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Chapter 32
Nine Years Three Months Ago
Aleksey waited for the spiteful little man's reaction to his cruel words.
It wasn't what he expected.
"Good, so you won’t mind that Ben Rider is fucking around on you then…”
Aleksey swallowed deeply, a pulse in his temple throbbed painfully for a moment as he clenched his teeth on a hasty response. Sometimes he wondered if one day all the things he held inside his head would burst forth, unlocked by a few simple words such as these: Ben Rider—fucking around—onhim. His first impulse, to lash out, had to be restrained under his keen need to stay under the radar—theSir Nikolas Mikkelsendeceit.
He was very relieved he’d been so controlled when the other added, “She’s a bit of a looker, is Katie. Brains and beauty.Typeswell, too, I hear.” Wriggling fingers and a snigger made the insinuation clear.
Ah. Aleksey felt his heart rate return to normal. Well, he no longer felt an imminent explosion, so assumed an aneurysm wasn’t on the cards just yet. Kate. She had been no threat to him. She couldn’t compete. What did she have that someone like Ben needed?
But, nevertheless, he had not liked his favourite toy in someone else’s bed, someone else’s body.
Nikolas had once taken Aleksey’s favourite toy soldier—just a raggedy old stuffed figure in a scarlet jacket with a Guards’ bearskin and black boots—and tried to hide him to play with when Aleksey was out.
His twin had regretted that.
Aleksey didn’t share well.
So although he did not particularly like being reminded of the Kate months, they did hold some amusement to recall. He particularly remembered a trip to Paris taken with Ben to distract him from the stupidity of thinking soft flesh and a woman’s idea of sex would ever satisfy the hunger gnawing deep in his gut. He’d dragged a very reluctant young man to The Louvre and made him look at paintings—had talked to him about them, why they were masterpieces. Even thinking back on Ben’s reaction to this outrage almost made him smile. He’d won Ben back by opening a chink in his armour, letting him see a glimpse of what lay inside—what could be Ben’s if he chose wisely.
Which, when he thought about it, might explain Ben’s reaction to him being engrossed in that very interesting programme on Iron Age archaeology after such a long time apart. It was all very well allowing someone to penetrate beneath your shell, but they would obviously then think that this new connection was there for permanent exploitation.
Anyway, Kate, he knew, had shown Ben everything there was to see. Laid it out on the table (well, on a bed, he supposed. Or the floor), and saidhere it is, this is what you get.
He’d been subtler, and he’d won.
So, no, he didn’t fear this announcement.
If Kate, with her brains and beauty, couldn’t capture Ben, there wasn’t a woman alive who could.
But he didn’t like this man knowing anything about his people, his concerns, hisdesigns.
He feigned utter ennui with one of the most dismissive waves of his fingers he could muster, and with a drawling, bored accent intoned, “As pleasant as this littletête-à-têtehas been, I am now quite late for another meeting. Do not contact me again. Delete my number from your phone.” He was tempted to be a little more...forceful, embarrassed now that their body parts had ever come into contact.
Gussy seemed put out by the reception of his great news. Perhaps this?????´?genuinely thought that he wouldn’t know all there was to know about Benjamin Rider. Fuck, he even knew which running clothes Ben wore on which days, let alone how far he ran and in what time. What did he think? That he would break down upon finding out Ben chose to use a woman to relieve needs he wasn’t getting met elsewhere? Ben used people. It’s what he did. Aleksey repressed a smirk. It was one of the things he particularly liked about Benjamin Rider: his genuine but utterly felonious belief that he was, fundamentally, underneath a bit of army machismo, a nice guy. Well matched then. He’d always thought so.
Switching back to the matter in hand, which the longer he stayed behind the Nikolas Mikkelsen facade seemed harder each time to do, he muttered, “What are you doing?” He wasn’t really interested in finding out the answer to this enquiry, but it seemed polite to ask, given the pip-squeak was removing his shoes and socks.
“I want you to fuck me. Like you do Benjamin Rider. What! Why are you laughing? You never laugh! Stop it.”
Aleksey shook himself a little. He had let a genuine emotion slip. Fuck him like he fucked Ben? There would be nothing left but red mist. And, besides, so far he’d only touched this repulsive little man’s mouth with his very well protected cock. The idea of going anywhere else in his body was so repellent it was actually funny.
“Get dressed. You are embarrassing yourself.” He went once more towards the door. Unfortunately, being his wife’s Godson, more satisfying endings to this little fun afternoon were not possible. “Do not forget to delete my number. You will not be calling me again.”
“Au contraire, Nicky, darling, it will beyoucallingme. Desperately.”
Aleksey turned. The Honourable was smirking and unbuttoning his shirt.
Sometimes Aleksey was not as deeply in the shadows as he worked so hard to be—if the expression on the Honourable’s face now was anything to go by. He thought he’d only scowled a little at this bizarre boast. Apparently not. He’d occasionally made men piss themselves with some of his expressions—well, to be fair, it might have been the tools in his hands—but paling and sweating was fun, too. Aleksey was fairly confident the little weasel was regretting the smirk. But he realised he was concentrating on the wrong thing and switched back to the moment. Yup, definitely getting harder. But he wasn’t going to ask. Aleksey Primakov got his best answers when he let silence speak for him. Okay, and the tools.
Gustav swallowed deeply then explained in a rush, “I told you: I’m not going to divorce Sherman and then be left with nothing.”
