CHAPTER TWENTY
“Are you busy?”
Ben looked up from his Ducati, which he had wheeled, much to Nik’s disgust, through the kitchen to the small courtyard at the back of the mews house. Then he stared pointedly at the engine, which he had in bits all around him.
Nik huffed. “Then what are you doing this weekend?”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You?”
Nik laughed. “Hopefully. I want to know if you want to go…house hunting.”
Ben came into the kitchen, wiping his oily hands on a rag. “We’re definitely leaving here then?”
Nik raised an eyebrow at the bike in the tiny courtyard and said no more.
Ben put the kettle on. “Have you got some brochures?”
“I have bookmarked likely ones for you to look at.”
“Bookmarked…?”
“There is a thing that looks like a television in the office; oh, and the office is the room—”
“Funny. Okay. When are we leaving?”
“Friday, early?”
“The dog?”
“Kate said she would look after him.”
Ben suddenly grinned. “What are you doing ‘til early Friday?”
Nik responded to the grin. “You.”
§§§
The first house Nikolas had booked to see was on the eastern borders of Devon. The original farmhouse had been knocked down and a new one built in its place. When they arrived, the agent was sitting in a convertible outside the gates. Nikolas eyed him with a disdainful expression. “I hope he has finished his homework.”
“You’re such an old man.”
“Benjamin, you are an old man to him. Which reminds me.” Nikolas twisted in the seat to look at Ben. “You are to be my younger brother. Are you comfortable with that, or have I offended these new metrosexual relationship rules I am suffering under? If you are going to sulk or be mad then we will turn around now.”
“Wow. I asked you one question about your past. One bloody question—which I didn’t get answered. I’m so glad you’re not my older brother.”
“Hopefully for more reasons than that I would boss you around. So, are you happy with this?”
“We don’t look anything like brothers, and you’re Danish and weird. How about we say I’m your…financial advisor?”
Nikolas almost laughed. “Whatever you feel comfortable carrying off, but we are not—”
“Oh, go on, say the word. I’m going to enjoy this.”
Nik clenched his jaw, but he was trying not to smile at the same time. “Follow that hairdresser’s car, and do not touch anything.”
§§§
Ben wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think about the house. They followed the agent up the drive, a smooth red, newly laid driveway lined with immaculate green lawns. The house was all glass and chrome with touches of oak and stone, so it could call itself an eco house. The entrance lobby was marble, the living room furnished in cream leather. The kitchen was vast and kitted out like something from a food programme—chrome machines, a central island sink and even a butler’s pantry. There was a laundry and a cinema room, and an indoor pool under a glass atrium with a sauna, steam room, and attached gym. Upstairs, the master bedroom had a wetroom bigger than their current kitchen. Nikolas kept his expression neutral throughout. Ben did, until he heard the agent say, “Of course, there is room for manoeuvre on the four point two. My clients have already bought in South Africa and would consider something beginning with a three, if that was followed by a nine.”
Ben’s eyes widened; he frowned and mouthed questioningly at Nikolas, “Four point two what?”
Nikolas ignored him and said, “I would like to see the stables.”
The stables were bigger than Ben’s cottage had been. He watched Nikolas’s face as he examined each of the six stalls. It retained its neutral expression. Finally, he nodded to Ben and said to the agent, “We will be in touch,” and walked back to the car.
As Ben climbed in beside him and watched the agent tear off in his slightly worrying car, he glanced anxiously at the house then over at Nikolas. Nikolas chuckled and patted his leg. “You think very loudly, but for once we are in total accord. It is not right.”
Ben let out a sigh of relief. “Next one then?”
Nik pursed his lips. “It is more promising.”
“So…about the four point two thing…”
“Or possibly a three if followed by a nine. What a grotesque little oik.”
Ben gave a shocked laugh. “My God, the bloody blueblood is never far under the surface, is it?”
“I am Rus— Danish, Benjamin. I cannot have blueblood, however rich I am.”
“So…how rich are you?”
Nikolas narrowed his eyes. “That is a very worrying question from my new financial advisor. I have…sufficient…”
“You have four point two million pounds? Christ.”
“I have a little more than that, but please do not mention that to one of these agent-type people.”
“So you could afford that house we just saw with a pool and the gym…and that shower?”
Nikolas gave him a long look. “We could, yes. Perhaps, I must begin to think that what is mine is yours also.”
Ben added quickly, “And then mine would be yours.”
Nikolas turned away for a moment, bit his lip to control his laughter and said seriously, “Your motorbike is in pieces on my kitchen floor and your leather jacket was eaten by your dog. Ah…perhaps you mean for me to share Radulf? How delightful, part ownership of a gay dog. I do not recall anything else of yours I particularly covet.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of one thing…”
Nikolas laughed. “Well, yes, I would have to admit to coveting that. As it happens, we have an hour before our next appointment and it is only five miles from here. I feel like breaking the tenth commandment. And the seventh, while I still have the opportunity.”
“Here? In the car?”
Nikolas glanced around. “Oh, look…a house. I wonder if…” He produced a key from his pocket. “Spotty teen may miss this soon. I suggest we make haste.” Nikolas wasn’t quite so pleased with himself when he discovered that the key he’d taken was for the stable block and not the house, but the stables had their own attraction. Ben couldn’t say that Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen, bespoke suit discarded on the floor, shirt ripped open and slipping off his shoulders, was not a very attractive sight.
Ben pushed him face first into one of the walls and stood behind, his cock long and jutting out of his own suit. He licked a finger and teased Nik for a while, admiring the still healing bite mark he’d given him a few days before on the Saddleworth moors. He pressed his mouth to Nikolas’s shoulder, and before Nikolas could say urgently, “Don’t!” he’d bitten him again. Hard. Nikolas winced and flinched away, swearing in a weird mixture of languages, and he swung a fist back to punish Ben, but Ben caught the hand, seized the other wrist and pinned him hard to the wall. Then he bit him again, just because he could, and nothing was as good as the taste of Nikolas’s warm skin.
When Nik tried to ram his head back to stop him, Ben sank something other than teeth into him, but he didn’t let go of the shoulder. Only when he tasted blood did he begin to lick and suck gently at the wound as he brought them both, with long, hard thrusts, to knee-staggering orgasms.
As soon as he could stand unaided, Nikolas pulled away and twisted theatrically to see the wounds on his shoulder. “You have to stop doing that, Benjamin! It actually hurts. Fuck. Is that blood on my shirt?”
“Stop being such a baby.”
“This shirt cost—”
“Yeah, yeah, you said it was half mine now, so that keeps the cost down.”
“Jesus. I did not mean for you to have the shirt off my back. Seriously, Benjamin, am I bleeding?”
“Of course not.” He pulled Nikolas closer and began to dress him, buttoning his shirt to distract them both from the trickle of blood he could see running down Nikolas’s back.
“I will probably get rabies.”
Ben cupped his cheeks and kissed him. “Does it really hurt?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
Ben turned the gentle cupping into a rough shake. “Good. Next house we see? When you’re talking your fours and points and fucking nines, feel that pain and remember who owns who in this relationship.”
Nikolas was very quiet on the way to the next house; a gem of eighteenth-century architecture set in manicured grounds alongside the River Exe. Its classic Georgian proportions awed Ben as they drove along the winding drive to meet another agent, a woman in her thirties. She looked hungry—pretty much for everything. She gave them both a piercing and calculating appraisal, appeared very satisfied with what she saw, and approached them with her hand extended as they exited the car.
Ben murmured, “Little brother struck dumb at birth, yeah?”
Nikolas tried to hide a private smile. She proceeded to show them the house—drawing room done in the French style, huge kitchen, upper rooms…Ben tuned it all out and felt as if he were being given a tour of a stately home, which he guessed he was. He had no idea what Nikolas was thinking until they got to the stables, where he gave a thoughtful glance at one wall. Ben snorted but sobered at a frown from the agent. They went out to the grounds once more, and she started to talk about fishing rights. Nikolas finally stopped her with a small gesture of his hand. “We don’t fish. Price?” Age clearly had its disadvantages because this house started with a six. Nik nodded and said he wanted to walk around it again on his own. Ben quickly retreated to the safety of the car. Six! He took the opportunity to text Kate: Is he being good? And got back: Define good.
All seemed well, so he tossed the phone in the glove box and began to think about lunch. Nikolas came out twenty minutes later and stood under the central portico, nonchalantly considering the front elevations of the house. Ben couldn’t deny that to any casual observer, Nikolas appeared like he belonged here. In the back of Ben’s mind, he knew he looked like a model on a GQ photo shoot, dressed to play the part of the English gentleman. But English gentlemen, by and large, weren’t six foot four with green-eyed, exotic beauty. He would always be incongruous here. Nikolas, though, had the kind of beauty that only generations of breeding could produce—the rich marrying the beautiful, cheekbones rising and defining, and jaws strengthening with each generation. But Ben was not a casual observer of Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen. He knew another Nikolas, and this one was not so elegant or remote. The things Nikolas knew, the things he occasionally wanted, had not come from a life lived in the luxury of wealth. There was a very dark side to Nikolas, which in many ways made him just as much an impostor in this Palladian house as Ben.
As they were driving away, Nikolas asked, “Well?”
“Food first, maybe?”
Nikolas glanced at his watch and nodded.
They found an authentic-looking pub—thatch and mounting blocks—and went in. Ben ordered for both of them and came back to their table with two huge steak and kidney pies with chips and peas. He totally ignored Nikolas’s predicable protest and pushed the plate toward him. “Eat. Your bones are starting to bruise me.” Nikolas curled his lip at the food, picked up his fork and began to move things around his plate. Ben hoovered his meal as usual and then went to order some beer. When he got back, Nikolas asked him again about the house. Ben didn’t know what to say, so he ventured noncommittally, “You liked it.”
Nik shrugged. “In some ways.”
After lunch, Ben would have preferred a snooze, but he dutifully drove to the next address Nikolas gave him. They were not meeting an agent, apparently, nor actually seeing around the house. They pulled in at the side of the road on a hill that overlooked a large farm with an indoor equestrian centre. Nikolas slid out of the car and went to lean on a gate, staring down into the sunlit valley. Ben joined him. Without glancing over, Nikolas said casually, “This belongs to Philipa’s family. It will be mine this week as part of the divorce settlement.”
“What? So soon? When?”
Nikolas nodded then shrugged. “The papers are being signed on Monday. Lady Philipa’s amicable divorce. Etcetera, etcetera. I can see the headlines in tabloid press now.” He glanced over. “No thoughts?”
“I—So…exactly why are we house hunting?” For one bizarre moment, Ben thought Nikolas was going to spit with derision. In the end, he just kicked the gate and went back to the vehicle then he turned around and came back to Ben, uncharacteristic emotion on his face.
“I believe he has owned it since 1327. I intend to sell it. Preferably to a footballer with a Ferrari and a huge number of tattoos.” With that Nik stomped back to the Range Rover and climbed in, folding his arms and staring out of the window. Ben slid back behind the wheel and waited meekly for his next instructions. Clearly, Nikolas wasn’t quite so inured to the idea of divorce as he pretended.