“That’s not the last we’ve seen of Raverson,” James says, trying to rein in his swirling thoughts. “We’ll have to come up with something better, get your ring back.”
“Of course,” Mason says, stepping closer. “You know, it’s rather attractive, this unguarded side of you. Very bold, very brash. I like it.”
James swallows against the look on Mason’s face—sly, attractive, hungry. “I—” he starts. Mason’s boxing him in against the wall of the lavatories, out in the open, where anyone could see.
“Demeroven, consider—”
“No,” James says, all that bravado and bravery and action slamming back into wherever it’s been hiding. All he can feel now is the panic of his reality—the sheer number of ways everything could come tumbling down. “No. I told you; we cannot do this. We are partners in preventing blackmail, nothing more. Now please step back.”
Mason stills, staring at him. “Come now, we’ve taken care of Raverson—”
“We haven’t,” James says, Raverson’s threat about his stepfather still ringing in his ears. “There is too much at stake to give into this—this—”
“Angry attraction?” Mason suggests, looking far too mischievous, far too handsome, far too tempting.
“Absurdity,” James returns, trying not to care when Mason’s smile dims. “I have to leave.”
“Leave,” Mason repeats, his smile disappearing altogether. “You mean run.”
James shrugs—can’t deny it, really. He needs to run away, before Mason talks him into anything else. Because he’s not sure he has the resolve to stick to his decision. Not with Mason there, rumpled and wanting.
“Please apologize to Lady Gwen and MissBertram, would you? We’re quite delinquent in bringing their drinks,” he says, and his voice sounds foreign, formal.
“Tell them yourself,” Mason says, an aloof look falling over his features. “And I’m walking away first,” he adds, turning on his heel to stomp off toward the drinks, leaving James alone by the lavatories.
He watches Mason until he fades into the crowd by the refreshments, his thoughts whirring so fast he’s not even sure what he’s truly thinking. He scrubs at his face, wincing. His knuckles flare with dull pain. He looks down to find them red and already a little swollen.
He should feel proud for having taken Raverson down a peg.But somehow all he feels is hollow, like today has been some strange, broken dream.
Bobby Mason kissed him. Bobby Mason... wants him.
After years of swooning over him at school, of butterflies and late-night fantasies, here it is, his dream come true.
Bobby Mason offered to be his lover. And James said no.
Chapter Thirteen
Bobby
Bobby downs his current drink, relishing in the warmth along the back of his neck. The stag party is clustered at the back of their first pub of the evening, packed into a raucous booth beneath dripping candles. He’s trying to focus on the tipsy discussion Cunningham and Prince are having about the upcoming cricket match, but he keeps getting distracted.
There’s a light pink flush making its way up Demeroven’s neck as he sits between Rupping and Wristead on the opposite side of the booth. His sandy-brown hair is curling adorably with the humidity and sweat, and his eyes are a little big, trying to keep up with their motley group.
Bobby wants to be so insulted, so angry, so over Demeroven. But the man looks entirely out of his depth and it does something to Bobby’s stomach. Something swirly and swoony. He raises his glass, trying to flag down the beleaguered barmaid to get another scotch.
Prince’s stag night is off to a very successful start, and Bobby might die before the evening runs out.
“Here you go, love,” the barmaid says, leaning across the table to pass Bobby another glass.
She has a pretty round face and very ample cleavage, rather on display. Doesn’t do much for Bobby, but Prince’s eyes glideover the barmaid, his rattle of cricket statistics trailing off, and Bobby hears Demeroven snort across the booth.
“And some waters,” Bobby says, meeting her eyes. “If you’ve got them. Otherwise, some weak beer, please, if you can.” They need to pace themselves.
“And all the bread you have,” Demeroven puts in.
The barmaid laughs and gives them both a wink before straightening up and sashaying away. Bobby’s and Demeroven’s eyes meet briefly and then skid away. He forces himself to turn back to Prince, who’s still ogling the barmaid’s luscious figure.
“I see love hasn’t tamed your roving eye, man,” Bobby says.
