Asking for More (9 page)

For one half-second, escape was still possible. James could have acted surprised, even as if he didn't understand what on earth Ben was talking about, and that would have been all the plausible deniability he needed. But he said nothing. He did nothing. He only stood there, heart pounding in his chest, unable to look away.

One more sip, and Ben put aside his glass. He walked toward James, his steps slow but decisive. His eyes never left James'. He never smiled. When he was close enough for them to touch, his hands closed around James' shoulders, and then he stopped. He raised one eyebrow, almost mocking, daring James to make a move.

“I don't—” James' mouth was dry, and he had to swallow before he could speak. “I don't often, ah, indulge.”

“How long has it been?”

The last time had been with Niall, already knowing their end was near, hating himself the whole time. “About three years.”

Ben breathed out sharply, as though in sympathetic pain. One of his thumbs brushed against James' shoulder in gentle circles. “It's all right. His voice grew softer than it had been at any other point in the day. “I promise.”

It was anything but all right. Yet James couldn't care about that any longer, not now that Ben was finally touching him.

I'm taking this. One stolen hour in my entire bloody life—it's mine,
he's
mine, and no one else ever has to know.

“Yes,” James said. “Yes.”

Ben brought his mouth to James', claiming him with a brutal kiss.

It had been so fucking long. Every part of it was new to James again: the tension in Ben's lips, the rasp of stubble beneath his palm as he touched Ben's face, the heat of Ben's body as they leaned into each other. James opened his mouth, giving into it completely. Ben tasted like rum, and their lips burned from the alcohol, slightly numbed.

Ben raked his teeth along James' tongue, then pulled away. Without touching James or even looking back, he walked toward his bedroom. James took a deep breath and followed. There was no telling whether the thumping of his pulse and the shaking of his breath came from arousal or fright. They were both commingled, inseparable.

The bedroom in this suite was less sumptuous than James' own, but grand all the same. An enormous four-poster bed stretched nearly the width of the room, with sheer panels of white linen hanging from the sides. Ben stood in front of the bed, stripping off his clothes. His motions were swift, almost businesslike—save for the heat in his gaze, which never left James. Although James felt as though he must be shaking, he tried to follow suit just as smoothly. He'd kicked off his soggy shoes earlier, so he only had to unbutton his shirt, unfasten his belt, ditch the trousers.

It wasn't easy getting naked in front of a stranger. Aside from the intimacy of it, the fact remained that James didn't even know this man. Even the mildest secrets he'd told Ben were too much exposure. And
this
? This was madness. He had never felt so vulnerable. Yet he kept going, refusing to focus on his own fear, instead looking only at Ben. Every inch of skin Ben revealed, every line of his perfect body, took James further out of himself. Further away from the world. Nothing existed except what was here. Nothing mattered except what happened now.

Ben came to him, and James sucked in a sharp breath as their chests touched, as he felt the brush of Ben's stiff cock against his own. They kissed, slow and wet, as Ben slowly walked him backward, then leaned him back onto the bed.

That was it. James surrendered completely. He gave in to every wild impulse he'd felt since he first saw Ben through the rain. Every inch of Ben's body was his to caress, to kiss, to lick and to suck. Ben tried to reciprocate—to be generous—but James didn't want generosity. He wanted to touch this man even more than he wanted to be touched. Yet he gloried in the heat of Ben's mouth on his skin, the way they thrust blindly against each other, the stickiness of pre-come on his thighs and face.

As Ben's tongue teased at his nipple, James managed to groan, “Tell me— please, tell me you have protection. Supplies. Something we can use.”

“Fuck. No. I didn't know—”

“Me either,” James panted between kisses. “You caught me by surprise.” The down side of being spontaneous, but that was a minor disappointment. Any resort this luxurious would be well stocked.

Thick, fragrant lotion waited in a heavy glass bottle not far from the bed. It smelled of coconut and the beach. James slicked his hand, his belly, his thighs, and did the same for Ben, enjoying the slip of Ben's skin everywhere he touched. At first they just kept thrusting against each other wherever they touched, wrestling almost like boys. You couldn't get off like that, but the teasing, glancing touches had their own heat, as did the few moments of real pressure that made them groan.

At last he got his hand around his cock and Ben's both, right at the tip; Ben closed his huge fist at the base, though their slippery fingers overlapped. They thrust against each other blindly, slow then fast then slow again.

James was surprised to find himself groaning, then crying out. He'd always been quiet in bed before—always felt as though he'd had to be—but not here. Not today, with Ben, sealed away from the rest of the world.

“That's right,” Ben murmured against James' shoulder, before nipping at the skin with his teeth. “Let me hear you.”

Ben came first, and the sudden catch in his throat, plus the hot stickiness spurting through James' fingers, was enough to bring James to the edge. When he climaxed, he shouted it out—all of it, all the pleasure he'd felt and all he'd held back before. It was almost ridiculous to make that much noise. But when he was himself again, and could look Ben in the face, Ben was smiling. “That sounded good.”

“Uh-huh.” James grinned up at Ben, then pulled him close for a kiss.

For a few moments after that, they simply held each other as they tried to recover something like sense. James leaned his head onto Ben's shoulder and closed his eyes so that he would only feel Ben's nearness, only hear Ben's heartbeat and the constant rain.

Don't fall asleep,
he told himself. Before long he'd have to excuse himself, get back to his own cabin, and tidy up for tonight's official function. But leaving Ben today meant leaving Ben forever. James only wanted to steal a few more minutes.

He opened his eyes. The linen curtains around the bed softened the light. Ben drowsed next to him, apparently as content as James felt.

Just a little while longer
, James thought as he snuggled closer.

He never chose to close his eyes again. He simply did.

***

Ben awoke to the sound of James quietly swearing. He propped up on his elbows to see James at the foot of the bed, gathering his clothes.

The rustle of the covers made James turn. His cheeks flushed. “Oh. I—there's a dinner in less than an hour. I've got to go.”

“Right. Yeah, of course.”

Good God, he'd gone to bed with the Prince of Wales. No denying it. The smell of sex hung thick in the air (tinged with coconut lotion), and James himself was only a few feet away, struggling back into his damp clothes. Still, Ben felt more as though he'd had a very vivid masturbation fantasy. None of this could be real, could it?

James half-tucked his shirt, which was rumpled from having landed on the floor wet. “My shoes, my shoes—oh, yes, under the table.” He dashed out, and Ben let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding.

Pleasant as the memory of their lovemaking was, Ben was eager for James to leave. He felt exposed to the point of being raw. Not because of the nudity or the sex.

Because of the secrets.

He'd made that ridiculous wager because he thought it was the best way to break down the barriers between them and possibly, just possibly, get James into his bed. The gambit had worked. That much Ben understood. What he didn't understand was why he'd felt compelled to tell James the truth. He could have made something up. Anything. Instead he'd poured out things he never spoke about with anyone.

Remember
, Ben thought,
you'll never see this man again. And he can't talk about this with a single soul. If he pokes so much as one toe out of the closet, he loses his money and his crown and all the other things he values more than the truth.

The sounds of James scrambling for his shoes stilled. No doubt he was now ready to go. Ben figured he should kiss James goodbye. Only polite, after all. He rose from his bed, slipped on one of the thick white robes of Turkish cotton supplied by the lodge, and stepped into the front room, expecting to find James waiting for him.

Instead James stood in front of the desk. The desk drawers were open. And in his hand he held Ben's press pass.

Shit.

“I don't—” James' voice broke off. “You can't be with Global Media Services. In Kenya, that's Sybil Warner. I've given her interviews before.”

Once again, the damnable truth came spilling from Ben's mouth. “She's pregnant. I filled in.”

“You said you were a novelist!”

“I didn't!”

James finally turned toward Ben. His face was white, his features drawn. He did not look boyish now. “You didn't, did you? I assumed. I said so. And you let me believe it.”

A lie of omission was still a lie. Ben usually considered himself above that kind of thing.

Before he could begin to explain, James said, “So, all this was just a trick? Just a game to get your story?”

“I don't screw people to get ahead at my job,” Ben shot back. Anger blossomed red and hot within him. Did this high-and-mighty prince think he could insult anyone who threatened his hiding place in the closet?

James took a step back. “Then it's about money.”

“Fuck you and fuck your money. You want to live like a coward? You want to live a lie? Have at it. Punishment enough for the likes of you.”

“The likes of me? I'm not the one who lied about who he was—who told me it was all right, you swore it was all right—” James' voice broke off. He looked almost pathetic there in his rumpled, damp clothes. The press pass fell from his fingers, as if he couldn't even hold onto it any longer.

But Ben was too furious for pity. “What were you doing, going through my desk?”

“
You're
accusing
me
of invading your privacy? You're media, Ben! You're here to report on me, and you lured me into
this
! How could I have been so stupid? Tell me, was it all a lie? All of it? Every secret you told me?” The pain in his voice cut through Ben's rage for just an instant, until James added, “I bet your parents are alive and well.”

Ben snapped. “Get the hell out of here before I take your picture and post it to the worldwide news feed. I could do it in an instant. So go. Run, if you know what's good for you.”

James grimaced as though in disgust, but he went. As he slid open the door to the veranda, a breeze blew through the room, stirring up papers and ruffling Ben's hair. Without once looking back, James ran down the steps out into the rain. The twilight mingled with the downpour to blur his form almost immediately, and then he vanished. But for the rumpled bed, Ben could almost believe it had all been a dream.

His anger remained, though, stoking higher and higher until he paced the room like something wild and caged.

The worst of it wasn't James' arrogant assumptions. It wasn't even the horrible thing he'd said about Ben's parents.

No, the worst part was remembering the betrayed hurt in James' eyes.

***

You idiot. You fucking idiot. You just slept with a reporter. For all you know he was recording the whole thing. Your sex tape's probably going to be on TMZ within the hour.

James ran into his own lodge, sopping wet again. With just over a half hour to go until his next official dinner, he needed to jump into the shower and make himself halfway presentable. Instead he braced his hands against the wall and fought back tears. If he gave into them now, he'd never be able to pull himself together in time.

Fear clutched at his guts like a cold, desperate fist. It was as though he could feel each and every blood vessel in his body as they burned from the adrenalin.

All those years. All that restraint and loneliness. All that caution. Once—just
once
in his entire life—he'd dared to seize a moment of pure pleasure, and his reward was immediate betrayal.

Maybe Ben won't publish anything about it,
James thought, though the hope was feeble.
He got so angry when you asked if he would. Maybe he won't do it, just to prove you wrong.

But money usually meant more to people than their reputations. Besides, the rest of the world would congratulate Ben on his “scoop,” laugh at the naïve prince who'd rolled over so quickly for a stranger . . .

His throat tightened, and James wondered whether he had ought to go on and get some of the crying out of the way before the dinner tonight. Sometimes that was what you had to do to hold it together. You let a little emotion out in a safe place—

You thought Ben's bed was safe, and that was just another lie.

Tinny music from across the room made James jump. That was his latest personal cell phone. He switched every few weeks to try and avoid hacking. Even so, he never discussed anything via cell that could be damaging, and only good friends and close family members ever got the number. He could do badly with a friendly voice at the moment. Fingers trembling, he answered. “Hello?”

“James?” It was Indigo. Her voice was thready and weak. “Oh, thank God I reached you.”

His first terrified thought was that somehow the news had already gone public, but that was absurd. Even gossip didn't work that fast, and Indigo sounded truly terrible. Maybe she was having one of her episodes,
oh God not now I can't be strong enough for us both but she needs me, she needs me—“
What's wrong? What happened?”