker and send postcards home.”
“All right. But not here.”
Joe nodded, and they stood to pull on their coats. Percy threw some money down, then walked around the table to Joe.
Joe hadn’t been expecting him quite so close, quite so suddenly, and he certainly didn’t expect to feel the warmth of Percy’s breath on his ear as he leaned in and whispered, “Do you mind if I kiss you right here?”
“No,” Joe managed, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. “I don’t mind at all.”
“That’s good, because…” Percy grabbed the collar of Joe’s coat and pulled him in. His soft, warm lips pressed against Joe’s, and Joe closed his eyes and forgot everything in the world but Percy, as he breathed him in, tasted him, as he felt Percy’s hand slip into his hair and tighten. And that was all just as well, because he wanted desperately for nothing to exist but Percy for a very long time.
“Because,” Percy said when he pulled away, his hand tilting Joe’s chin up to face him, looking straight into his eyes, nothing even a little shy or unsure about him, “I love you. Thank you for coming today.” Then Percy kissed him again and said, “Actually, I don’t want to go postcard shopping. I want to go back to the hotel room. With you. Right now.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Joe replied. “We’ll do postcards tomorrow?”
“I thought we might stay in tomorrow, too.”
Percy tugged at Joe’s hand, and Joe, love-drunk, followed him without the slightest hesitation.
The day had certainly thrown a few surprises in Joe’s path, but not a thing he couldn’t reconcile himself to with the press of Percy’s dear, cut hand against his, with the knowledge that he would be the one to watch it heal.
During the subsequent week in Kraków, Percy ran through an eye-watering amount of money. He never let Joe see the way the bags under the floorboards sagged as he returned each day to take a little more. The best restaurants, the best food, day trips, anything he thought Joe might like. Joe was treated like a prince, and champagne and sex flowed freely until the pair almost drowned in hedonism. It was both the perfect distraction from Percy’s little murder spree, and pleasure in the bank to last them through the next stop on their holiday.
Because in Tripoli, they both knew there would be no sex, no champagne, and a very high chance of suffering an excruciating death.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SWELTERING SET UP
Percy leaned forward over Joe, his chest brushing Joe’s shoulder as he brought a finger down slowly. “If we want to do it properly, it will be a tight squeeze just here, then we go down, down, down, then in and out, in and out, over and over?—”
“Stop talking like that,” Joe bristled.
Percy turned his head, a look of almost-convincing perplexity on his handsome face. “Stop talking like what?”
“Like the way you’re talking. We’re in Libya and it’s not going to happen, so just stop it.”
“I don’t know what you’re alluding to. I’m just a man looking at a map. You’re just a man looking at my map.”
Joe scowled up at him. “Get back to work.”
“All right, so,” Percy slid his painfully perfect hand across the map and leaned even closer as he did so. “You should know, when we go down,” pulling back and brushing Joe’s ear with his lips now, “it’s going to get very hot.”
“Enough!” Joe stood and walked across the room, running a hand of frustration through his soft curls.
Percy watched him with an amused eye. “I’m just saying it’svery warm down there. Have you ever been in a Libyan sewer?”
“I don’t make a habit of it, no. And could you please do your shirt up?”
Percy glanced down at his perfect chest, then said innocently, “I always wear my shirts like this.”
