After the Scrum (7 page)

"But you don't drink, or
like
alcohol at all."

Francis shrugged, still struggling to untangle his dog from the garden. "I do on special occasions, sometimes. Regardless, you do."

Caddock shook his head sharply then reached down to lift Sherlock out of the bushes. He ignored the sharp branches that scraped his hands. "It makes you uncomfortable, so I can play teetotaller."

Gobsmacked was probably the perfect word to describe the look on Francis's face. Caddock didn't mind restricting his occasional beer or glass of wine if it would make the man comfortable. Panic attacks weren't conducive to a romantic evening.

No wine with supper seemed a small price for the opportunity to peel the layers of the intricately complex man. Lonely nights had taught him life was too short to waste a chance at a good thing. And Francis? He was definitely one of those.

With a tight but gentle grip on Sherlock, Caddock caught Francis by the arm to lift him up as well, helping him out of the slick mud, left over from the rain. They left the wine on the pavement for now—it could go in the rubbish later. There were bigger issues to tackle.

"He's a disaster." Francis stood on the rug inside the house. He stared dismally at the mud, which covered not only his dog, but his own clothes and the rest of him. "I'm a right mess myself."

"How about you have a nice hot shower while I give your Sherlock a quick bath?" Caddock had a cheeky thought and broke into a grin. "Or, better yet, how about we let the mutt have the shower, and I give
you
a bath?"

Francis seemed stunned into silence, his eyes glazing over with what Caddock hoped was desire. "Yes, er… no… I don't think Sherlock is safe alone in a bathroom. He might redecorate."

"I sense a story behind your certainty." He kept a gentle but firm hold on the sheltie while leading them further into the house. He ignored Francis's worried remarks about tracking mud all over. "Take the bath in my room, just down the hall, the second door on the right. I'll get this one situated then bring you something to wear. We can toss your trousers and everything into the wash while we eat."

Giving Sherlock a rather quick rinse and dry, Caddock returned to his bedroom to find a clean outfit for his guest to borrow. He had a feeling Francis might drown in his clothes, considering his much broader frame. Maybe he'd go starkers?

The thought brought back a reminder of the chocolate mousse and how delicious it would be. Caddock took a breath to reel in his out-of-control desire.
Naughty Brute, deliciously naughty.
It was too soon to indulge in wicked depravity.

He'd have to continue to remind himself it was only the first date. They had
plenty
of time for all those indulgent fantasies. He turned it into a mantra when Francis stepped out with only a towel around his waist, hair dripping and face flushed from the warmth.

"I didn't have anything to change into." Francis gripped the towel tightly, eyes averted. "Can I borrow something?"

Caddock traced a drop of water travelling down Francis's chest with his gaze, hypnotized by the urge to lick it off. His voice came out much deeper than normal and slightly strained when he spoke. "I put them in the wash. My trousers would be too large, but I've got some shorts with a drawstring, and a T-shirt for you."

He grabbed the clothes and set them on the bed. They stood awkwardly for a moment. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge the naked truth between them, not yet.

Reaching out to scrape a blunt thumbnail across one of Francis's nipples, Caddock winked at him then left the room. Better to let him change in private. They'd never make it to supper otherwise.

Too soon.

He returned to the kitchen to start dishing out the pasta. A sheepish Francis joined him barefoot a moment later. Barefoot. In Caddock's shirt. He had to turn around and close his eyes for a second.

You are not actually a brute. You can be romantic. Oh, and stop bloody talking to yourself.

"Caddock?"

"Pasta?" He shoved a bowl into Francis's hands. "Thought we could eat in the den, maybe watch a film?"

Or skip it all and snog.

As Sherlock made himself at home on the rug in front of the fireplace, Caddock settled on his cosy leather couch. He turned slightly so his leg pressed up against Francis's when he joined him. Rough denim against bare skin.

Oh, sod it.

Setting both of their bowls on the nearby coffee table, Caddock shifted forward towards his date. He caged Francis in against the side of the sofa. Supper could wait; it was a taste of something completely different he was in the mood for.

Their lips had
only just
touched when a wet nose bumped him in the cheek. They turned to find Sherlock sitting by the couch, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He inched forward when the men attempted to continue kissing.

"Pasta and a movie it is." Caddock sat up slowly, easing Francis back up, letting his hands wander for a quick feel of the man's slender, but lithe body. "Next time, maybe leave your babysitter at home."

Chapter Eleven

Francis

"Ruth told me she heard it from her Stevie who heard it from the milkman who heard Janice at the butcher talking to old Mrs Covington." His gran's eyes twinkled dangerously while she served up breakfast to him the morning after his first date. She pulled his marmalade out of reach. "Something you want to share with your dear old grandmother then?"

"No." Francis snuck a piece of bacon for Sherlock, who sat under the table. He smiled sweetly at her narrowed eyes. "So what
exactly
did Ruth tell you?"

The rumours had apparently run rampant through the village. Francis had been seen going into a
certain
someone's cottage. One person even claimed they'd been naked in the front garden.

"
Gran.
"

"I put no stock in you being naked—my Francis wouldn't be so obscene." She finally handed over the marmalade to him. "Did you enjoy yourself with your rugby star?"

"
Gran!
" Francis turned a shade close to the strawberry jam on her toast. He grimaced at the thought of berries. They were tart and disgusting things. "He's not
my
anything."

"Yet."

Yet.

"Please, Gran, it's new. We've barely… done anything worthy of gossip." He clung to his cup of tea, hoping for a hint of sanity. "I
like
him."

"You haven't
liked
anyone since that idiot Trevor." Gran's aged hand reached out to cover his. "Is he good to you?"

"We've only had one date."

"But is he good to you?" she insisted, still holding on to his hand.

"I think he might be."

The wheels were definitely turning in her mind, but surprisingly, she left the conversation there. Sherlock nudged his hand for another slice of bacon. They
both
received disapproving humphs from her.

Not wanting to draw out the morning, or give her a reason to start in on the grand inquisition, Francis rushed through his breakfast and left promptly. Watson, as always, provided a refuge for him. He'd delayed his antique hunt while working on the pub which left him behind on his work for several clients.

There was absolutely no reason whatsoever to stop by the pub to see if Caddock wanted to go with him. The man had a business to get started. It wasn't likely he'd want to traipse around the countryside watching Francis exclaim over every antique he stumbled across.

Even his gran tired of hearing him wax poetic about the differences between seventeenth-and eighteenth-century side tables. Why would a man like Caddock even consider it? Yet, it was a massive part of Francis's life.

Watson seemed to have a mind of his own. The Fiat was parked outside of Haddy's before Francis could even register making the right turns. It would just be a quick visit—nothing more.

No snogging. No tripping over things. And most definitely no staring at any portion of his anatomy.

"Ready for another movie?" Caddock sat at one of the tables surrounded by stacks of papers. He had a laptop in the centre of all the relatively organized chaos. "Been trying to get all my duckies in a row for the opening next week. Got the chef and a couple of bartenders lined up. Want a coffee?"

"I would ordinarily love one, but I'm on my way out of town." Francis shoved his hands into the pockets of his tweed jacket to keep himself from fidgeting. "I'm driving to Ardingly in West Sussex for their antiques fair. I won't be gone long. I didn't want you to think I'd faded into oblivion."

And now I sound like a romantically constipated idiot.

"Want company?" Caddock made a show of carefully gathering up all his papers and shutting down his computer, giving Francis time to close his mouth and hide his surprise. "I think I can squash into your Fiat. Or, if you like, we can take my Range Rover. It's not as friendly as Watson, but less likely to break my back."

"You want to go? You'll be bored…."

"I'll be with you." Caddock stood slowly, and Francis lost his battle with avoiding staring at him. He received a knowing smile in return for his perusal. "And Sherlock. Life isn't dull with the two of you around. Might want to avoid mud puddles, though."

"I'm confident you aren't nearly as hilarious as you believe yourself to be." Francis sniffed derisively, though the smile on his face refused to dim. "We can travel in yours. Though Sherlock's bound to leave hair on
everything.
"

"I have a four-year-old, Francis. My vehicle has seen much worse than the hair of a shedding sheltie." Caddock stuffed all his papers into a leather case. "Follow me to the cottage? Watson can have a long car nap in my garage. I'll need to throw a travel case together."

"What about Devlin?"

"Still at his grandparents'." He gripped Francis by the shoulder to guide him towards the door. "Our first holiday and we've barely snogged."

"
Idiot.
" Francis elbowed him in the side and immediately regretted it. He rubbed his elbow with a pained groan. "Are you made of bricks?"

Caddock lifted up the hem of his sweater to reveal his contoured abdomen, so muscled it could've been carved out of stone. "Not quite bricks, though I'm hard-headed enough to be."

Something was definitely hard, and it wasn't Caddock's head.

The short drive up to the cottage left him no time to cool his thoughts. How on earth were they going to survive several days together if the sight of a stomach sent his libido into overdrive? They'd end up arrested for indecent exposure at some point.

Not something his gran would approve of at all.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for Caddock to pack for the trip and lock up his home. Francis likely shouldn't have been surprised. As a rugby player, the man had spent a fair amount of his career flying all around the word.

Twenty minutes later, the two sat in the much larger Range Rover in awkward silence, still parked by the curb. They looked everywhere but at each other. Sherlock had already made himself at home on a pile of blankets in the back seat.

"All right, sod this, we're getting this out of the way now."

It was the only warning Francis received before Caddock had a hand in his hair, dragging him into a kiss. He held him there until they'd gotten their fill of each other—for now. Released back to his seat, he could only blink repeatedly, trying to settle his breathing while Caddock started the vehicle.

Francis shook his head when he caught Ruth on a nearby pavement giving him the thumbs up. "It'll be around the village in an hour, but they'll be telling everyone we were starkers."

"I could rip your shirt off," Caddock offered helpfully with a hint of a leer. "Could be a great way to pass the time, staring at you."

"Stare at the road," Francis snapped at him, annoyed at the flush of colour that moved up his neck and cheeks. A strong, warm hand gripped his thigh and
stayed
there. It was going to be a long bloody drive. "Focus on the road."

"I can multitask."

Chapter Twelve

Caddock

At times in his life, Caddock had experienced something his brother had called a paradigm shift. He'd always claimed to be too daft to have an epiphany. Haddy had said he'd just had his head rammed into the ground too many times.

With Francis dozed off in the seat beside him and Sherlock snuffling in the back seat, likely dreaming about chasing bunnies, it gave him a glimpse at what life as a married man would be like. And didn't that kick him in the arse. He wished Devlin was with them, if only to complete the picture.

Too soon.

Far too soon.

He kept his eyes focused on the winding roads, enjoying the sea breeze through the barely-cracked window. Driving had always been an escape for him. The paps and fans couldn't harass him through tinted windows.

It had become a sanctuary in the height of his career. In his early days, he could admit to having been an irresponsible fool. His lessons had been learned the hard way.

The tabloid covers that had graced the store shelves for weeks had been enough to straighten him up. It had also taught him to be more cautious about who was allowed into his life. His brother would've said he'd become
too
careful.

Not for the first time, Caddock found the ache left by his brother's absence almost unbearable. He started out of his darkening thoughts when a hand slid over his. Francis twined their fingers together.

"I've caught on to your evil plan." Caddock decided to lighten his mood. "You wanted a chauffeur for this four-hour drive."

"And someone to ogle." Francis nodded sleepily. "I'm a devious, nefarious sort of man."

Devious and nefarious were far from the adjectives Caddock would use to describe the man beside him. If anything, they might describe him. His father would certainly think he was corrupting the much younger Francis.