On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)

To be on the safe side, he tucked his thumb under the strap over his shoulder, anchoring his hand so he would—hopefully—keep it to himself.

Eventually, they made it out to the parking lot where Blake’s Land Rover waited. After they’d dropped their luggage into the back, they took their respective seats, and Blake turned on the engine. Since it had been sitting here for a while, he let it idle to warm up while they adjusted the air and got situated.

Jason started to put on his seatbelt, but hesitated, focusing on something outside the windshield. “This whole place is empty, isn’t it?”

“What, the parking lot?”

“Yeah.”

Blake glanced around. “Seems that way. Sometimes you get little floods of people if a bunch were on the same flight, but—”

“But it’s really empty now?”

“Yep. It’s—”

“Good.” Jason lunged across the console, grabbed the side of Blake’s neck, and kissed him. Startled, Blake hesitated, but then wrapped his arms around Jason and kissed him back, wondering how the fuck they’d made it this far without doing a hell of a lot more than kissing. If the airlines hadn’t turned into such assholes about it in recent years, he’d have gladly taken Jason into the lavatory to join the mile high club, but he’d restrained himself, and they’d made it, and God, now he was kissing him and loving every second.

Jason broke away, and they both blinked a few times.

“Sorry.” Jason licked his lips. “Too many hours of . . .”

“Yeah.” Blake nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You still thinking it?”

“You?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then we’d better get back to my place, hadn’t we?”





As it often did, the euphoria of being on the ground quickly wore off, and jet lag and exhaustion kicked in. By the time they reached Blake’s house, neither was in the mood for anything besides a shower and a few minutes to breathe air that wasn’t pressurized, recirculated, and shared with an eavesdropping homophobe.

After they’d had a chance to shower and relax a bit, Jason said, “So, you promised to show me that Lamborghini.”

“I did.” Blake grinned. “You want to take it for a spin?”

Jason licked his lips. “Right now I want to see it.” He trailed a finger along Blake’s forearm. “Don’t know that I want to, um, go anywhere just yet.”

Blake gulped. “Point taken. This way.”

If he knew Jason, a car that expensive—especially with the keys dangling out of his reach—would turn him on like nothing else. And they never had finished what they’d started in the Land Rover back at the airport.

So after he’d taken the keys off the hook in the kitchen, Blake unzipped his suitcase, which was still by the door, riffled around until he found his toiletry bag, and then slipped a condom and lube into his back pocket. Just in case.

He opened the kitchen door, turned the garage light on, and led Jason out. Carefully, he removed the heavy cover from the sports car.

The overhead lights had been specifically installed to make the car look awesome. No buzzing, unflattering fluorescents for his baby—these were sunken showroom-quality bulbs.

He folded the cover and put it on his workbench. Then he turned, and his chest swelled with pride at the sight of that bright-red beast. Someone had once told him that the best two days of a Lamborghini owner’s life were the day he bought the car and the day he sold it, but he was pretty sure that second part was bullshit. He’d had this bad boy for over a year and still got a little thrill whenever the cover came off.

Jason’s eyes were wide as he stared at the car. “Wow.” He moved closer, gazing at it reverently, and reached for it, but then jerked his hand back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“It’s a car.” Blake tapped his knuckle on the hood. “Touching it won’t hurt it. You won’t do any more damage than those fucking rocks other cars kick up.”

Jason glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and Blake nodded. Then Jason trailed a fingertip along the sleek finish, caressing the car appreciatively. “I’ve only seen a couple of these in person before. Amazing cars.”

“You should hear her purr.”

“I believe that,” Jason breathed. “You know, I . . . I have a fantasy about, um, cars like this. One that doesn’t quite involve driving.”

“Yeah?” Blake surreptitiously double-checked his back pocket. “Tell me.”

Jason swept his tongue across his lips. “I want to be fucked over one.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Blake reached into his pocket. “Then it’s a good thing I came prepared, isn’t it?” He held up the condom and lube.

Jason’s breath hitched.

“I will gladly fuck you over the top of this car,” Blake said. “Under one condition.”

“Tell me.”

Grinning broadly, Blake nodded downward.