Page 27 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

They never did go to dinner. They didn’t go down for breakfast either, sleeping through half the morning after being up half the night.

It was lunchtime before they both showered and shaved and Noah, after gulping three glasses of water in quick succession, finally stood before the windows to look out at their view in midday light.

He was shirtless in trousers and socks, smelling of soap and wintergreen toothpaste, holding a fourth glassful and frowning as if trying to remember something.

Timo interrupted getting dressed to watch him, leaning on the bathroom doorframe, meaning to keep his distance, simply drink Noah in from relatively far.

It had gradually dawned on Timo that Noah hadn’t any idea what he looked like or how he came across: smart but reserved, aloof by American standards, always near a door, always a safe distance from the crowd, while his beauty was equally unassuming.

Anyone could be forgiven for overlooking Noah because overlooked was what Noah wanted to be.

His posture left something to be desired and he was letting his hair get too long, as if hoping it would soon be enough to fall in his face and hide behind, or he simply couldn’t be bothered to find a barber when he felt his time in London was so temporary.

Of course, Timo had a meeting next week to make sure that wasn’t the case. He’d get that work visa sorted and, as the Brits said, Bob’s your uncle.

You could walk past Noah in a crowd without noticing him while he lurked and dodged eye contact with strangers.

You had to turn back, look him full in the face, or study that luscious, streamlined profile that now spoke to Timo while Noah gazed out the window, before you realised you’d just walked past a god.

Even Timo had missed him in July. He wasn’t the first pretty young man to pass through the prop shop as a junior. Timo would give anyone who seemed clever and quick enough a chance if he saw potential and they tested well. He’d not looked twice.

Now he leaned in and watched Noah with the unwavering attention he’d seldom shown anything beyond his trading terminal, and he regretted how blind he’d been.

Timo wasn’t accustomed to feelings of regret.

He got things done. Getting things done and coming out on top were what mattered.

The odd failure meant he had to try harder, learn from it and win next time.

Regrets only got in the way. Like regretting letting Rhys go.

Now that he was with Noah he could see how it was all for the best, how everything had led him here.

No regrets. Only another leg of the race.

Noah drained the water glass. Timo watched how the glass caught the light, how his lips held the rim, and his throat worked with his swallows.

Timo had thought even he was ready to call it a morning and step out. He should be famished, should be aching to stretch his legs and get to the gym or run. Instead, he was famished only for this unconsciously sublime man who ruled his life.

Noah set the empty glass on the desk, started to turn, but Timo intercepted him: crossed quickly to him, snaked a hand around Noah’s waist. Noah met him with a kiss, hands going to Timo’s chest.

Timo had just decided what they needed was to try sixty-nining when Noah said, “Do you know where we’re going for lunch?”

“Lunch?”

“We’ve not eaten since Friday morning.”

“Haven’t we?” Timo smiled indulgently. It was wasted on Noah, who brushed past him. “What would you like?”

“Uh…” Noah frowned as he pulled on his shirt. “French food?”

“Right.”

Noah rolled his eyes, which was not his style and made Timo’s heart quicken. Must be irritable from lack of nourishment. He’d be tapping his toe by the door next.

Timo rushed to finish dressing, making sure to have a couple condoms returned to his wallet and the extra lubricant, the tiny travel tube, in his jacket pocket. He’d better buy more condoms since Noah was such a fan of them.

Stepping out into the brilliant sunshine and bustle and noise and life of the street was momentarily overwhelming.

It wasn’t as busy as stepping out at home or office every day of his life.

London didn’t overwhelm. London was simply the world turning, the great human stew, always on.

Paris, though, was in his way, setting up a divide between him and Noah.

While they ate, Noah found a walking tour he wanted on his phone, then dithered because he might not have time to get to the museums he hoped to see if they joined.

“We should have gotten up this morning,” he said, still testy, as he started checking closing times on places like the Louvre and Sainte-Chappelle.

“We were up,” Timo told him absently, hardly tasting what he ate.

“Some things won’t even be open on Sunday.” Noah fretted, also not enjoying his meal, which was a shame since Timo knew how much he’d wanted to try the food. Timo had to make it better, make him happy because Noah being happy and enjoying Timo’s company were the most important things in the world.

“Let’s do the tour in the morning. I’m sure they’re on all weekend.”

“That’s a good idea.” Noah bit his lip, making Timo imagine biting his lip. “Yeah, there’s another at ten in the morning. Okay, straight to the Louvre from here. I’ll book the tickets now. Can we walk?”

“I’ll get you there, don’t worry about it. If we need to stay an extra day or two, we can.”

“No you can’t.” Noah turned his frown on Timo. “You have to be at your terminal when the market opens on Monday. Golden rule.”

“Noah —” Timo leaned forwards, taking Noah’s hand that was above the phone. “I’ve told you. What must I do to prove that you’re my priority?”

Instead of bashful or embarrassed, Noah seemed only more annoyed by him. “It’s hard to take that seriously when it’s only happening because of a spell.”

“I thought we agreed to put that aside? Do you really feel absolutely nothing for me? This is all a waste and I’m only bothering you? Making you uncomfortable? Keeping you from spending a full day out in Paris?”

“Of course not.” Noah looked away, reclaiming his hand, finally rather flushed. “I do want to be with you. I wanted last night. It’s just … it’s … more complicated than that.”

“I don’t see why.”

Noah glanced at him. “You really think you can get me a work visa? When’s your appointment with the attorney?”

“Friday. And yes. Is that what you’re worried about? Don’t be. You have a place with me: a home and we’ll get your legal status in the country sorted. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be scared.”

For some reason, Noah caught his breath. He stared at his plate, out the window, then quickly stood. “Bathroom — too much water.”

Bewildered, Timo watched him flee for the back. Timo had only meant that he shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t be scared of deportation when they could surely work things out with the help of Timo’s immigration attorney. What was it that Noah thought he’d meant?

* * *

Timo padded indulgently after Noah for the museum, the crowds and selfie sticks, Notre Dame, and too much sun — Timo burned easily. Then Noah decided what he really needed wasn’t a bridge or river stroll for sunset tonight, but a visit to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Since these tickets sold out on the weekends and high seasons as much as 60 days in advance, and since even the lower level and stair access options were also sold out until Monday, Noah turned away from the ground-floor ticket office in despair.

That would never do.

Timo sent Noah off to walk the grounds before he sweetly asked at the ticket office to speak to a supervisor, who answered his questions about how much it cost to light the tower for a year, then rang up a proper manager who worked for the city, who appeared in short order, shaking his hand, asking Timo into the office, and would he care for a private tour?

Why not?

So Noah had a private tour in charmingly accented English, plus a voucher for his sunset time slot that included the lift and champagne at the top, with the manager asking was there anything else Noah needed or would like to see?

There. That was how everyone should treat Noah. As long as they didn’t upstage Timo.

What, after all, was a million pounds at the end of the day? Timo could earn it back next week. Besides, Noah had suggested Timo give more to charity and the tower was close enough.

“How did you do that?” Noah asked, beaming as he clutched the tickets like a child with an ice cream cone.

Timo refrained from telling Noah that he got whatever he wanted because the world didn’t run on fairness and love for all humankind, that the way to a city’s tower was through a bank transfer. Noah might take it the wrong way under the circumstances.

Instead, he said, “How much time do we have? Enough for dinner first? We can’t rush a French dinner.”

Revived with his tourist afternoon and the thrill of the impending sunset scene, Noah was transformed from his tense lunch companion.

They talked about the food and Paris, travel and work, as if they’d been going on dinner dates for years.

They were both still a bit dehydrated and gulped water along with wine.

Naturally, the food was exquisite, though Timo still didn’t feel that hungry for food.

It was more fun to sit and watch Noah, remembering more of the 36 love questions to ask and gaze into his hazel eyes that looked like different colours in different light, sometimes green, sometimes more brown or grey.

He imagined the night ahead, would have been happy to strip Noah right here at the table, but last night had taken the edge off his obsession with physical matters and he found himself better able to stay in the moment and simply enjoy Noah’s company like savouring a fine wine.

By French standards, they cut the meal short, but nearly everyone besides the Italians cut meals short by French standards.