Tom was tempted to invite Alex into his shower, but decided against it. Another time, though…
“I’ll go and get changed,” Tom said. “Make sure I look lovely for my man.”
My man. Alex Hart. He’s kissed me.
And Tom would almost have sworn that right then, at that moment, he was floating a foot up in the air.
Alex stroked his fingers over Tom’s cheek. “I’ll see you back here in a little while.”
Tom chanced a peck on Alex’s lips. “I’ll see you soon, darlin’.”
“In my best not the prime minister, honest guv, disguise.” And with another twinkle of those bright blue eyes, he left the kitchen.
Giddy, Tom went to his own room to get dressed. He opened his wardrobe but didn’t see the clothes—his mind was entirely occupied by their kiss, and Alex’s arms around him. He wanted, desperately, to ring a friend and tell them, I’ve met this amazing guy. But he couldn’t, could he? He couldn’t out the prime minister.
How had that only just occurred to him? But it was okay. No one had to know. It was their delicious secret.
And they could still have a wonderful evening together.
He thought of Alex in the shower, rivulets of warm water rolling over his broad shoulders, then realized that he shouldn’t have thought of that at all because this was a first date. But the vision was proving impossible to shift.
A date with Alex Hart.
Bloody hell.
Tom rooted through his wardrobe, trying to find the best outfit he could. Not even his smartest jeans would do, so Tom decided on a dark blue linen suit and a lilac floral shirt. He combed his hair, but the spring warmth was determined to scupper his efforts, so he swept it back as best he could, then sprayed on his best cologne. Alex had bought it for him for Christmas.
Then he was ready and wandered out to the lounge. He was nervous—a man who’d jumped out of a helicopter in a war zone, for heaven’s sake—and paced back and forth.
“You look lovely,” he heard Alex say from the doorway. “If I’m too off-duty dad at school prize day, I can change—”
Tom turned to see Alex in a royal blue shirt that achieved the seemingly impossible feat of making his eyes look even bluer. And those smart trousers…
“No, you’re far more off-duty dad on hot date.” Tom crossed the room and took Alex’s hand. And the prime minister looked nervous, more nervous than Tom could recall seeing him before, which somehow made him even more appealing.
“I’ve never done this before,” Alex said with a look of apprehensive excitement. “But I’m really looking forward to our first date.”
“I am too.” Tom gently kissed Alex’s lips. Nothing more.
“We have a tucked-away table,” Alex told him. “And it’s cabaret night.”
Tom slid his fingertip along Alex’s collar. His top three buttons were unfastened, revealing a tantalizing view of Alex’s chest. “So we’re on the same page, we’re not kissing in public, are we?
“Just for now… Is that all right?”
“It’s absolutely fine.” Tom smiled.
“It’s just—if you and I are going to do this, the press are going to go crazy. It’s going to be a circus,” Alex told him gently. “And I want all the various grandparents, not to mention the kids, to find out from us, not from the Mirror.”
“I do too. If they can slather at the bit over my trainers then God knows what they’ll be like when—” Tom stopped. If Alex was already nervous, reminding him how judgmental the press could be wouldn’t help. He might put the brakes on completely and their kisses would lead to nothing.
Alex stroked the pad of his thumb along Tom’s jaw. “Ready?”
Tom smiled. “If you are—yes.”
So together they left the flat and descended through 11 Downing Street, past the closed doors and offices that, usually so bustling, were silent on this Friday evening in spring, along the labyrinth of corridors and out into the street where the car waited. Alex’s familiar CPO greeted them with a smile and opened the door, watchful until his charges were safe in the car’s opulent interior.
We’re really doing it.
The car took them into Soho. It never ceased to surprise Tom how suddenly London could change from street to street. Up stately Whitehall toward Nelson standing sentry, then off into the busy Friday evening streets of Soho, bright with neon lights and hectic with people. Here Alex would simply blend into the crowds, the prime minister hiding in plain view with those out to celebrate the weekend.
It was like a wonderful secret.
Never had Tom supposed that Alex liked him in the way he clearly did. The thought of their kisses and the promise of going out on dates spread warmth through Tom. He was so lucky, and even though they’d have to keep it between themselves for a while, it was worth it to have a man like Alex as—Tom gulped—my lover.
“A cabaret night,” Alex mused, watching the world through the car windows. “That’ll be a first for me too. I feel like I’m skipping school!”
This was naughty, Tom knew, which made it all the more exciting.
The car pulled up outside what could have been taken for the front of a restaurant, with menus in glass cases on either side of the door. Above the door, in art deco type, it said Colette’s. The CPO hopped out and opened the door, but somehow he managed to do it in a way that suggested there was nothing to see here, just two more gents out for a business-financed night on the vino. Alex hadn’t really perfected the art of blending in, Tom knew, because he already had it. He saw no difference between himself and the rest of the world, had no sense of grandeur or otherness. He just had a job like any other.
They got double takes from some of the people on the street. Tom whispered, “It’s that model from the shower gel advert again!”
Unfortunately that put an image in his mind once more of water cascading over Alex’s shoulders, and he willed his body to behave.
“Lucky old me,” Alex teased as he pushed open the door and, ever the gent, stood back to allow Tom to enter first.
Colette’s was everything Tom had hoped for and more. It was like a time machine, transporting them to 1920s Paris. Posters filled the walls for cancan shows and champagne, sporty cars and perfumes. Huge brass palm trees arched overhead and the decor was black with gold highlights.
“You should totally redecorate like this!” Tom laughed.
“Oh, I can see it now!” They were led through the room with its buzz of conversation and gentle chink of classes and cutlery toward a secluded semicircular booth that offered a grandstand view of the stage—one of the perks of being on the arm of the PM, no doubt. Left alone with the menus, Alex asked with unmistakable mischief, “Should I go mad and have a cocktail?”
“We both should. I haven’t had cocktails in ages.” Not since his last boyfriend, but Tom didn’t want the unwelcome presence of those memories tonight. “Classic Manhattan?”
“Sounds good to me.” Alex opened the menu and peered at the page for a second, then lifted his gaze to Tom’s. “I’m having the most wonderful time, you know. Thanks for saying you’d come.”
“I wouldn’t miss this.” Tom was about to slide his hand over the table to touch Alex’s, but he paused. “A night on the razzle with my favorite PM.”
“And it’s on me, so spoil yourself.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll order all the champagne!” Tom winked. “That’s a joke, by the way.”
“Am I going to have to keep an eye on you?” Alex smiled. “Carry you out of here at the crack of dawn?”
“You know what soldiers are like.” Tom stroked his foot along the side of Alex’s shoe, hoping no one would see under the cover of the table. “I’ll get wasted, put my pants on my head, and ride a Boris Bike around Trafalgar Square at five in the morning!”
“I think even our guys might have trouble keeping the lid on that,” he replied, arching his eyebrow and moving his foot just a little, just enough to signal that Tom’s advances
were definitely welcome. “Good though they are.”
Tom struggled to rein in his gasp as Alex moved his foot in response. “I feel like I’m dreaming, honestly I do. I never imagined—”
A waitress was approaching and Tom lowered his head, engrossed in the menu once more.
“Welcome to Colette’s!” The waitress beamed, trying and failing not to look just a little bit amazed that she had been selected to tend the British prime minister for his night on the town. Tom could just imagine what was going on behind the scenes, the scurry to get everything right, when all Alex wanted was a quiet evening out. A date, in fact. “Can I get you some drinks?”
“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Tom replied. Please don’t mention my £100 trainers. “Alex?”
“Same for me,” Alex told her, but she just nodded, staring at him.
Then she glanced over her shoulder and leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper to ask, “Before you go tonight, can I get a selfie?”
“Of course, we’ll sort it out before we head off.” Alex smiled. “Do me a favour, though, no special treatment? I’m hoping to fly under the radar.”
The waitress nodded. “Gotcha, don’t you worry.” She looked to Tom and grinned. “Oh God, Manny too! I can’t believe this. Two Manhattans, on their way!”
Manny.
“Yeah, Manny’s night off!” Tom remarked. She grinned and left them to it, alone in the packed room.
“Sorry about the manny thing,” Alex told him. “Do you cringe every time you hear it?”
“A bit!” Tom laughed. “It’s okay, it could be worse. I know people find it weird, especially after I was in the army, but if they all remembered that my name’s Tom, that would be odd. Borderline stalkery, really—knowing the name of the PM’s nanny!”
“Especially when he doubles as a shower gel model?”
“I think I know what advert they meant and he really doesn’t look like me!” Tom laughed, tugging awkwardly at his collar. There it was again, the vision of himself and Alex in the shower. Imagine if Alex just turned up while I was in the shower? Just dropped his towel, walked in, and… Tom shifted in his seat. Great, an erection while sitting next to the prime minister, in public.
Alex looked down at his menu, peering up at Tom from beneath his eyelashes when he admitted, “I’m pretty sure I know the one.”
Tom leaned close, hoping people would assume they were talking about something confidential in relation to Alex’s job. Not…not…
Tom grinned as he whispered, “Do you enjoy that advert? The way he strokes all those bubbles down his chest? And do you get annoyed when the camera cuts off just as he reaches his stomach?”
With a far too innocent blink, Alex said, “I hadn’t noticed. Much.”
“We’re going to have fun, Alex.” Tom sat back properly in his seat again. He’d been seconds from rubbing his nose against Alex’s. “Sorry, maybe we shouldn’t talk about that sort of thing in public.”
He was on a date with the prime minister of the United Kingdom. And it felt so right. Because Tom wasn’t going to let himself think about what would happen if it went wrong. He wouldn’t let himself be another Southwell with a trail of disaster in their wake, not when Tom and the children meant so much to him already.
This is going to work.
“It won’t always be like this,” Alex told him in a whisper. “I promise, Tom, I know it’s not ideal, but—we’re out on a Friday night, that’s not supposed to happen for respectable blokes like us!”
“Outside after dark—I’m not used to this!” Tom chuckled. The waitress was smiling too as she returned with their drinks, still no less thrilled than she had been when she left.
“I’m going to take your order in a mo but I wanted to say…” she lowered her voice, “when I was at school, I was one of those little kids you had without a coat every winter and you’re right to do something about it. I’m at uni now—no small thanks to you and your grants—so, more power to you. Both of you.”
Can she tell? Tom wondered. She can’t tell.
“It means a lot to hear that.” Alex nodded, his voice and smile warm. “I’m really glad it’s helped.”
“So I stuck an extra shot in to say thank you.” She nodded toward the glasses and took out a tablet. “Now, can I take your order, gents?”
Tom glanced at the menu again. “Steak and chips for me.”
“I’m just going to copy him, I’m afraid—I’m not used to being allowed out. Medium rare, please,” Alex told her with a smile. “And can we get just something to nibble on first? That okay, Tom?”
“A sharing board?” she asked, looking to Tom to make the decision. “Bread, olives, just to get you started?”
“Sounds good!” Tom nodded. It would make a change from grazing from the fridge.
“And how d’you like your steak?” She tapped at the screen of her tablet and fixed Tom with that smiling gaze again. “Medium rare for you too?”
“Yes, medium rare’s great—thank you.” Tom watched Alex out of the corner of his eye. Had they lived together so long that their palates had aligned? Was that possible?
“Tempt you with sauce?”
She knows.
“Red wine,” both men chorused as one. With a tap to the screen the waitress grinned and left them alone.
Laughing, Tom brought his foot back to rest against Alex’s. As he did Alex lifted his glass and said, “To our night out?”
Tom raised his and nodded. “To nights out—when we have them occasionally!”
They took a drink, Alex’s foot moving gently against Tom’s. This would be their place, perhaps. And these memories of their first real date might be the start of something very special indeed.
Tom hadn’t been sure what to expect at a cabaret night, although he was glad to see some boylesque, where male dancers in tight pinstriped shorts and bowties twirled their nipples tassels to big band jazz. There was even a magic show, and fantastic singers, as well as a mime act that somehow managed not to overstay its welcome. They both roared with laughter, and gasped in surprise, and Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Alex look so happy and relaxed away from his children. The food was excellent, and the company even more so.
After their pudding had arrived, Tom slipped his hand under the table and tapped Alex’s knee with his finger. He glanced at him, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Alex met his gaze and smiled, then whispered, “I’d like that.”
So Tom laid his hand lightly on Alex’s knee. He didn’t creep it up Alex’s thigh, but left it there on his knee, a sign of his affection unknown to everyone but them.
“Are you having a good time?” Alex asked as they tackled their decadent desserts, another round of fresh cocktails on the table before them. “We could do this again, maybe?”
“We have to. Isn’t this brilliant?” Tom laughed. “Even the mime act!”
“Even the mime act, and that’s saying something.” Beneath the table, Alex’s hand settled on Tom’s knee, holding him very gently.
What a first date.
Tom almost didn’t want to leave, but the promise of Alex’s kiss was an irresistible lure. When the bill arrived Alex paid in cash, handing what he guessed must be a very generous tip for the waitress. And she still had to get her selfie.
Tom faffed with his hair. He couldn’t be Manny with rubbish hair. “Are you ready for the selfie?” he asked her.
“Can I squeeze in the middle?” she asked, producing her phone. “Oh God, I cannot believe this!”
“Yeah, come on, squeeze in!” Tom shuffled along the booth. It was only then that he realized how close he was sitting to Alex. He was almost in his lap.
And Alex didn’t seem to mind.
The young woman scooted into the booth and settled between them. She held out the phone in front of her and put her other arm around Alex’s shoulders.
Tom smiled into the camera. He looked so red in the face, and he tried not to look at Alex, but he cou
ld feel his smile radiating.
“Right.” Their new companion beamed. “Say cheese, lads!”
“Fromage!” Tom and Alex said together. The shutter clicked and she peered at the screen, then glanced over her shoulder, her smile crumpling into the hint of a frown.
“Can we do one more? There was a weird-beard photobombing.” With Alex’s agreement the routine was repeated and this time their new friend looked delighted with the result. Still perched between them, she swept her finger back to the first photo and laughed. “Look at hair-wax man, trying to get in on our moment!”
Tom laughed, until he recognized the face. And turned cold.
Stuart.
He glanced over the booth, then at Alex. “Yeah, sorry, I know him.”
“Well, you two have a lovely weekend.” She kissed first Tom’s cheek, then Alex’s. “You’ve been a couple of stars.”
“We’ll be back!” Tom promised.
Bloody Stuart.
“Hey, stranger!” Stuart’s head popped around the side of the booth, his hair waxed and his beard manicured. Manscaped, no doubt. His skin glowed with three years of suntan, and, when he stood, his body looked as though it had been inflated with a foot pump. The gym bunny had obviously gone all in.
“Didn’t know cabaret was your thing, mate!” Tom tried to find something funny in Stuart’s surprise appearance, but his ex materializing on his first date—which, to the rest of the world, wasn’t a date at all—was hardly the least awkward situation he’d ever found himself in. He attempted a laugh, but it must’ve sounded to anyone listening like he had indigestion.
“I’m here with the friend of a friend of a— Fucking hell.” Stuart’s mouth dropped open as he registered exactly who was in the booth beside Tom. “Fuck me. Is the Queen getting a round in next?”
Tom pasted on a smile. “Stuart, you know who this is. And, Alex, you might remember Stuart?”
“Back from…” Alex wagged his finger thoughtfully toward Tom. “Italy? Spain! Was it Spain?”
“Barcaaaa,” Stuart sang, nodding. He slapped his hand lightly to Tom’s thigh and said, “Don’t forget, T-bird, we’ve got a date tomorrow!”
Tom tried not wince. “It’s just brunch, not a date!”
The Captain and the Prime Minister Page 8
