Page 136 of Too Close To Home

“Then I’ll still fancy you.” Jake shrugged. “From afar.”

For a second it looked as though Harrison might kiss him again. The impulse was there in the way he dropped his gaze to Jake’s mouth, in the slight shift forward of his body. But then the detective in him returned by degrees. The armour sliding back into place, piece by piece. And he stepped out of Jake’s hold and buttoned his shirt with hands that were mostly steady. Then he retrieved his tie from where it had ended up snagged against the hi-hat stand, looped it once around his neck without bothering to do it up properly, then reached for his coat.

Jake stayed where he was, watching him, feeling oddly reluctant. As if something he didn’t know he wanted had opened and was being shut again.

When Harrison had pulled himself together enough to resemble DI Black again, he looked at Jake, then held out his hand. Jake glanced down at it. Surprised by the formality. But he took it. Except Harrison didn’t shake. He closed his fingers around Jake’s instead, warm and soft, brushing his thumb across Jake’s knuckles.

“You’re right.”

“Usually am.” Jake tilted his neck. “About what this time?”

“You’re not like most men.”

“No?”

“No. It’s deeply inconvenient.”

Well, fuck.

Jake could handle being called fit. Sexy. Good with his hands. But that? He had fuck all for that. So he did what he always did when something got too close. He joked.

“It’s sorta my brand.” Jake grinned. “Being inconvenient to coppers.”

Harrison didn’t smile. “I mean it. I’m not sure many people would’ve handled this quite as well as you have.”

And there it was again.

That sincerity Harrison had a habit of slipping beneath Jake’s ribs when he weren’t fucking looking.

So he dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “Aye, well. If there’s anyone in this town who knows how grief can make you do really stupid shit, it’s probably me.”

Harrison’s thumb stopped.

Jake immediately wished he hadn’t said it. Not because it wasn’t true. Because Harrison looked at him as if he understood exactly what Jake meant.

Too much fucking understanding going on tonight.

So Jake lifted Harrison’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Then he brought Harrison’s palm against his bare chest, right over the swallow pendant and the rampant hard thud of his heart.

“Just so we’re clear…” Jake tapped two fingers on top of Harrison’s to match the beat beneath them. “You’ve still got this going like a fucking drum solo, so don’t go home thinking you’ve put me off, aye.”

Harrison’s fingers drifted against his skin.

Fuck.

Jake felt that everywhere.

So he covered Harrison’s hand with his own before he could do something spectacularly unhelpful, like ask him to keep going. “Fuck off, Detective. Before I give you another emotional event to deal with.”

A ghost of a smile touched Harrison’s mouth. “Goodnight, Jake.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harrison went still. Only for a second. And he gave one small intake of breath, fingers flexing once beneath Jake’s before his eyes lifted to meet his.

Jake wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done.

But he’d done something.