Becomes the Rose (2 page)

He
dried
himself
with
the
large
,
fluffy
towel
provided
.
Was
the
fact
that
thirty
was
fast
approaching
the
thing
causing him to think
so
much
about
a
lifetime
partner
and
commitment
?
Perhaps
he
needed
to
start
going
to
the
more
up
-
market
bars
and
chang
e
some
of
his
leisure
activities
to
places
where
he
might
find
more
single
guys.
He
pulled
on
the
single
pair
of
dark
pants
he
‘d
packed
and
a
white
shirt
that
would
have
looked
good
with
out
the
myriad
of
creases
from
being
stuffed
hurriedly
into
his
backpack
.

His
room
sat
at
the
back
of
the
small
house
,
and
the
room
he
‘d
been
shown
in
which
he
could
dine
was
the
next
one
on
the
left
from
his
bedroom.
The
house
was
clearly
not
intended
to
lo
o
k
after
guests
,
but
he
knew
he
would
be
warm
and
comfortable
and
the
aroma
of
hot
,
cooked
food
was
so
tantalising
that
his
mouth
was
beginning
to
water.

The meal was unexpectedly excellent; a rabbit stew with chunks of carrots and onion and mashed potatoes on the side that tasted every bit as good as looked and smelt. Eating with relish, Tarin felt glad he’d stumbled on the tiny hamlet. As he had not been able to truly see it before, he would explore in the morning; unless a very long walk lay ahead. He would ask Martha, who was looking after him so well, whether there was anyone who might be able to drive him at least part-way to the nearest town if he gave them petrol money.

“Good evening. I hope you are enjoying Martha’s hospitality?”

Tarin stared at the man who had addressed him. Part of his brain wondered if there was something in the water that made the men of the town so attractive. He wore his light brown hair long, but tied in a ponytail high on the crown of his head. With a similar build to the blond Tarin had met earlier, maybe a little taller and broader, he was clean-shaven, but his eyes… Tarin was sure he could drown in the deep blue, oceanic depths.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tarin found the newcomer’s voice soft and melodic, but he heard strength beneath the surface. It was the voice of a natural leader, Tarin decided.

It was also as sexy as hell.

“No problem.” Tarin smiled.

“Anton met him first, sir,” Martha offered as she replaced the emptied dinner plate with a bowl of strewed apple dusted with cinnamon.

“Indeed. My name is Boyce, Boyce French. Welcome.”

“I’m Tarin Medway. Thank you. Your guest house is very nice. I love the antique environment. Nice touch.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Boyce said, and Tarin got the impression the pleasure was genuine. “Do you play chess?” Boyce asked.

“Actually, yes I do.” Tarin smiled.

“Good. We don’t have a bar of any kind. However, I do have some excellent brandy and a chess board that I will probably have to dust to use. My home is not far. It would be my pleasure to have you spend the night in my home as my personal guest in exchange for a game or two of chess.”

“
I
…
that
would
be
…
yes
,
yes
I
’
d
like
that
,”
Tarin
said
,
caught
off-guard.
His
libido
cheered
the
unexpected
turn
of
events
,
and
Tarin
silently
willed
it
to
behave.
He
did
not
sleep
with
anyone
on
a
first
da
te
.
But
there
’
s
always
tomorrow
,
an
inner
voice
reminded.

“Excellent. I will get one of my le… one of my other servants to bring my car ‘round and we can put your stuff in and drive over. The car does not get enough use these days. Finish your meal while I make the necessary arrangements.”

It did not take Tarin long to finish his meal, or have his meagre belongings packed. He was walked to the door by Martha who then bade him a goodnight.

It was with a gasp of surprise and delight that Tarin looked at Boyce’s car. It was a pristine 1920’s Rolls Royce Phantom. In the driver’s seat was a blond of Herculean proportions, who Tarin took to be the chauffeur.

“She’s a beauty,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He loved vintage cars, and this one was immaculate.

“I’ve hardly used her since I got her,” Boyce said softly. “I’m glad you like her.”

Hesitating, with his hand hovering over the car’s chassis, Tarin looked over his shoulder for permission. For a second, the azure orbs seemed to be looking at him with such warmth and affection that Tarin almost forgot to breathe.

“You may drive her if you wish,” Boyce said. “Flynn will not mind,” he added, looking away.

“Thanks,” Tarin said.

He was certain Boyce was about to say more, but the older man’s attention had diverted to the blond Tarin met earlier. Once again he had appeared silently, but now he was flanked by two other men that Tarin took an immediate dislike and distrust to. They looked mean and cruel and, suddenly, so did the blond with them, as if a mask or a veneer had been stripped away.

“Surely you’re not going to monopolise all our unexpected guest’s time, Boyce?” the blond asked.

“
Tarin
is
going
to
be
staying
in
my
home
,
Anton
,”
Boyce
said
,
his
voice
increasing
in
timbre
and
taking
on
a
menacing
tone.

“Maybe we can meet up tomorrow,” Anton said, flashing his white, now chilling, smile at Tarin.

“Maybe,” Tarin said non-committally, giving a shudder and getting into Boyce’s car. Although he did not want to offend anyone, he was quite sure he would be well away before needing to spend any time with Anton. He hoped Flynn might drive him while he sat with Boyce. He fully intended to leave his details with the attractive and enigmatic older man, hoping he was picking up on the right signals.

Looking around Boyce’s house, Tarin was stunned by the number of antiques the man owned. There was art deco everywhere; glasses, crockery, art, it was like stepping back in time. His fingers ran over a gold candlestick telephone set.

“Does it work?” he asked.

“It used to, but it’s not connected now,” Boyce said with a smile. “Over here,” the older man indicated, showing Tarin to an ornate wooden table. The table’s top was carved into a chess board, and Boyce reached underneath to remove a wooden box of chess pieces and began to set them out.

“Boyce, are these made of ivory?” Tarin asked as he turned a piece in his hand.

“Ivory with gold leaf,” Boyce said as he saw Tarin’s finger trace the yellow band that ran around each piece.

“This must be almost priceless,” Tarin breathed, suddenly afraid to touch the pieces.

“It is old.” Boyce nodded. “And if I was so inclined, I could probably get a very good price for it. However, I have no plans to sell it. I wish to play with it.”

They played steadily, time flying by as Tarin relaxed. He still found it surprising just how much of what he would consider antique pieces Boyce used as everyday items. The large radio did not work, but the phonograph did. When they tired of chess, Boyce put on records and they played cards instead as Tarin sipped an excellent port served from a beautiful cut-glass decanter.

If
he
was
honest
,
Tarin
felt
himself
increasingly
attracted
to
Boyce
.
It
was
unusual
for
him
to
be
drawn
to
a
more
mature
man
,
someone
probably
near
forty
.
His
preference
was
for
his
own
age
group.
Yeah
,
and
look
where
that
got
you
,
a
little
voice
niggled.

“Something wrong?” Boyce asked.

“Not at all,” Tarin said smiling. “I was just thinking that I called my ex for everything, but if he hadn’t left me, I would never have met you.” He blushed furiously, dropping his head. “Your little hamlet, I mean,” he added quickly.

“It has been an equal pleasure to meet you, too, Tarin,” Boyce said. “However, you’ve had an eventful day and I think it’s time to retire.”

Unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed with Boyce’s response to his indiscretion, Tarin stood, and inadvertently, the men came chest to chest. It was almost like feeling an electrical charge from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and Tarin arched his head back with a soft groan. He shuddered as he felt cool lips press against his throat and then he was eye to eye with Boyce.

“You are everything I could have dreamed of, and more besides. But not here, and not now,” Boyce said. “You need sleep.”

Swaying in Boyce’s embrace, Tarin felt a soul-deep lethargy wash over him.

“Sorry, so tired,” he mumbled.

“Let me help you.”

Tarin barely felt the journey to his bedroom. He was quickly stripped to his boxers and laid in the bed. He was uncertain whether it was just imagination that Boyce’s lips caressed his cheeks before he plunged unresistingly into sleep.

* * * *

The nightmare was awful; a beautiful, dark-haired girl crying for help before her sightless eyes stared accusingly at him. A man shaking his fists at the sky and shouting, his angry words unheard, before dropping his head and holding his arms out in supplication. Then Anton’s face, cold and cruel, grinning at him, red tongue licking suggestively over pink lips and sharp, white teeth.

His eyes snapped open as he cried Boyce’s name, and for a second or two, he was unsure whether he was awake or still dreaming as it seemed he could see Anton’s face at the window. He covered his face with shaking hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing and racing heart.

“Are you alright, Tarin?”

Boyce crouched at his side, prising Tarin’s hands from his face. The older man wore nothing other than black, satin pyjama pants, and Tarin’s throat went dry at the expanse of smooth, pale skin of the older man’s chest bared to his sight.