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  He nearly destroyed John’s life.

  They’d split up nine months ago, yet John was nowhere near recovered. Daniel and his lies—persistent, dogged lies he spouted to anyone who’d listen and so insistently he even had John questioning if they were true—had left scars. Mental ones and, after one drunken night alone in the kitchen, physical as well. John had nearly killed himself over the whole thing, and still woke sweating in the night, hearing Daniel’s accusations on a loop inside his head.

  Nine months, and only now was John clearing the evidence of Daniel’s existence out of his flat. Only now did he feel able.

  Now, out of nowhere, it felt easy where before it had been impossible. To pick out their pictures and crumple them up. To retrieve the long-abandoned T-shirts from the back of the wardrobe and throw them away. He even found a bottle of aftershave he wasn’t sure was Daniel’s, but he couldn’t remember buying it himself, so away it went.

  “What are you doing?” Nora asked when she came back from her shower, standing in her plaid pyjamas and drying her honey-blonde hair with a small towel.

  “Cleaning out some of Daniel’s things,” John said.

  Nora paused.

  “Oh,” she said eventually. Then she frowned. “Any reason why?”

  “Well, it’s not like he’s coming back.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why now?”

  John opened his mouth, then abruptly changed his mind. Nora was sensible—the only one of them who was, really—and she’d scold him just like Mum would if he told her. One coffee with a guy didn’t mean it was time to move on, she’d say. One coffee didn’t make a boyfriend. He was pinning his hopes on this, and so what if it had been nine months since Daniel. Getting rid of his things and throwing himself into a new relationship would effectively be a rebound. That was what she’d say.

  And she’d be kind of right, but John didn’t need to give her the satisfaction.

  “I—just think it’s time.”

  “Sure,” Nora said, “but again, why now?”

  John sat back on his heels, turning a jumper over in his hands.

  “I—I stopped in a café today…and someone started flirting with me.”

  Nora made a face that broadcasted her opinion of John’s mental faculties loud and clear. “You mean, you finally noticed somebody flirting with you.”

  “Fine, I noticed—he wasn’t subtle—”

  “Oh, he. I change my answer. You mean, a man flirted with you.”

  John threw the jumper at her. She threw it right back.

  “Do you want a reason or not?”

  “So-rree, princess,” she drawled. “So, a man flirted with you.”

  “He asked me out.”

  “Well, that’s a start. Now, we just need you to start saying yes and actually going on dates and moving on from that bulls—”

  “I did say yes.”

  She stopped.

  “Oh.”

  John grimaced.

  Then, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “No?” John said. “But he was so—stunning.”

  “What, a random model asked you out?”

  “He could be. Pretty sure he’s not, but he could be.”

  “So, you listened to the wrong head,” Nora surmised, then pursed her lips. “Well, for once, John? Good.”

  “Wait, what? I thought you’d be annoyed with me. Rebound relationship, and all that.”

  “Hey, if this guy did the asking, he’s a big boy and can handle a little rebound for himself. You need to get back out there.” Nora dropped her towel—and herself—onto the carpet beside him. “You’re not like Fran, John. You’re miserable on your own.”

  John bit his lip, staring at the half-full bag.

  “Getting the hell away from Daniel was the best decision you ever made,” Nora said. “But you’ve been really lonely and down ever since. So…yeah, don’t pin all your hopes on this new guy, but have fun, okay? Get your spark back. There’s someone out there for you—an Aljaz who isn’t so hell-bent on going back to Croatia. But you won’t find him if you’re not out there looking. Okay?”

  He wordlessly lifted an arm, and she tucked herself in under it to hug him. Her wet hair smelled of mangoes, and John swallowed against the lump in his throat.

  “Promise me you’ll go on this date with this guy, and you won’t think about Daniel or any of what happened,” Nora whispered in his ear.

  “It’s not that easy, Noz.”

  “I know. But promise you’ll really, really try?”

  John thought of Chris’s bright smile, brighter eyes, and brash flirting. Maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to think about Daniel. Hell, he got the distinct impression Chris would rather he didn’t think at all.

  “Promise,” he said and hugged her until she squeaked. “But you can’t tell the others yet.”

  “Oh, God, really? Nan’ll have both our heads if she’s not first to know!”

  “That’s—that’s too much pressure,” he admitted. “She’s been bugging me about finding somebody new since we split up; she’ll go all-out on Chris if—”

  “Another Chris, huh?”

  “—she finds—yes—out.”

  “Okay,” Nora said. “I promise not to tell her, unless this turns into a not-just-one-date thing.”

  “What?”

  “If there’s a second date, the deal is off, and I spill. I’m not having her spamming my phone with ‘excuse me, young lady, I have the right to know these things, blah blah blah.’”

  John pulled a face.

  “Fine,” he said.

  By which, of course, he meant fine—he just wouldn’t tell Nora about a second date.

  Because way in the back of his head, in the stubborn bit that resisted Daniel’s crap and survived it, John already wanted a second date.

  Chapter Three

  JOHN HAD HAD—in total—twelve first dates.

  And he’d never been so nervous.

  The thing was, before Daniel, John had been a pretty confident fish in the sea. He knew his strengths. He could make people laugh, and he could make people come. Sometimes, he could even make them do both at once.

  But since then—

  Well, that had been before, and this was after.

  Even without the before-and-after, John had never had a first date where walking in the door felt like a sucker-punch.

  Chris had chosen a fancy little coffee shop that smelled of roasted beans and chocolate and was lit close and intimate like a romantic restaurant. John couldn’t figure out if Chris knew that and had picked accordingly, or if it was a coincidence. Either way, it was working. John wasn’t meeting for a cuppa, not in this place.

  And not with this man.

  If he’d thought Chris was attractive that Friday evening, it was nothing to his Saturday-afternoon-and-dating thing. The T-shirt was tight-fitting. The jeans could have been painted on. Both were black, making his skin look uniformly smooth and lickable. That glint of gold was definitely a medical bracelet, yet somehow, it gave the impression of casual jewellery. He had a silver lip ring, tucked in close to the corner of his mouth, that he hadn’t been wearing last time, and John immediately wanted to get his teeth around it and feel it move under his tongue.

  God, he was so screwed.

  “You’re not playing fair,” John said weakly, and Chris grinned up at him.

  “Why?”

  “You look—edible.”

  “Oh? Well, I was going to suggest dinner later. On me?”

  “Please don’t,” John said, sinking into the chair opposite. Chris had already bought drinks. To John’s surprise, both were teas. “I had enough difficulty walking out of the last coffee shop you were in with any dignity.”

  “Dignity is overrated.” Chris lifted the cup. “Thanks for coming though. Now, and maybe later.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Flirting aside, I’m genuinely glad you said yes.”

  John cleared his throat. “Yeah, well,
I’m—glad you asked.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  John winced. “Er. Well. Not to—spend a date talking about my ex, but…my last breakup was…bad.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hence your surprise at the flirting?”

  “Yeah. And my reluctance.”

  Chris raised his eyebrows, and John grimaced.

  “I had wood all the way through, talking to you,” John confessed.

  Chris’s face lit up like the sun, and he laughed. The flash of pure happiness was so bright it hurt, and John’s dick twitched anew at the sheer, raw, almost violent life in front of him.

  “God,” he breathed. “I’m going to get it again if you keep laughing like that.”

  “Sounds to me like I should keep laughing.”

  “Sounds to me like I’m going to develop a blood pressure problem here,” John groused.

  Then Chris slid his hand over John’s wrist on the table, and John’s skin caught fire.

  “Seriously,” Chris murmured, “I could listen to you read the dictionary and be turned on. So, you’re not the only one.”

  John swallowed thickly. “Uh—”

  “But, unlike you, I have no idea what I’d be eating off. Or out. Or both.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “So, fill me—in?”

  “Stop it,” John implored, and Chris grinned wickedly at him.

  “Seriously. You have images. I don’t. Give me some.”

  “If you behave!”

  “Behaving perfectly,” Chris sang and tapped John’s wrist with two fingers. “Come on. Who does that gorgeous voice belong to?”

  John swallowed. “Uh. John Halliday.”

  “And who’s that?”

  “Um. An electrician.”

  “Mm, no wonder there’s sparks…”

  “Fu—uh. Fudging hell.”

  “Language!”

  John rolled his eyes. “God. All right. Um. I’m—tall. Really tall. Uh. And I’m broad too. I play rugby a lot, and I work out, so…”

  “Could you bench-press me?”

  John snorted. “Yes.”

  “What, really?”

  “Uh, yes.” Chris was tall enough, but he was skinny. Twelve stone at the absolute most.

  “Mm, filing that information for later.”

  “If I don’t pull my shoulders together, I can’t fit through door frames.”

  “Holy hell.”

  “And I’m taller than most doors too.”

  “Shit.”

  “My bed’s custom-made. And I have regular backaches because of the strain.”

  “And you’re all in proportion?”

  John frowned. “What?”

  “You know, tall guys have big hands. Big feet. Big di—”

  “Okay!”

  Chris laughed again, and John groaned.

  “I—yes, all right.”

  “Very all right.”

  “I’m not exactly cuddly-looking, is my point.”

  “You sound like you are.”

  John flushed. “Well. Um. Yeah.”

  “Really? You like to cuddle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, I’m keeping you,” Chris decided. “But that’s not much of an image. Big guy, I get it. So—what else? All the normal fingers and toes? Three eyes? Magical six cocks?”

  John snorted, smirking. “No. Standard number of everything. Uh.” He glanced down at Chris’s pale fingers, white against the black of John’s sleeve tattoo. “I have ink.”

  “You have what?”

  “Ink. Tattoos.”

  “Oh. How many?”

  Both arms sleeved, one leg the same, a huge eagle on his back, even a tiny gay pride flag on his upper thigh within about two inches of his bollocks…

  “A lot.”

  “Is that what this line is?” Chris asked, rubbing lightly at John’s wrist. John turned it over and gently moved Chris’s fingers to the black eye of the snake.

  “There,” he said. “I had a scar before.”

  “What kind of scar?”

  John swallowed. Daniel’s scar. He wasn’t going to talk about that.

  “Hell if I remember.”

  Chris grinned and traced the snake lightly up to John’s elbow. It was a huge python in vivid colours, less than six months old, and the outline still a stark groove. Chris’s touch tickled. In its wake, it left a trail of raised hairs, and John’s heart beat faster the higher those soft fingers climbed.

  “It’s a snake,” he said softly.

  “Why a snake?”

  “I love snakes. Always have. Got a corn snake at home.”

  “Yeah? I’ve never even touched one.”

  “You have now,” John said and flushed. He shouldn’t. But he wanted to. And…

  And Nora was right. He’d never be happy on his own. He’d been miserable since he left Daniel. And here was Chris, flirting and laughing and so utterly incredible—

  Here was Chris, asking him to describe himself because he couldn’t see.

  The mental flinch, the spark of fear, was as real as if Daniel had walked right into the coffee shop with the police at his heels, and John leaned back a little until Chris’s fingers slipped back down to his wrist.

  Only…

  Only that was sort of worse, because their hands ended up cupped about one another, soft and intimate. A sweat broke out along John’s back.

  Then Chris said, “I’d like to touch your snake. Your pet too,” and John was startled into another laugh.

  “Why—why do you want me so bad?”

  Chris shrugged. “Like I said. You have a wonderful voice. And a…manner. There’s something about you.”

  “Something like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something attractive, anyway.”

  John bit his lip, then blew upwards into his hair. “I’m not the looker here. I don’t exactly beat them off with a stick.”

  Chris laughed. “Good, beating me off by hand is more than enough.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s—!”

  Chris’s delighted cackle was like an aphrodisiac, and John suddenly felt a flash of boldness himself.

  “Don’t make me put you over my knee,” he warned. A flash of guilt and disgust instantly followed the statement, only to be washed away by Chris’s snort.

  “Please, if you got hard just by my flirting with you the other day, you’d not last a whole spanking.”

  John shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Well. Might be the case again.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The smile softened a little. “So, what do you say we get lunch and maybe head somewhere quieter for coffee?”

  John’s heart hiccuped. Christ. His body wanted to. His body wanted nothing more than to strip this gorgeous guy out of his painted-on jeans and his too-tight T-shirt and spend a whole evening sucking his cock…but his brain cringed. After all Daniel had said, after so much drilling away at John’s head until John himself half believed it, there was no way he could have a one-night stand and not…

  Not believe it all over again.

  Not spend the next year looking over his shoulder for the cops and the court case.

  “Is this— What do you want here, Chris?”

  Chris’s face softened.

  “I want whatever you’re willing to give me.”

  “I’m—I’m not in a place…I’m not in a place where I can really do flings,” John said awkwardly.

  To his surprise, Chris ducked his head and smiled sheepishly.

  “I come off more confident when I flirt than I feel,” he admitted. “Truth is, I don’t really know what I want right now. I don’t know who you are to know what I want from you yet. But I like this. Flirting and making you squirm and getting you flustered. And I’d like to do it again. And again, and again. And yeah, I want to know what it feels like when you squirm and get flustered, not just what it sounds like. But if you’re willing to give me…
dates, then I want those too.”

  John’s ribs locked shut.

  Dates?

  As in—ongoing, persistent, long-term dating?

  As in, go to restaurants with this guy? Have Chinese on the sofa and watch the rugby with him? Weekends at Whitby Bay, with fish and chips on the seafront? Extra keys and—

  He put the brakes on. Please. One date, and he was imagining keys to Chris’s flat and taking holidays together.

  But…

  Couldn’t get to those places without dating.

  And, okay, it felt like it was too soon after Daniel, but Nora was right. He had to get past Daniel’s legacy. And who better to try with, than someone who could get him hard and breathless just by smiling at him?

  Slowly, John wrapped his fingers between Chris’s and squeezed.

  “Dates sound good,” he said and allowed himself to smile. “I’d like that.”

  Chris smiled as well—then it widened into a smirk, and John closed his eyes to brace against the terrible chat-up line that was bound to be coming.

  And sure enough:

  “I have no ethical problem with sex on the first date, though. Just so you know.”

  Chapter Four

  JOHN WENT TO work on Sunday.

  Rhodri rang as John was leaving rugby practice. Emergency call from a long-term client. Lightning strike and a lot of fried circuits. Could they sort it out?

  Triple fees for the weekend, and a way of getting out of Nan’s Sunday dinner with Nora smugly beaming and thereby brandishing all over the place that she knew something the others didn’t?

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll be up in half an hour.”

  John was an electrician. After leaving school at sixteen, he’d trained under Tommy Whittaker, one of the best in the business. John had developed a solid reputation with Whittaker and went solo at twenty-seven. So for the last nine years, he’d made his money—and a lot of it—working on a self-employed basis. And as skilled tradesmen were in very short supply, he didn’t have to put up with colleagues unless he wanted to. Most of them at the firm had been tossers anyway.

  “All right, Holliday!”

  Except for Rhodri. Rhodri Campbell was, like John, an excellent tradesman who’d started out as an apprentice and dogsbody. Rhodri was a bear of a plumber, who’d gone into property maintenance and renovation, and was a great source of income for John when his projects needed rewiring. So for Rhodri? Sure, why not a Sunday once in a while.