“Like what?”
Jamie pushed off the door, glad his shaky legs had steadied out. “You love him like a brother... like that other dude you talk about sometimes.”
“Who? Nat?”
“If you say so. I can’t remember his name, just your face when you talk about him.”
They met at the library door. Marc came up close to Jamie... so close that Jamie could smell the hospital on him—antiseptic and blood.Blood. Right. Fucking vampire now, are you?The thought reminded him of the crappy teenage vampire novels he’d marked for donation to the nearest charity shop. Lacking any better ideas, he opened the library door and went inside, trusting that Marc would follow.
He did, and he glanced around at Jamie’s first day of work with a low whistle. “Wow. You don’t waste time, eh?”
“Why would I? Got nothing else to do.”
“Except poke around in abandoned corridors. What were you doing in the manor pass?”
“The what?”
Marc stepped to the nearest shelf and hooked a book down without seeming to check what it was. He held it out to Jamie. On the cover was a black-and-white photograph of Marc’s house. “The manor pass used to lead to the old church that was behind the house. It was blocked off when they demolished the church ten years ago.”
“Oh.” Relief escaped Jamie in a wild rush of air. So itwasa church, sort of. The knowledge didn’t make the demons using his spine as a maypole any less unpleasant, but it did, at least, explain their enthusiasm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. I was after a hoover.”
“Why?”
“To get rid of some of the dust.”
Marc tilted his head to one side as he withdrew his proffered book and stuck it back on the shelf. “What’s the point when you’ll only kick up more tomorrow? Can’t you leave it?”
Jamie scowled, though his irritation at being doctored was tempered by a long look at Marc’s chest. Marc’s pull-up on the bar in the kitchen last night had been a real eye-opener. Jamie’s heart had told him that Marc was strong, but watching his biceps ripple and pop, alive with the sinuous muscle that came from years of hard work? Along with his lips smashing against Jamie’s, it was an image Jamie couldn’t shake.
He remembered hiding his face against Marc’s chest too—the warmth, the scent, and the lightly furred planes of unyielding flesh. Shame he couldn’t remember what had driven him to seek comfort in Marc’s arms like a whimpering child.
Jamie shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Marc frowned and came closer, his arms opening naturally. Jamie willed himself to step back, to resist the call to fall against Marc and lose himself in the safety of his embrace, but he couldn’t do it. For one reason or another, he needed Marc—his touch, his smile, even the deep rumble of his voice as he muttered something into Jamie’s hair as Jamie sagged against him.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie whispered.
Marc held Jamie close and rubbed his shoulders. “What for? It’s not like I haven’t been wanting to squeeze the life out of you all damn day.”
“Still.” Jamie forced himself to look up from the soothing depths of Marc’s chest. “You must think I’m fucking mental.”
“Not really. You’re just a bit of a contradiction.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marc dragged the pad of his thumb beneath Jamie’s eyes. “So much chaos and nervous energy, but beneath, you have this calm, methodical cleverness.”
Jamie laughed—real laughter this time, from a part of him he barely recognised. “I ain’t clever.”
“Yes, you are. And don’t argue with me. Humour me until you get round to believing it yourself.”
Jamie grumbled but let it go. Marc would see for himself soon enough what a bellend he could be. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Eight o’clock? Seriously? You’ve been at work for hours.”
“Says you. Mrs. Valentino told me she saw you come in ten minutes after I left.”
“That was nice of her. Does she spy on you often?”