Page 12 of To Sketch a Scandal (Lucky Lovers of London #4)

Matty vaguely heard some arguing and clatters from the street beyond them as Warren finally did laugh, warm and dark against his skin, but it all seemed too far to hurt them in these sweet, misty shadows. Even if it could, it’s not like he had much to lose that wasn’t on the chopping block already.

“Not surprising,” Warren whispered. “I think anyone could look in those eyes and see what you need.”

Within moments, Matty was tensing on the edge of his crisis.

He batted Warren’s hand away and turned to face the wall.

They’d lingered too long in this teasing—if they didn’t get down to business, no business would happen.

Warren pressed in tight, close and hot and as ready as Matty was, but after a little pulsing with his hips and tickling with his tongue at the nape of Matty’s neck, there was an echo of laughter from somewhere beyond their alley, and he paused.

“You sure you don’t want to go back to the club?

” Warren whispered in his ear as he traced the curve of Matty’s arse.

His words were considerate, but the panting in his breath and the hard insistence of his arousal belied any true desire to put this off.

“I could sneak you in the back door, I bet. He’d never be any the wiser. ”

Matty shook his head, bracing himself against the brick. The words brought back the thought of something cozy and drawn out, something they could not have and probably should not have even if they could.

“I like it like this,” he said, which was true enough to be getting on with.

And Warren, for all his suggesting something else, was clearly no stranger to this pastime, either.

He unfastened Matty’s falls so efficiently Matty wondered if he’d missed a few buttons when he’d done them up, moving Matty’s drawers out of the way with one hand while the other went up to Matty’s mouth.

“Do yourself a favor, love,” Warren whispered, ragged, knuckles brushing Matty’s arse as he worked at his own buttons. “I didn’t bring anything.”

The deft filthiness of that nearly had Matty adding heartily to the scum of the brick before he could comply with the dizzying request…

But another of those nearby sounds brought him woozily back from that edge.

The sound had seemed closer, this time. He felt Warren go very still as they listened. Indeed, the little thump was followed up by things that didn’t carry very far: the rustling of clothes, footsteps, a cough…

“Fuck.” Warren jumped back and straightened his clothes. Matty hastily tucked himself back away, but by the time he’d turned it was too late.

The man was in plain clothes, but there was nothing plain about the whistle he’d pulled out, ready to summon whoever else was patrolling tonight.

“Come quiet,” he said, in a low, authoritative voice. “Come quiet, and it goes easier.”

A few heartbeats passed in which Matty recognized two things very clearly.

One: The officer. A constable outside Matty’s department, but possessing such a big mouth and so little experience to back it up that he was well-known around the Met and not much better liked than Matty was. There were rumors about him too. Different ones, but no friendlier.

Two: While perhaps Matty was confident he was going to lose all either way, the horror on Warren’s face seemed to indicate that his momentary reluctance to see this through in the alley was not due to comfort or vague concerns.

Unlike Matty, Warren did have something to lose.

Something important. And, worse yet, he looked like he might try to save whatever it was by going quietly as requested.

As if he believed it would really be easier that way.

It wouldn’t.

Matty started backing up, shielding Warren as best he could while nudging him in the direction he needed to go.

“Run,” he hissed. When Warren hesitated, he spoke louder, desperately, hoping to gain the fellow at least a second. “I said run , mate. This fuckster can’t catch you! He’s…” Wild amusement suddenly lit Matty up as the inspiration came. “I heard his hemorrhoids are the devil; he won’t get far.”

Between the new stubble, the patchy clothes, and the dark, foggy location, the constable didn’t seem to have realized who Matty was. The blatant shock of hearing his personal business come out the mouth of a back-alley sodomite granted the second Warren needed.

He bolted.

And while Matty intended to stay and absorb the trouble, Warren grabbed his hand at the last moment and tugged him along.

“This way!” he said.

The officer roared with rage, blew hard on his piercing whistle, and started after them.

Warren pulled him out of that alley and into another, then another, their feet pounding and chests heaving as they twisted and doubled back and tried to lose the officer who, fortunately, did seem slowed by his notorious affliction.

But he was whistling like mad. He’d be joined by his comrades any second, probably faster ones.

“In here.”

Warren dragged Matty into a gap between buildings so tight he felt one of his coat patches catch and rip on the rough walls. He could hardly get a full breath.

“Why are you doing this?” whispered Matty.

“Hiding? I know you’re the brilliant detective here, but I should think that’s not much of a mystery.”

“But why bring me?” Matty hissed. “What if I’m setting you up?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

Warren smacked his arse. “Then shut up before he hears you.”

The spot was close and uncomfortable, but so pitch-black and impossible that when the officer passed, swearing to himself and followed by two other similarly single-minded pursuers in full uniform, none of them even thought to peer into the cranny they’d crammed themselves into.

Their footsteps receded into the distance.

Matty and Warren stood still a moment, hardly breathing, until the silence seeped in and their muscles began to unknot with their trust that the coast was clear.

“Back where we started, eh?” said Warren, laughing with the release of fear and yanking on Matty’s hips. He was pressed up tight to his cheeky conspirator in not so different a configuration as they’d been caught in.

They squeezed themselves back out of the gap, staring wildly at each other.

“Forester was right,” Warren said with resigned good humor. “You’re nothing but trouble, are you?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Matty. “I shouldn’t have put you in a situation like that.”

“I told you we should go back to the club.”

“You were right.”

He peeked over his shoulder. “Does the poor wanker really have hemorrhoids that bad?”

Of all the things Warren could have said, that one caught Matty the most by surprise. Before he could stop himself, he was grinning.

“I wish I could say I didn’t know,” he chuckled. “But I think Scotland Yard gossip might give you lot a run for your money.” They both laughed, and something changed on Warren’s face. Not necessarily a bad change, but it gave Matty pause. “What?”

Warren shook himself. “Nothing. Just…”

Abashed, Matty shoved his hands in his pockets and cut him off before things could grow awkward. “I should go.”

Some foolish part of him hoped for an argument, but there was none to be made. They both knew this encounter had been a mistake from the second Matty knocked that secret knock on The Curious Fox’s door.

Matty turned and started off.

“Hey!” Warren called gently. Matty turned back to see that bewildered look still there, making Warren look more beautiful than even his reputation had indicated.

“What?” Matty asked.

“You’ve got a lovely smile,” Warren said. “I hope life gives you more occasions to use it.”

Matty had nothing to say to parting words like that, but as he walked back to his room, he felt them nestling into some cold empty space within him, much as the two of them had filled that dark gap and turned it from inhospitable cavern to safe refuge.

The ordeal had been foolish for sure, but maybe it hadn’t been a mistake after all.