The Dickens with Love (15 page)

Nicky locked the door and removed his own coat. “It is Boxing Day, after all. Simmons has the

evening off, as do almost all of the servants. Surely you would not deprive the man of his well-earned holiday.”

“It is not Boxing Day for another hour,” Ian asserted as the solemn toll of the chapel bell made him a liar. He flung his torn coat to the floor.

Nicky’s cravat parted company with his shirt, revealing a neck still defined with the strong tendons

Ian had once traced with his tongue. Quelling thoughts of other flesh his mouth longed to revisit grew more impossible with each piece of clothing Nicky dropped onto the Aubusson rug.

“What are you doing?”

“I am preparing for bed. That bed.” Nicky indicated the four-poster in the center of the room.

“Is the castle so crowded the son of the house has been turned out of his rooms?”

“If it pleases you to think so.” Nicky straightened, torso bared to Ian’s gaze.

Firelight gilded Nicky’s skin, gleaming on the fine hairs of his breast, drawing Ian’s eye to the waist of Nicky’s breeches where the hair thickened and darkened. The garnet on his signet ring flashed as

Nicky’s hands moved to those buttons.

Ian shut his eyes. “No.”

“No?” The amusement in Nicky’s voice had Ian looking again, forgetting what imminent danger had

prompted his action. But Nicky only bent to remove his shoes and stockings, gifting Ian with the sight of the firm curve of his backside under the tight kerseymere breeches.

Nicky brought his hands to rest above his hips, fingers disappearing under the waistband. “Is it truly no or is that what the good soldier, the dutiful second son, feels compelled to say?”

Ian’s throat burned as it tightened, but he could not look away.

“Whom do you seek to save with your denial, me or you?” Nicky persisted. He stepped closer, but

made no move to touch Ian. “Why are we to be denied pleasure when you must know how precious and

brief life is?”

“The risk of—”

“You threw yourself against a wall of French rifles in service to your father’s idea of honor. Can you not permit yourself something your own honor knows is right? How can it be wrong when we both desire

it?” Nicky shoved his breeches down and stepped free, the proof of his desire standing proud and hard.

As swiftly as snow falling off a steep roof, Ian’s body dropped into a pit of raw need. He made a last effort to find any handhold which might keep him from the abyss.

“I do want…”
you
“…this, but only what we did before. We cannot, I will not…” He tried making a gesture to communicate the specific deed.

“Bugger me?” Nicky grinned. “Fuck me?”

Despite Ian’s shock, the coarseness of Nicky’s words brought a faster beat of blood to Ian’s prick.

That unabated grin suggested Nicky knew damned well what effect he had wrought. His next step brought

Nicky close enough to try the truth with his hand. Fingers traced the outline of Ian’s prick beneath a layer of wool and linen, a light pressure that offered nothing beyond exquisite torment. A quick hard rub against the crown, dragging the linen across the damp skin until heat pulsed from the tip, the touch as unerringly accurate as Ian’s own.

Pleasure stole his breath as surely as a fist to the stomach. Sucking the air through his teeth, he

reached a hand to Nicky’s shoulder, hips tipping into the caress.

Nicky leaned forward until his breath moved against Ian’s ear. “While I find your concern utterly

charming, what makes you believe you could take my arse if I didn’t allow it?”

Ignoring the wail of protest from his prick and balls, Ian transferred his grasp to Nicky’s wrist to still the motion of his palm. “I am well aware that many now consider me less a man, but with all your

protestations, I would have thought—”

Nicky laughed. “Christ, Ian, try not to be more of an ass than the good Lord intended you to be. You

couldn’t best me even when you had four inches and two-stone advantage.”

“I’ve never had two stones on you, you country-fed beast.” The retort came unbidden to his lips, their long habit of verbal sparring impossible to amend.

“By God, how I’ve missed you.” Nicky chuckled and yanked Ian’s cravat free.

Ian felt his own lips curve in answer. There had always been so much laughter between them. For

years, that absence cut as keenly as the loss of Nicky’s touch.

Shoving away bolster and counterpane, Nicky flung himself onto the bed. “Now. Kindly divest

yourself of those clothes and get up here before I am forced to seek other amusements.”

Nicky arranged himself in a gloriously naked display, familiar laugh and cornflower-blue eyes at odds

with the strangeness of a body more heavily muscled, more thickly pelted, but no less enthralling than the one that had filled Ian’s dreams as he slept in tents on the edges of battlefields. Longing clawed deeper hollows than all those years of denial, until again Ian was deprived of sufficient breath.

Such was the assault wrought on his senses by Nicky’s sprawl across the mattress that Ian had

stripped away waistcoat and shirt and unfastened his breeches before Nicky’s last words attached

themselves to a meaning. The haze of lust clouding Ian’s mind took on a red veil of anger.

“Other amusements?”

Nicky sighed and leaned forward, taking Ian by the arm. “I swear to provide you with a detailed

history of the past five years in writing and affix the bloody Carleigh seal to my testimony. But if I don’t have you right now, one of us will end up dead.”

Nicky pulled him with a force too gentle to be compelling, but it was easier by far to let Nicky drag

Ian onto the bed than to make the decision himself.

Nicky rolled, trapping Ian beneath, the press of hard warm skin such a shock Ian had to close his eyes against the sensation. When he opened them, there was Nicky, the achingly familiar blue eyes and full lips all Ian could hope of heaven“Which of us?”

“Does it matter?” Nicky rocked against him.

Ian thought again of Aristophanes and Phaedrus and their tales of separated lovers. Of Achilles’

terrible grief for Patroclus. “No.”

Nicky kissed the word from his mouth in a gentle press of lips, but Ian brought his hand up to tangle

at last in those curls and pinned Nicky tight, an upward thrust of hips to feel the harder, wetter kiss of Nicky’s cock on Ian’s belly.

Nicky wrenched free and reared up, hands working to finish his duty as substitute valet, shoving away

Ian’s breeches and small clothes until at last their pricks slapped together. Ian thought he had exorcised it from his memory, but there was no forgetting that sensation, the silky heat of Nicky’s cock against his.

Adding his spit to slick the way, Nicky held them together, rubbing the thick ridges against each

other, washing the whole shaft with heat and pressure. Sweet enough to die from but not enough. God, not enough.

A temporary arrangement? Don't bet the ranch on it…

His Convenient Husband

© 2009 J.L. Langley

Innamorati, Book 1

At the tender age of seven, newly orphaned Micah Jiminez lost everything—and got lucky. The

Delaney family opened their hearts and their home, treated him like one of their own. One Delaney in

particular, though, became more than a brother to Micah. The handsome and protective Tucker is the man to whom he wants to give his love.

But after a single passionate night together, Tucker rebuffs him and hightails it to Dallas to pursue his dreams. Leaving Micah to pick up the pieces of his broken heart—and feeling like a fool.

The impending death of the Delaney patriarch brings an unsavory relative out of the woodwork,

threatening Micah’s beloved adopted family. They’re going to need all hands in the fight to keep The Bar D

from being pulled out from under them all—including Tucker. Micah steels himself to convince the man he can’t forget to come home.

To his everlasting surprise, it’s Tucker who comes up with the perfect solution: a marriage of

convenience—to Micah. His gut tells him Tucker’s motivation involves nothing more than saving the

ranch. Now he just has to convince his fragile heart.

This title has been revised and expanded by more than 10,000 words from its original published

version.

Warning: This book contains threatening emails, imaginary sex, excessive use of antacids, non-

homophobic cowboys, a bed being misused as a trampoline, male bonding during a gynecological

examination of a pregnant mare, steamy manlove and a very hot-tempered Latino.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
His Convenient Husband:

“Okay, okay…” Tucker held his hands out in surrender. “Make noise.” Pushing himself up off the

bed, Tucker locked the door and checked it by turning the handle. “I’m going to take a shower, but I’m not done discussing this.”

More like he wasn’t done trying to boss Micah around.
Wait.
Did he say—?
Ah,
dios mio
.
Micah closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Tucker in the shower, naked, dripping wet, right in the next room—

“What? Make noise?”

“Moan and grunt.” Tucker crossed the room and pulled the curtains, before going into the adjoining

bathroom.

“Ugh.” Trying to get his heart to slow, Micah sat on the bed. What was Tucker doing?

“Micah…”

Micah opened his mouth to ask why, then snapped it shut. Why not just turn on the radio? Did Tucker

really think Duncan was listening to them? Micah glanced at the door. There wasn’t that much space under the door, probably less than an inch. It was doubtful anyone was standing outside it. Micah went to the door, lay in front of it and looked under. His glasses shifted when the frames touched the floor but he could still see through them. It didn’t look like anyone was there.

“What are you doing?” Tucker kept his voice low and leaned against the bathroom threshold, a smirk

on his handsome face.

“What’re
you
doing?” Micah got to his feet.

“Looking for shaving cream. Why aren’t you making noise?”

“Ugh!” Micah stomped his feet in place a few times.

Tucker rolled his eyes. “You sound like a dying cow.”

“I don’t think anyone is out there listening,” Micah whispered back, walking closer to Tucker. “The

shaving cream is in the cabinet to the left of the sink.”

“Thanks.” Grinning, Tucker dragged a hand over his face and through his short, dark blond hair, and

turned back toward the bathroom. “Try to sound like you’re having sex. Duncan’s in the room across the hall.”

“Oh.”
Oh!
Micah rolled his eyes at himself.
Dork.
Shaking his head, he went back to the iron-framed bed. He sat on the edge and bounced a little. The bed protested nicely. This could be fun. He pulled off his shoes and tossed them away. Bouncing again, he let out a long, ragged moan. Just like old times, he wondered why he let Tucker talk him into these kinds of things.
Oh yeah, ’cause you’re in love with him
and would do anything for him.
Micah was really gonna have to stop that. He groaned, but it added to the sex noise.

“Oh Lord. Don’t overdo it. You just got out of the hospital, remember?” Tucker disappeared back into

the bathroom.

Of course he remembered. Tucker wouldn’t let him freaking forget. “Oh, oh yeah. Mmm…” Crawling

onto the bed, Micah hopped on his knees a little. The bed squeaked. “Oh yeah, baby.”
Take that, Duncan.

¡You
pendejo
!

The water turned on in the bathroom and Micah grunted, trying to cover the sound. He climbed to his

feet and wobbled on the soft mattress. Bending his knees, he made the bed squeak again. Would the bed hold him if he actually jumped? He’d always wanted to jump on a bed. His mom would have killed him

when he was a child. Jostling the bed, he glanced around the room. The floor was wood. If he jumped, would the bed be too loud? “Oh yes, yes, yes.” He moaned for effect. He really, really wanted to jump.

“
Micah
,” his mother’s voice admonished in his head. He could almost see her shaking her finger at him.

Fuck it.
Micah’s feet left the mattress and the headboard
thunked
against the wall. “Oh yeah, baby, take it.” His glasses slid down his nose and he had to push them back up. This was fun. He’d wanted some fun back in his relationship with Tucker, but what an odd way to get it. Micah stifled a chuckle.

The water shut off.

“Oh yeah, take that cock.”

Tucker appeared in the doorway with half his face covered in shaving cream and his mouth hanging

open. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

Holding his glasses with one hand, Micah jumped and lifted his legs, coming down on his butt.
Clunk,
clunk, screech.
The bed walked back and forth on the wood. “Oh yeah, baby!” He hopped back up, grinning from ear to ear. “You said to act like I was having sex,” he whispered. Dipping his knees a few times, he made the springs bounce. Chuckling, he hopped in a circle. “You like that, baby?”

“Micah,” Tucker snapped out.

“What? You said—”

“I top. Stop with the ‘take it’ stuff. And quit jumping on the bed before you hurt yourself.”

What?
“
Dios mio.
”
Micah froze mid-bounce. When he came down, his teeth slammed together.
Ow.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re irritated because I’m pretending to top?”

“I always top.” Tucker crossed his arms and leaned against the door, staring at him incredulously.

Despite Micah’s resolve to get over his infatuation, the little giddy feeling started up again. The stark reminder of their one time together came crashing back. It had been good before Tucker had run out on him while he slept. There was just something about having a nice hard cock up—