And isn’t that a sad thought?
“I want to tell him to bugger off, I really do,” James says, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Bobby turns his head to watch as James stares up at the sky, lip between his teeth. “You don’t have to do all the big things at once.”’
James takes a deep breath and then turns to meet Bobby’s gaze. “Oh, no?” he says, and Bobby can hear him rallying. “Don’t have to change the world, and have a secret relationship,andfight my stepfather?”
“Nah, I think two out of three is good,” Bobby says with mock severity.
“I appreciate that,” James says, his thumb tracing the edge of Bobby’s palm in a way that’s more than just pleasant.
Bobby forces himself to look back at the sky. Otherwise, he thinks he’ll be on top of James in about fifteen seconds, and it’s a little too exposed here for that. Though someday it might be nice.
Whatever someday they have.
“What do you want?” James asks softly, breaking Bobby from the start of another spiral.
“What do I want out of what?”
“Life.”
Jesus. Bobby stares up at the blue sky.You, his mind whispers. But that’s far too bald. This thing between them, whatever this fragile, beautiful thing is, it’s breakable.
But he has to say something. And his heart and brain are too raw to lie. “A family” slips from his lips. James stiffens and Bobby squeezes his hand. “With someone I truly love. A partner.”
James’ grip tightens. “That best-friend kind of love Prince went on about?”
Bobby swallows, gripping back. “Yeah.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” James says.
His eyes blur a little as he stares up at the sky, their hands still tangled tightly together. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Chapter Twenty
James
James cracks open Bobby’s door, peering into the hall. He clutches his robe across his chest, but there’s no one there. He glances back at Bobby, blissfully naked, sheets about his waist, body already curling around James’ abandoned pillow. For a moment, James thinks maybe he should just get back into the bed—allow whoever plans to see to his room find him absent—and curl back up against his beautiful sleeping paramour.
But the fear of someone finding them together zips across his skin, and with regret he tiptoes into the hall, closes Bobby’s door, and hurries across and into his room. He stands at the threshold, staring around. It’s quite orderly, compared to the mess they keep making of Bobby’s each night. His trunk is mostly still organized, his bed barely slept in. The staff must think he’s a most well-behaved houseguest.
Hopefully they’ll never know it’s because he’s been buggering Mr.Mason all night. James feels an exhausted clench in his midsection at the thought and rolls his eyes. He can’t exist on sex and Bobby alone. His stomach rumbles and James sighs, heading for the wash basin. They were up most of the night, and even with his hunger he’s tempted to slip back across the hall to lie back down with Bobby when the clock on his mantel chimes nine.
There’s no turning back now. While Bobby can lie in untilmidafternoon, James’ absence would be far too conspicuous much later than this. He has to face the day and return to the real world. Bobby’s bed will be waiting tonight.
He stretches as he heads down the empty halls, feeling his back pop, his thighs and arse and abdomen delightfully sore. Much as he’s coming to detest sneaking out of Bobby’s room, the rest of the days at Mason Manor have so far been quite devoid of anxiety. It’s probably all the bloody fantastic sex that has him so relaxed, but it is odd. He’s not used to feeling... settled. But there’s no sense in focusing on the absence of panic. He should enjoy this week as best he can—wring every possible ounce of every type of pleasure from it—before they have to face the world again.
He yawns and comes around the doorway to the dining room, surprised to find Beth still in her seat, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other.
“Sorry,” he says as she looks up.
“For what?” Beth asks, smiling at him before looking back at her book.
James shuffles into the room, feeling wrong-footed somehow, though he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s never been very comfortable in other people’s homes. He spoons the last of the porridge into a bowl and pours a cup of tea, then slides in across from Beth and stares down at his breakfast.
He’s damn uncomfortable in his own home, if he’s honest. It doesn’t feel like his home.
He looks up at the sound of a page turning and that discomforted unease suddenly makes sense. He does have an apology to make. An important one. And this might be the only chance he has to make it without an audience.
