Simon and the Christmas Spirit (4 page)

Simon hesitated. He’d never been above
the ground floor in the club. He didn’t want to ask directions. In
the dark corridor, he reminded himself he no longer did adventures.
Even Millard had been a friend he’d met through school. He didn’t
need this strange assignment from clownish Christopher Andrews, but
then he recalled Christopher’s laughter that had sounded so
real.

Those strange glittering eyes…a
dangerous immortal. What were those Irish creatures that lured
people to their deaths in swamps using lights? Jack of the bright
light. But will-o’-the-wisps had to be insubstantial, unlike
Christopher Andrews.

Room three was above the library. He
folded his arms as he walked, trying to look as if he wasn’t
nervous, simply a rather bored member taking a walk in the part of
the club most never entered. Laughter rang from one of the rooms.
Room six. They weren’t the only people on this floor. He came to
room three and knocked. “Enter,” a woman’s throaty voice called. He
was about to apologize and turn away, when he realized no women
came to the club. He opened the door. Christopher Andrews had made
himself at home by taking off his jacket and tossing it across the
bed.

“
So kind of you to visit
me,” Christopher cried. He bounced over and shook Simon’s hand.
“Take a seat, please do.”

Simon sat in the stiff-backed chair
next to a marble-topped table that held a lamp and nothing
else.

“
I’m not sure why we
couldn’t have a conversation downstairs,” he observed.

“
Is it conversation we are
here for?”

“
What else could it be?”
Simon wasn’t going to say more than that. He had heard stories
about wealthy gentlemen pulled into traps by men who wanted money,
and if trading favors didn’t get them what they wanted, they were
willing to do whatever it took to fleece their victims, including
blackmail.

Christopher pulled some objects from
his pocket and began to toss them about. It took several seconds
before Simon realized he was juggling. And then the juggling grew
more systematic, the objects gracefully looping through
Christopher’s deft hands. He walked about the room, juggling. “I
wanted to show off for you, and that would be difficult to do
downstairs.”

“
Why?”

“
I expect there’s some
rule against performing in the public rooms except on special
occasions?”

Simon sighed in close to genuine
exasperation. “Why do you want to show off for me?”

Christopher stopped juggling and
caught each object—they appeared to be three walnuts and a pear. He
bowed to an imaginary crowd, then at last seemed to drop all
pretension and play. He gazed at Simon, a small perplexed frown
creasing his forehead.

“
I think it’s because I
don’t know how to speak to an attractive gentleman if he won’t play
cards with me.”

Simon couldn’t believe his
ears. “A
what
sort of gentleman?”

“
One I would like to talk
to. And…maybe…” He shrugged. That must be an act, the awkwardness
he now seemed to take on. He stuffed the objects back into his
pocket and then grinned at Simon. “We might talk, and I could
attempt to keep the showing off at bay, though it is nigh
impossible for me, I warn you. Or, ha, I came here to play. Do you
know any sort of games? Playing and talking and laughing are as
intoxicating as the wine and a good deal less
depressing.”

Simon had already been taken in by a
man who’d wanted him for his money. Funny to think that Millard
would be outraged by the label of prostitute, but Simon had seen
that, of course. He’d never said the words. Simon did not raise a
fuss.

If that happened again with this man,
at least he’d have gotten his money’s worth. And for once, he’d be
honest. Christopher seemed to demand it of him. If Simon were
hauled off to jail, why, it would be his word against
Christopher’s.

“
How much?” he
asked.

“
I beg your
pardon.”

“
How much money do you
want for…for…” He was more brave, but not brave enough to speak of
the deed.

Christopher’s face fell as if Simon
had popped his balloon.

“
I apologize,” Simon said,
“if I have misread the situation. But your brother said that you
require money, and the cards didn’t yield any. And then this…” He
waved a hand. “Upstairs. In a bedroom.” He felt his face redden,
but he refused to remain silent. If Christopher could be
outrageous, he could at least attempt to meet him partway. “I
wanted to be honest, but if you’re insulted, I am sincerely
sorry.”

“
It isn’t my intention to
charge you for anything.” Christopher’s smile didn’t seem real.
“Oh, I’ve been called worse. I have a thick skin. But it does feel
odd to be offered money for that. No one has in the past, you see,
and we have had dire times.” Now his smile seemed real, as if
recalling marvelous occasions instead of a time he would have sold
his body to stay alive.

He cocked his head to the side and
examined Simon. “It’s odd that this situation should be an insult
to me but not to you.”

“
I don’t
understand.”

“
You assume that I
wouldn’t spend time with you without charging you. Seems rather as
if you expect it would only be worth my while to gain profit and
not to simply enjoy your company.”

Simon hardly supposed a creature this
bright needed company. “I suppose the insult comes from using a
person like a money box, for one, and a place to deposit, um,
pleasure.”

Christopher whooped with laughter.
Really, it was the strangest situation Simon had ever encountered.
“Depositing pleasure,” he said and began to laugh again. “Such a
bank,” he explained.

Simon smiled. “Sticky,” he said, and
that sent Christopher off again.

When he could speak, he said, “It’s a
pity this will never work in any kind of routine. I can imagine the
master of ceremonies would call for a player’s removal the moment
he discussed that kind of bank…” He went off into a wheezing fit.
The man was a party, a celebration of life unto himself, and Simon
couldn’t help but be buoyed along on such a wild current. He too
began to chuckle, then laugh until he was whooping breathlessly
along with his unexpected companion.

When was the last time he’d laughed
loudly and freely without concern? Never with Thomas Millard, who’d
cared very much about appearing sophisticated and, now that Simon
thought of it, had been quite vain about his appearance. Millard
would never have let go and laughed like a child about something
entirely silly. But still, Simon had cared for him, and the thought
of the lover who had badly used him sobered him from his
laughter.

Christopher’s laughter also slowed,
though his ever-present smile remained. “What is it? This is a
night for confidences. You know all about me already. I’m a
performer and a man who is perhaps too much entangled with his
family. Tell me about the dark thing that haunts you during this
joyous holiday season.”

“
Haunts?” Simon snorted.
“I’m no Ebenezer Scrooge. I have no ghosts that haunt
me.”

“
But something has
happened to you, and fairly recently, I’ll wager.” Christopher set
the wax fruits and nuts on the marble table, so close to Simon, he
held his breath.

Christopher walked to the bed and
perched on it. He patted the counterpane. “Sit, please, and tell
me.”

Simon rose from the chair but was
afraid to take a step. If he sat on that bed beside this man, it
was tantamount to admitting what they were both here for and that
he trusted Christopher. And despite Christopher’s talk about “just
talk,” Simon knew better.

But the man was too damned appealing
with those sparkling eyes and that too-wide mouth stretched even
farther by a smile. Simon uncrossed his arms and took a seat on the
bed. He still didn’t speak and, what a wonder, neither did
Christopher for a few moments.

“
Tell me,” he murmured
again. “Was your heart broken?”

“
A bit pummeled, but I
shall be fine.” Simon didn’t intend to say more. His affair with
Millard was his—at first to treasure and now to grieve over. But
then words began tumbling out. “I had a lover for a time. I thought
what we did…what we
had
was more than physical, but I was wrong. He lived
off my largesse, and I foolishly offered whatever he wanted to
take.”

“
Ah.” Christopher nodded.
“Giving you good reason to fear every man might desire you for the
same reason.” He rested a hand on Simon’s knee, and the heat of it
burned straight through his woolen trousers. “Trust me. I am not
that sort. I may swindle or fudge the facts on occasion, but never
in matters of the heart. That is the worst sort of confidence
scheme.”

Simon gazed into eyes sharp as razors,
and even though he’d only recently been deceived by a fine actor,
he believed Christopher Andrews spoke the truth.

“
Tonight,” Christopher
continued in a hypnotic purr that soothed Simon even as it aroused
him, “we will enjoy ourselves and each other. This is a season for
celebration. We shall drink deeply of one of the great joys of
life.”

Simon gazed at the sensually moving
lips, then back at the devilish eyes. Mouth. Eyes. His gaze went
back and forth while his body inclined forward almost of its own
accord.

This is not happening.
This is some sort of dream. I am not a man who tumbles so easily
into…
The warm pressure of a stranger’s
mouth against his own stopped Simon’s thoughts dead.

Christopher smelled of cigar smoke
from the cardroom and of something crisp and tangy. Gin, perhaps,
with its infusion of pine. He tasted piney too as his tongue
insinuated itself between Simon’s lips and stroked his. Delicious.
Warm. One kiss made him crave more. And now Christopher’s hands had
gone around his back, pulling him closer. The man gave a rumbling
contented noise that made Simon’s rising cock swell
harder.

A stranger’s body in his arms. A
stranger’s tongue twisting around his. Clever kisses and capable
hands. Was he actually sharing an illicit interlude right above the
stolid, masculine rooms of his club? Below, Jenks continued to
slide into his stupor with his newspaper spread over him and the
card games went on with no one the wiser. That thought made their
groping hands and devouring kisses all the more
exciting.

Simon tugged at Christopher’s jacket
until he shrugged it off. Then he scrabbled at shirt studs with
clumsy fingers until Christopher gently removed his hands and took
off the shirt himself. For a moment, Simon merely stared at the
performer in an undershirt that bared sinewy arms and molded a
muscular chest. With his braces off and his ill-fitting trousers
sagging at the waist, the bulge in his drawers was
visible.

Simon had to see what lay beneath. He
reached out with both hands to open this unexpected Christmas
gift.

Chapter Four

Life with its twists and turns, blind
alleys, and suddenly wide-open boulevards continually shocked
him.

Christopher had had his share of bleak
turns, the loss of his youngest sister, one winter of near
starvation, the breaking of an arm by a past lover and the rather
dreary parting from Bryan, his fire-eater. But then a night like
this would happen, an unexpected left turn into pleasure and
friendship. He’d known Simon Harris for less than an hour but
already liked the man. That sober demeanor hid kindness and warmth,
illustrated by the fact he’d warned Christopher about the cheating
when he needn’t have bothered. And Simon had an impish side he
himself might not be aware of. But Christopher sensed that
playfulness. Like recognized like.

He grazed his lips along Simon’s
smoothly shaven jaw—the man smelled delightfully of bay rum—and
nibbled at his neck above the starched collar.

Simon sighed and held very still for a
moment before pulling away, seeming too eager to move on to the
next part where they were both naked.

Rushing was fine. Christopher would
slow him down later and demonstrate the benefits of taking one’s
time. For right now, bloody Simon was already on his knees, tugging
away at Christopher’s trousers. He lifted his hips so Simon could
pull them off.

Shoes, garters, socks, and undershirt
all went in quick succession. Christopher preened a little at the
expression of wonder on Simon’s face as he stared at Christopher’s
torso. An acrobat’s body was his livelihood, and Christopher
performed more often as a clown than a serious actor. His body was
fit, and it felt nice to be admired.

“
You, my friend, are
overdressed,” he pointed out to the gentleman. “Makes me feel
rather vulnerable to pose before you like this. Shall I take off my
drawers too?” Christopher grinned and winked. He wanted to strip
Simon naked, but at the moment, it was thrilling to have the other
man kneel before him fully clad in his well-tailored
suit.

Christopher lifted his hips again, and
Simon removed his smalls. He sat on the edge of the bed, cock
jutting up from between his legs, balls tingling with excitement,
fingers clutching the coverlet on either side. Simon’s little frown
of concentration was endearing as he faced Christopher’s cock as if
it was a puzzle to be solved. Slowly, he reached to take it in
hand. He stroked the length gently, elegant, manicured fingers
lightly massaging up…then down. Then up again.