Not yet, he countered silently. Kieran might not drop dead from drink tomorrow, but – how could he pretend it wasn’t taking its toll? It was a slow, painstaking poisoning, however he wanted to make excuses for it. He might not want to see it, but Jude wasn’t blind.

So what he wanted to do was clench his jaw and brush Kieran off him at the contact and the taunting question. Kieran knew that, and knew what the answer was, and he was continuing to provoke him anyway. Well, two could play at that game.

He changed tack. “How about this?” Jude murmured, low and breathy, and since the street was deserted, snaked his hands around Kieran’s sides. He curled his fingers into the waistband of Kieran’s trousers to pointedly pull him in closer, toying with the top button there as if he meant to undo it. And he probably could have gotten away with kissing him in the shadows of the streetlamps – but the stench of alcohol was already overpowering as he leant in to bring his lips close to Kieran’s ear. “Go home, Kieran,” he said, abruptly dropping his hands and the pretence. If his heart rate was elevated, it was only the frustration. “Sleep it off, and we’ll talk when you’re sober.”

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