Love is a Stranger Read online

  Philipa came to meet him as he crunched his Ducati over the gravel in front of the oaken door. She kissed him on both cheeks, pushing the numerous dogs that habitually surrounded her away from his leathers. “Darling—get down, Bodger; I’m so sorry. Nik told me. No! Holly, down. Just dreadful. Do come in.”

  He followed the wind-blown woman in tweed through the spacious but cold hallway. Nearly Christmas, it was festooned with elaborate and beautiful wreaths and winding, tasteful greenery. It led into the kitchen, which usually acted as the focus for what Lady Philipa termed her intimate country weekends. Nikolas was sitting at the table as Ben entered and didn’t spare him a glance from the paper. Once she’d plied Ben with tea and a plate full of mince pies, Philipa took her small, noisy flock with her to do something that required a flower basket and more shouted admonitions to the dogs. Peace fell on the kitchen. Nikolas looked up for the first time and took a mince pie from Ben’s plate. “Hello, Benjamin.”

  Ben suppressed a smile. He had no idea what the relationship with his boss really was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the man know he actually liked him. Like was a safe word, and he was sticking with that. He half turned away from the table, moved his plate further out of reach, and asked stonily, “What’s the job you’ve got for me, sir?”

  “All in good time.” After a few moments, watching his wife direct one of the gardeners cutting holly, Nikolas asked, deceptively casually, “So, Benjamin, will you indulge me?”

  Ben did laugh at that. Sir Nikolas would never be so inelegant as to mention their more unusual extracurricular activities. Ben knew exactly what his boss wanted and nodded. “Sure, why not?”

  They led Nikolas’s horses out of the magnificently appointed stables. In most everything else he did, Nikolas retained his enigmatic, impeccable elegance, the facade no one was allowed to penetrate—but not in this. On a horse, he became something else, something dangerous. He became primitive. He was at one with the animal in a way an English aristocrat could never be. Ben felt menace, something truly fierce in the Norseman when they rode together. They negotiated the grounds down to where the gardens met tidal river estuary. It was low tide and the mud flats were exposed. The track was slippery, with a deep, primal smell of mud, salt, and seaweed. They rode carefully, the horses’ hooves picking between the rocks. Then they came to the beach, just wet sand now at the low tide. Nikolas turned around in his saddle, his face animated. “Race?”

  Ben wondered how this beautiful man could bear to live his life hidden behind the facades he showed to the world. This was the Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen he was allowed rare glimpses of. After all, it wasn’t easy for a man to keep all his pretences in place when covered in another man’s sweat and come. When Nikolas was deep inside Ben’s body, he was a very different man. Here, on a freezing beach in December, that man of passion and fire emerged once more. Ben laughed, the wind catching the rare sound and whipping it away out to sea. “What do you win when I inevitably lose?”

  Nikolas laughed too and nudged his horse closer, their thighs touching. “I am a generous host, Benjamin. You can choose your own forfeit.” His thick Danish accent tangled the words. Ben felt the same frisson of excitement at the base of his spine that he’d felt during their very first meeting, a handshake across a desk and a simple greeting, “Mr Rider. Thank you for coming.” Nikolas had thanked him for coming in more imaginative ways since then.

  Ben made as if to answer Nikolas’s question now, slyly turning towards their proposed route. Then with a kick, he was off. He needed every advantage. The wind made his eyes water, froze his ears. He could ride, but he rode like a man on a horse. Nikolas Mikkelsen didn’t. He was the horse and the pounding surf; he was the wind whipped around their heads, the smell of salt and earthly pleasures. He caught Ben easily, stayed with him and toyed with him as they approached the cliffs that rose to the headland. As they negotiated the tidal pools, he pulled ahead and around the newly exposed section of beach into the cove that was only accessible at low tide. Their finish marker was always an imaginary line between the millstone and the camel, two distinctly shaped rocks Ben had renamed “the arsehole” and “the stiffy.” Nikolas beat him by several lengths, as he always did. He pulled up in the surf, wheeling, his horse dancing to the beat of the waves. Ben reigned in beside him. “Bastard.”

  Nikolas turned his horse so they were side by side facing each other. “So, my winnings?”

  Later, he couldn’t say if it had been the excitement of the race or the strange numbness of grief he’d felt since the fire, but Ben suddenly decided he wanted something more than he was usually allowed with this man. He hesitated for a moment then glanced needlessly around the empty December beach. They had the entire windswept, freezing place to themselves. Without thinking it through too much further, he leant forward and kissed the other man’s cold lips. Then he sat back to gauge his boss’s reaction, because for all the things they had done together, they’d never once kissed. They’d rarely bothered with a handjob, never a blowjob, never used these first steps to slowly work up to the wild and abandoned sex they’d fallen into that first weekend. They’d gone from a look to fucking, no quarter asked for or given. Ben couldn’t explain it, and as they never talked about what they were doing, he’d never asked either. So this kiss on a cold beach with horses stamping and turning and twisting beneath them was very different. Nikolas eyed him coolly, his detachment instantly in place. “Who was the body in the fire, Benjamin?”

  Ben’s head reared back, and his horse, sensing his agitation, backed off too quickly. Ben had to grab the saddle to keep his balance, and he eased the horse out of the water and up toward the rocks. When he felt the wind lessen, he slid off the animal, walking her around, calming her—calming himself. Nikolas joined him, dismounting and finding a treat in his pocket for his horse, patting her nose and talking softly to her in his native language.

  Finally, Ben replied, “Nathan. He was called Nathan. He was a carpenter. He was putting new windows into the cottage for me.”

  “Had he been there long?”

  “No. Why do you ask this now?” He saw Nikolas’s expression for a fleeting moment before the other could hide it. “You already knew all about him. Of course you did.”

  They began to walk their horses back toward the headland separating the two beaches at high tide. “I was curious when you would tell me, though.”

  “No, you weren’t. Jesus. Is this about the job or is this about us? You think his death has something to do with…It was just a kiss. People kiss. Normal people kiss.”

  “You think you are not normal?”

  “I think you’re not normal! With all due respect. Sir.”

  Nikolas laughed. “So, you think I will become a substitute Nathan for you?”

  Ben groaned. “No. Christ. Look, forget it, yeah? I…You won the fucking race. You always win, okay? I thought…” They were in the shelter of the cliff now, wind worn and hollowed into shallow caves all along the lower edge. “I just wanted…”

  Nikolas’s hand suddenly cupped him around the back of the neck and pulled him close, his lips landing on Ben’s, silencing him. Their lips were cold, skin cold, but Nikolas’s leather gloves were soft on Ben’s face as they tested and tasted the kiss. The same height, they were a natural fit. They pulled apart, a rare smile on both their faces, and then they kissed again, this time with lips eagerly opening, tongues exploring. Ben thought his tongue had already discovered the most intimate places on his boss’s body, but he was wrong; this was something very different. He doubted either of them could kiss like this and keep up pretence or habitual detachment.

  It was only Ben’s horse rearing and snorting that alerted them to the presence of others on the beach. Ben heard a yapping and saw two dogs come racing around the headland, chasing seagulls, barking joyously. They eased apart and remounted, walking their horses slowly, side by side. Ben couldn’t think of a thing to say, and he was fairly sure Nikolas was equally stumped. There was
a lot to process. On the wind-blown promise of something better, something almost tangible and real, things had suddenly changed between them. They clearly both sensed it, and it silenced their front of easy familiarity. Ben felt a knot of sick tension in his belly. He’d rather things stayed as they were than lose Nikolas entirely. He knew very well who held all the power in this strange relationship—and it wasn’t him. Finally, Nikolas laughed ruefully and ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture so familiar that Ben knew things would be okay between them. He hadn’t ruined anything. He glanced at Nikolas to find the look returned. He shook his head fondly. “I’m sorry I blew up about Nate, sir. I guess I feel guilty because I pulled him into my life and it got him killed.”

  “Did you intend for that to happen?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Then I see no cause for you to feel guilty. Sad, yes. But sadness always passes.”

  Ben watched his boss’s lowered eyes as he spoke. He was tempted to ask when Nikolas’s sadness would pass but knew the question wouldn’t be tolerated. Instead, he announced cheekily, emboldened by the kiss, “Last one back buys lunch!”

  He was a length ahead when they reached the stable, but then he’d been allowed to win. Who was indulging whom in this little victory, Ben wouldn’t have cared to say. They dismounted, and Nikolas handed the reins to a stable boy, fishing in his pocket for a last treat for Ben’s horse and murmuring something to her in the wild language of his conquering forebears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  They walked side by side back to the house, and Ben saw that Philipa’s other guests had arrived. The lower rooms would now be noisy with people, bags, dogs, and assorted accoutrements for a pre-Christmas weekend in the country. Nikolas gave Ben a nudge, and they went around the back of the house to the offices from which a private staircase rose to the upper floors. He followed Ben to the large bedroom in the original Elizabethan part of the house, which was almost called “Ben’s Room,” so frequently had he stayed there. Low mullioned windows let in a weak winter sun that only penetrated the room for an hour or so each day at this time of year, the gloom not helped by the thick ivy growing over this ancient part of the house. Ben went to the window, leaning on the sill, peering out. “Have I ever mentioned that I love this house?”

  Nikolas smiled. “Once or twice. I will send you the upkeep bills if you would like. Were you adequately insured?”

  Ben nodded. “I think I could afford one of your dogs’ kennels now.”

  Nikolas came closer, standing behind him. “I’d give you preferable rates, Benjamin, you know that.” Ben turned. The frisson of anticipation surged back, but for the first time ever it wasn’t for rough sex. He wanted Nikolas to kiss him again. He wanted Nikolas to initiate another kiss, to admit his need—to admit finally that this, what they had, was more than sex. He could see the hesitation. Unbelievably, he could see confusion in Nikolas’s eyes. He wondered if this secretive man had ever been confused about anything in his life. That he was the one confusing his boss only added to Ben’s mounting excitement. Finally, some decision seemed to have been reached in the impenetrable brown eyes. Nikolas put out a hand and snagged Ben’s sleeve. With his other hand, he cupped Ben’s face, brushing his thumb over the prominent cheekbone.

  “So…luncheon?” He flashed a swift grin and turned away, walking to the door.

  Ben groaned. “You sod.”

  Nikolas went out onto the landing. “Do take your time to shower and change. There is plenty of hot water.” He turned with an inscrutable look. “Unless you need a cold one, of course.”

  §§§

  Ben wouldn’t have dared call the meal lunch. It deserved the name luncheon, twelve people around a Georgian table in the huge dining room, servants hovering as the guests helped themselves to a sumptuous buffet laid around a beautifully decorated fifteen-foot Christmas tree. A fire crackled in the original fireplace, the mantel decorated with yet more greenery. Ben recognised most of the other guests from his many weekends staying with the Mikkelsens. Truth be told, they all looked alike to him—wealthy, entitled, landed. As he was none of these, he preserved his dignity by wrapping an air of silent mystery around himself, eating anything offered him as it was all free, and entertaining himself by watching his boss dissemble, charm, and seduce. He had a lot to learn from Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen. A space opened up next to him, and Lady Philipa slid into it, her plate unfashionably heaped with good things. “So, darling, do tell me that you’ll join us this afternoon.”

  Nikolas turned from the woman next to him and said calmly, “You know Benjamin and I never hunt. And we have work to do.”

  “Oh, tosh, you can’t let him bully you like this, Ben. You don’t come here to work.”

  Ben kept his eyes lowered. “I’m sorry, but if Sir Nikolas needs me…”

  Nikolas flashed a smile at his wife but turned a meaningful look on Ben. “You have made yourself invaluable to me, Benjamin.”

  Ben kept his eyes on his plate and gulped some more wine.

  §§§

  Going shooting apparently required a huge amount of barking and shouting, so it was with some relief that Ben finally heard the door to the gunroom slam, a few final raised voices, one yelp, and then silence. He was in the billiard room, lazily knocking balls round by hand. He heard the door open and turned. That was all it took—the sight of Nikolas walking towards him. All his pent-up need broke free, blindsiding him with desire. It didn’t help to have the edge of the table under his butt. That table evoked a lot of memories. Nikolas came closer, running his hand over the polished edge, seeming lost in thought. Ben closed his eyes with anticipation.

  “What do you know about badgers, Benjamin?”

  Okay…“I’m sorry?”

  Nikolas chuckled at his expression. “They are small, and black and—”

  “I fucking know what they are. I mean…sir. Sorry, but I—”

  “Why do you always call me sir?”

  “Why do you always call me Benjamin?”

  “Touché. But,” he ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of Ben’s head, “you can call me Nikolas, you know. Especially when I come inside you. That would be appropriate, do you not think?”

  Ben swallowed. “Then call me Ben.”

  Nikolas laughed. “You would have to put a gun to my head first, I abhor nicknames. Besides, I like Benjamin. It is very you.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s some poncy public school boy my mother wanted me to be.”

  “But not the hard tearaway who joined the army at sixteen and passed Selection the first time he tried it?”

  “No, not him. He’s Ben.”

  “Maybe I like public school boys.” He unbuttoned Ben’s shirt.

  “Then you’ve got your pick out there, sir. Why waste the afternoon in here with me, and did you really start this off by asking me what I know about badgers?”

  “Hmm. I think I did. I believe you have distracted me though.” Nikolas stroked briefly over the bullet wound, now just a scar on Ben’s ribs. Then he bent his face closer and totally unexpectedly nipped at the warm skin.

  “Ow! Jesus!” Ben widened his eyes in disbelief at the visible bite mark around his nipple. “That hurt!”

  “Good.” Nikolas did it again to the other one. Ben’s head went back, his knuckles gripping the table until they went white.

  He felt his belt being undone and strong hands slid in under his waistband to cup his cheeks. Nikolas pressed against him, need evident, their cocks connecting and rubbing, creating delicious anticipation. “Turn around, Benjamin.”

  Ben did, his hardness now pressing into the edge of the solid table. Nikolas eased Ben’s jeans down just enough, and then all Ben felt was dry friction until it wasn’t painful at all, until it was good and then great—and then the long, slow build up to the very best. Nikolas slid a hand up under Ben’s shirt, spreading his fingers over Ben’s back, holding him down. The other hand gripped Ben’s hip determinedly as he rode the hard
muscular figure. If Ben thought about Nikolas riding his horse, primal and ferocious, it only added to the great wrongness of the whole scene. They didn’t say much; they never did. When it was like this, this was all they needed. Ben suddenly grunted, “I’m gonna come…”

  Nikolas leaned over his back, thrusting harder. “Do not mark my expensive table.”

  “What? Fuck!” He put his hand down and caught his release awkwardly, wiping it on his jeans in disgust as Nikolas came inside him, swearing something in his own language, draping boneless and drained over Ben’s back. Then he straightened and slapped Ben hard on the backside as he pulled out. “Good boy. Now…badgers.”

  Ben sank to his knees. “Oh, God. You’re insane.”

  Nikolas came to his side, tucked away and immaculate as always. “I’ve been called that before.” He offered Ben a hand and uncharacteristically assisted in tucking him in and making him presentable. Then he caught Ben’s gaze and added thoughtfully, “You make me mad this day.”