by Harper Fox
Toby’s hands closed on his shoulders. “I did. Why didn’t you reply?”
That unopened email. McBride looked up into the dark, anxious gaze devouring him. “Because I knew it was about the job. I…I was too bloody scared.”
“Sharot called me over here at the crack of dawn this morning. I got the next flight. I thought it was just for a consultation, but—”
“For God’s sake, Leitner. But what?”
“But he wants me to start straightaway. Those tapes we got on Sim Carlyle were the tip of the iceberg. They opened up a huge network of trafficking, here and on the west coast. I’ll mostly be working in Glasgow, but—”
“But Glasgow’s just down the road,” McBride interrupted, voice rough with joy and relief. “Oh God. You’re here to stay?”
“Yes. How I’ll survive this filthy climate is beyond me.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
Toby pulled him into his arms. “You can start right now,” he whispered, and McBride sought his mouth in blind passion.
The sleet turned to hail. Its sting drew McBride back to surface, and he pulled out of the kiss, not for his own sake, but for his poor exotic lover’s, shivering in his arms. “Come on,” he said. “I’m done for the day. We can go.”
“Don’t you need to get your coat?”
McBride gave it thought. The coat, not so much, but the keys and wallet inside it might be necessary. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll not be a second.”
He looked up at the office windows. They were brightly lit against the oncoming dark. And unmistakably outlined in their frames, in varying shapes and attitudes of excitement—Amanda, Andrew Barclay, Lenny Royston. Davies, clearly nudging McKay in the ribs. “Oh God,” McBride said. “Look at that. Like a row of Gracie’s bloody stuffed toys.”
Toby snorted with laughter. “Want me to come in with you?”
“No way I can face them by myself. Yes, come on. And then—” he reached back and felt Toby seize his hand, invisibly to their audience in the secret space between them, “—and then I’ll take you home.”
About the Author
Harper Fox is an M/M author trying to make it as a full-time writer, with just that bit more urgency after being made redundant from her day job. Interesting times! In a way it’s great, because she gets to spend most of every day doing what she loves best—creating worlds and stories for the huge cast of lovely gay men queuing up inside her head. She lives in rural Northumberland in northern England and does most of her writing at an old kitchen table in her back garden, often with blanket and hot water bottle.
She lives with her SO, Jane, who has somehow put up with her for a quarter of a century now, and three enigmatic cats. Chief among them is Lucy, who knows the secret of the universe but isn’t letting on. When not writing, she either despairs or makes bread: specialities are focaccia and her amazing seven-strand challah. If she has any other skills, she’s yet to discover them.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9094-9
Copyright © 2010 by Harper Fox
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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