Taming the Lion (8 page)

“What can I get you?”

The barman’s accent had a guttural tone to it that marked the speaker as coming from somewhere in continental Europe. Scandinavia, maybe? It would fit with the styling of the bar’s name and the Swedish-influenced dance music. But the man’s voice was nothing compared to his stunning eyes. It had to be a trick of the light, but they appeared almost golden in color, like ancient amber.

You could lose yourself in a pair of eyes like that…

“A pint of the Bath Gem, please.”

“Of course.” The barman produced a glass from beneath the counter then set about pouring Jon’s drink.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Jon said as he handed over a five-pound note in payment, “but I’m trying to place where you’re from.”

“The Netherlands,” the barman replied. “Amsterdam, to be more precise.”

“That’s a great city, so relaxed. I went over there a couple of times when I was a student and I loved it.”

The barman grinned. “Yeah, don’t tell me. The girls, the dope…”

Jon shook his head. “More like the museums, the Ann Frank House… Oh, and the boys.”

He didn’t know why he’d added that last part, but the barman didn’t even blink. “Yeah, they’re pretty hot, too. Like this guy I had living opposite me. Used to walk around his apartment naked, showing off everything he had. But like you said, we’re pretty relaxed people, open to a lot of experiences.”

Those last few words held a highly suggestive tone to Jon’s ears.
Is he coming on to me, or is he like this with everyone?
Before he was able to reply, a man in a polo shirt with the insignia of the city’s rugby club stitched on the breast arrived at the bar and began loudly placing his order.

“If you’re interested,” the barman said to Jon, “I come off shift at ten. We could talk more then. I’m Kaspar, by the way.”

That clearly wasn’t an offer this guy extended to everyone, however friendly he might be to his customers.

“Jon.”

“Okay, Jon. See you later.” He spoke the words as if he didn’t expect Jon to refuse.

Jon took his beer and found a spot where he could lean against one of the big pillars that supported the roof. As he sipped from his glass and watched the people around him flirting and having fun, a gloomy mood descended on him.

Am I making a mistake here? Did I agree to spend time with a complete stranger just because I saw Simon with that man in the pub? I mean, he might be the hottest guy I’ve spoken to in ages, but what on earth can someone as gorgeous as him see in me?

By the time he’d finished his pint, he was overwhelmed with the urge to leave. Instead, he forced himself to go back to the bar and order a second. Some instinct told him if he walked away from this situation, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Fate had brought him into this bar, on this night, to meet this particular man. And if he blew this chance, he feared he wouldn’t get another.

This time, Jon was served by a pretty, dark-haired girl with a labret stud below her bottom lip. As she poured his drink, he was all too aware of Kaspar, apparently hard at work mixing a cocktail in a silver shaker, gazing at him with those strange, mesmerizing eyes.

Jon retreated to his spot by the pillar and tried not to think about the mess his life had become. Why was he still letting a grade-A weasel like Simon Cundy get to him? If he were honest with himself, he just didn’t like knowing his ex had moved on so easily, while he was still eaten up with regrets and thoughts of what might have been.

“Hey, you wanna go somewhere quieter?”

At the sound of Kaspar’s voice, he looked up from where he’d been staring at the last half-inch of warm beer in his glass.

“I’d love to.” Jon swallowed the dregs of his pint then set the glass down on a nearby table. He followed Kaspar out of the bar without a backwards look.

“Do you want to get another beer somewhere else?” Kaspar asked.

Jon shook his head. “To be honest, I’m not much of a drinker.”

He hoped that didn’t make him sound like a lightweight. For reasons he didn’t quite understand, it seemed vital he make a good impression on Kaspar.

They walked away from the bar, down into the heart of the SouthGate center. Jon kept glancing from Kaspar’s strong profile to the displays in the shop windows they passed then back again. He wanted to strike up a conversation but wasn’t quite sure what to say.

At last, he spoke up, “So, have you been living in Bath long?”

Kaspar shook his head. “I only arrived here a few days ago. But I have to say that already I feel very much at home. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve been here for over ten years. I work at the university, teaching archaeology.”

“I’m impressed. I started a psychology course at the University of Amsterdam, but I left after a few months. I think I only went there because my parents wanted me to.”

Jon nodded. According to Henry Mortimer, less than one in twenty of the student intake dropped out at Bath every year, and in most cases, he suspected the reason was to do with finances, rather than the kind of pressure Kaspar had experienced. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t found himself teaching people who were clearly out of their academic depth, or who realized they’d chosen the wrong course then switched to something more suitable.

“Is that why you came over to England?”

“No. That’s a long story.”

Kaspar seemed reluctant to elaborate, and Jon decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, he said, “So, where are you living?”

“I have a room in a house near to Alexandra Park.”

“Oh, yeah. I know the area well. You get a fantastic view over the city from there.” When he’d first moved to Bath, Jon had dated a guy called Rich, who had dressed in battle-scarred biker’s leathers and ridden a classic low-rider Harley-Davidson—something Jon, with his weakness for bad boys, hadn’t been able to resist. Their relationship had run its course once they’d realized they were completely incompatible out of bed, but he still had fond memories of lying in the long grass in Alexandra Park with Rich, sharing bottles of beer and stolen kisses.

A spot of rain landed on Jon’s head, quickly followed by another. Acting on impulse, he said, “Look, why don’t you come to my place for coffee? It’s a little way out, but we can get a cab. I usually drive, but my car’s in the garage for repairs at the moment.”

“Sounds great, but you need to know that when it comes to coffee, my standards are very high.”

Kaspar grinned, and something melted inside Jon. He still found it hard to believe this man wanted to spend time with him.

The rain grew heavier, and in the distance a clap of thunder sounded. Jon set off at a fast trot, cutting along the covered walkway in front of the shopping center and emerging at the pedestrian crossing leading to the railway station. A couple of cabs waited on the taxi rank. Jon went over to the one at the front of the queue and gave his address to the driver.

This might be one of the most reckless things I’ve ever done, but it feels so right…

Chapter Ten

The journey to his home passed in a blur. Kaspar said very little, seemingly content to stare at the passing landscape. They left behind the neat housing estates on the fringe of the city and traveled through thickly wooded countryside. Jon tried to imagine what impression he’d gain if he were looking at these surroundings for the first time.

I’d think whoever lived out here had done pretty well for themselves. But then I wouldn’t know the whole story…

At last, the cab pulled up before a detached house of an unusual hexagonal design and with a big, central chimneystack on the roof. “Here we are,” Jon said. He climbed out of the vehicle with Kaspar following behind him then went to pay the driver.

Kaspar looked at the nameplate beside the front door. “Why do you call this ‘The Corner House’ when it’s not on a corner?”

“I didn’t give it the name,” Jon admitted, “but I liked it, so I kept it. Though it has plenty of corners inside, believe me.” As he unlocked the door, he went on, “This used to be an old tollhouse. Everyone coming along the road to Bath had to stop here on the turnpike and pay a toll before they could pass.”

He led Kaspar into the sitting room. “Make yourself at home. I’ll put the kettle on. If you fancy listening to some music, the DVD player is in the cabinet under the TV set.”

In the kitchen, Jon tossed his jacket over the back of a chair. He pulled a packet of coffee beans from the cupboard and set about grinding them. The last time he’d been in the city center, he’d bought a new Peruvian blend from a little shop on New Bond Street. A rich aroma soon filled the air, making him wrinkle his nose in approval.

Once he’d made the coffee, he placed the cafetière, mugs and jug of cream on a tray and took them through to his guest. A Vivaldi concerto played softly over the sound system. Kaspar had made a selection Jon wouldn’t have expected, but it seemed the perfect accompaniment to conversation.

Having set down the tray, he took a seat on the sofa, and went about pouring the coffee. “I’ll let you add your own cream and sugar.”

“Thank you.” Kaspar took the proffered mug. He added a little cream to the brew then took a sip.

Jon held his breath, waiting for Kaspar’s verdict.

“Mmm, that’s good.” Kaspar grinned, adding, “For coffee made by an Englishman.”

Normally, he hated being teased but from this guy, he didn’t seem to mind it. “Thank you—I think.”

“You have a very nice home,” Kaspar observed.

“I was lucky,” Jon admitted. “The place needed a lot of work doing to it, so I got it for a bargain price. I’ve had a whole new kitchen and bathroom put in. I could show you around when you’ve finished your drink, if you’d like?”

Was it just his imagination, or did a tension hang between them, as though they both knew Kaspar had been invited here for more than just a tour of the house? It had been so long since Jon had been alone with a guy who was clearly interested in him that he’d almost forgotten the steps of the mating dance.

“That would be nice.” Kaspar picked up his coffee. He walked over to a photograph that hung on the chimney breast. It showed a much younger Jon squatting on his haunches at the side of what appeared to be a section of small multi-tiles, smiling at the camera. “Where was this taken?”

“Northern France. I was doing my post-graduate studies at Cambridge, and we were excavating the site of a Roman villa just outside Caen. The mosaic you can see me working on turned out to be one of the most perfectly preserved ever discovered in that part of the country. It’s probably why I look quite so pleased with myself.”

“I think you look cute. You’ve got this little smudge of dirt on the end of your nose…” Kaspar turned back to face him. “Do you still go on digs like this?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” He sighed. “I’ve become entirely too deskbound over the last couple of years. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all the internal politics of the archaeology department, and I certainly don’t want to talk about them.”

“So don’t,” Kaspar said, moving to sit on the sofa beside him, so close Jon could feel the heat of the young Dutchman’s thigh through his jeans. “Talking’s overrated. You can say so much without words.”

He brought his mouth down on Jon’s in a kiss as sweet as it was unexpected.

Jon smiled against Kaspar’s lips, his eyes closed tight. When Kaspar sought to push his tongue into Jon’s mouth, deepening the kiss, he didn’t resist.

“You taste good,” Kaspar murmured as they broke apart for a moment. “I could spend the rest of my life kissing you from head to toe.”

“Well, why don’t you start now?” Jon spoke with a boldness that surprised him.

“Anything you say…”

With their mouths locked together, they tugged at each other’s clothing, undoing belts, buttons and all the fiddly things that stood in the way of their being naked.

Kaspar sucked and nipped at Jon’s neck then pushed the tip of his tongue into the folds of his ear. The wet pressure made Jon squirm and he let out a little noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan.

“Ticklish, huh?” Kaspar grinned evilly. “Now that’s something I need to file away for future reference.”

So maybe this isn’t going to be a one-off…

By now, Kaspar had his T-shirt off, giving Jon a view of his well-toned, almost hairless chest. Jon found his mouth watering at the thought of licking Kaspar’s hard little nipples. He stood up so he could pull down his cords. With his shirttails hanging down and his erection threatening to escape from the opening of his boxers, he must have looked a little ridiculous, but his companion didn’t seem to mind.

Kaspar removed his own jeans, raising his hips so he could wriggle them down and off. Beneath them, he wore white trunk-style underwear that hugged the curving length of his dick. He sat for a moment, stroking himself through the thin jersey material. Jon thought he’d never seen anyone look so blatantly sexual. This man had an aura like none he’d ever encountered—primal and untamed—and Jon couldn’t help but respond to it on an instinctive level.

He all but pushed Kaspar back against the sofa cushions and clambered on top of him. Now he kissed the Dutchman with all the passion he had, as if all the frustrations of the long, lonely months since he’d split up with Simon were pouring out of him. He ran his hands over Kaspar’s torso, circling his tight nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

Kaspar yanked at his shirt, pulling it apart and sending a couple of the buttons flying in the process. Once he’d bared Jon’s chest, he covered it with kisses, moving gradually lower until his mouth hovered just above the waistband of Jon’s boxers. The hot bulge of his cock had somehow slipped into the groove between Jon’s arse cheeks as though it belonged there.

“Can you excuse me for a moment?” The nagging voice at the back of Jon’s head couldn’t be ignored any longer. He climbed off Kaspar’s lap and dashed into the ground-floor bathroom. Lube he had in abundance—it made his hand glide more smoothly over his cock when he masturbated. Though he hadn’t been doing too much of that recently. But were there any condoms? He and Kaspar could do plenty of things that didn’t involve penetration, he knew, but tonight he needed to go all the way.