Love is a Stranger (21 page)

Ben pushed him face first into one of the walls and stood behind, his cock long and jutting out of his own suit. He licked a finger and teased Nik for a while, admiring the still healing bite mark he’d given him a few days before on the Saddleworth moors. He pressed his mouth to Nikolas’s shoulder, and before Nikolas could say urgently, “Don’t!” he’d bitten him again. Hard. Nikolas winced and flinched away, swearing in a weird mixture of languages, and he swung a fist back to punish Ben, but Ben caught the hand, seized the other wrist and pinned him hard to the wall. Then he bit him again, just because he could, and nothing was as good as the taste of Nikolas’s warm skin.

When Nik tried to ram his head back to stop him, Ben sank something other than teeth into him, but he didn’t let go of the shoulder. Only when he tasted blood did he begin to lick and suck gently at the wound as he brought them both, with long, hard thrusts, to knee-staggering orgasms.

As soon as he could stand unaided, Nikolas pulled away and twisted theatrically to see the wounds on his shoulder. “You have to stop doing that, Benjamin! It actually hurts. Fuck. Is that blood on my shirt?”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“This shirt cost—”

“Yeah, yeah, you said it was half mine now, so that keeps the cost down.”

“Jesus. I did not mean for you to have the shirt off my back. Seriously, Benjamin, am I bleeding?”

“Of course not.” He pulled Nikolas closer and began to dress him, buttoning his shirt to distract them both from the trickle of blood he could see running down Nikolas’s back.

“I will probably get rabies.”

Ben cupped his cheeks and kissed him. “Does it really hurt?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

Ben turned the gentle cupping into a rough shake. “Good. Next house we see? When you’re talking your
fours
and
points
and fucking
nines
, feel that pain and remember who owns who in this relationship.”

Nikolas was very quiet on the way to the next house; a gem of eighteenth-century architecture set in manicured grounds alongside the River Exe. Its classic Georgian proportions awed Ben as they drove along the winding drive to meet another agent, a woman in her thirties. She looked hungry—pretty much for everything. She gave them both a piercing and calculating appraisal, appeared very satisfied with what she saw, and approached them with her hand extended as they exited the car.

Ben murmured, “Little brother struck dumb at birth, yeah?”

Nikolas tried to hide a private smile. She proceeded to show them the house—drawing room done in the French style, huge kitchen, upper rooms…Ben tuned it all out and felt as if he were being given a tour of a stately home, which he guessed he was. He had no idea what Nikolas was thinking until they got to the stables, where he gave a thoughtful glance at one wall. Ben snorted but sobered at a frown from the agent. They went out to the grounds once more, and she started to talk about fishing rights. Nikolas finally stopped her with a small gesture of his hand. “We don’t fish. Price?” Age clearly had its disadvantages because this house started with a six. Nik nodded and said he wanted to walk around it again on his own. Ben quickly retreated to the safety of the car.
Six!
He took the opportunity to text Kate:
Is he being good?
And got back:
Define good
.

All seemed well, so he tossed the phone in the glove box and began to think about lunch. Nikolas came out twenty minutes later and stood under the central portico, nonchalantly considering the front elevations of the house. Ben couldn’t deny that to any casual observer, Nikolas appeared like he belonged here. In the back of Ben’s mind, he knew
he
looked like a model on a GQ photo shoot, dressed to play the part of the English gentleman. But English gentlemen, by and large, weren’t six foot four with green-eyed, exotic beauty. He would always be incongruous here. Nikolas, though, had the kind of beauty that only generations of breeding could produce—the rich marrying the beautiful, cheekbones rising and defining, and jaws strengthening with each generation. But Ben was not a casual observer of Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen. He knew another Nikolas, and this one was not so elegant or remote. The things Nikolas knew, the things he occasionally wanted, had not come from a life lived in the luxury of wealth. There was a very dark side to Nikolas, which in many ways made him just as much an impostor in this Palladian house as Ben.

As they were driving away, Nikolas asked, “Well?”

“Food first, maybe?”

Nikolas glanced at his watch and nodded.

They found an authentic-looking pub—thatch and mounting blocks—and went in. Ben ordered for both of them and came back to their table with two huge steak and kidney pies with chips and peas. He totally ignored Nikolas’s predicable protest and pushed the plate toward him. “Eat. Your bones are starting to bruise me.” Nikolas curled his lip at the food, picked up his fork and began to move things around his plate. Ben hoovered his meal as usual and then went to order some beer. When he got back, Nikolas asked him again about the house. Ben didn’t know what to say, so he ventured noncommittally, “You liked it.”

Nik shrugged. “In some ways.”

After lunch, Ben would have preferred a snooze, but he dutifully drove to the next address Nikolas gave him. They were not meeting an agent, apparently, nor actually seeing around the house. They pulled in at the side of the road on a hill that overlooked a large farm with an indoor equestrian centre. Nikolas slid out of the car and went to lean on a gate, staring down into the sunlit valley. Ben joined him. Without glancing over, Nikolas said casually, “This belongs to Philipa’s family. It will be mine this week as part of the divorce settlement.”

“What? So soon? When?”

Nikolas nodded then shrugged. “The papers are being signed on Monday. Lady Philipa’s amicable divorce. Etcetera, etcetera. I can see the headlines in tabloid press now.” He glanced over. “No thoughts?”

“I—So…exactly why are we house hunting?” For one bizarre moment, Ben thought Nikolas was going to spit with derision. In the end, he just kicked the gate and went back to the vehicle then he turned around and came back to Ben, uncharacteristic emotion on his face.

“I believe
he
has owned it since 1327. I intend to sell it. Preferably to a footballer with a Ferrari and a huge number of tattoos.” With that Nik stomped back to the Range Rover and climbed in, folding his arms and staring out of the window. Ben slid back behind the wheel and waited meekly for his next instructions. Clearly, Nikolas wasn’t quite so inured to the idea of divorce as he pretended.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

They saw a couple more houses in the afternoon. One, a beautiful Georgian property, would have been a possibility, except the agent had neglected to mention the solar energy farm that covered the hillside opposite. Nikolas had taken one look, told the agent he didn’t want to live in a Jane Austen apocalypse, and left. The second was also good, except here they discovered the land that came with the house…didn’t; it was separated by a busy ring road. Nikolas had stood with his arms folded, watching the traffic tear past the front of the house, and Ben had been wise enough not to comment at all. When Nik climbed back in, he glanced at the satnav and said brusquely, “Put the hotel in. I have had enough.”

Ben did as he was asked and then began once more to wind around narrow country lanes, one eye on the road and one on the small screen of directions. “Maybe we should look somewhere else. I don’t know—maybe Wales? Great mountains. Trust me, I know every inch of fucking Snowdonia.”

Nikolas smiled. “I first saw you in Wales.”

Ben frowned. “No, you didn’t. I came up to that interview in London, remember?”

Nikolas shook his head. “Sennybridge. You were on an escape and evasion exercise. Dear Leader was under pressure from our American cousins to fall in line with their new torture protocols and wanted to know what the SAS resistance to interrogation training contained.”

“You were there?”

“I was.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“No. You were the one being tor—interrogated. I think you had other things on your mind.”

“You were in the observation room?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking hell. And then you headhunted me for the department?”

“Well, you seemed eminently suitable.”

“I was good at resisting. I didn’t tell them a damn thing.”

“That is not precisely what I meant—many other of your colleagues resisted as well.”

“Then why me?”

Nikolas tried to repress a smile. “Do you really need to ask, Ben? You were naked, being—as your interrogators put it—fucked over, and I was utterly lost. I fell, as if finally falling to earth from a great distance. It was very disturbing, actually.” He was lost in thought for a moment. “Anyway, I remember that my brief to Dear Leader later that day was not one of my most coherent.”

“Why do you never tell me these things?”

“I just have. Besides, I have a mission to prevent you from becoming any more vain and annoying than you already are. With great power comes—Did you actually just hit me?” He was laughing and caught Ben’s hand, beginning to twist the wrist.

Ben took his eyes off the road. “Hey, no fair, I’m driving.”

“I could take you at any time, even if you were not driving.”

Ben gave him an incredulous look, his eyes flicking between the road and Nikolas’s smug expression. “In a fight? You’d beat me? In your dreams, mate.”

“Oh, trust me, I do sometimes dream of beating you down, and I am not even asleep.”

“Seriously. You think you could best me in a fight?”

“I am only surprised that you doubt it.”

“Bloody hell. This is ridiculous.”

“Unfortunately, we will never put it to the test. The damage would be irreversible, maybe. Come, concentrate on your driving. This is a very expensive vehicle, and you are a very erratic driver.”

Ben’s head was reeling. He never seemed to catch up. He risked a very brief glance at Nikolas to see if he was being had but, as usual, could tell nothing from the calm, neutral expression.

They arrived at the country hotel on the fringes of Dartmoor just after tea. It had a shabby elegance about it they both liked. Nikolas had booked two rooms for form’s sake, but Ben didn’t even bother finding his, he just flung himself on the bed in Nikolas’s. He watched Nikolas as he went to the window to look out over the grounds.

“Did you pack any painkillers?”

“Huh? Why?”

Nikolas gave him a look. “Because I am in pain. You bit me, Benjamin, and it hurts still.”

Ben managed to look contrite. “In the side pocket of my bag.” He lay back, outwardly contemplating the ceiling, but in reality remembering the taste and feel of Nikolas’s skin between his teeth and the intense pleasure of making Nikolas wince and, for once, not be so bloody superior.
Take me? As if
…He heard water running in the bathroom. Nik came out removing his suit jacket and tie. He began to unbutton his shirt, wandering back into the bathroom. Suddenly, there was an uncharacteristically outraged yell. “
Kusse
! Come here!”

Ben debated making a dash for his own room but sighed and went into the spacious bathroom. “Oh, Jesus.” He went up to Nikolas’s back and stroked his thumb very gently over the livid bite mark now surrounded by yellow and deep purple bruised flesh. He put his lips to the bite and kissed it gently. Nikolas jerked away, staring down at his ruined, bloody shirt. “You will pay for this.” Ben wasn’t sure if he meant literally or metaphorically. Both, probably, given his luck. “This is
not
funny anymore, Benjamin. You bite me one more time, and we will maybe find out which of us is stronger. Do you understand me?”

Ben nodded, unconcerned. “Those pills working yet?”

“Do I sound as if they were?”

“You are such a baby it’s hard to tell. Wait here.” He went out to his bag and rummaged in the side pocket. “Where did you put them?”

Nikolas wandered out, dressed in just his suit trousers, still holding his shirt, which he dropped on the bed. He opened Ben’s bag and pulled out the box of pills.