Page 24

Chapter 3

Evan barely dozed, as always unable to sleep in a strange place. The castle was drafty, and the wind created a thousand noises that startled him awake again and again, heart pounding.

There’s no one there , he kept reminding himself. You’re safe and alone.

The breathing and self-grounding exercises his therapist had taught him helped to fend off full-blown panic attacks, but they were no match for tonight’s insomnia. It had been months since he’d needed a sedative to sleep, but even if he’d brought one, he wouldn’t take it now for fear of sleeping past breakfast—what could be his last chance to see Ben.

No, it wasn’t his last chance. Evan reached out to the bedside table and picked up Ben’s business card. He held it between his fingertips, caressing the corners and engraving on the elegant linen texture.

“I also believe there’s a whole other story.”

Evan could never tell the world that story. Only his supervisors and psychiatrists knew what had happened in Belfast.

Maybe one day he could tell Ben. Not everything, as that would be illegal. But maybe Ben could learn as much as Evan’s family knew, the vague outline proving he’d not only left Fergus against his own will, but had nearly lost his life in the process.

Firstly, Ben would have to be vetted. The simplest background check could take weeks, and if there were issues…

Would Ben forget Evan in the meantime? Would he be so pissed off at Evan’s delay in contact that he’d refuse to speak to him? By following protocol, was Evan missing the chance to be with the first man he’d connected with since losing Fergus?

It was a risk he would have to take, for the sake of his job. For the sake of the realm.

* * *

Ben lay alone in his titanic bed. He was bone-tired, but a restless energy snapped over his skin like static electricity.

He picked up his phone to check the time—a quarter past six. Clive had mentioned something about coffee, tea, and pastries at six-thirty for those feeling peckish. But at the moment, Ben hungered for much more than croissants.

He brought up his Grindr app, limiting the search radius to the Dunleven Castle estate. He recognized a few faces from the Warriors but had no interest despite their cuteness.

The only Warrior he wanted wasn’t on the hookup app, which didn’t surprise him. Evan seemed too cautious for Grindr—and with a face and body like that, he’d be plagued with nonstop requests.

So Ben brought up a more conventional social network. Aha! Evan Hollister wasn’t a total hermit.

There wasn’t much to see on the public-facing version of Evan’s Facebook profile. He was friends with Duncan and Katie from the Warriors, as well as their manager, Charlotte. His likes included several indie/alternative bands, along with Inverness Caledonian Thistle Football Club. Alas, no TV programs, but nobody was perfect.

The header picture was a Warriors team photo. Evan’s face held a strained look, and his shoulders were slightly turned from his teammates, as though he expected to be shoved out of frame before the shot was taken.

Ben scrolled down to Evan’s feed.

Oh.

The most recent photo, posted on Christmas from Kirkwall, Orkney, was a stark contrast to the header pic. In it, Evan posed with several other men in their mid-twenties, all of them bruised and breathless like him.

The caption read, Mates forever, win or lose (but especially win, like today).

Ben realized this must have been taken after the annual street-rugby/testosterone-fest known as the Kirkwall Ba. He’d seen it only in videos, but it seemed to him like the Running of the Bulls without the bulls.

Evan’s smile was wide and exuberant, despite the smear of blood on his forehead and the rips in the knees of his soaking-wet jeans.

Before he could stop himself, Ben tapped to send a friend request. Then he stared at the photo, wishing he could glimpse this open, unwary man in person.

What would it take—apart from extreme sporting madness like the Ba—for Evan to lower his guard? What could make those ice-blue eyes glaze over in pleasure? What sounds would emanate from that secretive mouth? Maybe Evan was the subdued-orgasm sort, the type of lad who came with nothing more than a sigh and a slightly furrowed brow.

Ben liked to imagine he wasn’t.

His boxer briefs were getting uncomfortably tight, so he slid them off and tossed them onto the floor. When he straightened his legs again, the duvet settled against his bare cock, its silky cover making him groan.

First he mentally inserted Evan into videos of the Kirkwall Ba he’d seen in the past. He imagined Evan’s body pushing against those of dozens of men, straining for the ball and trying to shove the entire crowd up the street toward their target zone or whatever.

But as much as Ben adored a fit body, violent sports had never really done it for him. After getting to know Evan tonight, Ben would put his athletic prowess at the bottom of the list of things that made him irresistible.

So he started over. He imagined Evan arriving at his door right here in the castle, imagined pulling him inside and helping him strip off his clothes, their fingers trembling with need and the chilly air.

They’d hurry into the duvet’s cocoon, still warm from Ben’s body. They’d press chest to chest and wrap limbs round limbs. Their mouths would mesh—perhaps clumsily at first from the force of desire, but soon with assurance, tasting every inch their tongues could reach yet still craving more.

“Ah…” Ben’s cock stiffened now as he stroked it with just his palm. He would press his shaft against Evan’s belly, into the valley between his sculpted abs. Evan would take the hint, would reach down and grasp them both together.

Ben shuddered at the imaginary feel of Evan’s cock against his own. Evan would stroke them slowly, sliding their foreskins up and down, sending ripples of pleasure throughout Ben’s body.

He drew his knees up now, heels digging into the soft mattress. Yes, they would make it last.

* * *

“You’ve got your passport, right?” Fergus asked in the corridor outside Evan’s door.

“Aye, for the thirty millionth time,” replied John. “It’s in my coat pocket.”

It was now half past six. Evan had been this close to falling asleep when his ex and his new husband had left their room. He didn’t know how they were getting to the airport for their honeymoon flight to Spain. Their drive no doubt involved a very intrepid SUV.

They stopped close to Evan’s door. “Prove it,” Fergus said. “Show me.”

“Fine, just to humor you, it’s right…” John paused. “Oh my God, where did I put it? Did I leave it in Glasgow?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Yes! Haha, see? Voilà, monsieur, mon passport! Pretend I said that in Spanish.”

Fergus let out a whoosh of relief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I do know it,” John said with a chortle. “I also know that’s why you love me.”

Evan shoved his pillow over his head to block the sound of kissing and soft murmurs. He never would have played that trick on Fergus, even for a second. He could always sense when Fergus was too tightly wound to be trifled with, and he’d tread carefully in those moments, waiting for the storm of irritability to pass.

But maybe Fergus needed someone who didn’t tread carefully, someone who could un wind him with a reminder not to take life so seriously.

Someone who wouldn’t wait.

Evan lunged out of bed and fumbled his way into his trousers and dress shirt. They were still a bit snow-damp, but he didn’t plan to wear them for long.

* * *

Still lost in fantasy, Ben barely registered the sound of Fergus and John in the corridor outside his door. Their voices soon faded as they descended the stairs across the hall.

He brought his full focus back to the image of Evan here in his bed, their naked bodies pressed together, Evan’s masterful hand gripping both their cocks.

Ben would move down a wee bit, enough to reach around and trace the curve of Evan’s spine to his perfect arse, firm and soft in all the right places. Evan would moan against Ben’s hair, a mixture of oh and please .

Here and now, Ben sucked on the middle finger of his right hand, wetting it thoroughly, just as he would do for Evan. Then he lifted one thigh the way he would lift Evan’s, granting himself access.

He would reach round again, this time parting Evan’s cheeks and approaching his waiting, willing hole.

“Aye,” Evan would whisper, shuddering, as Ben had done just now. Then he’d gasp, eyes widening as Ben touched him there, first with rapid flicks until he opened for him, then inserting just the tip.

“God…” Ben’s grasp on his cock tightened, just as Evan’s would do as Ben probed deeper. Evan’s hips would undulate, driving himself against Ben’s belly and rocking their bodies together in an ever more frantic rhythm.

And Evan would not be silent, not at all. The entire castle would know what Ben was doing to him. What they were doing to each other.

When Evan grew delirious and his strokes ragged, Ben would turn him onto his belly. He’d peel back the covers, neither of them feeling the cold, then retrieve the lube and condoms. Finally he’d kiss his way down Evan’s back, quickly, no longer teasing, until his mouth reached its destination.

Evan would writhe under him as Ben explored him first with tongue, then fingers—more deeply now, slicked by the lube. But when Ben brought the head of his cock between those luscious cheeks, Evan would go still.

“Yes,” he’d whisper, and then?—

Ben froze. Was there someone outside his door?

He tried to hold his breath, but with him so close to orgasm, his lungs protested. He rolled onto his side, pursing his lips to slow his breathing without passing out.

No shadow appeared beneath his door, so perhaps whoever it was had already passed by. He hoped he’d not been making too much noise. It was hard to tell over the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

There it was again—the sound of shifting fabric, someone moving without walking. Were they just standing there? Why? Perhaps it was one of the staff, who’d happened to stop at that spot to…check their phone or something.

Ben considered getting up to find out, but he couldn’t open the door in his current state. Even if he could somehow hide his erection, he was pretty sure that apart from his boxers, his clothes weren’t yet dry.

So he just lay there, prick in hand, listening. Waiting.

* * *

I can’t , Evan thought as he sat outside Ben’s door, his back pressed to the wall. I can’t do this.

He was desperate for another touch of Ben’s hand, another glimpse of those bow-shaped lips and laughing eyes.

All he had to do was knock.

Ben would open the door and let him in, would probably kiss him and take him to bed straight away, no questions asked. Ben would make him forget.

And then what? asked the reality-based voice inside him.

Evan knew the answer: He wouldn’t be able to contact Ben again until the MI5 vetting process was completed. How much worse would that delay feel after they’d hooked up? Ben would be angry and hurt, and he’d have every right to be.

So there were two choices:

1) Have a one-night stand and hope his supervisors never found out.

2) Wait, have Ben vetted, and if his background check was clean, invite him to dinner and give him the best first date he’d ever had. Then maybe someday, Evan could tell him everything allowed by law: that he was no architect, but rather a member of Her Majesty’s Security Service. If Ben didn’t hate him for what he was, they could have something real.

It should have been an easy choice. But Evan was so lonely, and Ben’s arms and mouth and body were so close…

* * *

Ben didn’t know Evan well, but he already recognized the sound of his sigh.

Remembering the complimentary Dunleven dressing gown, Ben flipped back the covers and carefully descended the bed-staircase. His bottom lip was swollen, nearly numb where he’d been biting it the last fifteen minutes.

He found the soft flannel dressing gown on the settee. He quickly slid it on, tied the belt, then went to the door and put his ear to the carved-wood surface.

On the other side was silence.

Softly he turned the knob and opened the door without a creak.

Evan was descending the grand staircase, his back to Ben. The smell of coffee wafted up from the Hall of the House below. Ben opened his mouth to call out, but something about the determined set of Evan’s posture stopped him.

Ben shut the door without a sound. Instead of returning to bed, he went to the window and drew back the heavy curtain. For what seemed the ninetieth time that night, he gasped in awe at the sight before him.

The snow had stopped and the clouds had cleared, revealing a carpet of stars. The city of Perth shimmered on the horizon to the north.

The land always hunkered down during these darkest days, but at least now it had the snow to shield it from the scathing Scottish winds. With this gift of a swaddling blanket, it could simply rest and renew itself.

Ben sensed a brokenness in Evan, one that couldn’t be mended without a kind companion but not solely with one either. If Evan needed time to sort himself, Ben would give it to him. He would have faith in the connection they’d forged tonight.

Perhaps soon they’d have an actual date, then another and another. Perhaps they’d kiss in the park under spring rain and whisper secrets across pillows in the middle of the night, two things Ben hadn’t done in…God, how long had it been since he’d trusted someone enough to open his heart?

Perhaps it was time for a change. Time for some courage.

If not now, when? There was more hope in the air than ever in his lifetime. As of six hours ago, every person in Scotland was finally free to marry the one they loved. If only Ben could grant himself the freedom to take a chance.

He pressed his nose to the cold window and let his breath form a circle of warmth. Yes…for Evan, he would try to be brave.

For in this new year, anything was possible.