The Price of Temptation Read online

  “You can put the cards away.” Setting down his package, Stephen crossed to a rosewood chiffonier and retrieved the chess board. And the tray with the brandy decanters, which Jamie had banished from the table.

  Jamie watched him warily. “I thought Charles was joining us?”

  “Sam took ill. It’s just the two of us tonight.” His smile held such promise that Jamie looked away. The earl poured brandy into two glasses. “Here’s to Sam’s quick recovery.”

  Jamie took his glass, but didn’t drink.

  “You do want Sam to get better?”

  “I think I had a bit too much last night. I’d rather not make a habit out of it.”

  The earl shrugged. “Suit yourself. But one little brandy is hardly going to hurt you. Timid little mouse,” he added under his breath.

  Jamie’s head jerked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. “To Sam,” he said, draining his glass.

  “That’s my boy.” The earl’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “What do you say we make the game a little more interesting tonight?”

  “How so?”

  “A small bet.” The earl tapped his finger on the wrapped package. “I have here a book I believe you are interested in.”

  Jamie perked up. “Is that the new Byron?” How thoughtful of Stephen to have remembered. He reached for the book.

  “Ah, ah—not so fast. Let’s play first, shall we? Since I’ve already promised you this, you’ll get it whether you win or lose—we’ll just consider it in escrow until after the game, all right?”

  Jamie nodded. “You’re sure you wouldn’t just like me to read to you tonight?” His own voice sounded wistful in his ears.

  “Perhaps after.”

  “So I’m playing to get the book, which you say is already mine, out of escrow?” The earl nodded assent. “And what will you be playing for?”

  The earl smiled slowly. “Something you can well afford. Another brandy?” He poured himself another measure.

  “No, thank you. The stakes?”

  “Kisses,” the earl said. “Payable only if I win the game.” He was still smiling, and his dark eyes shone with challenge.

  “Just kisses?” Jamie asked. “How many kisses?”

  “If I win,” repeated the earl, “you would owe me one kiss for each piece of yours that I’ve captured, minus the number you’ve won from me. I take five of yours, you take four of mine, you owe me one kiss. Plus one for the win, of course—just in case we end up tied for pieces. Come on, Jamie, the risk on your part is quite small. How many games have I won so far?”

  “So far... none. But you are getting better.” Jamie considered. “Suppose I decide not to play?”

  “Your decision. But the book stays in escrow until you do. If not tonight, then some other time.” The earl made a show of checking his pocket watch. “Do let me know. If you decide not to play tonight, I can just make the Johnston’s card party.”

  Jamie took a breath. “I’ll play. I just—you’re in an odd mood tonight, my lord.”

  “Stephen,” the earl reminded him, placing a pawn of each color behind his back. “Choose.”

  Jamie ended up with white, and opened with pawn to king four. The earl moved in classic response: pawn to queen four. Jamie moved his queen’s pawn up to the third space, opening a path for his queen side bishop. The earl took his first pawn.

  Jamie frowned. “That doesn’t really help you. Right now you should be trying to develop the center of the board—” he stopped, suspicion dawning, and looked up.

  The earl batted his eyes at Jamie, and blew a kiss.

  Jamie flushed. “You can’t just play for pieces. It doesn’t matter how many you win, if you don’t win the game.”

  The earl inclined his head. “Your move, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rich and caressing.

  It was an absurd game. The earl’s moves were wildly unpredictable, literally all over the board, and Jamie’s efforts to force the game back into the classic patterns he knew so well hampered his own ability to second-guess what outrageous stratagem his opponent might come up with next. In desperation, Jamie resorted to playing to protect his pieces, and at that point effectively lost the game. As he himself had said, Jamie was no good at extemporaneous play. His inability to plan ahead leveled the playing field, and unbelievably, incredibly, the earl pulled off his first win.

  “Well, will you look at that?” marveled the earl, counting. “Twelve for me, eight for you. That’s four, plus one for the win. Five kisses, sweetheart.” He patted his knee. “Come here and pay up.

  Jamie swallowed and looked away. “I—suppose we go out on the veranda?”

  “Right here is fine. Unless you’d rather get a little more comfortable on the sofa?”

  The sofa was low-backed, soft, and wider than Jamie’s bed. “No, I don’t think so. Just kisses, right? You’re not going to—going to try to touch me, are you?”

  The earl sighed. “I can’t kiss you properly if I can’t touch you. Pull you close, stroke your hair, cup the back of your head.”

  “I—but—”

  “Shall we say above the waist only? Would that make you feel better? But for the love of God, don’t try to constrain me more than that. It was,” he added softly, “a fair win.”

  Jamie nodded, too nervous to speak.

  “Come here then.”

  The young man rose and walked slowly over to the earl, whose expression softened. “Come on, love, you can handle a few kisses.” Stephen reached for Jamie’s hand, and pulled him gently down onto his lap. He removed Jamie’s spectacles and laid them aside, stroked his hair, soft as silk. “All right, my little Mouse?”

  Jamie, feeling naked and vulnerable without his glasses, perched awkwardly on the earl’s knee. “I can handle a few kisses.”

  The earl laced his hands behind Jamie’s head, and brought him down for their first kiss. Jamie parted his lips, and the earl kissed him gently but thoroughly, exploring Jamie’s mouth at leisure. He ran his tongue over Jamie’s teeth, and across the sensitive roof of his mouth, teased the inside of his lips; stroked the other man’s silken tongue with his own, not rushing, not pushing, taking his time. When he pulled away at last, Jamie took a deep breath.

  “That wasn’t so bad.” He relaxed in the earl’s arms, slouching down a little, snuggling closer.

  For a moment, his lordship rested his face on the top of Jamie’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair. “Not your worst kiss ever?”

  “One of the best,” Jamie admitted. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to explore, however, so he lifted his head for the second kiss he owed Stephen.

  It quickly dawned on Jamie that he was in trouble. Because, of course, their second kiss was not a repeat of the first, but picked up where it had left off—starting deeper, growing more and more urgent. Then, feeling a tugging sensation at his waist, he broke away and looked down to find the earl had untucked his shirt, and was now unbuttoning his waistcoat. “What are you doing?”

  The earl slipped his hand, large and warm, under Jamie’s shirt and rested it on the bare skin of his back, just above his trousers. “I’m allowed to touch you above the waist,” he said stroking his hand slowly up Jamie’s back. “So... I’m touching you.”

  Jamie shivered at the unfamiliar sensation of skin on bare skin. It was unbelievably arousing. He was in trouble indeed. “Maybe we should —” But the earl had his other hand on the back of Jamie’s head, and was guiding him back for kiss number three.

  The earl claimed his mouth with undisguised hunger, and Jamie, rudderless, held on for dear life, clutching at the earl’s shoulders as if he’d be lost if he let go. The hand at the back of his head disappeared, then joined its mate under Jamie’s shirt, caressing the naked flesh of his back, drawing patterns on his skin, up, down, around.

  Jamie moaned helplessly, his whole body throbbing with desire. The kiss went on and on. Hotter. Harder. Jamie realized he had shifted again on the earl’s lap, and could feel the other man’s
arousal pressing against his buttocks. His own trousers were uncomfortably tight. The earl was sucking on his bottom lip, biting down gently at the same time. It was too much. With a cry, Jamie pushed away from the earl, overbalancing and landing in an awkward sprawl on the floor.

  In a flash the earl was beside him, gathering Jamie back into his arms, making soft shushing noises against his hair. Jamie was trembling. “You set me up, didn’t you? You planned this.”

  “You’re mine,” the earl whispered into Jamie’s ear. “Mine, and no one else’s. Don’t fight me, love.”

  Love. It was the second time Stephen had used that word. Was it just a meaningless endearment, or— Jamie looked for the answer in Stephen’s eyes, dark and glittering in the candlelight. He shivered again, caught in their ebony depths, and his hand rose of its own accord to touch the other man’s face. The earl responded by pushing Jamie gently to his back on the floor, and covering him with his own large, strong body, resting some of his weight on one elbow.

  Their mouths met for the fourth time. The earl’s hand crept under Jamie’s shirt again, this time stroking the front of his torso, wandering over his chest. Combing his fingers through the light fur there, stopping to feel the rapid pounding of Jamie’s heart beneath his palm. A thumb brushed over one nipple, sending fire shooting directly to Jamie’s groin. Jamie moaned again, unable to keep his body from arching up into that touch. The thumb moved away, just a little, drawing a light circle just outside Jamie’s aureole, and Jamie squirmed, trying desperately to re-establish contact. The earl teased him some more, moving his hand across to the other nipple, circling slowly around that one as well, coming close without quite touching it. Then, suddenly, the earl relented, rolling the hardened nub between his finger and thumb.

  Jamie cried out, and stumbled to his feet. He looked gloriously disheveled to the earl, panting, clothing awry, lips swollen and red, eyes wide with confusion and desire. He looked down at the earl on the floor, and back over to the door. “I—I don’t—” Jamie turned his back and started from the room.

  “Jamie,” the earl called. “A gentleman never welshes on a bet.”

  Jamie paused for a long moment with his hand on the doorknob, then opened the door and fled up the stairs.

  Stephen listened to the unsteady pounding of his prey’s progress up the steps and got to his feet. He collected Jamie’s spectacles, the decanter of good brandy, and the book. Then he followed, stopping briefly in his own room on the way.

  In a very few minutes he was outside Jamie’s door. He knocked softly. “Mouse? Are you all right?”

  Silence.

  “Please, love, answer me. I need to know you’re all right.” With a start Stephen realized his words were true. What if he’d pushed Jamie too far? He pictured suddenly the long drop from the window to the street. Stephen rapped harder on the door. “Please, Mouse!”

  “It’s open.” The words were barely audible through the wooden barrier. Stephen pushed the latch, and the door opened easily. The room was cold. Jamie was standing next to his desk by the open window, lit only by the full moon outside. His back was to the earl, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

  “I always blamed her,” Jamie said.

  “Who, Mouse?” Stephen asked, crossing the room and laying his burdens on the desk. Jamie didn’t glance at them, lost in his own thoughts.

  “Someone it turns out I’m just like. I should have walked away sooner.”

  “But you did walk away.”

  Jamie turned then, eyes huge in the moonlight, brimming with what looked to be equal parts passion and terror. “Yes. But I knew you’d follow. And I still owe you a kiss. And if you kiss me now...”

  It was on the tip of Stephen’s tongue to release Jamie from the debt, to tell him not to worry, that they could take things more slowly, give him time. But Rebecca was waiting in the wings, wasn’t she? And the thought of anyone, anyone else touching his Mouse was unbearable.

  “Yes, you do.” The earl placed his hands on Jamie’s hips and pulled him close so that their bodies were touching. Jamie’s cock was hard against Stephen’s thigh, and he knew the younger man could feel his excitement as well. Slowly, he pushed Jamie’s waistcoat down his arms, then unbuttoned the young man’s shirt. Jamie shivered as the cold night air touched his bare torso, and the earl reached past him to close the window.

  “It’s warmer in my room, love.”

  “No. Here. Is that brandy?”

  “Yes. I forgot the glasses, though.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jamie took the stopper from the decanter with unsteady hands and put the bottle to his lips. When he had drunk, the earl took it from him and echoed the action, then set the decanter back down with a thump.

  “Why not my room, Mouse?”

  “Because—because it’s always cold up here. Unless I light the fire, and then the smoke is unbearable. There have been nights when I was tempted to go and knock on your door, just because I was so cold. If you want me, it has to be here. Don’t you see?”

  The earl didn’t see, not completely, but he wasn’t going to argue. “Why open the window, then?”

  Jamie laughed shortly. “I thought it might cool me down. But there’s only one remedy for this fever, isn’t there?”

  The earl hesitated, and this time compassion won. “There’s another, actually. Time. If you want me to, I’ll go,” he said, amazed at his own words.

  “No,” Jamie said, with a trace of desperation in his voice. His hands went to the button flaps on his own trousers, and began fumbling with the first of the closures. “You’ve brought me this far. I want to know. Show me the rest. Stephen, please.”

  The earl led Jamie to his narrow bed, where he joined him under Mrs. Symmons’ warm quilts. Quickly and efficiently he stripped Jamie of his remaining clothing, cursing the cold that kept him from a lengthy perusal of the younger man’s nakedness. With equal alacrity, he removed his own clothes, thrilling to Jamie’s gasp as the lengths of their bare bodies met for the first time. The earl pulling Jamie down on top of him.

  Jamie’s head was spinning. Skin on skin. Who knew it felt like this? Everybody but you, idiot, Jamie thought, and then thinking was impossible as Stephen’s hands began to move over him.

  “Oh Stephen,” he moaned. “Oh my—” love, he thought, but couldn’t say the word. Oh, my love. Tentatively, Jamie’s own hands explored the other man, mapping the curves and valleys of the earl’s splendid form, smooth skin, resilient muscle, unyielding bone. The hair on his arms was silky, coarser on his legs, nearly non-existent on his chest. Just below his navel, though, a line of hair led directly down to—Jamie’s fingers brushed the thick thatch of Stephen’s pubic hair and he snatched his hand away in confusion.

  He heard Stephen’s soft laugh and felt himself blushing. “Remember, Mouse, stroking and rubbing are always appropriate. No? Well, we’ve got plenty of time for that later. Right now —” Stephen’s large hands left their delicate play at Jamie’s nipples, slid around to his back and down to knead the firm globes of his arse. Jamie shuddered as one finger insinuated itself between his cheeks.

  “I don’t—couldn’t we just?—oh God, Steph—” Jamie broke off with a cry as the finger reached its destination, rubbing gently at the sensitive entrance to his body.

  “Shh, Mouse, it’s all right,” crooned the earl. “Let me just finger you, hmm? If you don’t like it, or you’re too tight, I’ll stop.”

  Jamie nodded abruptly, face buried against Stephen’s chest, trying to slow his own breathing. The earl rolled them to their sides, still facing each other, and reached for something from his clothing on the floor.

  “What’s that?” Jamie whispered.

  “Oil, Mouse. It makes it easier for my finger to get in.” The earl’s slick digit returned, massaging carefully. “Relax, love. Let me in.”

  Jamie made an effort to relax against the earl’s probing finger, and the tip of it slipped gently inside. Jamie whimpered.

  “
Am I hurting you?”

  “N—no, I just—”

  The earl was relentless. “Does it feel good?”

  “I—yes, it’s—”

  “Good,” whispered the earl, pushing further. Again he paused to let Jamie relax a little more, then began moving his finger gently in and out, going deeper and deeper with each stroke.

  Jamie moaned, and Stephen muffled the sound with his own mouth, stroking his tongue into Jamie’s mouth in time with the finger plunging in and out of his body. The finger was moving easily now, and Jamie’s hips had begun to move as well. Then suddenly the earl’s hand withdrew, and Jamie whimpered wordlessly.

  “It’s all right, I’m just—” The hand was back, two slick fingers pushing their way inside. Uncomfortable at first, but Jamie’s body soon adjusted. Within a few minutes he was again moving eagerly against his lover’s hand, the pressure and friction inside him driving him toward climax.

  Then the fingers were gone again, and Jamie found himself rolled onto his back.

  “Knees up, love,” the earl commanded, and Jamie obediently raised his legs. Then something that was decidedly not a finger was pushing against his opening, and Jamie cried out in protest.

  “Wait! You said you were just going to finger me.”

  “Come on, Jamie, sweetheart. You’re ready for me—opened up nicely. Let me in, love, let me in.”

  “But—oh, God. Oh, God, Stephen.” Stephen rubbed the head of his well-oiled cock against Jamie’s entrance, and the boy pushed back against him uncontrollably.

  “That’s it, love. That’s it,” whispered the earl, sinking his length slowly into Jamie’s well-prepared body. “Hold on tight.”

  This last command was unnecessary, as Jamie dug his nails into Stephen’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Stephen was impaling him, filling him, inside him. The unexpected intimacy of the act seared his soul, and tears welled up in his eyes.