Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,55

out the famous houseboats that line the canals. They’re like small water communities, and many of them have French doors and plants on their decks.

I point to the chairs on one of the decks. “That’s probably the best view in Amsterdam,” I say.

He smiles. “I like them, but I prefer the houses.”

“They are beautiful.” I cock my head to one side as we slide past a row of canal houses in shades of dun and blue. “Is that house crooked or has all the alcohol I’ve drunk on this trip caught up with me?”

He laughs. “No, some of them do slant sideways. It’s because they’re sinking. The ground is swampy. They’re built on peat and they used wooden pilings in the old days.” He points to one where two men are unloading furniture. “They have to do all that with a crane and winches.”

I watch the men work. “Really?”

He nods. “The stairs in those houses are so tight it’s the only way for things to come in and out. They even do it when someone dies. The coffin has to be winched out.” I blink, and he laughs. “They’re wonderful houses. The architectural history is fascinating.”

“You sound very interested in it,” I say. His face is flushed and full of vitality and enthusiasm.

He shrugs. “I’m an architect, but I don’t just want to build new structures. I want to save the beautiful old ones too. My company is Dutch, so there’s a lot of information around the office about the architecture here. I read up on it before I came here for the first time. The restoration efforts for these beautiful old houses are amazing.” He looks suddenly embarrassed. “Come on, let’s eat,” he says, unwrapping the food.

I smile at him affectionately and let him change the subject. We eat our food as our boat slides down the canals, finally emerging into a wide stretch of water where huge ferries tower over us. The water looks cold and forbidding, reflecting the darkening sky and making the interior of the boat feel even snugger. We share bites of our cakes, and he hums happily over my apple pie which is packed with fruit and raisins and has a buttery pastry that melts in the mouth.

I nudge him. “I want to know some more about the restorations,” I say.

“Really?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t say it, otherwise.” It’s the truth, but a bigger truth is the way he makes everything interesting. I watch him as he talks, his hands waving around. He looks big and warm, and even though he’s still wearing that damn poncho, my heart clenches. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be really fucked over Jack.

He smiles at me. “Alright?” he asks. “Sorry I was talking too much. It’s boring.”

“You didn’t bore me,” I say softly. “I like seeing you happy.”

He flushes, and I close my eyes for a second. Who am I kidding? I’m already fucked.

“You alright, Arlo?”

I sneak a glance behind me. The other passengers are talking loudly and looking at the views. Nobody is paying attention to the two young men sitting in their snug little booth at the back of the boat.

Heat roars through me, and I breathe in sharply. I glance up at Jack and see he’s caught my mood. His eyes are dark and focused on me.

I lean in closer and slide my coat onto his lap.

His swallow is a loud click in his throat. “What are you doing?” His pupils have become huge.

“I’m adding an air of excitement to our sightseeing,” I whisper.

“How?” He breathes in sharply as my fingers find his zipper and pull it down. “H-How are you going to do that?”

I smile at him. “We’re going to play the game of see who can avoid getting caught having a hand job on a boat.”

“Oh God,” he says.

I lick my palm and reach inside his boxers to fist his cock.

“I never…I don’t think I’ve played that one before.” His voice has gone slightly higher.

I repress a smile. “Not surprising,” I say solemnly. “I’m quite sure Derek and Barbara wouldn’t approve of it.” I slide my hand up and down his cock with a tight grip.

He sucks in a stuttered breath. “Please don’t mention them when my cock is in your hand.”

I bite my lip to hold back a smile, and his eyes fasten on the movement. “I really don’t think you should do this,” he says, in an attempt at a serious voice, but the stuttered breaths and blown pupils belie