Chapter Fourteen In the Pines #4
Harrison’s eyes met his, and Jake could feel every warm breath against his mouth. But he said nothing.
So Jake dropped his gaze to those inviting lips. “One more.”
He gave Harrison enough time to object.
Harrison didn’t.
So Jake kissed him again. Just once. Nothing like before. A slow press of his mouth to Harrison’s and lasting a couple of seconds longer than it probably should.
When he pulled back, a smile tugged at his mouth. “Christ, you’re nice.”
“Nice?”
“Aye.” Jake licked his lips, still tasting him. “Really fucking nice.”
Harrison swallowed. “We should go.”
Jake held Harrison’s gaze for a moment longer before finally stepping back.
He knew when he was being cautioned. And Harrison straightened away from the tree, rolling his shoulders as if reacquainting himself with gravity.
He wiped a hand across his mouth, stubble scratching against his palm, then looked back at Jake.
Yeah.
Awkward.
Really bloody awkward.
Jake cleared his throat and crouched, spotting the phone lying half-buried in the leaves where it had fallen during the chaos. The torch was on, lighting the surrounding trunks from below, making the whole clearing look faintly haunted.
He picked it up and held it out. “Think you dropped this.”
Harrison took it, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.
“Thanks.” Harrison didn’t react to the touch. He switched the light properly in his hand and glanced down the track, then back at Jake. “We should head back before your woodland friends come to investigate the noise.”
Jake snorted. “Badgers can have a nasty bite.”
“Not only the badgers.”
Jake arched an eyebrow.
But Harrison didn’t elaborate on that.
So Jake gestured back towards the path. “Come on. I’ll show you the way out before you end up halfway to Mansfield Farm.”
Harrison gave a small nod and fell into step beside him.
They walked back through the trees in a strange, companionable silence, boots crunching softly over the damp ground.
The mist had thickened while they’d been standing there, curling low between the trunks and dulling what little light reached them from the village beyond.
Jake kept his hands shoved firmly in his jacket pockets.
Partly because it was cold. Mostly because he didn’t trust himself not to reach for Harrison again.
Which was… unsettling.
To be this aware of someone else. To wonder what Harrison was thinking as they walked side by side. Whether the detective was replaying it too. Whether he regretted it already. Whether he was trying as hard not to look.
The irony wasn’t lost on Jake.
Plenty of men had stood in front of him before, Brodie included, trying to work out if they’d read the signs right. If Jake really was as indifferent as he pretended to be, or if there was something more going on in his head that he wasn’t saying out loud.
He’d always known the answer then.
Tonight, he didn’t.
Though Harrison had kissed him first. That much was true. But maybe it was to shut him up. Maybe it was a total accident. Maybe Harrison had had too much beer, not enough sleep, and he’d seen a ghost in Jake.
When the hedgerows finally came back into view, Harrison slowed. The path split there. One way towards the village and Larkspur Lane, the other towards the pub where Jake had left his van.
“Well,” Harrison said.
“Aye.”
Another silence.
Jake could feel the pull of it again. Fucking ridiculous. Apparently kissing the man three times hadn’t got it out of his system.
So he stupidly said, “Offer’s still open for that lift…”
Harrison’s expression tightened as if weighing something he didn’t quite trust himself with.
Then he let out a slow breath. “Probably best I don’t.”
“Right.”
“Goodnight, Jake.”
Jake managed a smile. “Night, Detective.”
Harrison turned first and headed towards the road.
Jake didn’t.
He stood there like a fucking idiot and watched the beam of Harrison’s torch move through the mist, catching on hedges and branches until it finally disappeared from view.
Only then did Jake blow out the breath jammed in his chest and turn towards the pub.
Fuck.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked.
He wouldn’t think about it.
Wouldn’t think about Harrison Black grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him. Nor how soft his mouth had been. How careful the first kiss had felt. How fucking good the next ones had been once they’d both stopped pretending they didn’t want it.
And he definitely wouldn’t think about how different it had been.
Jake had kissed plenty of men. Kisses were usually just the bit before everything else. What got him from I fancy you to where are we doing this?
This hadn’t felt like that.
He hadn’t been trying to get Harrison’s clothes off. His van or flat hadn’t entered his head, or whether they could find somewhere more private.
He’d just wanted to keep kissing him.
Soft and slow and so fucking nice, Jake almost didn’t know what to do with it.
Christ.
He wanted to do it again.
That was the problem.
He wanted to do it again far too fucking much.