Page 64 of Too Close To Home

Harrison could see the quick, competent movement of Jake’s hands as he slid a new tile into place, hooked it, tested it, then tapped it home with the flat edge of a roofing hammer. He moved with the unconscious grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, muscles adjusting automatically to the slope, weight distributed perfectly. But it wasn’t only that catching Harrison’s attention.

It was how soaked through he was.

“Hey!” Harrison called up, blinking through the drizzle, rainwater splashing into his mouth.

Jake stilled mid-motion, glancing down as if dragging himself back from somewhere deeper. He swiped his forearm across his face, shoving rain-heavy curls out of his eyes and baring the sharp cut of his jaw, water tracking along it in thin, steady lines.

“Hey,” he called, voice roughened by the weather. “I’ll, er…won’t be long.”

“Why are you on my roof?”

“Fixing it.” Jake slid a slate into place and tapped it firm, precise.

“At five a.m.?”

“Like early starts.”

“In this?”

The rain thickened without warning, turning from a steady fall into a heavier downpour. Proper Yorkshire weather. It soaked Jake through in seconds, his T-shirt darkening and clinging tight to his back and chest, mapping the movement beneath it. The roll of muscle, the pull of his shoulders, rainwater running in rivulets down his top, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Harrison swallowed, forcing himself back into line. Jake Whitton, on his roof, soaked through to skin and sinew, was not something he needed to notice.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, then called up. “Come down.”

“It’s alright.” Jake blew rain from his lips, squinting through it. “Nearly there.”

“You can’t work in this. You’ll slip.”

Jake glanced down, and a half-smile broke through his concentration. Easy, teasing, and completely at odds with the weather. Not to mention entirely unhelpful.

“Done enough jobs in it, mate. I’m northern.” Jake shifted his footing, steady as a pillar. “Unlike you southern softies, if we don’t work in the rain, we don’t work.”

“Granted. Fine. You’re tougher than us. Colour me impressed by your Northern manliness.” Harrison spread his hands as another wave of rain lashed down. “But I can’t have you breaking your neck on my property. Come down. I’ll make you a cup of tea? Maybe get you a towel. You can wait it out.”

Jake stilled. And for a second, the hammer rested loose in his hand. He looked down properly then, rain dripping from his lashes, hair hanging heavy around his face. And God…those eyes. The rawness in them caught Harrison off guard. It wasn’t bravado. Nor flirtation. It was far more fragile than that. As if the roof wasn’t the only thing he was trying to patch over. Harrison recognised it instantly. Busy hands quieted the mind. Work outran his thoughts.

Rain or no rain, Jake hadn’t come here for the roof alone.

“Down.” Harrison peered up at him through his lashes, dropping his voice into the firm register he used in briefing rooms. “Now.”

Jake held his gaze a moment longer.

Then he nodded.

He moved with the same confidence descending as he had working. He slid down the slick slates with controlled ease, weight balanced, boots finding grip on wet tile as if rain were merely another element to account for. His hands found the ladder without looking, and he wrapped his fingers around the rails he’d secured against the wall earlier. Efficient. Certain.

Harrison made the mistake of glancing back.

Rain had turned Jake’s T-shirt into a second skin, clinging to him shamelessly and outlining every shift of muscle as he climbed down rung by rung. Water traced the curve of his shoulders, the powerful line of his back, disappearing beneath his waistband. And that arse, rounded perfectly by a set of work trousers, moved with grounded strength, coming from proper work, not gym mirrors.

Harrison turned sharply to the door.

Find the lock. Focus.

The key scraped uselessly in the new barrel. His fingers, steady in interviews, precise at crime scenes, felt thick, clumsy. He tried again. Missed.

Ridiculous.