Page 29 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

They got home on Monday evening, bleary-eyed with exhaustion.

After a nosebleed on the train that reached one of his shirts, greatly annoying Timo, and Noah’s blinding headache after too much drinking and wakeful nights, they’d gone to bed early for actual sleep.

Noah didn’t feel much revived when he woke for the first time in Timo’s king-sized bed with the white duvet and elegant low-profile frame.

He swore as he turned over after killing the alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Timo tried to nibble his neck but Noah shoved him away.

“Where’d you get your mattress? A prison-supply store?”

“I almost forgot you’re from the country that invented eating a cheeseburger between two doughnuts.”

“Comfortable mattresses have nothing to do with decadence.”

“Alexa, open the curtains.”

There was a soft ding and a razor-blade of a light stabbed into Noah’s retinas.

“Alexa! Close the curtains! Are you a fucking sadist?”

“Calm down. It’s not even early. I’d normally have been out running an hour ago.”

“Then go run. I don’t care.” Lying on his searing back, Noah draped both forearms over his eyes. “I only care that you don’t cripple my back by night and blind me next morning. It’s like the start of a crime thriller, luring the victim into this room …”

“Firm mattresses happen to agree with me. But send me a link and I’ll order a new one today. Whichever one you like.”

“You have to test mattresses, not choose online.”

“Then test some at lunch. I’ll go with you.”

“Stop being so agreeable. You’re making me feel guilty for complaining about your bedroom the first time I’m in it.”

“That’s an easy fix.”

“Don’t complain?”

Timo dragged one of Noah’s arms off his face to kiss his hand and Noah squinted at him through the gloom of closed curtains.

“Accept this bedroom as your own,” Timo said. “You live here now. I’m not sleeping on a marshmallow, but you should get a say in your own bed and surroundings. That’s how moving in together works.”

“I’m only here for a few more weeks.” Noah turned painfully to face him.

“Until you’re here long term, you mean. I keep telling you not to worry.” Timo kissed his lips, then pushed himself back, hopping out of bed with an energy that suggested he was still wondering if he could fit in a run despite the late alarm.

Noah was just stewing about Timo being all sweet and mild-mannered again, feeling bad that he’d snapped at Timo first thing in the morning, when Timo cheerfully said as he reached the doorway, “Alexa, open the curtains,” and Noah’s guilt evaporated.

* * *

At work, Noah tried to get caught up, stewing about how everyone smiled rather nastily when they saw him and said nothing. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything. After all, they only smiled. Yet they were smiles that spoke a thousand words.

He’d forgotten all about the mattress by 1:00 p.m. when Timo arrived at his desk.

“Ready?”

“For what?”

“To go shopping. I’m looking forward to it. Everything closed? Let’s go.”

Noah protested. He apologised for bitching and moaning earlier. He said they both had a lot of work to do. He told Timo not to worry about it. He suggested one of those nice latex mattress-toppers instead of dealing with a whole new bed.

Twenty minutes later, they were in a mattress shop in Bermondsey.

Again, Timo was cheerful while Noah squirmed but gave in.

If Timo was actually happy about this, then what was the harm?

Yet Noah didn’t want stuff pushed at him.

He didn’t want Timo to be constantly showing off or one-upping his own last gesture for a bigger or grander or soppier one.

It wasn’t even Noah’s bed. Noah should have kept his mouth shut, even if it was like sleeping on the floor.

On their way back to work on the Tube, Timo teased him about his “fluffy” favourites and Noah had to relent, finally won over by the infectious good mood. It was, after all, a really nice thing to do. Noah had no reason to be uncomfortable when Timo was the one who’d wanted to go shopping.

They were across the street from the office when they stopped for a quick sushi lunch and Noah talked Timo into letting him fix dinner tonight.

“My mom’s spaghetti and meatballs.” He curtailed objections with, “Heavy on the meatballs and sauce, with a salad, not garlic bread.”

“Only if you’ll come to the gym with me first.”

“I don’t do gyms. Ride a bike, swim, even jog a bit — maybe. Not gyms.”

“Please?” Timo actually wheedled. “Just walk on a treadmill if you like.”

“I thought you meet your trading buddies at the gym?”

“My schedule is in chaos. Only for now? I’m sure we can find something you enjoy there.”

“It’s the whole atmosphere, the vibes, the other guys either checking you out or mentally sneering or competing with you. I just hate gyms.”

Timo paused over that, his last sushi roll poised. Naturally, he must think that the whole purpose of a gym was competition. If he didn’t want that aspect he’d go on his own. He even enjoyed running partners. After a slightly derailed pause, Timo rallied.

“Our building gym then. It’ll be fun. We have one downstairs and it’s always either empty or nearly so.”

“Our” building. Ugh . So fast. Yet … so sweet? It kind of was.

Turned out, Timo was right. The place was empty besides a group of three women on the bikes, talking about work. Timo taught him a bit about lifting and cardio breathing and, to Noah’s slight embarrassment, it was fun.

Later, while Noah cooked, a kitchen make-out session turned into kitchen sex as the meatballs baked and sauce simmered.

The meatballs ended up overdone, saved by the sauce and fresh basil and a beautiful aged Parmigiano Reggiano from Italy so it was all good.

Like everything with Timo, even when it wasn’t all good, things somehow worked out.

The next days at the office and home were like that, too: unpredictable, overwhelming, sometimes stressful, mostly euphoric, leaving Noah reeling to discover that yes, it could happen this fast.

Was he really in love with Timo? Was he stupid for thinking there was any chance he might not be in love when his brain seemed to have given itself over to Timo and he struggled to focus on his work or remember his Tube stop or care about doing anything that wasn’t with Timo?

Or was it stupid to think this was real love so fast when Timo was anyone’s fantasy and Noah was simply swept along on all the hormones and gifts and sex and his primitive brain begging for more? So much begging that Noah found himself pretending otherwise just to save his own pride.

He put up a show of insisting to Timo that he, Noah, had work to do when Timo showed up at his desk; or Noah said they were going to be late in the morning when Timo thought that once wasn’t enough and Noah didn’t want to admit to feeling the same.

Where was the line drawn between this fast, lustful infatuation, almost strong-armed into a relationship, and real, intimate, romantic love?

Noah also hadn’t forgotten that spell. All the time it hung in the back of his mind that none of this was even authentic for Timo, that without outside interference Timo would have gone on looking past Noah.

What if some of those same influences had seeped into Noah?

What if he’d annoyed Julian that day and Julian slapped a spell on Noah also?

How could Noah ever be sure there was no outside force in play?

No matter how much he fretted, all those worries remained at the back, while his front mind thought about Timo for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Timo at work, Timo at home, Timo going out and staying in, and didn’t care why or how, only knowing he wanted to be with this man as much as possible and he could never get enough.

Noah found himself wanting to become a runner, wishing Timo wouldn’t resume his life of constantly socialising with trading friends and insiders, wishing that Timo was right, that Noah could stay, not because of the work or the money or his future, but just to be with Timo.

Surely that had to indicate there was something mentally off with him.

On Friday morning, he lost track of trades, made stupid mistakes, finally closed everything to pull himself together.

He paced in a tight circle, shaking out his hands and rolling his neck.

Another coffee, get his head in the game, ignore anyone else who might be in the kitchen.

Which made him think of Timo coming up behind him on Wednesday when Noah was in there alone slicing an apple at the counter, Timo reaching around to Noah’s groin.

Noah had snapped at him. Timo had responded with his hooded smile, saying he only missed Noah.

“Is that a crime now? How about getting out for some hills with the bikes soon?”

“Sure, but what about the other guys?”

“Invite anyone you wish.” Timo had still smiled at him and Noah was briefly furious, but, again, what had Timo even done wrong?

The Wolf Pack used to do stuff together.

If it wasn’t a biking day it was an evening of drinks.

If it wasn’t a company dinner it was a weekend retreat.

Now Timo couldn’t be bothered anymore, yet when Noah mentioned the rest of them, Timo turned it on him, made Noah the bad guy because Noah didn’t want the others along and Timo knew it.

It was hard not to end every conversation with Timo without feeling like you were being just a bit played — if not a lot. Maybe that was why Noah was so annoyed for wanting more and still more of the pack leader all to himself.

Coffee in hand, Noah sat again, staring at his screens.

Was it mostly about the sex? But he wanted to hit the trails with Timo, see Rome with him, go on that grand tour of Europe.

He wanted to wake each morning looking into Timo’s eyes.

He wanted to fall asleep every night hearing that delicious voice with the perfect English but Russian accent which grew sexier the longer Noah listened to it.