He gives me a reassuring smile. In the meantime, he’s cut a neat but large hole in the wall, revealing the aged pipe that’s given up keeping water to itself. “The culprit. Fixing that’s beyond me, I’m afraid. I don’t have the right tools or parts, but at least we can do an emergency patch with some duct tape, just in case any more water trickles down. You’ll need to keep the water off till it’s fixed though.”
I groan. “I feel like my shop’s cursed lately. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“It’s not all bad.” Blake’s grin reassures me, despite feeling dejected about the amount of repairs needed for the shop and my flat. I’ve yet to see a pound for the filming and there’s been no proper shop income in days, aside from a couple of special orders, which won’t cover a thing. “We’ll get things as good as we can manage here, then we can go stay at the hotel. In the morning, you can arrange a plumber to come here.”
“There’s still the whole situation with the shop up front.” I shake my head. “From one disaster to the next.”
“We can sort that too.” Blake assures me easily, as if it’s as easy as breathing. Probably for him it is in his charmed existence. “Bring your laptop tonight and you can follow up with the crew. We’ll see where your books are at.”
“Guess I’ll need to, if we only have five more days.” I slump. “And then, even if it’s all back to normal, it might be too late. All the lost revenue. The bookshop runs on a very thin margin at the best of times.”
“Hmm.” Blake considers as we work together methodically, mopping up the floor and wringing out towels and the mop in the sink without even needing words to coordinate. Gradually, things are drying out in here. “Maybe I can help? I can take a look at your website and give you some ideas.”
Startled, I give him a sharp look. He’s all soft blue gaze, hair a bit rumpled with the effort, like it was out on our Lake District adventure. Like when he serenaded me in the chaos of Euston Station. “You’d do that?”
“Of course I’d do that for you. I can’t promise anything, but I can take a look at your online sales strategy and give some pointers. Look at your demographics and target market. Things like that.”
I purse my lips and start to laugh. And laugh till I’m on the verge of tears, whooping and holding my sides with the hysteria that’s overwhelmed me, between Eli and a burst pipe the latest insult to my shop and home. “My…online…sales…strategy?Demographics!”
I can’t.
Tears stream down my face. As if I offer online sales. The website might still be from the nineties for all I know, from back when the internet was invented. It’s a step up from GeoCities. And the idea that I have some kind of strategy is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
Blake takes the mop from me and gathers me in his arms, rubbing my back. “I mean, only if you want—”
“I—you think I’m that organized?” I whoop with more laughter. “Oh God. I’m dying.”
Relieved, Blake catches my face between his hands, brushing tears of mirth away with his thumb. “It’s gonna be all right,” he says soothingly. “Let’s get to the hotel and get some sleep. It’s been a long night.”
Guilty, I realize he’s half soaked from his cleaning efforts, and so am I.
I glance at my watch. It’s after 11:00 p.m., and exhaustion hits me hard then. I give him a kiss. “’Kay. Let me get a couple of things. I’ll text Gemma to warn her about the kitchen for tomorrow when she comes in. Let’s get out of here for the night.”
Blake orders a black cab to take us to his hotel, given that we’re tired and it’s late. I drowse, leaning my head on his shoulder as the driver navigates streets that are steady with traffic even at this late hour. Red taillights as far as the eye can see.
It’s comforting to be like this, together. Part of me doesn’t want to sleep, because waking up tomorrow means only four days left before he goes back to America.
Chapter Nineteen
Blake goes to have a shower. He emerges in a cloud of steam when he opens the door fifteen minutes later and steps out with a luxurious white towel secured around his waist. Of course, he’s brilliant to look at, all slender muscle over his bones. He could have a very lucrative career as a men’s underwear model if this acting thing doesn’t work out. Or, in this case, towel model, which would probably do wonders for sales at John Lewis or whatever the American department store equivalent is. Nordstrom?
I’m sat on the bed, out of my jeans and down to boxers and a T-shirt, my scrawny legs hidden away beneath the fluff of the duvet, which is bearable given the substantial air-con in here against the summer’s night. The hotel room is far more comfortable than my tiny bedsit.
I gaze at him. His hair is damp, water rivulets still tracking along his chest, which is lightly haired. Down soft, from firsthand experience.
We gaze at each other in the quiet and the glow of the bedside lamp.
“Come to bed with me,” I whisper, leaning forward to kiss him. Brushing my mouth softly against his, and then again, I pull him down with me to the bed.
Together, we explore each other leisurely, hands roaming each other’s bodies like explorers in the wilderness, charting new terrain. Then, we’re kissing like our lives depend on it. Greedy, seeking. It’s not long before Blake’s towel and my boxers are history.
“I don’t have any more condoms,” I say breathlessly between hungry kisses, thirsting for this man. Blake’s cock is rigid in my hand and God I want him more than anything. “But…my last test was clear. For STIs, I mean.”
“Mine too.” Blake pauses long enough to fumble in his bag, producing lube. He strokes himself, cock glistening. It’s a gorgeous sight: Blake fresh from a shower, his gaze all intense for me, the strain of him.
He presses me down. I pull him close. And he sucks on my nipple rings in turn. I moan like something else possesses my voice, his slick fingers working me, teasing my arse till I’m ready for him. And he spreads me, admiring.
Shuddering at being so vulnerable before him, I press my hips closer.
