Rory bit his lip. “Stjärnfall.” At Arthur’s blank look, he said, “I don’t know how to say it, but I could write it. The murder was on a dock and that was the ship.” He hesitated, then added, “Zhang said the ship transporting the relic was Swedish.”
“Indeed.” Arthur tilted his head. “I’ll ask Zhang to—”
“It’s an amulet.” Arthur’s head snapped up in surprise. Rory tried not to squirm under the intense blue of his eyes. “Copper, I think. There were some mobsters and a doll there, she was maybe your age.” His hand was so warm where it still cradled Rory’s. “She had eyes that were almost yellow. Said the amulet wasitbut she was real careful not to touch it.” He chewed his lip. “What else do you want to know?”
Arthur’s face fell. “I didn’t come here for information,” he said quietly. “I didn’t come here to use you or buy you, to take advantage or hurt you in any way. I didn’t even come here to sayI told you soand try and convince you to go to Hyde Park. I know you think I’m trying to leash you, but Rory, you don’t owe me anything. You didn’t have to tell me.”
Rory shrugged awkwardly, feeling grubby and rude next to this beautiful, classy man. “I didn’t have to tell you to go to hell either.”
“Well.” The corner of Arthur’s lips curled in that knee-weakening sly smile. “I’ve heard worse.” He turned Rory’s hand over, but he didn’t let it go and he didn’t move away. “How’s that feel?”
His broad chest was only inches away and his knees still boxed Rory snugly into the space between them. He was warm and close and he smelled like soap and fresh snow. Rory feltsafe. He flexed his fingers in Arthur’s gentle grip. “’S all right, I guess. For surgery by a sadist.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “And what would Dr. Rory recommend?”
“You could kiss it better,” Rory said, before he could stop himself.
The air between them crackled electrically as Arthur’s hand suddenly tightened on Rory’s palm and his thighs flexed to trap Rory between them. Rory’s heart pounded in his chest and for a split second, he thought hewasabout to be kissed—
Then a loud thump split the air, the sound that might be made by an excitable eight-year-old girl flinging herself off a couch like a daredevil. “Lizbeth!” came Mrs. Meyers’s muffled shout above their heads, as the Meyerses started their morning.
The ottoman’s legs squealed against the floor as Arthur shoved backward, and just like that there was three endless feet of space between him and Rory. “You know,” he said, his voiceverycasual, “there are men who might have thought you meant that, just now.” He ran a hand over his face. “Especially when they’re hungover and sleep-deprived and too close to your pretty eyes.”
Rory swallowed and drew his knees tight to his chest. “Right.”
Geez, he had to get a grip on this craving for Arthur before he gave himself away.
“I should probably say thanks—”for coming before dawn, for not leaving me alone, for being someone I want to kiss“—for the doctoring.”
“Don’t you dare.” Arthur got to his feet with a sudden push. “When will Mrs. Brodigan get here?”
Rory’s skin slowly chilled as the cold stole into the spot where Arthur’s warmth had been. “Maybe an hour, around seven. But I’m good.”
Arthur glanced at him, uncertain. “I can stay until then—”
“Nah.” Rory held his bandaged hands to his chest, where his heart was aching.I never met anyone like you, Ace, like a lighthouse in a storm, take me with you—“Go back to bed.”
Arthur’s shoulders dropped. “I suppose that would be best.”
Rory followed him back out into the shop. He leaned back against the cash register counter and watched as Arthur crossed to the front door, somehow making a coat and pajamas look stylish. His hair still looked like someone had spent a night running fingers through it, because Arthur had come straight from bed, because Rory had called, because Rory needed him—
“Ace.”
Arthur glanced back over his shoulder.
Rory bit his lip. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
Arthur broke into a smile, not sly or charming, but soft and uncertain, and it stole Rory’s breath. “Call anytime.”
Rory’s gaze lingered until Arthur had disappeared to the street.
Oh, he’d be calling all right.
Chapter Sixteen
A brilliant winter sun was pouring in through the east windows of Arthur’s flat as he arrived home from Brodigan’s. Despite having been drinking too late and then woken too early, he was wide awake and jittery as hell.
When he’d stormed Hell’s Kitchen, he’d been afraid he’d find Rory wandering the streets, lost to his visions. It had hardly been a comfort to find him alone in the freezing antiques shop, planning to slap a Band-Aid on the nails he’d torn when his psychometry had made him claw his own door bloody.
