Blake ran his hands up Jason’s smooth chest. “One of them? What are the others?”
“I think you’re familiar with a few.” Jason rested his forearms on Blake’s collarbones and leaned down to kiss him. “They’re what you pay me for, after all.”
“Mm-hmm. And you’re well worth the money.” Blake bit his lip, shivering as he watched water running down Jason’s shoulders and chest. “I thought . . . I thought you were tired.”
“I am. I’m exhausted. But I’m also . . .” Jason pressed his hard-on against him.
Blake drew him closer and kissed his neck as his own cock hardened beneath the water.
“I’d say we should go in the bedroom,” Jason slurred. “But I do like it in this tub.”
“Me too.” Blake slid his hand into Jason’s hair and just before he claimed a deep, hard kiss, he murmured, “I think we’ll stay right here.”
And Jason didn’t argue.
Something isn’t right.
Blake’s eyes fluttered open, and he winced at the daylight, but that wasn’t the problem. Nor was the fact that he wasn’t alone in his bed.
He was sweating. A second later, he figured out why—Jason’s skin was radiating heat. Not like a normal person would, though. More like “reactor core on the verge of meltdown” heat.
Blake pushed himself up onto his elbow. “Jason?”
Face half-buried in the pillow, Jason groaned. Then he coughed, the painful rattling sound underscoring what the fever had already told him—they were not going into New York today.
“Jason?”
Jason stirred a little. Then he turned over and dropped onto his back.
Blake touched his cheek. “Jesus. You’re burning up.”
“You don’t say.” Jason sniffed, then coughed a couple of times. “No wonder I was so bloody tired yesterday. Fuck . . .”
Blake grimaced. Jason had been pretty lethargic, and they’d both dropped into bed—for sleep and nothing else—by eleven. “Do you need to see a doctor or—”
“Haven’t I spent enough of your money already?”
“It’s not that expensive. If you need—”
“I’m good.” Jason winced as he swallowed. “Just . . . gotta sleep it off.”
“Okay.” Blake kissed his temple. “I’ll make a quick run to the drugstore, and then I’ll be downstairs. If I can get you anything, let me know.”
Jason grumbled something and pulled the covers up almost to his hairline.
Blake got up, moving carefully so he didn’t jostle Jason any more than he had to. He showered, dressed, and drove into town to raid the drugstore of cough drops and whatever else might help. And tea, of course.
When he got home, he tiptoed into the bedroom, left a bag of cough drops and a box of tissues on the nightstand, and slipped back out.
Jason slept away the morning and part of the afternoon, and Blake didn’t disturb him. He kicked back on the sofa with a cup of coffee and his laptop, and caught up on work. As long as he had the time, he might as well pull some more of his weight.
Around midafternoon, the shower turned on, and after a while, Jason shuffled downstairs. He hadn’t shaved, and the shadow of stubble emphasized how pale he was. As he came across the living room, he moved slowly, grimacing with each step, every muscle tense as if he ached from head to toe—which probably meant this was the flu.
“Feeling any better?” Blake asked.
“Better than what?” Jason cursed and dropped onto the couch. “A corpse being chewed up by wolves?”
“That would be a start.” Blake touched his forehead, which was, thank God, a lot cooler than it had been this morning. “No fever anymore. That’s a good sign.”
“Hooray,” Jason croaked, and scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a goddamned lorry.”
“You must’ve picked up something on the plane.”
“What? I thought the diseases were all kept back in coach with the working class.”
“Your sense of humor is still intact. I’ll take that as a good sign.”
Jason grumbled something, and then eyed him. “Why the fuck aren’t you ill?”
“Because I fly so often, I have an immune system like Fort Knox. If it’s any consolation, I spent my first four or five trips to London like, well . . . like that.”
Jason scowled. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Sorry.” Blake paused. “Are you hungry?”
“I am, but my fucking throat . . .”
“Ouch. Maybe some tea at least?”
Jason cracked a small smile. “You do know the way to an Englishman’s heart, don’t you?’
Blake patted Jason’s leg. “I’ll go put some water on.”
“Thank you.”
They both got up—Jason much more gingerly than Blake—and went into the kitchen. While the kettle did its thing, Blake found the box of tea he’d picked up that morning. “I don’t drink much tea, so I don’t even know what’s in there.” He slid the box across the island. “Have a look.”
Jason thumbed through the box, and pulled out a peppermint tea bag. “This’ll do nicely.”
“Oh good. I wasn’t sure what you drank, and it’s all the same to me.”