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After his last day on the building site, Grant wanted nothing more than to head home and soak in a long, hot bath. However, he’d made an appointment to see a solicitor before he left Bath, and so he headed straight to her Queens Square office from the site.
He probably didn’t look like her typical client, Grant figured, looking down at his muddy boots as he sat in the elegant waiting room. But he’d been told she was the best family law solicitor around, and since Friday evening had been the only time she could fit him in, he’d taken his chance anyway. No one was about to kick him out for not looking the part, were they? After all, his money was as good as anyone else’s.
“Mr. Matravers?” the tired-sounding secretary called. “Ms. Langham will see you now.”
He was ushered into a roomy office with a high ceiling and two large sash windows facing the Square. Grant paused to admire the wedding cake cornice and ceiling rose, before noticing the woman standing behind the desk.
“Mr. Matravers, I’m Rowena Langham. Pleased to meet you.”
He shook her hand, wondering why she seemed so familiar. Perhaps she reminded him of someone off the television, though, because he didn’t recall ever having met her before. She probably could have been a stunner with that blonde hair and neat figure, but the severe bun, plain trouser suit and thick-framed glasses didn’t really do her any favours in the looks department.
Grant noticed her looking down at his feet with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about the mess. I had to come straight from work and didn’t have time to change.”
“Let me guess, you’re a builder?”
“Hardly. I’m actually a senior acquisitions manager, but I’ve spent the last couple of weeks having to oversee a property development. We’ve got a few problems on site. The main one being a pain-in-the-backside archaeologist and his team of dippy students.”
She smiled. “Ah, I think I read about it in the paper this week. Just count yourself lucky they haven’t found an unexpected body. That can halt works for ages.”
“Nothing yet, thank God.” Grant took the chair she indicated.
“So, what brings you here today? My secretary says you’ve been served divorce papers.”
Grant reached inside his jacket and pulled the folded-up papers out of the inside pocket. They were warm and a little crumpled but had fortunately escaped the mud.
Rowena frowned down at them but scanned the pages quickly and had worked through the whole lot in a couple of minutes. Then she sat back and fixed him with a beady stare. “Okay, so it says here your wife wants to be granted full custody, as well as keeping the house and you paying maintenance.”
“That’s about the size of it. The money isn’t so much the issue, but I want to be able to carry on seeing my daughters. Have them to stay every other weekend and a few weeks in the school holidays.”
“And do you want to fight the divorce? It says here she’s claiming infidelity on your side. Are you willing to accept that?”
“Yes, I suppose.” He didn’t want to stay married, at any rate.
“But she hasn’t named a co-respondent. Are you still seeing the woman you were unfaithful with?”
“No. And he wasn’t a woman.”
“Oh.” Rowena’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that changes everything.”
God, Grant knew this could end up being a problem. Bile rose in his throat. “So the courts won’t award joint custody if I’m gay?”
“Oh, that’s not the issue. No, what I’m saying is, your wife has no grounds to divorce you if you were unfaithful with a partner of the same sex. For some reason, the law doesn’t rate gay and lesbian relationships as being on the same footing as straight ones.” She frowned then, like it was something personal, and for the first time Grant saw the big picture. She didn’t just look like a stereotypical lesbian. She probably was one.
He relaxed a bit. “So she won’t be able to divorce me?”
“Not yet. Not unless she can prove you’ve been in some way abusive or have drug and alcohol or mental health issues that have caused a total breakdown of the relationship. Do any of those apply?”
“No.” Grant’s head was racing. “So what happens now?”
“Well, unless she’s given you similar grounds for divorcing her, you have to wait. Separation is enough to file for a divorce, but you need to show you’ve been separated for two years. How long has it been so far?”
“Just three months. And I can’t think of anything I could divorce her for.”
“Well then, no need to panic, Mr. Matravers.” Rowena sat back and smiled. “In the meantime, you have full parental rights, and short of getting a court order, there’s nothing she can legally do to stop you seeing your daughters.”
“Could she do that? Get a court order, I mean?”
“Only if she could prove you were in some way a danger to them.”
“And the house? I’ve been paying the mortgage and bills these last few months, even though I’m not living there anymore.”
“Is the mortgage in both your names?”
“No, just mine. Hats gave up work when we had the kids, so it was easier to have everything in my name.”
“And how much is the house currently worth?”
Grant named a figure that made her eyebrows rise again. “I see. Well, you’re currently under no legal obligation to provide housing for them. Again, she can try to get a court order for maintenance, but they’ll only typically award up to a maximum of fifteen percent of your net income, which I’m guessing will be less than you’re covering right now.”
Grant nodded, and she continued. “The court might well decide you’d be better off selling the house, splitting the profits, and for her to move somewhere cheaper. What you have to decide, Mr. Matravers, is how ruthless you want to be.”
Grant left her office with his head in a whirl. What exactly did he want? A large part of him wanted his old life back, but not at the cost of hiding and cheating on Hats. And since he wasn’t going to stop being gay anytime soon, that wasn’t an option, was it?
Whatever he wanted, he needed to get his head clear. Maybe Dare could help with that. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like an excellent idea.
––––––––
DARE HAD BEEN HALF hoping Grant would call in at some point that first week—hadn’t expected him to stay away for more than a couple of days, if he was honest—but when the week turned into a fortnight, he began to worry.
Either Dare really was losing his touch and the sex hadn’t been good enough for Grant to want to come back, or something had happened to the bloke. What if he’d gone back to his wife and kids? Dare couldn’t have blamed him, really. It must be awful to abandon your family like that. God knew, as much as the little shit irritated him, he couldn’t ever have abandoned Jase.
Several times he started a text asking if Grant was okay, but they all sounded too demanding and kind of creepy. Fuck it. Let the bloke get back in contact when he was ready. Dare wasn’t going to be his stalker.
He still worried, though.
But then one Friday evening as he planed down the wooden worktop for the camper van kitchen he was fitting, his phone started him. It started playing Money, Money, Money, and for a second, Dare couldn’t work out why. Then he remembered. He’d set it for Grant’s ring tone.
He answered as quickly as he could but didn’t let on he’d hurried. “All right, stranger,” he drawled. “How’s it hanging?”
“To the left, as usual,” Grant deadpanned, and Dare grinned. Okay, things couldn’t be too bad, then.
“Long time no see. Been busy, have you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Can you let me in, please? Solly looks like she wants to, but she just can’t operate the padlock.”
Grant was outside! Dare did a triumphant fist pull that he’d never have let Grant see, and coolly said, “Nice one, mate. I’ll be there in a tick. Just got some tools to put away.”
“Don’t bother. I’d love to see where you work.”
“Really?” Dare gazed around the cramped interior of the camper van and out of the window into his workshop. “It’s not exactly pretty.”
“I’m not all that into pretty.”
“Could have fooled me.” Dare hopped down from the van and made his way out of the workshop. “Your ex is the ultimate in pretty boys.”
“Yeah, but you know what? A man’s tastes can change.”
“Sounds promising. Are you saying yours have?” Dare was almost in sight of the gate now, and as he rounded the last row of derelict campers, there was just enough light in the sky to make out a figure at the gate. A figure who appeared to be crouched down, feeding Solly biscuits, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
“Hey, are you bribing my mutt?” Dare yelled, hanging up his phone.
“And what if I am?”
“Nothing. I approve, that’s all. Definitely the way to my heart, through Solly’s stomach.”
They were facing on opposite sides of the gate now. Dare wanted to reach out and grab Grant and pull him into a kiss right through the bars. He looked edible.
He looked different.
Dare took it all in properly. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Grant’s cheeks dimpled. “It’s no worse than your outfit.”
“It’s considerably muddier than my outfit.” Grant was in a pair of what looked like waterproof waders, workman’s boots and a thick wool donkey jacket with reflective strips. “Have you gone and changed careers while my back was turned, or something? All you need is a hard hat and you’d look like a proper builder.”
“I’ve got one in the car. I can go and get it if you want to see, but don’t expect me to put it on. I’ve had enough of the blasted thing this last couple of weeks.” He ran his hand back through his hair, which was considerably more rumpled than usual, although that only made him look even more deliciously fuckable.
Dare unbolted the gate and let Grant through. “Well, you might look a mess, but you’re still a sight for sore eyes, pretty boy.”
Grant rolled his eyes, but the smile remained.
“Come on,” Dare said. “You can tell me all about it on the way to the workshop.”
“It might take longer than that,” Grant grumbled, but then proceeded to fill Dare in on a tale of overzealous archaeologists scuppering the build of some flats in Bath. “And so I’ve had to be there on site, basically babysitting them and making sure they don’t overstay their welcome while they sieve mud for tiny fragments of pottery and a bunch of old coins.”
“They haven’t found anything worthwhile, then?”
“Nope. The man in charge is a pompous prick, and he’s adamant there’ll be some kind of sacred artifact there if he just keeps looking, but their time’s run out. Without results, they can’t delay the build any longer. I was half expecting him to sneak something in and pretend he’d found it there, so I’ve been keeping a close eye on him too. Turns out he’s not that crafty, though.”
“I suppose that’s what you’d do in his place?” Dare opened the workshop door and ushered Grant through.
“I reckon I would, but luckily those ruins have been picked over by builders in the past, and anything of interest is long gone. It’s just general detritus and mud now. And a series of low walls. And lots more mud.” Grant glanced down at his boots and grimaced.
“Mud which you’re tracking into my nice clean workshop, I notice.” Dare cocked an eyebrow, watching as Grant took in his surroundings.
“Jesus Christ. I think this might be muckier than the dig site.” Grant wandered over to Dare’s tool cupboard. He kept it locked when it wasn't in use, but right now, everything was on display. He ran a fingertip over the angle grinder. “Do you really know how to use all of these?”
“Nah, I just keep them there to look pretty. Of course I bleedin’ well use them. What’s so amazing about that? Hey, careful, that thing could take your arm off.”
Grant stepped back. “Okay, point taken. I don’t know the first thing about tools. Well, I can use those little Allen key things you get with flat-pack furniture, and I can probably handle a screwdriver, but that’s about my limit.”
“You mean you never built stuff as a kid? God, I was always pestering my dad to show me how to do stuff. Especially to car engines. They fascinated me.”
Grant wandered over to the engine Dare was in the process of stripping down on the worktop. “Looks like they still do.”
“Not cars so much these days. I’ve got a thing for camper vans. This place was all cars when I took it over from Dad, but it only took me a few years to switch things over. It’s a far more specialist market. Better returns on your work too, although that’s not why I do it.”
“Can I have a look inside?” Grant asked, indicating the van Dare had been working on.
“Knock yourself out.”
Grant stepped up inside, and Dare went to follow him. There was still a mattress in the back, now covered in sawdust. It needed replacing anyway, so he hadn’t bothered taking it out while he worked as it gave him somewhere comfy to sit down.
Looked like Grant had had the same thought, because he was sprawled back over it, propped up on his elbows with his legs spread wide. Dare’s breath caught in his throat. In his site clothes, Grant looked like a totally different bloke to the uptight business man Dare had first encountered. It was definitely an improvement.
“Fucking hell, you look gorgeous,” Dare said, crawling up between Grant’s legs and holding himself above him.
“What, in these old rags?”
“I’m not talking about what you’re wearing. I’m talking about the way you’re looking at me. All spread out and giving me those ‘fuck me’ eyes.”
The “fuck me” eyes narrowed. “I’m not letting you fuck me now. I haven’t had a shower.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I do.”
“Okay.” Dare leaned down and licked up the side of Grant’s face, making him shudder. “But we can still do other things, right? I mean, you couldn’t possibly object to a blowjob, could you?”
Grant surged upwards and kissed Dare hard. Oh yeah, he definitely didn’t object to that idea. And there was just enough room to make it even more interesting.