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Benjamin Rider, Aleksey had decided by lunchtime on Friday, was more than excessively annoying.
Not only had the man arrived in skin-tight black leathers, a very form-fitting black T-shirt and a designer black leather jacket, he’d brought a thoughtful present for Philipa. She had met him at the door, which was her way with new guests, and Aleksey could not blame her for her reaction to this six-foot-four, male-model-beautiful guest. Ben was bowling her over, and Aleksey knew the man was very well aware of it. Ben was owning the moment.
When he rose from the table, where he’d been reading his newspaper and not taking any interest in this arrival, the present, or the conversation, Ben turned his gaze to him.
And then straight back to Philipa to listen politely to something she said.
There might have been a brief, polite nod. It was hard to tell.
Aleksey indicated to Ben’s bag and equally politely suggested he might like to freshen up. Wash? Change into something more suitable?Morecivilised.
Ben smiled, apparently not bothered at all by this unspoken, yet fairly obvious addition. It was the first time Aleksey had seen him smile, and he felt something in his brain keel over and die. Possibly his resistance.
He rallied, however. It’s what he did.
He led the way, taking his time to saunter through the huge, ancient manor house, pointing out a few family portraits as they went. He had no idea who any of these people actually were, of course, and didn’t care, but he made up some entertaining lies about them nevertheless.
Philipa had decided to put Ben in the Elizabethan wing, where the walls were crooked, floors creaky, and the original mullioned windows draughty in winter. It was, nevertheless, having been slept in by no fewer than three kings in its time, one of the most beautiful rooms in the house, highly admired and prized by all her guests.
Ben went straight to the window. He braced on the wall either side of the glass, his long, lean body displayed to full advantage in the leather. Then he bent a little and peered out.
At some noise he apparently heard, he turned quickly and asked, “Sorry, sir, did you say something?”
Aleksey shook his head.
“Err, I didn’t bring a lot of clothes. What are we doing today? What should I wear?” He tossed his jacket onto the bed and then, with a full stretch, ribs, muscle and hollows prominent, stripped out of his T-shirt.
Dressed only in form-hugging leather, Ben regarded Aleksey questioningly.
Aleksey did the most uncharacteristic thing he had ever done in his life. He backed out of the room.
He told himself this was merely a tactical retreat, not surrender of any kind.
But he desperately needed to regroup.
* * *
Ben made his next appearance dressed in some only slightly creased dark grey chinos and a white shirt. Philipa suggested lunch. This proposal seemed to be very happily accepted, and Ben followed her into the dining room where she had ordered a buffet to be laid, not knowing what sort of food Mr Rider liked.
She didn’t apparently need to have worried.
Plates heaped high, she and her new best friend sat down side by side facing the large floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the best view over the gardens.
Aleksey slid in on the opposite side from them, blocking Ben’s view.
Ben took his concentration off his hostess for a moment, glanced at him, then down at Aleksey’s empty plate and then back up.
Philipa apparently noted this confusion and explained with airy unconcern, “Oh, Nikolas never eats. A rather good friend of mine calls him The Blond Breatharian—amongst other things. You tuck in though, darling. There’s plenty more where that came from. I’ll see if pud can come out now.” She rose and strode away purposefully.
Aleksey leant back in his chair. “So, Benjamin, have you thought whether you would like to come and work for me?”
“Do you invite all your prospective employees here like this, sir?”
“Do you always answer a question with another question?”
“Are you going to actually tell me what the job is before I tell you if I want it?
Aleksey kept his smirk well hidden. He was oscillating between extreme annoyance at how easily this man was derailing him, and finding him entirely entrancing. He couldn’t actually work out whether Ben Rider was a complete ingénue and was merely blundering best he could through a very awkward weekend, or whether he, Aleksey Primakov, was being expertly played.
