Footsteps on the stairs pulled him out of the email, and he closed his laptop.
Jason was buttoning his sleeves as he came down the last few steps, and Blake couldn’t help staring at him. Wow. He’d never been a fan of black shirts with black suits, but Jason—surprise, surprise—rocked the look. From his meticulously arranged blond hair to his spit-shined dress shoes, Jason wouldn’t even need a boarding pass in his hand to be escorted straight to first class on his next flight.
And Blake was still staring. He cleared his throat and stood. “Ready?”
Jason fussed with his cuff for a second, and then met Blake’s gaze. “When you are.”
Maybe we should skip dinner . . .
But he gestured toward the kitchen, which would take them into the garage. “After you.”
Jason smiled and went ahead, passing just close enough to let Blake catch a breath of his light cologne. Shivering, Blake shamelessly watched him from behind. He’d seen Jason in flawlessly cut suits before, but something about that look made him doubly sexy tonight. Maybe it was the fresh memory of having him bent over the hood of the car. He might’ve spent a moment admiring how the skilled tailoring or the high-quality material looked from behind, but he was too busy noticing how Jason wore it all like a second skin.
Blake shook himself. He grabbed the keys off the counter, and as they stepped into the garage, paused. “Oh, I promised you I’d let you drive, didn’t I?” When Jason turned around, Blake held out the keys.
For the first time since he’d known him, a hint of fear flickered across Jason’s face. He gulped, eyeing the keys. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve only driven once. Badly.”
Blake shrugged. “It’s fairly open road out here. Mostly straight, not a lot of cars.”
“Even still . . .” Jason’s eyes darted toward the keys still dangling from Blake’s outstretched fingers. “A fantasy is one thing. The real thing . . .”
“Would you prefer it if I drove?”
“Yes, actually. I’m perfectly content to be the passenger. At least then I won’t be terrified of smashing the car.”
“You sure?”
Jason nodded.
“Okay. I’ll drive.” Blake shrugged, and he swore Jason released a sigh of relief. While they each went around to their respective doors, he added, “I’d be happy to teach you to drive if you’d like.”
“Isn’t a skill I have much use for, really.” Jason slid onto the passenger seat, and the nerves seemed to fade in favor of a broad grin. “And it is rather comfortable on this side.”
“Is it?”
“It is. All I have to do is sit back, relax.” He winked. “And it is kind of hot—a well-dressed man behind the wheel of a car like this.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Blake chuckled and started the engine. As the Lamborghini roared to life, he grinned at Jason. “Buckle up.”
He left the car in the hands of a wide-eyed valet, and they headed into the restaurant.
Jason glanced over his shoulder. “You let the valets drive it?”
“Why not? It’s insured. And I can almost guarantee they’re more careful with that thing than they are with most cars that come through here. I don’t imagine any of them wants to be known as the guy who dented the Lamborghini.”
Jason grimaced. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”
The tuxedoed ma?tre d’ met them at the podium. He didn’t even bother looking up their reservation since Blake came here often enough to be recognized, but led them to a table by the windows.
Jason took a seat, looking around the posh, dimly lit restaurant but not seeming the least bit intimidated by it. Blake loved that about him—he was never out of his element. Never so much as a hint of “I so do not belong here” in his expression, whether they were in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant or a five-star place like this.
With a single candle glowing between them on the white linen tablecloth, they perused the menus, agreed on a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and ordered: a spicy scampi appetizer, filet mignon for Blake, and the restaurant’s famous New York strip for Jason.
While they sipped their wine and waited for their food, Jason unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap. “So I’m curious about something.”
“Shoot.”
“Your career . . . is it what you had in mind when you were young?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“You could, but I asked you first.”
“Fair.” Blake paused. “You want the honest truth?”
“Will knowing it incriminate me in a court of law?”
Blake laughed. “No, it won’t.”
“Then yes.”
“Okay, well, to put it bluntly, I went into banking because I wanted to be rich.” He shrugged. “It’s really that simple. I wanted the type of success that’s measured in dollars. A lot of dollars.”
“You seem to have done quite well in that department.”
“It took a few regrettable decisions, a near bankruptcy, and a couple of strokes of both good and bad luck, but yes, I finally did.”