The man turns and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Bullshit. This whole thing is complete and utter bullshit.
11
Since there seems to be no other option than waiting, Peter moves closer to the fire, holds out his hands, and thinks about taking off his jacket, but the shirt underneath is so cheap and the seams so poorly aligned that he doesn’t want anyone to see him in it.
Plus he’d just have to put it back on when he leaves. Honestly, if Sebastian doesn’t answer the phone when he calls, he will lose his mind. He’ll just go back to the city. Not show up at his own party. Ugh. Then they’d really be in an argument.
The fire crackles and then pops. Peter shivers. There’s a quick knock on the door and the servant comes back in.
“Mr. Hodge,” he says and comes in with a glass of what looks like whiskey on a small serving platter. “My master regrets that he’ll be a few minutes more. But he wondered if you might like a drink to warm up? He’d like for you to know that it’s very strong.”
“Hodge?” Peter asks, confused. “Who is Mr. Hodge?”
The servant smiles gently at him. “You are Mr. Hodge.”
“No, I’m Peter Roche.” The man takes the drink off the serving tray and sets it down on a table before bowing andturning to leave the room. He closes the door behind him. Hodge? How bizarre. It’s extra bizarre because in the murder mystery, Sebastian‘s character was named Hodge.
Which is when a bizarre idea occurs to him. Hodge is a day laborer. A day laborer who is down on his luck and who’d do anything for money. Probably sleep with the master of this mansion, Peter thinks.
There’s a piece of paper sitting next to the alcohol and Peter’s heart is pounding as he goes closer and picks it up. What if… He can’t even put it into words. His stomach twists, the sensation of falling and then stopping too quickly. Vertigo.
He doesn’t look at it yet, his mind trying to put the pieces together.
Heisin the right place. This is the address he is supposed to be at. Peter got a good look at the map before he lost service. And the clothing he’s wearing does fit him. They're ill-fitting, but the pants are the right length, the shoulders of the shirt fit. And he is broader than Sebastian. If this was Sebastian’s outfit, then it wouldn’t fit at all.
What if… The door opens and of course the master comes in. The master is Sebastian. Peter’s knees go weak. He’s speechless. Sebastian is always gorgeous, but this is ridiculous.
This is Cary Grant level of perfection. And Sebastian knows all about Peter’s crush on Cary Grant. Sebastian’s hair shines, has a wave to it, styled in a way Peter hasn’t seen him wear before. He’s freshly shaved and his suit—good god, his suit.
It’s gloriously tailored. He’s never seen anything like it. A three-piece suit, complete with a gold pocket watch and a tie that brings out the gray in his eyes. The shirt is crisp and white.
The beautiful and rich man in front of him—master of this house—is exactly the sort of man Peter had fantasized about. The fantasy man who’d kidnap him and use him.
“Like kidnapping?” Sebastian had asked him one night. Somewhere in the middle of the night when Peter couldn’t sleep and Sebastian was just holding him for comfort.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he’d confessed and gotten a kiss for his honesty.
“What if he was old or ugly?”
“Well, no, it’s a fantasy, so he’s rich and handsome,” Peter had said.
Sebastian looks him up and down, smiles and comes closer, holds out his hand.
“I’m James Scott,” he says and Peter offers his hand, feeling like he’s in a dream. That was the name of his character. A ruthless and wealthy tycoon who would do anything to get what he wants.
Sebastian shakes his hand, squeezing just a little too hard and holding on for a little too long. “My servant tells me you’re looking for a phone? I don’t know where you’re trying to get to, but the weather is so awful you might consider staying here for the night. Or until it lets up,” Sebastian says and gives Peter his back, goes to an actual drinks cart where there’s a crystal decanter of amber liquid, and pours himself an inch.
He turns back around, taking a small sip and then gesturing at Peter’s drink. “I see he got you something. Do be aware that it’s quite strong. If you drink all that, you’re likely to make all sorts of regrettable decisions. Weak as a kitten. It’s the sort of drink that gets ladies in the family way.”
Peter forces his feet to move, goes to the table, and picks up the drink. He swallows it in a single burning gulp.
“That is strong,” Peter says, clearing his throat. His eyes water.
Sebastian's lips twitch in amusement. “You were meant to sip it,” he says.
He gets up and goes back to the cart, picks up a bottle and comes back. He pours Peter a splash and then hesitates, waits for Peter to meet his gaze.
