Page 12 of Reckless

I handed him his tea and then picked mine up. No milk, no sugar. “There, I’ve answered one of your questions.”

“I answered yours too,” he said warily. “I said I didn’t know.”

He held my gaze, and the air between us felt heavy, charged, like the sky before an electrical storm.

I tapped my fingers against the side of my mug, enjoying the fleeting touches of heat. I didn’t look away from Robbie. “Do you want to find out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Put your tea down and come over here,” I said, keeping my tone quiet.

For a moment, he wavered, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he bolted and I never saw him again. Then, a storm breaking behind his eyes, he set his mug down on the small kitchen table and took three steps towards me.

“Turn around,” I said.

His hesitation was written in every tense line of his body, but he obeyed.

I put my mug down and studied him.

He had broad shoulders, his back tapering down to his waist. His T-shirt wasn’t a great fit; it was fine across the shoulders, but too loose at the waist and hips. His jeans were thin and worn. Threads poked out of the arse of them, as though he’d snagged the denim on a nail at some point. He was wearing elastic-sided work boots, the heels bitten at the edges with wear. In a tighter shirt, better fitted jeans, and new boots he would have looked like a fashion photographer’s idea of a casual country boy. As it was, he looked like the real thing. Robbie Finch sure as hell didn’t shop at R.M. Williams.

I studied the back of his neck, where his hair was starting to outgrow the soft prickles left by his last haircut. The little strands at his nape looked long enough to pinch and pull. I wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

Robbie shifted under the weight of my gaze.

“Don’t move,” I said softly, and he froze.

I wondered if he even knew what this was.

An under-negotiated scene, Alastair?

Well, apart from that. Besides, what was a little awkwardness between not-quite-friends? If this went further, well, then we could talk. But nothing was going to happen today that would push him. Hell, the first time we’d met I’d had his dick in my hands. In comparison, this was nothing.

Except it’s not a comparison, is it?

I looked at my watch and silently counted out ten seconds. I was certain they felt like years to Robbie, who had no idea what to expect from this.

“Good,” I said at last. “Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

He turned to face me slowly, colour high in his cheeks, and I didn’t have to look down to see evidence of his arousal. It was all there in those stormy blue-grey eyes. “What?”

“Drink your tea,” I said. “And have a think about what just happened, when you get the chance. I didn’t have to rough you up to get you to do what I wanted, Robbie. If that’s something that interests you, something that works for you, then I’m open to exploring it further with you.”

He didn’t drink his tea.

“I—I have to go,” he said, and turned and fled.

I drank my tea and wondered if he’d ever be back.

A yellow dog joined me on my afternoon walk through the village to Anna Hooper’s house.

“He’s not bothering you, is he?” an old man asked as he tended his tomato plants in his garden.

“No, he’s fine,” I said. “I’m Alastair Jones, the new doctor.”

The old man put his shaking, gnarled hand in mine and we shook. “Tall Tom Finch.”

“Oh,” I said. “Are you a relative of Robbie and Katrina?”