Dirty Angel-BarbaraElsborg (9 page)

Des harrumphed as Brody led Aden out of the barn.

“Are you okay?” Brody asked. “I didn’t imagine you sliding up the windscreen and over the roof of my car?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. No, you didn’t imagine it. I’m sorry about disappearing on you, but I asked you not to call the police.”

A light bulb pinged in Brody’s head. “Were they already looking for you?”

“Not that I know of. It’s just that they’d have asked questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.”

“Such as?” Brody turned the corner and led the way to his cottage.

“My name. Where I live. What I do.”

He glanced at Aden, anxiety twisting his gut. “They don’t sound like the sort of questions you’d have a problem answering if the police weren’t looking for you.”

“I have to stay under the radar for a month. It’s a…sort of contest. I’m not allowed access to my money. Nor my home. No phone. No contacting friends. I have to survive on my wits, and obviously on my horse-whispering skills.”

Brody frowned. “A contest?”

“Well, more of a challenge.”

Brody wasn’t sure he bought that. “How can you take a month off work?”

“I’m between jobs. This has been organized by the company I’d like to work for. It’s a recruitment exercise.”

That made sense, but… “In the middle of winter?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t think to wear something more practical? A waterproof jacket? Sturdy boots?”

“Had to be done in the clothes I was wearing once I received the instruction. I can’t say any more about it. Classified.”

Was that a hint this was something to do with the secret service? Or an excuse he thought Brody might accept? Brody wanted to believe him, but…

“Where’s the blood come from?” Brody pushed down on the handle of his door.

“You don’t lock your door? Damn. Did I spent last night with a horse when I could have climbed into bed with you?”

Brody chuckled. That sort of answered one question though Aden had ignored the other.

“This is a nice place.” Aden didn’t move from just inside the door. “Maybe breakfast isn’t a good idea.”

Brody turned. “Why not?” Didn’t Aden feel it too? There was something between them. It wasn’t Brody’s imagination.

“I’m going to make a mess. I’m covered in mud and my coat’s dripping.”

Take your clothes off then.
Fortunately that wasn’t what came out of his mouth. Then again, maybe it should have.

“Take your boots off. There’s underfloor heating. I can hang your coat in the utility room near the boiler.”

Aden stayed by the door and although he’d removed his boots, he’d made no move to take off his coat.

“Would you like a shower? I can find you something to wear. Maybe stick your stuff in the washing machine.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Aden’s eyes widened and Brody fell a little further into lust. Dark blue eyes, the longest, darkest eyelashes he’d ever seen on a guy, and sharp cheekbones. But it wasn’t just his looks that attracted, there was something about him that had Brody intrigued, something he wasn’t getting.

“Why not?” Brody asked.

“Inviting a stranger into your home, allowing him to take a shower, offering to wash his clothes, feed him? How many people would do that?”

“You’re not a complete stranger.” Plus he was the best looking guy Brody had seen for a long time, the first guy since Peter who really interested him.

Aden shrugged. “That’s true, but even so…”

“Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“No.”

“I ran you over. I think it’s the least I can do.”

“Apart from defrost a steak and double cook the chips. I’d say triple but not sure I can wait that long.”

Brody laughed and the sound surprised him. He led Aden to the shower, the guy still wearing his coat, and pulled a clean towel out of the airing cupboard.

“You need me to take a look at your back? Did you injure it last night?”

“No, it’s fine thanks.”

“The blood on your face… You cut your head?”

“I’m okay.”

Brody thought he was lying, but he could hardly wrestle him to the ground to take a look. “There’s a pack of razors in the cabinet and a spare toothbrush. I’ll leave some clothes outside the door. Put yours out when you’re ready and I’ll see to them.”

“Thank you.”

Brody went back to the kitchen, hesitated, then pulled steak out of the freezer and set the microwave to defrost it. He had a couple of potatoes he’d been going to bake but he peeled them instead. He hadn’t made chips for a long time. Maybe this was the new start he needed.

Aden stared at the bathroom door after Brody left, then locked it. The bathroom was spotless—and warm. Polished tiles, a gleaming glass shower and a deep bath. Aden’s bathroom… Yeah, well he didn’t have one anymore, did he? He rented bedsits, moved when he couldn’t pay the rent—which happened a lot—and when he didn’t pay
this
month’s rent, his stuff would be thrown out and someone else would move in. They were welcome to the tiny bathroom and the lumpy bed.

He hadn’t made a will. There was virtually nothing to leave: an acoustic guitar he’d stolen, a few books—also stolen, bedding, clothes and shoes, pieces of kitchen equipment. Nothing anyone would want even if there’d been someone to leave it to. He’d disappear from people’s lives and maybe a few friends would wonder where he’d gone before they eventually forgot him.
Going to get out the violins?

But Aden
did
feel disappointment he wouldn’t be missed. It made him think about what he’d done with his life—which was not a lot. Though it wasn’t as if he’d ever been going to leave his mark by doing something amazing like inventing a cold fusion reactor or an easy and cheap way to store electricity. Since he hadn’t done anything worthwhile so far, why would that change inside a month?

Which raised the question of how Raphael and Dante would ensure his body wasn’t found for four weeks. Someone would miss him, though he’d gone to the concert alone and come to think of it, hadn’t told anyone he was going. Well, maybe that was the trick. He wasn’t linked to the concert so he could be found anywhere. Or maybe Raphael and Dante had taken a big risk in letting him come back. There were a lot of maybes.

He opened the bathroom cabinet and took out the razor, shaving foam, toothbrush and paste—all new. No wonder the bathroom looked clean. Brody used a different one. Aden cleaned his teeth. Considering the crap he’d eaten for much of his life, he was lucky he had good teeth. Visits to a dentist were few and far between. He’d once fucked a guy in exchange for a scale and polish.

For a long moment, Aden considered whether there might be a chance he could stay here forever, not necessarily on this farm with a kind-hearted guy, but just in the world, at least until he died properly—age ninety-nine—peacefully in his bed having had a stupendous fuck.

Wishful thinking. All he had was a month. Thirty days—well twenty-nine now—where he had to be good and learn what love was all about. Or maybe he could be as bad as he wanted. His mind slid to the dark-haired guy with sad grey eyes who’d brought him into his home. Being bad with him sounded good.

Aden had never had any interest in love. No real interest in being a nice guy.
So why not be bad? It’s more fun.
The argument restarted in his head and he tried to turn off the voices. He’d done a load of good things already, hadn’t he? Returned that woman’s purse? Asked for food and not stolen it? Fed the dog? Picked up litter? Helped that horse? It had made him happy and the horse happy. It was a start.

He’d had to lie. That didn’t count against him when he could hardly tell the truth. The idea of a recruitment exercise was a pretty good one. Except he didn’t much look like a guy any intelligence agency would have an interest in. If telling that lie
didn’t
count against him, fucking Brody to get a roof over his head would. Though Aden wanted him, imagined Brody writhing beneath him, begging him to fuck him harder, and he exhaled shakily.

Once he’d stripped, he stared at his bloodstained shirt. He couldn’t let Brody see that. He wrapped it into as tight a ball as he could. It could go in a bin later. He opened the door and picked up the clothes left there and put his coat, muddy jeans and black briefs outside. They were probably bloodstained too but the blood wasn’t obvious.

The bathroom mirror was a full length one and now Aden was naked, it drew him like a magnet. He stepped in front of it and stared at his reflection. Not actually what he wanted to look at, but he was building up to checking out his back.

He looked a mess. Hair stuck to his head. Blood on his face. Blood on his legs. Particularly the one he’d had to straighten after he’d been knocked down. If the bone had come through the skin, there was no sign of it now.

A lot of people thought he was good-looking. He’d been told often enough except never by those he’d wanted to hear it from. In his experience, telling him he was cute or stunning or fucking gorgeous had too often been followed by an invitation to sit on a guy’s knee or unzip a pair of trousers or take a cock in his mouth.

Aden had been put into care after his parents had died. What a misnomer that was. No one cared. Not even the guys who abused him. All they were bothered about was him keeping quiet about what they did to him. When Aden had his voice back and tried to speak out, no one believed him and he paid for his treachery with pain. It was a quick lesson that cooperation hurt less than rebellion. He did as he was told while inside he seethed. Eventually, he learned that
not
caring kept his head safe, his body less bruised. They touched but never really touched him. Using his looks to get what he needed became a habit, one he might have to continue even now.

Except Raphael wasn’t going to be fooled by anything less than the real thing. A month to fall in love when he’d managed twenty-seven years without it?

He tried to smile as he stared in the mirror. He looked unhealthy, though not dead. That brought a quiet chuckle to his lips. He had bits of straw in his still damp hair, he smelled of horse, and needed a shave. His eyes seemed darker than usual, his face paler. He was a bit skinny—years of too many drugs, too much alcohol, and irregular meals. He’d never let himself get addicted to either dope or booze. Or to sex, though he never went long without that. But he was always careful. No fucking without protection. Ever. No getting involved. Not that he’d ever been tempted.

He rubbed foam on his face, and started to shave.

Maybe he was lucky his willpower was strong enough to enable him to resist going too far with anything he wasn’t really into. The rigid control he’d had to adopt as a kid had been ingrained in his psyche. An unexpected by-product of a deprived, abusive childhood. He’d never had a problem stopping anything once he’d set his mind to it, had never been persuaded to have another drink when he didn’t want one, snort another line of coke when he knew he’d had enough.

Dante had said Aden didn’t know the meaning of temperance. He was wrong. It was just that at times, Aden chose to push his limits, chose oblivion. He had no problem getting what he wanted by any means at his disposal. He was a manipulative bastard and now he had a month to prove he could be something different when that was all he knew.

Impossible.

No it fucking isn’t.

He put down the razor, and taking a deep breath, he turned so his back was to the mirror. He looked over his shoulder to see his back was covered in dried blood. There were two areas of jagged, red and white scarring around his shoulder blades and maybe signs he’d done further damage when he hit the road.

The scarring was worse on the left than the right.
That wanker Dante.
Though Aden had expected his back to look a lot worse—rawer, considering the amount of blood on his shirt. His leg had healed abnormally fast so why were these marks still there? Maybe they’d stay as a reminder like the feathers.
Shit.
They’d be back in his pocket for Brody to find, though not as if he’d know what they meant.

Aden’s arse was covered in bruises and splodges of dried blood. If it wasn’t for the fact that his worst injuries obviously predated his collision with Brody’s car, he might have played the guilt card and let Brody see.

The shower was a delight but painful when the spray pounded his head and his sore back. He wished Brody was in there with him and his cock filled as he thought about taking Brody’s hand at the bathroom door, pulling him inside, undressing him, showering with him, persuading him to his knees to give him a blowjob. His usual MO, but these weren’t ordinary times. He wrapped his hand around his cock and took care of things himself, though it was Brody in his head as come spurted over the tiles and the ache remained in his gut when he’d done.

By the time Aden had dried off and dressed, he’d concocted a plan. What was the point wandering off again with no money and no destination in mind when this was the perfect opportunity to be the good guy he needed to be? He could try and make Brody think he was worth loving. It was a long shot, but faced with setting off into the cold unknown or persuading Brody to let him stay for a while, the choice was a no brainer. He’d offer to help on the farm, though he knew fuck all about animals or farming, but he could shovel shit with the best of them, and, it appeared, get on with belligerent horses.

He emerged from the bathroom barefoot wearing Brody’s soft gray jeans that hung low and loose on his hips, and a black T-shirt that felt new. His own shirt was balled in his fist. Music was playing quietly, jazzy blues, and he followed the sound to a kitchen where Brody stood with his back to him working at the counter.
Nice arse.
Small and tight. Long legs. Perfect. Aden’s cock perked up.
Down boy.

Aden cleared his throat. “I was joking about the steak and chips.” Though he hadn’t been.

Brody spun round. “You’d better eat them now I’ve gone to all this trouble.” He looked Aden up and down. “They fit okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Aden had even found two feathers in the pocket of the jeans.

“So what’s your plan?” Brody asked.