Tom rested his forehead against Alex’s before settling into a kiss. He broke from it to say, “You are the best prime minister ever. No contest.”
“I thought we might just edge it after talking to the waverers today, but…bloody hell, Tom, I feel like I’ve been drinking!” He kissed Tom, taking his face in his hands. “This is going to make a difference. No politician is ever going to dare to turn around now and say these reforms had no mandate. We did it!”
“You did, you did, you did!” Tom danced Alex round in a circle. Then he grabbed the bottle of champagne. “You do the honors, darling!”
Alex didn’t take the bottle immediately. Instead he put the Madastair carefully on the table and unfastened those tantalizing few buttons on his pristine white shirt. Next he discarded his jacket and cufflinks, before rolling up his sleeves with deliberate care. Only then did he reach for the champagne.
“I thought you might appreciate the full effect,” he teased, tearing off the foil and removing the cage. He offered Tom a mischievous wink and said, “I’ll tense them just for you.”
“You know what I like.” Tom watched Alex’s arms tense, and those large, square hands clutch the bottle. “Sexiest and most deserved champagne bottle opening of all time, I’d say.”
With a decisive twist, the cork popped free. A fountain of champagne rushed toward the bottle’s neck and Alex quickly lifted it to his lips and drank before the overflow could escape, like a man who had just claimed the laurels at a Grand Prix. With a cheer of celebration, he decanted the bubbly into the waiting glasses, filling them almost to the brim.
Tom picked up a glass. “Link arms?” It was cheesy, but Tom didn’t care. Besides, things that felt cheesy with other people didn’t feel the same with Alex. With him they felt silly and playful— sweet in fact.
“Arms again?” Alex joked as they entwined their limbs. “This is it, you know. Everybody knows about us, the bill went through, everybody knows I’m off. The future’s whatever we want it to be.”
“I want our future to be happy—I want us to be together.” Tom sipped his champagne, feeling the pull of Alex’s strong arm against his.
“The world’s changed, hasn’t it?” Alex took a sip from his glass. “And it’s…it’s amazing.”
“And you’ve made it happen, Alex.” Tom kissed him.
Alex shook his head and murmured, “You were the one giving the massage, darling.”
Tom grinned. “So, we really owe all this to Gregory-not-Greg, seeing as your thrilling meeting with him made you all tense.”
“Gregory-not-Greg shared my car back to Downing Street. You’ll never guess what he asked me.” He took another sip of champagne. “He wants to know if there’s any chance we could be convinced to leave Billy. You’ve got to love that man’s confidence—he’s already appointed himself PM before we’ve even called the election!”
“Billy? He’ll have to ask the twins about that!” Tom touched the tip of his nose to Alex’s. “But then, Billy is a civil servant and she’s not old enough to retire yet. She’s got a fair few years left of patrolling Downing Street.”
“If Bill stays, Mad and Al will have to be carried out under protest.” Alex kissed Tom. “But I did say I’d let him know the rescue she came from. I think that’s Greg’s version of coming out, you know!”
“He wants a cat—he can’t be so bad after all.” Tom drained his glass. “Top-up? Bet you could do with a back rub, right?”
“I’d love a back rub and I need a shower. It’s been a long day.”
“Back rub in the shower?” Tom suggested. “I’ll wash your hair for you—that’ll relax you.”
Alex murmured his assent into a kiss and whispered, “You spoil me rotten.”
“You deserve it—especially today. And don’t forget the champers!”
Champagne in the shower at Downing Street with the prime minister in his arms was, Tom decided, a fairly unique experience. Every day with Alex seemed like another chance to make one of his fantasies come true, and as the warm water cascaded down over them, he and Alex lost themselves in lingering kisses.
What a man, and what a body to cling to.
Tom lathered Alex up, washing away his strain, rubbing out the knots in his muscles. And, in between sighs and kisses, spilling champagne over them both.
The man who kissed him into the pillows yielded to Tom’s ministrations, trusting and loving as he gave himself over to his lover’s touch. He ran his hands over Tom’s body in reply, caressing his skin through the steamy shower bubbles and murmuring the sweetest sentiments he had ever heard anyone utter.
“How are you feeling now, darling?” Tom asked as he curled his hand around Alex’s erection. “A little more relaxed?”
“I feel wonderful,” he admitted, putting his empty glass on the shower shelf next to the supplies they had brought in from the bedroom. Alex’s arms were around Tom’s waist a moment later, holding him close. “What about you? You do so much for me, darling.”
“Wasn’t there something you’d been thinking of us doing in the shower?” Tom blinked away the water as it splashed over them. “I think we’d both enjoy that.”
Alex nuzzled a kiss to his throat as he reached up for the packet on the shelf. His mouth roamed Tom’s shoulders and jaw, leaving a trail of heat before his teeth nipped gently at Tom’s earlobe.
Tom cupped Alex’s face. “When you thought about us in the shower, what did you see?”
“It was pretty…” Alex laughed and admitted, “Raunchy, I think is the only word for it. Then I woke up and had to sit at the breakfast table with you and pretend I hadn’t dreamed about us wildly making love in a steamy shower.”
“Alex, you bad boy!” Tom kissed his chin. “So if I turn around like this…”
Tom turned, his arms folded against the tiles. He looked at Alex over his shoulder. “The prime minister’s very own shower gel model?”
“You’re perfect, you know. Every bit of you is just gorgeous.” Alex stroked an admiring hand over Tom’s buttock. “You’re better than any shower gel model.”
“I’m real, and I’m here, and Alex Hart has his hand on my arse.” Tom tensed his buttocks, just for Alex. “You gorgeous man.”
Alex stooped and pressed a very gentle kiss to Tom’s bottom. He kissed his way along the length of Tom’s spine to his nape as he rolled the condom over his erection, then slipped his arm around Tom’s waist and whispered, “Ready, darling?”
“Very,” Tom replied, reaching his hand behind him to touch Alex. “More than you can imagine.”
All of Alex’s timidity was gone now, a far cry from the bashful man with whom he had showered in what felt like another lifetime. Their bodies joined so easily, so instinctively, and he felt Alex’s chest pressed to his back, his hand moving on Tom’s erection.
Tom thrust against him, their bodies finding their own rhythm. He turned his head, trying to catch Alex’s lips for a kiss. It felt like flying, like being weightless, here in Alex’s arms. The kiss went on and on, as filled with hunger as it was with love. Tom wasn’t sure he knew where he ended and Alex began, only that they needed each other.
Tom’s future would be with Alex, and in a way he’d only ever hoped for. This wonderful, kind, loving man—gorgeous and sensual, attentive and warm—was his.
How Alex could ever have doubted himself, Tom didn’t know. In fact, he knew nothing but pleasure and love as they clung to each other, loved and loving. As joy claimed them, Alex pressed his lips to Tom’s ear, gasping, “I love you…”
“I love you, too,” Tom whispered, leaning back against Alex as his body trembled with answered need. They stayed there in each other’s arms for what felt like a long time, exchanging gentle kisses, their bodies intertwined, sated and content. The air was filled with steam even when the water stopped and Alex dried Tom with a fluffy towel, every touch reverential, fluttering kisses punctuating the strokes.
“Bet you’re very relaxed now,” Tom said. “I c
ould get used to having a man like you around to look after me.”
“You should, because this is your life now, Captain Southwell.” Alex stroked his thumb over Tom’s cheek. “I’m going to look in on the minis and put their Madastair to bed. Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will.” Tom reached for one of the soft bathrobes on the back of the bathroom door. He tied it on and asked, “Do I look respectable?”
“Eminently so.” Alex fastened his own robe and together the men made their way through the flat, pausing only to collect the Madastair from the kitchen. They trod lightly into the bedroom that the twins shared and paused just inside the door, watching the peaceful slumber of the children.
Tom slipped his arm around Alex’s waist. For all the raunch that he and Alex were capable of, they still had their innocent family moments.
The children must have sensed their presence in the doorway, as Madeleine blinked herself awake and Alastair stirred.
“Daddy and Tom?” Madeleine whispered, rubbing her eyes.
“Back to sleep,” Alex told her gently, crossing the room to put the little toy on the table between the beds. “We’re just putting the Madastair to bed. He’s had a busy day.”
“Did you win, Daddy?” Madeleine asked as she glanced at the toy. “Did the Madastair help?”
“He was the best help I could’ve dreamed of. We won, darling, and the Madastair kept me company all day. I made sure he was well fed and looked after.”
“Yay, well done, Daddy!” Madeleine sat up in bed, her arms extended to Alex. “And all the other boys and girls will be okay now, won’t they?”
He nodded, leaning in to hug her. “They will.”
“Can we sleep in your bed?” Alastair asked sleepily. “Because you won.”
“I think that would be nice,” Tom replied as he crouched beside Alastair’s bed. “Alex?”
“Come on, you two.” Alex scooped Madeleine into his arms, waiting while Tom lifted Alastair from his bed. “The Madastair can keep your toys company tonight.”
Madeleine waived to the toy. “Bye-bye, Madastair!”
Tom lifted Alastair onto his hip. The little boy was mostly half-asleep but he was smiling. “Come on, you two, off to the big bed!”
The family made their way to Alex’s bedroom and there the men settled the children, Madeline and Alastair already asleep again before their heads hit the pillows. It took just a couple of minutes to exchange bathrobes for pajamas, then Alex and Tom climbed in beside them, lulled to sleep by the sound of their gentle breathing.
Epilogue
Tom slipped a biro between the pages of the hotel brochure to keep his place. Gregory-not-Greg was on the television. He was standing outside 10 Downing Street, a plump ginger cat cradled in his arms as he waved its paw at the horde of cameras. The new prime minister and his companion gazed at one another with ill-disguised devotion, then Gregory addressed the reporters.
“Well, I have big shoes to fill, and so does Mateo. So if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do.”
With that, he turned. The black door of Downing Street opened and Gregory and Mateo disappeared inside. Alex nudged Tom and whispered playfully, “He’s not as good-looking as the last bloke, is he?”
“No, he doesn’t get my vote.” Tom chuckled.
Billy had come in and, perhaps recognizing her old haunt, stood on her hind legs and batted at the screen.
“Billy, naughty!” Madeleine chided. Alastair laughed and Billy, as though enjoying the audience, batted the screen again before she strolled over to the children and lay down in front of them, right across Madeleine’s comic. Alastair put the Madastair beside her, as though the two were about to cook up some mischief together.
“Right, that’s enough telly,” Alex decided, linking his arm through Tom’s. “We’ve got holidays to book, donkeys to feed and sunshine to enjoy. Who fancies a walk if there’s ice cream at the end of it?”
The children leaped up. “Me!” they both shouted.
“Dodgems on the pier?” Tom suggested, and the twins zoomed in excited circles. “That’s a yes, then!”
“Come on then, family.” Alex kissed Tom’s cheek, then rested his head against his shoulder. “Let’s go exploring.”
Want to see more from these authors? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!
A Little Bit Cupid:
The Dishevelled Duke
Catherine Curzon &
Eleanor Harkstead
Excerpt
All the champagne cupcakes had gone. Only a few slices of red velvet cake remained, sharing a plate with the last three heart-shaped cookies. Imogen had said that Billy could take them home with him. What a way to arrive. Ten years in London and Billy would appear on his parents’ doorstep with leftover Valentine’s Day cake and hundreds of unsold photographs.
At least I tried.
For the last time, Billy loaded the café’s dishwasher. In a couple of minutes he would turn the sign to closed for the last time, shut the blinds for the last time and leave The Chelsea Bunn forever. He would lug his case through the crowds, clamber onto a packed train and say goodbye to London.
But he wouldn’t say goodbye to Charlie-who-has-no-surname, who came in five times a week for a cup of tea and a bun for the two wolfhounds that dragged him around like slightly undersized donkeys. Charlie with the peppery hair and laughing eyes and the lines that crinkled around them when he smiled. And he smiled a lot.
Billy wouldn’t say goodbye to Charlie because for the last two weeks, his shifts had changed to fit around the shop’s new hours and he hadn’t seen him since. For the Bunn to be busy enough for extended hours was great, but it meant no more Charlie. Charlie didn’t come in late, it seemed, only for that mid-morning tea and cake.
Not having seen Charlie for a fortnight had made Billy realise how much he would miss the friends he had made in London. People from art school, and Imogen, who had given Billy enough shifts to eke out his life in London for just a few more months, even a place to sleep when his love life had turned sour. And most of all Charlie, who always had a smile for him, who always found the time to speak to him.
Billy’s favourite customer.
Not that Charlie would have missed him. Billy was only a server in a café, a barista if he wanted to make his job sound fancy. But he already missed Charlie, and as he wiped down the counter one last time, his gaze fell on the table where Charlie usually sat with his dogs beside him. He’d read the newspaper or fill in a crossword with his silver-barrelled pen, but more than anything he’d just chat to Billy or fuss the dogs that so clearly adored him. The table was empty now and the next time Charlie and the dogs came in, Billy would be long gone. And we never got a chance to say a proper goodbye. Billy drew in a deep breath then crossed to the door and turned the sign to closed.
He buttoned up his coat and, looping his scarf around his neck, he glanced outside.
A light snow had begun to fall, bringing a romantic sparkle to Valentine’s Day that Billy’s life was completely devoid of. He’d enjoyed nothing but romantic failures in his time in London, and spending his last day in the city in a café filled with every kind of Valentine’s-themed cake imaginable had merely reminded him of how little success he’d had in the big city.
It was time to go home.
He pressed the light switches and the shop fell into darkness, only the bulbs in the kitchen illuminated now. With a last look back at the street he flipped the lock down and shut out the world, then turned away and walked back towards the counter. It seemed right that his last night in the city was spent clearing up the mess of other peoples’ Valentine’s Day whilst the rest of the world had fun. Hadn’t that pretty much been the story of his failed adventure in the metropolis?
He jumped at the sound of a sharp knock on the glass door. Someone rattled it, someone who was too late for coffee. Don’t I deserve an evening off too?
“We’re closed!” Billy called.
He saw a figure still the
re at the door and felt immediately guilty. A slightly shambolic figure. If it was a rough sleeper, Billy would give them the leftover cake. He took the bag from the counter but as he headed to the door, he realised that it was Charlie.
He didn’t have the dogs with him tonight, but carried something large and flat under one arm. With one more knock at the door Charlie turned away, about to be swallowed into that ceaseless tide of Londoners that coursed along the pavement.
Billy nearly snapped the lock off in his haste to open the door. He hoped Charlie would hear him over the noise of the street.
“Charlie!”
For a moment Billy thought he hadn’t heard, then Charlie turned and beamed that smile that had always brightened Billy’s miserable mornings.
And this is the last time I’ll see it.
“Billy!” Charlie raised his gloved hand and began to make his way back towards the shop, gripping the brightly wrapped parcel precariously beneath his arm. It was a vivid red against his dark blue greatcoat, the same shade of red as the scarf he always wore, and the silver ribbon that ended in a flamboyant bow around the paper seemed brighter and more cheery still next to that sensible greatcoat. A light dusting of snowflakes rested on Charlie’s shoulders and in his hair but he didn’t seem to notice, nor was he troubled by the slushy mess that was already building on the pavement.
“I thought I’d missed you, today has been rather a nightmare. I’ve been running here, there and everywhere.” Posh Charlie, his accent as cut-glass as his clothes were creased. “And now I’m keeping you from going home!”
“Are you dashing off somewhere?” Billy asked. “I’ve got to get my train in a couple of hours from Waterloo, but…” Billy gazed at Charlie, trying to imprint every last facet of him into his mind. He’d thought he’d never see Charlie again, but luck had given him one last chance.
“Well, there’s an invite to see the brother and his brood at the weekend, but this particular chap’s rather hoping that the snow might save one from that fate,” he admitted mischievously. “What about you, off home to the promised land? Will you be back before the twenty-eighth? I’m having a bit of a do for Nigel and Delia’s birthday—there’ll be cake, of course—and I thought maybe… They’re not littermates but so much easier to have the one doggy party!”
The Captain and the Prime Minister Page 24