Objects Of His Obsession (24 page)

“You and I?” he repeated
huskily.

“Yes, Ben. Or have you
forgotten the thorough fucking that we gave each other not long back?

There was a pause, Benedict’s
flush deepened even further, and he shifted, as if his trousers were suddenly
uncomfortably tight. Finally he said on a husky whisper, “No.”

“I would have said you enjoyed
every moment. And yet you seem in no hurry for a repeat. Ignored that note I
sent around to your place, suggesting lunch at your club.”

“I … I didn’t think it wise.”

Again that husked whisper. But Evander
was relentless. “Why not?”

“Because…” Benedict swallowed
and looked up at Evander. “You must realize what this is doing to me.
You must
.”

Evander stared at him for a
long moment. Lifted a hand, beckoned him over. Benedict shook his head.

Evander dropped his hand.

“Just
what
is this doing to you, Ben?” he asked patiently.

“It’s
intolerable.”

Evander studied him for a long
moment, taking in that raw, driven undertone. “Do you want me to drop out of
the backing for your digs?” He held up a hand at Benedict’s sudden gasp. “No,
no, not vindictively. But if it makes you uncomfortable. If dealing with me
makes you uncomfortable. You will still have the massive amounts of funds Hunt
and Kingsley will provide, and if anything
did
happen, I would step in. You just wouldn’t have to have any dealings with me.
On paper or otherwise, unless it truly came down to the wire.”

Honey-brown eyes lifted sharply
to his. “No, don’t. In any case, I will be in Cairo much of the time. We would
scarcely be seeing one another.”

Evander studied him for a
moment.

“Did it never occur to you that
I would have been visiting Cairo with some frequency? Not merely because of the
digs, but because I am involved in a consortium interested in oil in the Near
East?”

That possibility had clearly
not occurred to Benedict. Or at least not the part where Evander had fully intended
to visit Cairo regularly. At it, he ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“The idea that I would be
visiting Cairo regularly displeases you?” Evander queried lazily. “And yet it
would be the most natural thing in the world. Kingsley will be there
semi-permanently. The man can scarcely be peeled away from the place. He’s just
bought a home there, you know. And I … as one of your backers, with my family
history of interest in Egyptology, would naturally be visiting both the site
itself and Cairo often. And seeing you there frequently,
naturally
on a purely professional basis. Don’t tell me that had
never occurred to you?”

Benedict moistened his lips,
and looked at Evander as if he’d been thrown a lifeline that he’d never
suspected might have been there all along.

A dozen thoughts were racing
through Evander’s mind, but above all, the sheer simplicity of what had
happened,
what had gone wrong
, that
day back in Kensington, seemed as blazing as the Egyptian sun.

It was so damned obvious.

Of course Benedict would never
have thought such a thing. Would never have thought Evander intended that they
have anything resembling a real relationship. Would have just thought that what
had happened was…

Benedict had no ego about his
own attractions. Never had.

And it would have been all too
easy to have discounted whatever heated words Evander had given him. Because
he’d never given him the whole, complete truth.

The simple truth, those short,
simple words that Ben had plainly needed.

Because that would have made himself
too vulnerable. Too easy to hurt.

And fuck, was he ever terrified
of anyone getting to his heart. Tearing it out. Being vulnerable, because that
led to…

Christ,
he’d grown up on exactly what that led to
–

He’d thought what he’d said,
what had been revealed to Ben was enough.

It hadn’t been. It probably
wouldn’t have been for anyone. Not when faced with the formidable reputation
that Evander knew he had, for better or worse.

God alone knew, he’d worked
hard enough to develop it. That steely armor.

“You thought you were just
going to be some regular London fuck of mine?” he asked crudely.

At that Benedict glared, a
sudden heat in his eyes. “You want to put it like that. Yes.”

“That wasn’t the intention.” And
this time Evander crossed the room to Benedict, not giving him a chance to draw
back, pull away. He drove the fingers of one hand into that thick, sun-streaked
hair, the fingers of the other closing commandingly about the nape of Benedict’s
neck, something he knew Benedict loved. For an instant his turquoise eyes
blazed on the dazed, half-rebellious face of the man he was determined to have.

His mouth paused over Benedict’s
wide, well shaped one before white teeth nipped at that luscious lower lip,
tongue slipping over its curve until those lips parted on a groan and Evander
kissed him thoroughly, his tongue delving, driving against Benedict’s. Not
permitting him to hold back for one instant. Finally, when he drew back, the
other man was staring at him, eyes heavy lidded with the mixture of lust and
reservation he’d seen there so frequently. Evander stroked his thumb over those
reddened lips. Turquoise eyes gripped warm amber. “Tonight, my rooms. I will expect
you there, Yeats. And if you do not appear, I will hunt you down and fuck you
in your own room. Which is somewhat less soundproof, and believe me, you’re very
loud. So you would much rather make that journey. Or face a fascinated table of
people at breakfast tomorrow.”

Benedict was staring at him in
a daze. Half angered. And half – no, fuck, fully, judging by the rigid
cock pressed against him – roused.

“Yes?” Evander said coolly.

A long pause. Benedict stared
at him as if he wanted, ached, to rebel, but could not.

Trapped.

Finally he nodded, once. And
turned away, back to his work.

Evander smiled and walked away.
It was enough.

“You know that my husband is my
knight in shining armor,” Juliana confided in Benedict, after dinner.

There was no separation of the
men and women after dinner, as was customary. Instead, all had found a
comfortable place in the drawing room. Some of the men were smoking cigars, but
then even Anne, the artist’s wife, was smoking, with some style, a small
cheroot. And all were sipping a very fine port.

Benedict and Juliana were
standing by the unlit fireplace, watching the others as they sat, arguing
politics.

Evander had given up on the opinions
flaring about the room. He caught the comment as he joined the two of them.

“God, Juliana,” he drawled,
sardonic. “Now you really are telling tall tales.”

Juliana’s azure eyes widened.
“But it’s the truth, my darling!” she said innocently. She turned to Benedict,
ignoring his suddenly stony face. “Hasn’t Evander ever told you of just how he
rescued me?”

“Hell, Jules,” Evander said idly,
stroking her cheek. Untroubled by Benedict’s expression, certain now that he
knew its cure. “I scarcely rescued you.” He chuckled. “Merely married you. And
others right in this room need rescuing right now. Look at the arguments your Eliza
has raging over there.”

Ignoring him, Juliana stole a
sip of Evander’s port and eyed Benedict over the glass. “It’s a wonderful
story,” she whispered, in her low, seductive voice, all kinds of wickedness,
secrets in those blue eyes. “Evander will tell you it. I won’t mind. He did warn
me that he has already been less than discreet about certain other things.”

Benedict flushed bloodily.
Juliana grinned, a Cheshire cat’s grin.

“Juliana,” Evander drawled
warningly.

Juliana shook her blonde head,
the diamond stars pinned in it trembling, delicate. “Men like to accuse women
of being soft and romantic. But in truth it’s the reverse. We’re tough
pragmatists. Have to be. And perhaps Evander is tougher, cooler, than most
males, but … he is still the most shameless romantic, Ben. Completely. Once
you’ve heard that story you’ll know I’m telling you the truth. An utter, total,
romantic. I’m the tough one. Bear that in mind if ever you cross me.”

Evander studied them both, a smile
catching at his curling, sensual mouth. He could imagine years of this life
ahead … Juliana teasing Ben, them battling over foolish things, the way old
friends did. Ben no longer looking uncertain, awkward, but as if he’d truly
found his place in the world, in every way.
With
Evander
.

Benedict had seemed to think,
earlier, that in no way could he have a family of his own.

But
there were all kinds of families.
And he wanted Ben, that good, true heart to be part of theirs.

And the thought was good. Very
good.

But just now, Benedict was
staring at her in genuine bewilderment. Yet the threat had been there, in those
soft words. “Why would I ever cross you?”

Juliana smiled. A sphinx’s
smile. “I cannot possibly imagine, Ben. I just couldn’t. But do bear it in
mind. I protect those I love. You’ve been warned.”

~~***~~

So many things were exactly as
he remembered.

Ben, that discreet sound as he
didn’t knock on the bedroom door but instead opened it gently, the door ajar
for him, just in case he’d found himself lost in this wing of the house and mistook
one room in this corridor for another.

The warm brown eyes searched and
found him across the room as he closed that door behind himself this time. Locked
it.

But those eyes lacked the
vulnerability of that first night they’d had together. Yeats had truly learnt
to hide whatever he was feeling.

Everything
Evander had hungered for had been there
then. Fascination. Lust. Unwilling fear.

Fear
that Evander had promised himself he would soothe.

And true courage had been
there. It had taken courage to go ahead despite the very real dangers
acknowledging his preferences would place him in. Every man with a preference
for his own sex knew what the consequences of indulging that could be. Especially
in Britain, home of hypocrisy.

The bloodsport of the last
decades court cases had proven that.

By comparison, the threats of
some seedy blackmailing rentboy were nothing. Some men were willing to risk that
for short-term pleasures. Or they enjoyed the self-destructive edge of their
company.

Thank Christ Evander had always
had the sense to pick his partners within certain boundaries. Paid sex with
those with too much to gain and nothing to lose had never been his preference.
But he’d known others who’d mired themselves in their own hells that way, poor
bastards.

And yet, despite those vicious
legal and social dangers, dangers he must have been aware of, Benedict still had
the guts to come to him.

He would never forget that.

And now Evander lounged back on
a leather chair drawn up by the unlit fire, the night not chill. The book he
had attempted to distract himself with split open, facedown, on the small table
beside him.

Benedict’s eyes moved over him,
took in the fact he’d already stripped down to his trousers, his chest, his
feet bare. The room softly lamplit.

He paused, stood staring down
at him. Evander felt his mouth curling as Benedict’s eyes dropped to his lips.

As if, despite that shell he
drew about himself, he could not prevent the flare of raw hunger in those honeyed
eyes. The way he shifted on his feet. It gave Evander a surge of triumph.

And hardened yet further his
already semi-roused prick.

“Strip, Ben. Now.”

The cool, controlled demand
made the other man blink, the clean, hard line of his jaw lifting in defiance,
and yet he did as commanded. He’d walked in sans half of his formal dinner
clothes, thank Christ. Just wore a white linen shirt with black trousers.

Evander loved the way the
formal clothes had looked on him, that elegance contrasting his muscular, yet
long limbed bulk, but he didn’t need the way they’d slow him getting naked.
Fast. And now he watched as Benedict shifted, undid first one shoe, then the
next.

Toed off each shoe, tugged off
his socks. Eyes fixed on Evander, he began to slowly work on his shirt.

Cock-teasing
him, the bastard
.

Evander could not take his eyes
off him. Off the slow reveal of each inch of smooth skin, its golden-bronze tan
still lingering, the skin satin over the ripple of muscle.

Finally the shirt was
unbuttoned and Benedict loosened it from his trousers, letting it hang over the
smooth tailored fabric. Evander lifted a hand and gestured him closer. Face
immobile, Benedict shifted a step or two forward. Halted.