Micah came bursting out of the door to Room 2, followed by a rush of filthy water bubbling around his feet. It was like some toxic ooze, nipping hungrily at his heels.
“The chimney’s exploded!” he cried. “It’s pouring all over the floor!”
He shouldn’t have been in any of the rooms without a client, either, but he was learning to play the old keyboard left behind by Auntie Pop, and Rick let him use the hotel to practice. “There’s stuff floating in the water!” He’d sensibly lifted the keyboard up onto the bed, but he was shaking from shock. “Is it dangerous?”
“Probably just birds’ nests,” I said. “Fallen down the chimney and got stuck. Snow builds up behind the blockage, gets frozen, and when it thaws again the pressure splits the brickwork.”
“Oh, my fucking fuck,” Arne cursed, peering into the room. The floor swam with an unholy mess of grubby water and debris, and the crack in the chimney breast on the far wall was clearly visible.
“Get mops from the kitchen. Go on, quick!” I snapped to Pyotr, who swivelled around and darted back downstairs.
“The water’s not slowing.” Micah and Arne started hopping up and down as clumps of sodden twigs and soot washed out around our feet.
“Mops!” I yelled towards the stairs. We had to stem the flood before it soaked everything. “Where the fuck are the mops?”
“Coming as fast as we can!” came a deep, familiar, but totally unexpected voice.
“Blake?” I spun to face him as he crested the top stair. He held a mop, a bucket, and several rolls of cleaning cloth. When did he arrive? He must have abandoned his usual jacket and tie downstairs, and he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and kicked off his shoes.
“Dante?” He looked as startled as I must have done.
“Are you here to see Rick?” I said stupidly. Then, to the others, “Where is Rick?”
“He’s visiting a supplier,” Arne said grimly. “Won’t be back until late.”
“It’s up to us to deal with this, then,” Blake said. “Let’s get going. Right?”
“Right,” Arne said, and pushed right past me while I stood there, still staring at Blake’s oddly vulnerable, socked feet.
NINE
It took us an hour to get Room 2 clear of the worst. The floorboards still needed to dry out, but the bed was stripped, and the rug and curtains had been sent for washing.
“Another fucking disaster,” I said, pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead. “I don’t know how Rick’s ever going to get his place up to standard.” I turned to find Blake’s gaze following my hand, his cheeks flushed.
“It’ll happen, through the sheer force of his will. At least we prevented any major damage.” Blake was still in his shirtsleeves, dirty, damp streaks down his front, and his trousers soaked right up to the knees.
“You should change out of those wet clothes,” I said.
“Could you have found a cornier chat-up line?” he said, his mouth quirking in a smile. He looked tired, dishevelled, and wet. And still totally, fucking gorgeous.
I laughed with him. It was relaxing; comfortable.
When Pyotr appeared on the stairs with coffee and sandwiches, we took them into Room 4. We needed to wash up, and I could hear clients arriving in the lobby, chatting with Arne. I didn’t want anyone else to see either the near-crisis we’d had, or the weary pair who’d beaten it into submission.
We sat on the edge of the bed, the door still open, and I reached for a ham sandwich. Blake reached for it at the same time, grinned, then gestured for me to take it. I watched him bite hungrily into a cheese sandwich instead, and my thoughts took a strange turn. Assuming he was here again to see Rick, were they really only friends? Rick didn’t escort like the rest of us, but there was nothing stopping him taking a lover whenever he liked. A good, steady, reliable guy like Rick? He deserved the best.
And Blake was the best.
Fuck. I was in some kind of mess, and I didn’t mean the ‘bird’s nest remains dribbled down my shirt’ kind of thing.
“Wow,” Blake said, wiping his mouth with an almost guilt-ridden grin. “What cheese is this?”
“Arne makes it, at least when he has the time,” I said. “He adds beer and herbs to the recipe. You like it?”
“It’s great, I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s strong and salty. It would go magnificently with a good Cabernet Sauvignon.”
I didn’t respond, because I hadn’t drunk a good anything for a long while. But I felt ridiculously happy at having pleased Blake, even if it was with just a sandwich.
“Uhn. Stiff muscles.” He stretched beside me with a groan, his shirt tightening across the muscles of his torso. He still kept a reasonable distance between us—in fact, he’d been nothing but respectable towards me since he arrived.
I suspected he was ruining me.
We finished the sandwiches, and I mock-fought Blake for the last dregs in the coffee pot. We watched Arne roll a portable heater along the corridor into Room 2 to help dry it out, nudging the doorframe of Room 4 as it passed. With a quiet snick of the lock, our door slid shut and we were alone. An occasional laugh or happy shout echoed from outside, but basically the escorts and clients were now out of circulation for the night.
“Dante?” Blake looked like a man with soul-bearing confession on his mind. “I’m here tonight because I wanted to see you again. I want to learn more about you. Get to know you better.”
“No, you don’t,” I scoffed, suddenly feeling too warm.
Blake ran his hand down my cheek. “Don’t call me a liar.”
“Don’t poke your bloody nose in where it’s not wanted.”
He could have got angry, but he laughed instead. After a moment, I joined in. It seemed impossible to keep him at bay.
“I like to hear you laugh,” I said rashly. “You can be a serious guy.”
“Yes, I can. Maybe too much so. You help to lighten those moods. You make me release my emotions.”
“Yeah? You mean, I make you moan, and gasp, and beg for it?”
“And here’s me, thinking that was you,” Blake murmured hotly in my ear.
The kiss came naturally. His hand slid around the back of my neck and he pulled me close. His tongue pressed into my mouth, and he tasted as wonderful as before, despite us sitting in a damp room, in dirty clothes, without any preparation for sex at all. Yet every nerve in my body craved it.
I chased his mouth with mine, smiling, licking, demanding. “I need to wash up, so do you. Get rid of all the crap from today’s dirty work.”
“Before we do some more?”
“Now who’s got the corny lines. Seriously, you worked bloody hard for us, Blake. That action of yours, with the mop? Very impressive.” I ran my hand down his arm, feeling the muscles tense. “Biceps flexing. Strong hands. Steady stride. Sweeping, stroking. Forward, back. In, out.”
“How do you do it?” Blake shook his head, grinning. “You make me hard just by being here.”
“Yeah?” I felt the same, and I wasn’t sure why I didn’t say that aloud. It was a common line that punters liked.