Page 59 of Handle with Care
And then, despite Will trying to school his features into solemn, aloof disapproval, his vague expression of the week, there’s a certain familiar glimmer in his eye. And then his mouth betrays him with a smile. “Well, I can’t help it if you’re facetious at times. I’m simply an observer reporting the news.”
“And thanks for asking, by the way. I don’t have a Friday night date either. Even if I’m a stellar date, as rumor has it. So, we work till this is done. I’ve got all the procedures down. How about I’ll call Lily while you drive to let her know we’re caught up in traffic. She can tell security to expect us late. Drive on, Jeeves.”
“Fine. Also—rude.” But the smile lingers.
“You love it.”
And then I make the call, and as I imagined, Lily won’t wait for us, trusting we’ve got this, and she makes plans to meet with us on Monday to debrief.
So we carry on and drive outside of London to a leafy village to stop at an artist’s house to pick up a set of crated paintings from the ’60s, before we drive another hour to a picturesque village to pick up some iconic Vivienne Westwood pieces from a private collector, which has me squealing with glee along with the owner, while Will smiles, hands in his pockets. They’re a set of gorgeous corsets, subversive and stunning, key pieces for the exhibition and also for standout Vivienne Westwood designs. The owner and I are euphoric over the corsets, which she shows us before we pack them up together with care. In the end, we make it into London before 6:00 p.m. to pick up a set of silk-screened posters from the Museum of London.
By the time we make it back to the museum, it’s nearly 7:00 p.m. We stopped long enough to grab a couple of burgers from Five Guys, which we devoured. While I hop out at the sideentry, Will backs into the loading zone over the bumpy heritage cobbles to get as close to the door as he can—totally aesthetic, and totally a nightmare to work with. It’s probably also an equal nightmare for him to walk over.
With the heritage protection, the museum can’t cover up the cobbles. Which means there’s no chance to put valuable exhibits on wheels or pallet jacks to roll crates in, which means everything has to be hand carried inside. Which we do once I’m inside, and we decant everything out of the full Land Rover to the loading area before we roll the door shut on a heavy chain, a heavy beast that moves more easily with our combined effort. No hydraulics here.
We move everything on trolleys once inside, since the museum has sensibly smooth concrete floors, to the ancient lift. Then we take everything down to the prep room off the collections area beneath the ground floor gallery in shifts, till it’s all in. I go about finishing the paperwork, and we take photos for condition reports to note any damages as we check everything over and log each item before putting it into our temporary storage area for quarantine. Finally, I sag back against the counter, holding the edge, while Will leans back against the worktable, opposite me.
“Whew.” I glance at my phone, and it’s gone past 8:00 p.m. It’s warm and stuffy down here, too old of a building to have proper climate control with the hot day outside. I reach for my water bottle and take a swig, then hop up to sit on the counter to rest my feet for a minute.
“Whew,” Will agrees, gazing at me as he runs a hand through his dark hair, unreadable. He falls quiet.
I consider him. Absolutely delicious, for the record.
“Do you hate me?” I ask at last, tentative.
“No! Whatever gave you that idea.” Will looks horrified. “Absolutely not.”
“Because Monday. And Tuesday. I mean.” I shrug expansively, gesturing at him. “’Cause last weekend, you were into me, I think. A lot.”
“You—I—yes.” He stops. “Well.”
“Exactly.” I nod confirmation, satisfied he’s proved my point. “Come here.”
Will hesitates for a moment, then straightens before easing himself across the aisle to me. And he comes intoxicatingly close, nestling right between my legs, and rests his hands on my thighs.
“Huh.” Whatever clever thing I was about to say is immediately gone. I’m reeling from Will’s nearness and the soft scent of his cedar cologne. And the way he’s only focused on me. “This hot-cold thing is quite a trip, I’ve got to say,” I murmur, already getting hard because seriously, there’s no way I couldn’t respond. “I thought you didn’t want a repeat.”
“I came to the conclusion after a thorough analysis you were right. We’ve only been on one date. I overreacted. Like a fool.”
“Absolutely. Totally.” I nod, then take Will’s warm face between my hands. He leans into me. “Very foolish. God, I love it when I’m right.”
Will laughs, deep in his throat. “I wouldn’t say no to a repeat. I may even say yes.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Then I lightly brush his lips with mine till he shivers with need under my hands. Which is beyond thrilling. Will presses into me, searching my eyes while I wrap my legs around him to pull him tight. He shifts against me. It feels so good to have him close again. Like the other half of me my body knew I was missing my other half. Till now.
“Huh.” Will’s at a loss for words. He leans his forehead against mine for a moment. His breath is hot against my skin.
“Mm.” I kiss him again, soft and teasing, which he returns eagerly. More greedy, less patient.
“I’ll take that as another yes?” I drawl, thrilling at how responsive Will is. As I run my hand along his chest, he shudders.
“Fuck, yes.”
And then things start to heat up a lot in an instant, with his mouth burning along my throat, eager and seeking. I groan, tilting my head back.
