This Other Country Read online

  Ben appeared a little put out, but before he could comment, Nikolas snapped, “So, you agree?”

  Nigel was still staring at his favourite star, probably now even more a favourite and murmured, “What’s in it for us?”

  “Marital bliss?”

  Three sets of eyes swivelled to Nikolas. He shrugged. “You say you want to settle down. You say you want adventure. I propose you take a holiday. An adventurous holiday. A very adventurous holiday for two months. I believe you’ll return from that experience,” he glanced at Justin, “extremely glad to settle down.”

  “We can’t aff—”

  “A gift from me. Two months in New Zealand. A wilderness experience. First class travel, of course.”

  Both men’s brows rose. They regarded each other eagerly and nodded.

  § § §

  They returned to their London house. Nikolas considered Ben as he rummaged in the fridge for something to eat. “What’s wrong?”

  Ben pouted. “I want to go on a wilderness experience to New Zealand for two months…I don’t want to go on a bloody gay one.”

  Nikolas sighed. “I agree. We have forty-eight hours. If your stupid friend returns before we have to leave we will take the flights to New Zealand.”

  Ben grinned. “They were okay, though, weren’t they?”

  Nikolas gave him a swift, penetrating glance. “What do you mean?”

  “Nice guys. Normal.”

  “What would you expect them to be?”

  “I was just saying. They weren’t…”

  “Wearing pink and ironing?”

  “I iron, Nikolas, or have you not noticed your T-shirts—my God, you actually haven’t noticed! Everyone in the army irons! Jesus, did brigadiers have servants in Russian Special Forces?”

  Nikolas was deeply puzzled. “Yes—we called them soldiers?” He ignored Ben’s theatrical roll of his eyes and ventured more seriously, “You’ve realised by now, yes, that you can’t come with me on this course?”

  Ben stopped spreading butter on his toast. He just froze, and then resumed scraping. Viciously. “What do you mean?”

  “Ben…”

  “No. They won’t…”

  “They will. Everyone does. A room full of gay men in crisis not recognise you? Come on…”

  § § §

  Ben knew Nikolas was right. He had one of those faces. People remembered him, and although he hadn’t been on the BBC that month, ANGEL documentaries were rerun on the Discovery Channel every other day.

  Nikolas pinched the side of Ben’s shirt, rubbing it between his fingers. “Grey men, Ben. You weren’t really grey when you worked for me in the department.”

  Ben stuffed a piece of toast in Nikolas’s mouth to shut him up, even though he knew very well Nikolas didn’t eat carbohydrates. Let him lick the butter, the bugger.

  “I don’t care. I’m not letting you go alone.”

  Nikolas, extricating himself from the toast, grumbled, “I’ve faced more threatening situations than a room full of gay men with issues, Benjamin. I think I’ll be strong enough to survive, don’t you?”

  “I’m not worried about your survival.” He came close and kissed into Nikolas’s neck, just under his ear where he loved the smell and feel of his warm skin. “I’m worried about my survival when you have all that temptation in front of you.”

  Nikolas kissed him back, down his dark stubble and up into his long hair. “What about temptation…behind me?”

  Ben hit him, and as always the physical sparked and ignited a bonfire of need. They’d left Devon at five a.m. without their usual wake-up fun, so felt they were owed, even though it was lunchtime, and it seemed almost indecent to tumble up the stairs, undressing, wrestling and kissing. They were both so hard it was a struggle to actually hold out until they were on the bed and naked. Ben took the warm, smooth erection in his hand. “Is this for me or for thinking about all those poor men in crisis needing a strong hand?”

  § § §

  Nikolas arched into Ben’s strong hand. The thought he could ever want anyone else when he had such beauty in front of him everyday was so far-fetched he rarely played this game—pretending to be interested in other men. He was a practised liar and convincing actor, but he wasn’t that good. He cupped his hand around Ben’s, making him grip tighter, but Ben struggled free, kissed him and spread himself enticingly on his belly. Nikolas paused for a minute, appreciating what he had, trickling a finger down the prominent spine, dipping it lower to elicit a hiss of need. He wound his fingers into Ben’s long hair, tugging it like reins. He loved the feel of the hair in his hands, loved how Ben looked, flowing when he walked. Twisting it now, he mounted him. Ben arched in pain as he always did, never seeming to be reconciled to what he always eventually craved.

  Nikolas made it easy for him this time, easing gently until the stretch was done, the thrusting accepted, muscles relaxed and fear of pain gave way to expectation of pleasure. Then he was free to let rip, riding Ben, one hand wrapped in dark hair, the other roaming over Ben’s perfect face.

  Nikolas felt himself getting close and bent to Ben’s ear. “Come with me …” He pulled out, flung Ben over onto his back, re-entered, and Ben seized his neck, dragging him down so they kissed as they came. They could feel the breath of the other in orgasm, sharing this as they shared their release, one deep inside, one releasing between them. Then they shared heartbeats coming down, the warmth and boneless entangling of limbs. Lips found lips once more, lazy now, long kisses with mouths wide open, smiling into the taste of the other, languid, unhurried and not driven by the need to jettison their loads.

  And then sleep, daylight, afternoon sounds drifting into the bedroom. Even this was shared, as Ben hovered in Nikolas’s dreams, the prize for some furious fight, and Nikolas into the stormy landscapes of Ben’s sleep terrors: saviour, companion, and responsibility.

  § § §

  After breakfast the next day, Ben said he was taking Radulf out.

  Nikolas was tapping the phone on his palm, watching him. “I’m going to ask Jackson to come with me.” Ben froze, toying with the leather lead, watching that and not Nikolas. “You know it makes sense, Ben.”

  “Jackson, not me.” He kept his back to Nikolas and left.

  § § §

  Ben didn’t return until lunchtime. Jackson appeared to have been there for a while, well-read now into Nigel and Justin’s profiles.

  Nikolas had recruited Jackson to ANGEL to silence him about events in Russia two years previous when they’d survived a plane crash together. But he’d proved his worth many times over since that initial, hasty hiring. Effectively, he was Nikolas’s CEO, if such a private organisation had such an office. He ran ANGEL, taking the day-to-day mundane work off Nikolas’s shoulders.

  If anyone had to guess which of the ANGEL team was gay, Jackson would be top of the list. Which would be wrong—but then they’d probably put Nikolas and Ben at the bottom. Jackson appeared to model himself on a character in an American television series who’d been ferociously gay. Once Tim had pointed this resemblance out, Squeezy had seized on it to give Jackson his nickname.

  Jackson was cold-hearted; he spent all his free time in the gym; he was obsessed about his looks, impressed by money, and spent more on suits and accessories than Nikolas. But unlike his role model, Jackson wasn’t gay. Nikolas claimed this was only because Jackson would never risk going out with someone who was better than him at anything.

  Ben had been surprised when Nikolas hired Jackson. Theirs had been a rocky relationship in Russia. He’d been even more taken aback, therefore, that Nikolas and Jackson appeared to enjoy each other’s company now. They even, and he found this quite incredible, often went out together. Nikolas claimed they went to a gym, but Ben knew this was a lie. He hadn’t spied on them, of course—that would be beneath him, and not worthy of his trust in Nikolas. He’d had Squeezy follow them. They’d gone to a casino.

  § § §

  Jackson and Nikolas were
discussing tactics when Ben came into the kitchen. Nikolas dropped his tea, which then splashed over the files. He snatched them up, but kept his eyes on Ben—wide, astonished eyes. He swallowed and closed his mouth and tried to say, “What have you done?” but by the time he had found enough saliva to make a sound, only the done was audible. Ben knew what he meant. He shrugged.

  Jackson just stared, his eyes also wide, but then he glanced uneasily between Nikolas and Ben. Without saying anything, he slid around Nikolas and left the kitchen.

  Ben’s long hair had been shaved off to an inch of standing buzz, which was now white-blond. His eyes were husky-blue with hints of their natural green turning them turquoise around the irises. His stubble had been trimmed to a goatee that framed his mouth. This was also blond-white, more than startling on his deeply tanned skin. The overall effect was…utterly transformational. Nikolas might have walked past him in the street. The overall effect was…utterly stunning. Blue eyes, white hair…Ben turned his head slightly to one side. He had a diamond stud in his ear and curling up from the neckline of his T-shirt and covering his neck on that side was a tattoo of the letter N. “When are we leaving?”

  Nikolas had to lick his lips again before he could summon speech. “Saturday.” When this came out correctly, he added, “Early.” He came closer. He put out a hand tentatively, his thumb brushing over the white stubble around Ben’s lips.

  § § §

  Ben could read Nikolas’s thoughts as if he were actually speaking aloud, and opened his mouth, taking the thumb in, moving close, embracing him, letting Nikolas’s lips and tongue explore everything and discover that he hadn’t changed anything other than the superficial, which would change back soon enough. The tattoo was temporary. The hair would take a while to grow back out again, but he’d shaved it once before. No harm done this time. So precisely did Ben know Nikolas’s thoughts he wasn’t even surprised when Nikolas murmured, “No scabs this time.”

  Ben nodded, hugging him tighter. “I couldn’t let you go without me.” Then he added with a slight huff that betrayed the fact he wasn’t quite so sanguine about Nikolas’s friendship with Jackson as he appeared, “I couldn’t let you go with Kinney.”

  Nikolas held him off, eyeing Ben speculatively, especially the hair, then gazing with an annoyed look at his new eye colour. He turned him round to examine the back then spun him once more to face front. “As you would say, Benjamin—fuck me.”

  Ben grinned. “Okay.” He kissed Nikolas and ruffled his hair. “So, you’re okay with this?”

  “Okay isn’t the word I’m currently thinking, but what I’m thinking doesn’t have an equivalent in English.” He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Ben, just kept watching him with a bemused shaking of his head. “You still look like ex-Special-Forces-Expert Ben Rider, you know.”

  Ben nodded, unconcerned. “Look like. I’ll play on it. Say, yeah, I know, poncy git.”

  Nikolas appeared to want to say more but for the first time in their relationship, he seemed utterly at a loss to find words in any language to say anything. Not at all bothered, Ben went to put the kettle on and was about to ask Nikolas what he and Kinney had been discussing when the doorbell rang.

  Ben went to answer it and was…overwhelmed with flowers. He staggered back into the kitchen, followed by Kate with still more flowers in her arms. She dumped her load on the table and indicated for Ben to do likewise. Nikolas frowned deeply as if he’d thought his life couldn’t get any odder that day. “You’re bringing Ben flowers now?”

  § § §

  Kate was staring at Ben, but answered, exasperated, “They’re not for him. They’re for you.” She hoped he got the moron she mentally concluded this with and suspected he did. She added wanking tosspot—one of Squeezy’s favourite Nikolas expressions when they discussed him in private—and suspected he’d heard that, too. She was fairly sure people had said worse to him in his life out loud. Possibly just before he’d tortured or murdered them. Or fucked them.

  “You’re bringing me flowers. To bribe me to let you f…?”

  She shifted her study to Nikolas for a moment with a frown. “Bribe you? These are for you to practise on.” Her attention drifted back to Ben, her head tilting to one side and then the other. It was incredible. Simple things, but the transition from Ben Rider, to being almost another man entirely was impressive. He resembled the old Ben, but this new Ben only served to emphasise just how beautiful, how perfect the original version of the man was. Kate felt a distinct stirring, and not necessarily the sexual one she always felt around Ben. This time it was more maternal. She wanted to remove the ear stud—tell Ben he didn’t need it, that perfection didn’t need enhancement. She wanted to change the hair back to the luscious black shine with chocolate and vanilla highlights that he seemed so unaware of.

  Perhaps not so motherly after all.

  Then an annoying thought occurred to her—she had probably just had a similar reaction to Ben’s transformation as Nikolas Mikkelsen. Nikolas must also think about Ben’s hair—only he still got to smell it and run his fingers through it. He possibly also gazed in awe as the summer sun created edible highlights—or perhaps not. He didn’t seem the type. Fuck, who was she kidding? She saw the way he watched Ben when Ben didn’t know he was being observed. Yeah, he thought about the highlights.

  She tried to fix her gaze on Nikolas, who was still questioning her about the flowers—but it was impossible—it reverted to Ben as if drawn by an irresistible force.

  She felt a tingle of something down her spine. Not so pleasant. A shiver of warning. Nikolas was a jealous rival. She’d discovered this many times when giving Ben what her boss clearly thought was too much attention. He monitored Ben like a hawk watched prey, which was a trite but very apt analogy, when she thought about it. She knew a great deal about this man who called himself Nikolas Mikkelsen. Killing and eating what he desired wasn’t off his agenda at all.

  And what about Ben? What did Ben really think about this change? For all Ben’s protestations about not being vain, she saw all these men in her life very differently to how they apparently saw themselves. Ben not vain? It was laughable. Perhaps to other gay men, with all their associated body obsessions, Ben would appear the affable, self-deprecating nice guy he wanted to be taken for. She’d seen a different side. What had it said about him as a boyfriend that he’d preferred to spend three hours in a gym than in a bed with her? That he’d gone to parties but stood on the sidelines, watching, cautious, unwilling to join in anything. That he had once reacted so violently to her suggesting he wear a costume to a fancy dress party that she’d left him and gone with an old friend, who’d pranced and preened as Superman with no self-consciousness at all. As any other man she knew would have. Not Ben. He’d gone to the gym instead. So he’d said at the time. Ever since, however, she’d wondered. Sometimes Ben had returned from these apparent sessions with a haunted, restless air that contradicted the whole point of his workouts. Now, knowing about Nikolas Mikkelsen, she suspected he’d been working out another way.

  Ben had told her once that his relationship with Nikolas had started long after theirs. She knew Ben better than he thought she did, and lying to protect his very, very fragile ego was not impossible. Had he come from Nikolas’s bed to hers? Fuck, from Nikolas’s body to hers? It was an uncomfortable thought that sometimes plagued her in the small hours of the morning.

  But did this not entirely prove her point? If Ben were the sweet, kind, simple chap he wanted the world to take him for, he wouldn’t have found whatever he had apparently found in the blond bastard currently trying to read what she was thinking. She knew she was not the only one who pondered Ben and Nikolas’s relationship—what went on when they were on their own. Who did what to whom. And how, come to that.

  Nikolas Mikkelsen apparently fed a hunger in Ben that she dimly perceived but didn’t understand.

  She sighed. Thwarted, unrequited love was an unattractive companion. Why could she not shake off this man
?

  But for all his faults, and he had many—what man didn’t—Ben was…Ben was…

  “Practise?”

  She shook herself, and in reply to Nikolas’s annoyed echo of practise, explained, “Pretending to be Nigel, yes? You’re a florist? What if you have to…I don’t know, answer some questions about flowers?” Oh, God, small victories, but so much fun.

  Ben began to snigger and flicked his attention to Nikolas. Kate, pleased that he got the joke but not letting him off the hook either—think you can choose Nikolas fucking Mikkelsen over me!—rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a book, thrusting it at him. “Cordon Bleu. Complete home course. Ingredients are being delivered.” She handed another book to Nikolas. “Flowers A-Z.” His expression was priceless. She was a bad, bad woman. She cast a final glance at Ben, whether lovingly or not she would decide later, when thinking other things about Ben, and left them to it.

  The room smelt very nice anyway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nikolas laid the book about flowers very carefully on the counter next to the kettle. “I’m going to lie down.”

  Ben was flicking through the incomprehensible book he’d been given and looked up alarmed at this uncharacteristic declaration. The only time he could remember Nikolas saying something similar he’d been sick, hallucinating and suffering from headaches. He stood, instantly worried and put the back of his hand to Nikolas’s forehead. “You okay?”

  Nikolas caught his hand and smiled, a small, feral smirk. “I’m not going to lie down alone…I apparently have a stranger to explore.” He brushed his palm over Ben’s hair then captured his mouth, pulling him in tight. Ben got the message when he felt the hardness. He slid his hand down, stroking Nikolas through his jeans. Nikolas began to back him towards the stairs. When Ben’s heels connected with the lowest step, he fell back. Nikolas went with him, lying hard and heavy upon him. By the time they made it to the bedroom, Ben was in a fever of need. His mind had already pictured Nikolas naked; he already felt him deep inside.