“Depends,” said Spencer, hoping he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt. “Can I come and help? In the background, of course?”
“Of course you can. The more the merrier.”
“In which case, you’ve got a deal. I’m not sure what kind of rail service they’ll be running Christmas week, but there’s bound to be a fast train from Waterloo after six, which will get us in at around eight-thirty. I can’t wait to see my parents’ faces.”
“Or, instead of relying on trains, I might give my Beamer sports a run, if you don’t have any objections. There’s a secure municipal car park not far from the kitchens.”
Spencer couldn’t help grinning. Christmas was going to be the best ever. Although he didn’t know much about cars, he could only imagine the look on Garrett’s face when he not only turned up with Marshall, but in a BMW sports car.
“Are you tired?” asked Marshall, breaking the silence.
“No,” said Spencer through the grin he could not keep from his face. “Not in the slightest. But I’m definitely ready for bed. Can I grab a quick shower first?”
Marshall’s fond gaze and smile transformed into something different altogether. Instantly, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.
“Tell you what. You shower while I tidy up in here. I’ll meet you in the bedroom in ten minutes, where your dessert will be waiting. Deal?”
“Sounds curious,” said Spencer, rising from the table. “And what exactly is for dessert?”
Spencer’s eyes opened wide whentheMarshall Highlander pushed a hand into his waistband, down inside the front of his own trousers, and squeezed.
“Me, Spence. Dessert is me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lying awake next to a deeply sleeping Marshall, Spencer realised the truth. He was in deep trouble. Not only had he fallen totally in love with this man, but he had done so weeks ago. Everything added up. Because since then, he had felt different, lighter, more optimistic about his future. Too many good things had happened to him, so surely somewhere in the universe, cosmic forces had combined and aligned to pave the way. And the all-encompassing wave of affection that had overcome him the evening before, walking into the kitchen and seeing a relaxed Marshall jigging his hips to a Christmas song at the stove, had confirmed his suspicions beyond any possible doubt.
He had fallen hopelessly in love.
Not the fleeting infatuation he had sampled with Blake, nor the sexual companionship he’d resigned himself to with a few others, but something overwhelming and complete, as though he and Marshall were the missing pieces to a jigsaw puzzle that finally made sense as a beautiful picture.
But as much as the knowledge made him more concrete, grounded and three-dimensional, it also filled him with a foreboding. What if he did something to mess things up? Or what if Marshall didn’t feel the same way? His heart might be floating in the stratosphere right now, seeing the moon and the whole glorious world below for the first time in his life, but that was also a long way to fall. Moreover, how did he broach the topic with Marshall? It would destroy him if he confessed his feelings and Marshall didn’t feel the same. Maybe it would bebest to keep the words to himself until the right time, or in the hope that Marshall might say them first.
After his shower that night, he had walked into the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist, only to find an empty bed—until he’d turned to see Marshall naked in the easy chair, ready and eager, a condom already on his lube-slicked hard-on. Where the old Spencer might have faltered a moment, wondering if he could possibly live up to expectations, not a single moment of doubt had surfaced. Instead, he had walked straight over to Marshall and wrapped himself around his body as if doing so were the most natural thing in the world. That night their lovemaking had cemented what he’d already known, that together they simplyworked. The night’s sessions had been prolonged and effortless, each giving and selfless, each taking time to ensure the other’s pleasure. Marshall turned out to be a generous lover, constantly surprising gasps out of Spencer, and only losing his perfect rhythm and control as his own orgasm roared down the runway and took flight.
Spencer leant over to the bedside cabinet, popped on his glasses and checked his phone. Five-forty. He noticed a couple of missed calls from Bev. Not that he would have answered, not if doing so would have meant breaking the magical chemistry of the evening.
With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulled on track bottoms and took his phone to the kitchen. In pride of place against the kitchen’s mirrored splashguard, Marshall’s state-of-the-art coffee machine beckoned. He knew himself well enough to know that he would not return to sleep if he drank coffee now. On the other hand, in an hour they would be getting up anyway, so he shoved a mug under the machine’s nozzle and pushed the button for a double dose of latte. No gurgling, guzzling noises came from the device, which was as sleek and silent as a Tesla. While he waited, he looked aroundfor a teaspoon, then opened the freezer door and, standing there grinning, helped himself to a couple of teaspoons of ice cream.Make yourself at home, Spencer, he said to himself, unable to stop from smiling. Securing the carton back inside the freezer, he collected the mug then perched on a stool and checked messages on his phone.
There was something to be said for having connectivity at home. Spencer fired off a text message to Bev explaining how he had been ‘otherwise engaged’ then another to his brother telling him to let everyone know that he would be bringing a guest home for Christmas, with details to follow. Midway through he heard a soft thump at the front door and went to check the spyhole. The back of a concierge’s uniform moved away and turned into the lift. Spencer opened the door to find a neat stack of newspapers on the outside mat. Without a second thought, he scooped them up and brought them to the kitchen island.
Halfway through the third newspaper and his second coffee, he was engulfed in a hug from behind. Warmth enclosed his whole back, a cool nose poking him beneath the ear.
“You make less noise than my cat,” said Spencer as Marshall kissed him hotly beneath the right ear.
“I’m in stealth mode. Why are you up so early? Couldn’t sleep?”
Almost mimicking Spencer’s earlier movements, Marshall—in only black briefs—moved over to the coffee machine, plucking a mug from a cupboard above before setting the device in motion.
“I slept like a baby, actually. It’s just that when I’m awake, I’m fully awake, if you know what I mean?”
“Sadly, I know exactly what you mean,” said Marshall, stifling a yawn. “Thanks for fetching the papers. Anything worth looking at?”
Spencer drank in the muscled back, arms and hairy, powerful legs of his lover.
“There is now.”
Marshall rotated around and smiled at Spencer. With a small sigh, he picked up his mug and leant back against the countertop, assessing Spencer.
