Trusting Jack (MC Securities Book 1) Read online

  “You must be into some really kinky shit,” he murmured, unable to look up and wondering why the hell he had said that, why he couldn’t just say thank you like a normal person.

  “What?” Michael sounded uncertain.

  “Buying me all this. I said you could have me.”

  Silence. Jack stared at the pyjamas, unable to make eye contact with Michael. They were red check bottoms and a plain red top with long sleeves. They were lovely. More silence. He dragged his gaze up reluctantly to find Michael staring at him with a completely unreadable expression.

  “If you don’t like them, I’ll take them back.”

  “No!” Jack hugged them to his chest. “I love them.” He just about managed to stop himself rubbing his cheek against the soft, fleecy material. Just.

  Chapter Four

  Michael shifted uncomfortably. For a moment Jack looked like he might cry when he took the pyjamas out of the bag. He’d hesitated about putting them in, thought it might be a bit over the top, but looking at him now, hugging the damned things, he wasn’t sure if he was glad he had or not.

  He felt awkward about the whole situation. What the hell did he do now? He didn’t really do houseguests, certainly not ever a member of his staff. Particularly not a member of his staff he found ridiculously attractive. Or one he fantasised about. He rubbed the back of his neck. No-one had ever affected him this way. No-one.

  They faced each other in awkward silence for a long moment. Jack hugging the pyjamas, Michael growing increasingly uncomfortable.

  Michael cleared his throat. “Why don’t you put them on? you can use my bedroom.” He gestured to the door. “I’ll make us something to eat?”

  Jack swallowed and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Anything you don’t like? I’m not much of a cook.”

  He stood up and gathered up the clothes, not letting go of the pyjamas. “Well, I’m a bit sick of tinned tomatoes and pasta.”

  Michael could imagine he was if that was what he had been living off. “Fair enough, no pasta and tinned tomatoes.” He watched as Jack went into his bedroom, still clutching the pyjamas. He sagged at the small moment of reprieve. What the hell was he supposed to do with him now? He could give him a bed for the night, feed him and clean him up a bit, but what about tomorrow, and the next day? He’d absolutely no desire to have a houseguest, especially one that he needed to keep a professional distance from. And it was coming up for Christmas. What were the chances of getting him sorted and settled somewhere before then? His heart raced. He might end up with him living there for days. Maybe more. Maybe over Christmas. He rubbed his face and closed his eyes.

  His hands were unsteady as he rummaged in the fridge. He wasn’t joking about not being much of a cook. He dug out a pack of sausages and some ready-made mashed potatoes and set about chopping and frying some onions. He had the sausages and onions on, gravy ready to go, and the potatoes in the microwave when Jack came back wearing the red pyjamas. He looked warm and clean and seemed to fill the kitchen with his presence. His hair was a tumbled mess of damp, glossy, dark brown spikes pushed back from his forehead revealing equally dark arching eyebrows that framed his clear grey eyes. His bruised faced looked scrubbed. The cut had closed up and stopped bleeding, but his cheekbone was turning purple. He was definitely underweight, and he was eyeing the sausages like they were rib eye steaks. It made Michael wish he had found something a bit more interesting and made more of an effort, but then reminded himself that this was not a date. He’d set a couple of places on the island in the kitchen rather than setting the dining table, and as Jack slid into one of the stools, he finished everything off and dished up.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing Jack a plate piled with sausage and mash. He’d added some peas, and cooked some frozen Yorkshire puddings too, so it was a fair-sized plateful. Michael sat opposite and watched as Jack carefully smothered it all in onion gravy. He picked up his knife and fork and looked as though he wasn’t sure where to begin. Michael tucked in, and Jack followed suit, eating slowly and carefully. He seemed to be savouring every mouthful. After a moment or two, Michael slowed down and matched his pace, realising that if he really hadn’t eaten much for a long time, his stomach might have shrunk.

  “How long since you last had a proper meal?” Michael kept his eyes on the plate as he ate, then glanced up.

  Jack swallowed what was in his mouth and licked his lips. “A while.” He scooped another forkful of potato, then added, “It’s great. Thank you.”

  They ate in silence, but when the plate was only half empty, Jack put his fork down and sighed.

  “Full?” Michael looked up at him. He was fidgeting in his chair. He nodded. “Don’t worry, just eat what you want.”

  “Can I save it for later?”

  “Later? Not sure cold sausage and mash will be all that good.”

  Jack fidgeted some more. “It will microwave. In case I get hungry later?”

  Michael opened his mouth to say there was plenty of food if he got hungry, but then shut it. He put his own knife and fork down. He’d no idea what it was to go hungry, to not know when you’d eat again, and he felt guilty at the amount of food that he had, and the food he regularly wasted. He swallowed the mouthful he’d been chewing. What the hell. If he wanted to save it, then that was fine.

  He put his knife and fork on his own half eaten plate. “Good idea. I’m a bit full too. I’ll let it cool then cling film it and put it in the fridge.”

  The smile Jack gave him gave him an odd feeling in his chest.

  Jack wiped his mouth on the napkin that Michael had given him. The sausage and mash were bloody gorgeous. Far too good to waste. His stomach felt like it might explode, but it was so good to feel full he didn’t care.

  Michael got up and put the plates on the side and cleared the table. Jack wanted to offer to help but he didn’t know where anything went so sat still.

  “Want a beer?” Michael said, pulling open the fridge.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to go to work in a bit so I’d better not.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows. “Work?”

  “Um, yeah, I work in Dooley’s from ten ‘till about two.”

  “The bar near Canal Street?”

  “Yep.”

  Michael put the beer back in the fridge and grabbed some mugs instead.

  “You can have beer.”

  He shook his head. “Tea?”

  Jack just nodded. He watched him move about the kitchen, feeling warm and full. He hesitated a moment, then plunged in. “Is there any chance I could borrow your sofa tonight?” The words came out in a rush. He’d said something about him needing a good night’s sleep but hadn’t actually offered.

  Michael looked shocked. “Well, what did you think I was going to do? Throw you out?”

  Jack flushed and looked at his hands. “I didn’t want to presume.”

  Michael cleared his throat as he waited for the water to boil. “You can use the sofa.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered, and they waited in silence until the tea was made. Jack accepted the mug Michael passed him. Their fingers touched, and Jack swallowed. Michael pulled his hand away quickly.

  They went back into the lounge and sat on either end of the long sofa. Jack wanted to curl his feet under him but kept them on the floor. Michael grabbed the remote and surfed through the channels, settling on the news. They watched it in silence. Jack felt jumpy but sat still. He could feel the warmth of Michael’s presence beside him and he really wanted to shift closer to him, but he stayed where he was. He kept sneaking glances at him, but Michael didn’t seem to notice as his eyes were firmly on the box.

  After what seemed like ages, Michael shifted and picked up his mug. Jack swallowed and held his breath.

  “So, how’d you end up in a disused bedsit, owing ten grand and getting visits from people who want to hurt you?” He took a long drink from his mug, eyes still on the TV.

  Jack winced. Great. It was too much to hope tha
t he had forgotten their early aborted conversation. “It’s a long story.”

  Michael glanced at his expensive looking watch. “We’ve time.”

  “You sure you don’t want to fuck?”

  Michael’s head snapped around at that and for a moment there was a flash of something so hot in his eyes that it made Jack’s skin tighten and his breath hitch. It was gone in as fast as it appeared and, not for the first time, Jack wished he could keep his mouth under control and act normal for once. He aimed for nonchalance as he crossed his legs to cover up the raging erection he now had.

  Michael swallowed. “That bad?”

  Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to talk but felt he owed Michael at least some explanation seeing as he’d bailed him out, fed him, and bought him a load of clothes.

  “The debt isn’t mine, it was my brother’s.” He ran his hands over his face and scrubbed hard as his heart rate picked up and his skin prickled. “He wasn’t even really my brother.”

  Michael put his drink on the coffee table and turned to face him, laying one arm across the back of the sofa. “So why are you paying it off?”

  Jack laughed softly, sadly, and pleated the hem of the red pyjama top while trying to find words. “So they don’t kill me?”

  “And who are ‘they?’’’

  “You don’t need to know that. I can’t drag you into all of this. I shouldn’t even be here and if I had anywhere else to go I would leave and …” He stopped talking. Closed his eyes for a moment before looking at Michael. He was so handsome. So kind. So not the kind of person that would ever be interested in him.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “I don’t think he got a look at your face, so you should be okay, but …”

  “I’ll be fine.” Michael didn’t quite smile, but his face softened. “I know I’m a bit of a geek, but I can look after myself.”

  Jack laughed a little. “I gathered that with all the fancy ninja skills when you made Bryce scream.”

  Michael smiled and looked away.

  “You’re not all that geeky.”

  Michael looked at him uncertainly but didn’t say anything.

  “Where’d you learn all that?”

  “Martial arts training for years. Got sick of being …” He shrugged, his fingers going almost absently to the scar on his eyebrow.

  “Sick of?” Jack prompted.

  Michael hesitated then sighed. “I was top of the class, shy, awkward with people, and scrawny. I decided pretty young if I was going to make it out of my teenage years alive, I would have to learn to take care of myself.”

  Jack winced. “Bullying?”

  Michael looked away for a moment, then nodded.

  Jack’s throat ached. “Tell me. I had it all through school because of the way I am.”

  Michael frowned. “The way you are?”

  Jack wanted to hug him. He gestured to himself. “It’s a bit obvious I’m gay, isn’t it?”

  Michael still looked puzzled and Jack wanted to kiss him. “I’m too femme. You know, a bit ‘obvious’, one of the ones that no-one wants on Grindr.”

  “What’s wrong with being…feminine…femme?”

  Oh, but he was so lovely. Jack wanted to crawl into his lap and hold him tight. “Everyone wants guys who are masc.”

  Michael just frowned. “I’ve never used Grindr.”

  Jack stared. “You haven’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you use?”

  Michael’s frown intensified. “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure you’re gay? Do you get out at all?”

  “We were talking about you.”

  “This is more interesting.” Way, way more interesting.

  “I’m sure it is, but what about you and how you ended up working two jobs but living rough.”

  Jack screwed his eyes shut for a moment. He really didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to re-hash it all. It was all too raw. Too painful. He wanted to talk more about Michael. Wanted to hear him say more about there being nothing wrong with femme guys. He tamped down the frustration that threatened to bubble over, and tried to keep calm, but felt it fizzing inside every time he thought about the last few months. He did his best to speak evenly though his heart raced. “I told you. My brother owed money, I got stuck with paying it back.”

  “Why can’t your brother, or not-brother, pay his own debts.”

  “Because he’s fucking dead, that’s why. Now can we drop this?”

  Jack was on his feet and shouting before he could think. He couldn’t bear to talk about Nathan, couldn’t bear to dredge up all that shit, and certainly didn’t want Michael to have to listen to it, get all messed up in it, decide he wasn’t worth it. He stood still, heart pounding, trembling all over, and Michael came to stand beside him. Close. Too close.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were softly spoken, and then Michael put his hand on his shoulder, a little awkwardly. Jack couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Michael moved, hesitated, then surprisingly, put his arms around him. Jack swallowed and buried his face in Michael’s neck. He let him hold him until he stopped shaking. He wanted to hold him back but was afraid he might never let go. Afraid he might do something really stupid. Like kiss him.

  Michael patted his back awkwardly and after a while Jack pulled away, not looking at him.

  “Had you better get ready for work? I’ll run you.”

  “You don’t need to, it’s only about ten minutes from here…”

  Michael looked pointedly out of the window at the still-lashing rain. “Yes, I do. Get ready.”

  Jack wanted to protest, but in the end gave up and picked up the bag with his new clothes in it and headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter Five

  Michael watched him walk away and when the door clicked shut, let out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. Dear God. His nose was filled with Jack and his arms felt ridiculously empty. The solid, masculine warmth of him leaning against him gave Michael an almost overpowering need to wrap him up in his arms and take care of him. Make it all right for him. It all burned through him, leaving him aching and confused. He closed his eyes, groaned, and adjusted his erection. He couldn’t believe the conversation they had strayed into, only to be plunged into the news that his brother was dead…then whatever had possessed him to pull him into a hug… He scrubbed his face with his hands again.

  “Can I borrow your razor?” Michael almost jumped out of his skin when Jack stuck his head around the door. He could only nod.

  By the time he came back into the lounge, Jack was dressed in the jeans and one of the T-shirts that he had bought him. The jeans clung to him, making his legs look long and slim and hugged his arse in such a way that Michael struggled to breathe for a moment. His hair had dried into dark tufts that sprang about his head as though they didn’t quite know where to go when he pulled the jumper on. He pushed long, slim fingers into the pocket and pulled out a battered looking ancient mobile.

  “Can I give you my number?”

  “Sure.” Michael picked up his iPhone and added him as a contact, then texted to give Jack his own number. Michael hesitated, then picked up his keys and fiddled with spare door key, pulling it off and handing it to him.

  “Door key. Come on. You’ll be late.”

  Jack looked awkward for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You trust me with your key?”

  Michael wanted to hold him again. “I trust you.”

  Jack flushed and nodded, then took it and pushed it into the pocket of the jeans. He picked up his waterproof from the hook in the hall and grimaced. It was still sopping wet. Michael took it from him, gently, and replaced it with his own fully weatherproof jacket that was new, lined, and warm.

  “Here. Borrow this.”

  Jack flashed him a grateful smile, then took it and shrugged into it and pulled up the zip. It was a bit big, but he looked warm and c
osy in it. The red lining framed his dark hair.

  Michael pulled on his leather jacket and picked up the beanie, glanced at himself in the mirror and decided against it. The damned thing would look fabulous on Jack.

  They stood side by side in the lift in silence. They drove to Dooley’s in silence. Michael felt as though he was going to burst. He had no idea what to say. Just like always. Fortunately, in no time they were pulling up outside the bar.

  As Jack was getting out Michael pulled out a twenty and offered it to him. “For a taxi back.”

  He peered through the door. “It’s okay, I can walk.”

  “Take it.” Michael wagged the note. “It’s either that or you drag me out of bed at two to get you.”

  He hesitated, and then gently took it. “Thank you.”

  By two-thirty Michael was propped up in bed working on his laptop and watching the clock. By three, he was pacing and deliberating whether to text or just go and get him. He decided on the latter and pulled on some clothes. As he picked up his jacket, he heard the key in the lock.

  Jack crept in and latched the door silently. He watched him toe off his trainers, carefully hang up the jacket, and tiptoe towards the front room. His cheeks were red. He’d walked.

  “Cold?” he said.

  Jack jumped a mile and then clutched his chest. “Shit! You scared the life out of me.”

  Michael walked up to him and looked at his pinched red cheeks and felt the cold rolling off him in waves. It had stopped raining, but it was freezing.