The Accidental Mistress (28 page)

‘I suppose not, but still.’ He paused and she sensed a hint of a less secure John. ‘I know you’ve got some issues with me … but we can see each other when I get back, eh? Maybe you could nip over to Dalethwaite? We could eat together if I’m not too late. Thrash out a few things.’ She imagined him grinning now. Her mind had gone
that
way too. ‘And maybe you could stay over? As an experiment … Just to see how you like it?’

‘You’re trying to get round me, aren’t you?’

He was doing a good job of it too. In spite of all her objections and misgivings, the idea of trying a night at Dalethwaite Manor
was
enticing.

‘OK, but it’s just the one night, you hear me? We still have to deal with stuff … I’ll get a cab and I’ll see you whenever. Are you still meeting your brother first?’

‘No, we’ve agreed to take a rain check. Had a bit of a powwow on the phone instead.’ His voice went quiet, almost solemn. ‘But you and I will have our discussion. It’s important to me that you’re happy. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes … I do.’ Suddenly she felt tired. Did she really want to get into a taxi tonight?

Yes, she did.

‘OK, then, sweetheart, I’ll see you as soon as I can. Get your gorgeous arse into gear and pack an overnight bag. I’ll let Thursgood know, and he’ll be over to collect you, in … say … about half an hour. Have you eaten? Mrs Thursgood’s a wonderful cook – she can rustle up just about anything you fancy if you’re too hungry to wait for me.’

‘
Thursgoods
? Who are these Thursgoods?’

‘My butler and my housekeeper, a man and wife team of irreplaceable treasures. You didn’t think I was going to mop the floors and leave notes out for the milkman myself, did you? It’s a big house. It needs staff.’ He did laugh now. Oh, he could be bloody insufferable!

There was a silence, a heavy one. Across the airwaves, she could feel him shifting gears, moving from teasing and arch, to serious. Honest.

‘Lizzie, don’t worry. I know there’s a lot to think about … but you and me, it’s not all about sex. You know that, don’t you? Not all about control.’ His voice was so quiet, so intense. ‘I love fucking you and I love the games we play …
But it’s
being
with you that matters most of all, just believe that.’

She
did
believe it. She
wanted
to believe it. But could he change the habits of a lifetime? Really? Even if he tried …

And as they said their goodbyes, and she rang off, she
made
herself set her qualms aside for the moment. Brooding over them would get her nowhere. Better to wait and discuss things rationally with John, work them out.

But still the worms of disquiet wiggled and gnawed at her.

When it had just been fun, just ‘temporary sex friends’ as she’d described them, this stuff hadn’t mattered, not his controlling nature, not the women of his past, none of it. But now they were serious, it was a whole new ball game, and a future coloured by the past. John’s past …

Hurry home, my love. When you’re close, it’ll be so much easier to deal with. You make me strong.

Although the conversation with Sholto Kraft hadn’t been entirely pleasant, Brent was satisfied that he’d got his point across. The man was prickly, but basically honest and straightforward, and if Shelley was going to go with an escort, Brent would rather it was someone like Kraft than some sketchy independent or a chancer from some dubious agency he had no knowledge of.

So, on the face of it, Shelley was safe with the guy. That should have been it, but still Brent’s instincts had sounded an alarm. Sholto Kraft did seem genuinely to like Shelley, and that could lead to a whole new can of complications down the line. Business sex and affection sex just shouldn’t mix, which was why he’d been so worried about Lizzie and her adventures. Although that seemed to be working out well enough, as far as he could see.

I’d better still keep an eye on both of them.

Having done the best he could tonight, Brent decided he deserved a real drink now, even if the prices here at the Waverley were a bit steep, compared to their local, around the corner from St Patrick’s Road.

Over whisky and soda, he scanned the Lawns Bar. He hadn’t really taken any notice of his fellow patrons earlier, with his focus on getting some answers from Sholto Kraft, but now, his thought from a few days ago resurfaced. Lizzie wasn’t the only one who could have an adventure, here at the notorious Waverley Grange. Pity the odds were so long that he might find a handsome,
gay
billionaire in the hotel tonight, but you never knew. Just a fairly fit guy, who could also hold a decent conversation, would be nice. It had been so long since Brent had been out there – for himself rather than on an appointment – that a frisson of nerves prickled the back of his neck, like the ice from his whisky melting down his spine.

Would he still know
how
to play the game, to do the dance? And even if he could score, did he even
want
it to go any further than just a simple chat-up in a bar?

But he wouldn’t know if he didn’t try. And he couldn’t try if he didn’t scope out the potential!

There were plenty of nice-looking men in the Lawns. Even the barman who’d now replaced Sholto Kraft was pretty tasty. But Brent couldn’t see any men who he thought would fancy
him
. Most of the guys were with women, or clearly waiting for women, or waiting for the opportunity to meet a woman.

Strike out. Zilch. But … Good God! Wait a minute …

A few stools down at the bar sat a man Brent recognised. More than recognised. It was a man he’d met in a club several years ago. A man he’d had a night with, in a hotel … and who’d most definitely fancied him back then.

Don’t stare, idiot. He might not remember you, or he might not
want
to remember an insignificant one-night stand.

Shame, though, because the man at the bar was gorgeous.
Just Brent’s type, both then and tonight. Older than himself, mid-thirties now, probably. He’d been friendly yet refined that night, but clearly out for some fun, and comfortable with a slightly younger man. Brent had sensed that the man at the bar didn’t do one-nighters all that often, but still found him irresistibly confident and sexy … with a great body and a fantastic, good-sized cock.

What the hell was his name? They’d never even exchanged surnames … but what was his first name? Something short, no nonsense.

Tom! Your name’s Tom.

As if he’d heard his own name, the man turned and their eyes met. Adrenaline surged, fired by the sight of a smile that Brent realised he’d never forgotten. It was open, a bit playful, but intelligent. The man, Tom, cocked his head on one side, and Brent’s excitement flared. God, he was glad the guy hadn’t changed his look in the interim. Still the same great hair, wildish brown curls, a little on the long side, deliciously Bohemian.

Psyching himself up, he slid off his stool, and some god or goddess must have smiled on him, because the stool next to Tom was suddenly vacated when the man who’d been sitting there strode off across the room.

‘Tom, isn’t it?’ Brent said as he slid on to the empty seat. ‘I don’t suppose you remember me, but we met at Sylvestros … must be three, four years ago.’

The smile that had turned him to jelly back then widened, and he discovered that it still had that star quality, making him feel ridiculous and fluttery.

‘Brent. Yes, of course I remember you. What’s a nice boy like you doing in a rum old place like this?’ He looked around, his blue eyes gleaming. ‘It’s a tad recherché, but I
rather like it, don’t you?’ He nodded to Brent’s glass, and the bare mouthful of whisky and soda that remained in it. ‘Another of those?’

‘Yes, thanks. That’d be great.’ He’d had a few drinks when they’d met last time, a bit more than his usual limit, but he hadn’t been wasted. Just sufficiently cheerful to be up for an adventure … and here was that very same adventure, newly returned to him.

As Tom ordered more drinks, Brent scrutinised him. The passage of years had seasoned the man, and made him more desirable than ever, if anything. He had a lean and whippy look about him, and an air of athletic strength. His face was more tanned, as if he’d been spending time outdoors. And there was something else. Something Brent couldn’t quantify; a kind of familiarity that went beyond his own memories of that one-night stand, an overlay that seemed to refer to a different kind of recognition completely.

‘Do you live round here?’ asked Tom when their whiskies were settled before them. ‘This isn’t your local, is it?’

‘Not really, although I don’t live all that far away.’ Shit, did that sound as if he was already propositioning? ‘I was here to meet someone, a guy I know slightly.’

Was that disappointment he saw in Tom’s face? Oh God, quick … he had to put that right.

‘Not a date or anything,’ he went on swiftly, ‘just a guy who’s seeing a friend of mine. I’m a bit worried about her, and I wanted to sound him out and make sure he was on the level. Sort of a concerned brother/uncle type thing, although she’s not a relation, just a house-mate.’

God, he must think I’m a complete twerp.

‘And is the guy on the level?’ Tom sounded interested, almost intrigued.

‘Well, yes, I think so, but it’s all a bit torrid and complicated. He’s an escort, and she’s paying him for sex, but I think they actually really like each other too, and I know how bloody difficult that can get.’

Tom’s brows shot up.

‘Well, yeah, I’ve done some escorting myself, so I’d know.’ There, he’d put that out … he wasn’t sure why. It was risky. Especially when he knew, deep in his gut, that he really, really wanted to go to bed with Tom again, even after all this time, and after only a moment or two’s conversation.

‘Really? Hmm … that’s interesting. Do you go with women or with men? I’d imagine you’re much in demand with either sex.’

‘I’m not escorting now … but yes, both. Although … um … when it’s for me, I …’

‘Ah, that’s cool,’ said Tom, his eyes glittering. He took a sip of his drink, and Brent felt as if he was going to faint, watching the undulation of the other man’s throat and imagining him sucking, swallowing … something else. ‘I’m glad,’ he added. ‘Really, really glad.’

Oh hell! Oh shit!

Brent took a swallow of his whisky, grateful for the powerful peaty belt of the spirit. How could this be going so well? After all this time, the man was
still
interested.

But into the excitement, a suddenly cold shard sliced across Brent’s mind. What … what would have happened if that night hadn’t just been one night? He’d fucked Tom before Steve came on the horizon. What if they’d got to know each other? Could they still have been together? Happy?

‘Are you OK, you look a bit dazed, man,’ said Tom with a kind smile, ‘as if you’ve seen a ghost. Would you like another drink?’

‘No, I’m fine … thanks. I just, well, haven’t been out much lately, and it’s all a bit strange to me. I mean, out for
me
… you know? Not on an appointment.’

Tom clinked his glass to Brent’s. ‘Well, here’s to being out and about again. Good thing you met me, then, isn’t it? Someone you already know … That might make things a bit easier, eh?’

The urge to punch the air and shout ‘Yes!’ was insane. This was pure, dumb luck, meeting this decent, good-humoured and downright-drop-dead hot man again out of the blue, just when he needed him. Brent tried to calm down, but it was like being a giddy young stud out on the pull again … a young stud meeting the man of his dreams, even if for just one night.

‘So, what brings you here tonight?’ It was a sensible, non-crazy question. With luck, Tom wouldn’t think he was a loony.

‘I was supposed to be meeting my brother for a drink. And to be a fraternal sounding board, I suspect. He’s met someone, and he’s crazy about her by the sound of it … but he’s not had the best history with relationships, so he’s after the advice of little bro … Who probably knows even
less
about them than he does.’ Tom laughed softly. He didn’t sound bitter, or unhappy; more philosophical than anything.

But Brent’s heart sank. The brother would arrive any minute. Tom would smile, and say cheerio, enjoyed the drink and all that … and then be gone again.

‘Look, I guess your brother will be here soon … but, do you think we could exchange numbers or something? I wish we had done that last time.’

Tom did smile then, a big happy grin. And he reached out, and placed his hand over Brent’s, almost but not quite lacing
their fingers. ‘We
can
do that. But actually, my brother just phoned to say he’s going to be very late, and he’s decided to go straight to see his girlfriend. So …’ His fingers tightened. ‘It’s rain-check time, and I’m all alone in a strange bar … a
very
strange bar if the stuff I’ve heard about this hotel is to be believed … and I’d be very glad of some company.’

Tom had the most beautiful blue eyes. So intensely blue they dazzled Brent, so brilliant that they seemed to make the whole bar glow and turn into the happiest place in the world, strange or not. He glanced quickly around, seeing other couples, smiling at each other, with
that
look in their eyes, the look of the game, the dance, anticipation of pleasure to come.

‘Cool,’ was all he could say, and he laughed, wondering what some of his clients would think of the smooth, confident Brent Westhead now, usually so unflappable and, yes, really quite suave. Even after all the appointments he’d done, and after the relationships he’d had, both the fleeting ones, and those of more moment, like Steve … he’d never been as excited and full of hope in his life.

‘Cool,’ concurred Tom, mirrored excitement in those blue eyes, and a promise on his sculpted, shapely lips.

Brent wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth right now, and why, again, he felt that strange sense of double familiarity.

Hopefully soon he’d get answers to both those questions.

‘Have you worked for Mr Smith long?’