The ink was too light. Which meant that, if Arthur wanted a perfect sheet, then the two of them would have to recoat the platen and try a second time. Dammit, Jessehad knownthat he ought to have told Arthur to circle around to the other side of the press before they started; that way, Arthur could have helped him coat the platen with ink more evenly from over there. But he hadn’t.
He’d been too excited, too enamored, by Arthur’s closeness to think clearly. The moment that Arthur had pinned him to the press, Jesse’s brain had momentarily become blank, reality itself blurring completely. Jesse may have even... holy hell, had he made some kind of comment in the middle of everything? Worry churned in Jesse’s stomach as he thought back on it. He really hoped not.
“Did I make a mistake loading the paper?” Arthur asked Jesse, coming up behind him.
Closebehind him.
Much,muchtoo close.
Arthur’s hand settled on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse sucked in a breath, his fast-beating heart stuttering. Slowly, Arthur began to stroke Jesse’s shoulder with his thumb.
Jesse stilled. What on earth was happening? Someone as rich and important as Arthur Hughes must have been taught not to be so familiar with someone he barely even knew. Arthur couldn’t have beenthisoblivious to how these sorts of touches could be perceived. Unless... Arthurwantedthem to be perceived like that.
Oh, hell.
Jesse pretended to study the page as he considered the option of recoating the platen in the same, erroneous manner so that he could feel Arthur pressing up against him once more.
In a small voice, Jesse replied, “No. No mistakes loading the paper, but...”
Arthur’s scent filled Jesse’s nose as his words trailed off. It was musky and earthy and tinged with notes of violet. And it made Jesse want things. Things he shouldn’t have wanted. Things like feeling Arthur’s weight pressing him into a mattress.
Fuck.
It seemed like Jesse Wolff hadn’t learned his lesson. But Jesse O’Connor needed to do better.
Shutting his eyes, Jesse mentally prepared himself to explain to Arthur the reason why the print had turned out poorly. Even though part of himreallywanted them to try one or two or even ten more times the wrong way so that Arthur might pin him to the press again.
“We coated the platen incorrectly,” Jesse forced out.
“Oh.” Arthur furrowed his brow. “Shall we try a second time, then?”
“Yes, only you’ll have to stand opposite me. Take the handle from there.” Jesse pointed to the other side of the press. He set the paper on the closest table and walked over to the machine, trying his best not to focus on the shame he felt for the fleeting fantasy he’d had of Arthur taking him to bed. He picked up the ink roller. “When you were... behind me before, we wound up putting too much pressure on only one side of the roller. It caused the ink to be unevenly distributed.”
“Ah, yes, that makes sense. I should have asked before I... well, before I took it upon myself to—”
“Yes,” Jesse clipped. “You should have.”
Jesse’s stomach tightened from the ire in his words. Every Goddamned second of this teaching session, he’d been feeling as though he was at war with himself, fighting these fast-burgeoning feelings for a man who was supposed to be exactly the kind of person he hated. Even if Jesse had the slimmest chance of his feelings being reciprocated, he knew that it wasn’t smart to let himselfwantlike this. Because if something ever happened between the two of them, then Arthur could see to it that Jesse never worked in printing again. And then where would Jesse be?
Arthur spluttered a soft, “Sorry.”
Jesse’s stomach tightened even more. Dammit, regardless of what might happen should he ever surrender to these foolish feelings, Arthur had been so friendly toward him thus far. Jesse ought to try to be cordial at the very least.
“No, it, uhm, it was mostly my fault,” Jesse explained, softening his tone. “I should have known that the roller wouldn’t work as well with the two of us on the same side.”
Arthur smiled weakly, unmistakable hurt still lingering in his eyes. Jesse sighed.
“Really, Arthur, I shouldn’t have been so curt with you,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry.”
Arthur’s weak smile broadened a little.
“Apology not accepted. I know I can be a handful.”
Jesse let out a fast breath through his nose, almost huffing a laugh. Arthur Hughes calling himself a handful. Percy had been too serious, too self-important, too snobbish to haveevermade a remark like that about himself.
Jesse headed over to the other side of the press. He reminded himself that he needed to try to ignore the percolating feeling ofwantstill thrumming through his veins. He needed to pretend that he wasn’t interested in Arthur. Or, hell, that he wasn’t even aware of what Arthur had been so obviously trying to tell him over the course of the morning with his overtly playful remarks and histoo-familiar touches.
Leaning over the press, Jesse held up the roller and instructed Arthur to take the opposite wooden handle. Then, together, they coated the platen. Afterward, Arthur positioned the paper near the cylinder. And then Jesse turned the crank. All the while, Jesse tried not to let himself want.
