“But his behaviour is awfully erratic. And it’s got me in a lot of trouble, which is about to get a great deal worse.”
“Zeb—” Gideon stepped towards him, extending a reassuring hand, then pulled it back with a jolt. It was how he’d used to reach for Zeb in times of trouble, an instinctive movement, deep in the body. Zeb understood that, because the instinct to reach for Gideon now was engraved into his bones.
They stared at each other for a second. Gideon cleared his throat. “I’ll have the chauffeur ready and waiting for eight o’clock. I dare say Hawley will spew his malice but you won’t be here to hear it.”
“Right. Good. Thank you.” He was just a few feet away, so close. They were both still in evening dress and Gideon did look good in evening dress. He looked good in anything; he alwayshad.
Zeb wanted him so much.
He’d never stopped wanting him, over the past year. He’d had better-looking lovers before and since, and more skilled ones, and certainly easier ones to get on with, and none of them had mattered a damn by comparison because none of them had been Gideon. And it probably wasn’t sensible, or possible, or even fair, but they were here together, against all the odds, and he had to try.
“Look,” he said. “Could we, perhaps—when you’re back in London—could I see you again? I have missed you awfully, and it was good to talk, and I know I got things horribly wrong before so I quite understand you’re still angry, but I’d very much like to make amends, if I could. If you want.” He sounded pathetically hopeful in his own ears.
Gideon hesitated. “I’m not coming back to London for the foreseeable future. I can’t leave this job. I literally can’t afford to.”
“Then may I write to you here? Or was that a polite rejection? Not that you owe me a polite rejection. You could tell me to sod off and I’d have no grounds to argue. Only, you didn’t, sowasit a rejection?”
Gideon shut his eyes, possibly in despair. “God damn it, Zeb. What’s the point of this? You have to go. I have to stay.”
“Yes,” Zeb said. “But we could have tonight.”
Gideon opened his eyes at that. Zeb said, “Just tonight. No obligations. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t wantit to. But I missed you.”
Gideon didn’t speak at all for a moment. He looked almost blank, as if he didn’t quite understand.
Then he grabbed Zeb by the lapels, shoved him back against the wall in a couple of stumbling steps, and kissed him.
Zeb grabbed him back, pulling him in. Gideon’s mouth was urgent, as forceful as Zeb felt, and he was fisting Zeb’s lapels, dragging him close, kissing him with frantic need. Zeb clutched his hair, his strong shoulder, then his arse, tugging their hips together, wanting all of Gideon’s touch he’d deprived himself of over the past year, for which he’d never found an adequate substitute.
Gideon’s mouth stilled, and he pulled back, leaving Zeb’s lips wet and bereft. Zeb stared up, praying he wasn’t going to change his mind, and Gideon moved his hands gently up Zeb’s lapels, took hold of the cloth on both sides, and shoved his jacket down over his shoulders.
Well, all right then.
Gideon had one knee up, trapping Zeb against the wall with his body. He used that position to jerk the sleeves down, without Zeb’s aid, and tossed the jacket to one side. He didn’t stop watching Zeb’s face. He didn’t speak.
He unbuttoned Zeb’s waistcoat, eased that off, discarded it. He slid his hand down the front to Zeb’s shirt, with its wretched fiddly studs.
“Just pull,” Zeb said. “I won’t be wearing it again.”
Gideon paused, and then he did it. He pulled hard, with bothhands, wrenching the sides of the shirt apart, sending fastenings flying. He shoved the shirt down over Zeb’s shoulders, to his forearms, and stopped there. “Damn.”
Zeb still had cuff links in, so the sleeves wouldn’t go over his hands. The cloth of his shirt was tangled behind his back, restricting his arms. “Leave it,” he said.
“Your hands are caught.”
“Leave it.”
Gideon inhaled, a little hiccupy noise. Zeb licked his lips. “Touch me.”
Gideon spanned Zeb’s chest with his hands, sliding them up and down the bare skin, circling Zeb’s nipples with his thumbs, running his fingers through the sparse hair. Zeb stood, bare-chested, fiercely erect, arms trapped, as Gideon explored. It was quite hard to breathe now.
When Gideon looked up at last, the hunger in his eyes was a physical shock.
“You are beautiful,” he said, voice so low it vibrated. “Beautiful as ever, you scruffy, ridiculous stray cat of a man. God damn it, Zeb. What do you want?”
Zeb didn’t know what he wanted, and if he did know, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
Gideon’s hands moved to Zeb’s waistband, making short work of fastenings, working around his painful erection without touching, and pushing his drawers and trousers down round his ankles. Zeb kicked off his shoes, then the clothing, which left himin socks, suspenders, and shirtsleeves round his wrists. Somehow, he felt a lot more naked than if he’d been completely stripped.
