Surprisingly, Art scooted back and stood again, offering Ryan his hand. “Well?” he said, waiting for Ryan to take it. “You shouldn’t be fooling around in bed. You need to be down in your studio, designing the hell out of a collection. Right now.”
Art was right, but it made Ryan’s head spin. He’d just been handed everything, all the things, he’d ever wanted. All at once. With no time to enjoy or possibly even accomplish any of it.
ELEVEN
Summers were supposedto be fun. For Art, they’d always been a time of pursuing personal projects, joining a dig somewhere exotic and making the most of the local attractions. By which, of course, he meant having at least one or two on-site flings. It was all part of work, of course. It was a common misconception that university professors spent their summers lounging by a pool, sipping cocktails, and bouncing some eager former grad student on their balls, although that had happened once, too. In reality, there were always projects to pursue, papers and books to write, and conferences to attend.
Which was why it was no surprise when Art was called into his dean’s office early on a July morning, when he’d gone to his office at the university to fetch a few things.
“What is this supposed research project you’re pursuing in light of the cancelation of the Highland excavation this summer?” Dr. Renfer asked, pointing for Art to sit in one of the old, leather chairs in front of his desk, where troubled students usually sat.
“Er, I’ve been excavating an outbuilding that was discovered on the grounds of Hawthorne House, in Kent,” Art said,uncertain why he felt like he was under fire as he took the offered seat.
Maybe it was something in Renfer’s piercing eyes or the fact that the man was twice his age. It could have also been the fact that Renfer didn’t like him at all and thought his personality and lifestyle were unbecoming of a university professor, despite consistently stellar reviews from his students.
Renfer huffed and adjusted the way he sat in a manner that communicated everything before he opened his mouth. “It is highly irregular for any member of our faculty to pursue their own projects without prior vetting by the university,” he said.
“When grant money is involved, yes,” Art agreed, contradicting everything Ryan and Graeme had come to know about him by giving serious academic. “I have submitted a thorough application for university funding, of course. You can vet the project all you like as you consider that. But in the meantime, the gamekeeper’s cottage at Hawthorne House is a project of intense personal interest. I’ve become a friend of the family.”
Renfer stared at him for a moment, radiating disapproval. “I did my own research into the Hawthorne family,” he said. “They are…colorful.”
Twin feelings of guilt and anger rose up in Art. If Renfer so much as dared to suggest the Hawthornes were anything other than wonderful, he might have to reach across the desk and slap the man.
“They are modern aristocrats like anyone else,” he said, keeping his game face on. “They’re eccentric, but they sit on a wealth of valuable information about the nineteenth century and earlier that hasn’t been tapped into as a historical resource at all. I haven’t just been faffing about with the charred ruins of an outbuilding that was struck by lightning and burned down, nearly taking the fifth Countess of Felcourt with it, I’ve beengiven access to a treasure trove of primary source materials from generations of the Hawthorne family that have existed untouched for over a hundred years.”
Art resisted the urge to smirk. He definitely knew what to say and how where men like Renfer were concerned.
Renfer changed how he was sitting again, making Art wonder if the stodgy old bastard had piles. “You know it is university protocol to seek permission and funding for extracurricular projectsbeforethey begin,” he said.
“Yes, but this opportunity came along suddenly,” Art defended himself. “I had to take advantage of it immediately as the family is having their gardens redone and it could have compromised the site.”
Rather than going on with whatever scolding Renfer must have originally planned, he sighed and sagged slightly. “I will approve your involvement in this projectfor now,” he said, as if he had the power to tell Art what to do with his life. “But if anything untoward ends up happening, anything that might reflect negatively on the university….”
He stared flatly at Art rather than completing his sentence. No doubt he was making reference to the aforementioned grad student, who had just completed the program at the time and was not actually an ethics violation at all, despite what Renfer thought. Still, it had caused some controversy when the whole thing was discovered.
“Might I remind you, Dr. Johnson, you do not have tenure,” Renfer finished.
“Not yet,” Art teased in return, even though it was playing with fire.
Renfer stared at him, then let out a breath and sat back. “That is all,” he said.
Art stood and said a polite goodbye, then marched out of the office and all the way out of the building to the parking lot. Itrankled him to have an old stuffed shirt like Renfer imply that he couldn’t live his life.
More worrying was the fact that Renfer seemed to have caught wind somehow of just how much fun Art was having with the Hawthornes. Or perhaps a certain member of the Hawthorne clan. And their gardener. It was a bit of a stretch to think he knew anything about the increasingly intimate fun he was having with Ryan and Graeme, but whether he knew specifics or not, everything Renfer had just said had been a warning shot.
His behavior before, his high spirits andjoie de vivre,had raised eyebrows. It didn’t fit with the image Renfer wanted for his Archeology department. How did you tell a man his job was on the line without telling him his job was on the line?
The encounter left Art with a sour taste in his mouth as he drove away from London and around the M25 toward Hawthorne House. It was nobody’s business how he conducted himself but his. And maybe Ryan’s and Graeme’s. The two men had grown more important to him in the last handful of weeks than most of the people who had been in his life for years. They were sweet and sexy, earnest and caring. The three of them got on so well, and every sort of spark imaginable was there. If not for the interruption of Ryan being offered a spot in London Fashion Week, Art had no doubt the two of them would have ended up with their cocks inserted in various parts of each other’s bodies.
The same went for Graeme, although his sweet, buff young gardener needed a softer touch and a different kind of coaxing to come out of his shell the way Art was certain he wanted to. Ryan had figured out how to get him to let go of his inhibitions. Art grinned as he thought about it. He still hadn’t gotten the full story of the wedding from Graeme’s own lips.
By the time he pulled into his spot in the family parking lot of Hawthorne House, an honor he had been granted by Janice Hawthorne, Art was hard and grinning. Ryan and Graeme, Graeme and Ryan. He loved the thought of the two of them together, and he loved all the ways he might fit into that equation, too.
As things were, though, he was the only one grinning and giddy about things.
“Ryan is in his studio, bleeding onto his design paper,” Janice informed him as he walked from the family corridor into the lobby of Hawthorne House. “And Graeme is out in the garden, covered in dirt, sweat, and regret, trying to meet the impossible deadline he set himself for the walking garden.”
“Plenty of bodily fluids to go around, then,” Art said with a smile.
