Page 104 of Read My Lips

Simon’s lips quirked. Apparently, me imminently succumbing to heat stroke gave him the giggles.

“Trade secret – if you have to go into a room full of hostile idiots, make sure you’re dressed at least as well as they are. Preferably better.”

Words to die by. Only, a tie wasn’t going to fix much about me, even if everything Simon had on was flawless armour. It did not possess the same supernatural properties of disguise as Clark Kent’s glasses.

“That’s what all your togs are about then?”

Simon raised an eyebrow and I slid across the back seat to follow him out of the car. Non-answer noted.

“Come here.”

Right there on the pavement Simon squared in front of me, flipping my collar up, nestling the long run of silk against my neck. Spit stuck in my throat. Coughing didn’t clear it. I needed space. Distance. Not a live enactment of the kick-off point of one of my recurring x-rated dreams.

“I can do it.”

Simon arched an eyebrow. “Not particularly boyfriendly to let you.”

Achievement points for not hyperventilating. By now I should have got three thousand.

“You did yours all by yourself.”

Laughter ticked his mouth lopsided. “I didn’t think you knew how to tie a Windsor.”

Focus, Ben. What people saw going on between us here today mattered a whole lot more than whatever this actually was. Unless, he wanted to do this?

“Fine.” Trust him to care deeply about the knot of my tie. He probably had nightmares about me buying almost matching off-the-rack suit trousers in the sales. If we were going to be all over the internet, at least my tie would be straight for once.

His knuckles grazed my chest as he measured the ends, weighing the slim side of my tie against the fat arrow point. Eyebrows crunched together, he judged how short the short side should be with mathematical precision. And I waited for him to look up at me again.

“Are we going into a room full of hostile idiots?” Did everyone have so many eyelashes? “Thought we were going for lunch.”

Whatever knot he tied, it did not involve the rabbit going around the tree three times and back into its hole. It closed my airway off before he even slid it into place.

“That’s the spirit. Do try to keep breathing. Remember, you don’t need to pretend to be invisible.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Of course you don’t.”

The silk tie hushed as he wriggled the knot up towards my throat, and he stayed holding it for a solid half decade, his eyes telling me all kinds of things I didn’t understand. When it was just the two of us, everything made sense. Out in the world with an audience, nothing did.

“Ready?” With a final flick at an invisible imperfection on the front of my jacket, Simon deemed me good-to-go.

We approached the entrance, side by side. Simon’s hand settled right above my arse as he held the door for me. Like I needed gallantry. Fuck, before that moment I hadn’t known I did. My spine tingled. Enthusiasm switched on. Six inches lower, and he could cop a feel and I would pop a semi in the middle of the poshest restaurant I’d ever stepped into. And like it.

Waiters darted between tables, avoiding eye contact while we lingered near the podium guarding the book of Who Shall Be Admitted. Simon in full Nonchalance mode; me, not so much. Another one buzzed past us. We were extras for The Invisible Man.

Simon met my eye. And his hand dropped. I froze, all my attention on the drag of his fingers over the outline of my arse. On where they were going next. My heartbeat stumbled over itself like he’d knotted its shoelaces. The cocky-bastard squeezed. Hard. Right at the point my glute and the top of my thigh met, full-fingering into the seam stitching my trouser legs together, and I⁠—

“Hm nmh.”

—squirmed.

All the blood in my body relocated with haste. Slim-cut suit trousers did not have the elasticity required for anything other than torture, and he wasn’t letting go. I didn’t want him to. Hell yes. I’d so much rather spend the afternoon on my knees in a bathroom stall reminding Simon exactly how much casual sex we could be having instead of faking The Best Date Ever.

Sweaty-palmed, I signed in close against my chest, watching his mouth because I wanted to bite him. “We could just⁠—”

Someone cleared their throat. It wasn’t Simon.