The Heat of the Moment

Chapter 1-2

It was hours before anyone came. Long enough for the sun to have moved out of the window. His entire body hurt. Just breathe. Just breathe.

“Mr. Callan? Oh my God, sir, sir, what happened?”

Milo stared at the elderly man hovering over him. “My valet decided to tender his resignation.”

“And left you like this?”

“And left me like this. I don’t think you will be able to lift me.” Milo rolled so that he could sit up. He could have moved and dragged himself up onto the bed, but the will to do so had gone. It was easier to lie down and accept it. Curl up and accept it. He wanted to curl up again.

“Don’t you worry, sir, the new man started yesterday. He’s a strapping young chap he will have you up in a trice.”

“What new man?”

“The one we agreed you need because I’m getting older.”

Milo had a vague recollection that they were getting someone in to look after the grounds and do the heavy work now that Brownlow was in his sixties.

“Perhaps we could prevail on him to add valet to his list of duties,” Milo muttered as he dragged himself to prop up by the bed.

“Now there’s a suggestion,” Brownlow said with a smile. “Sit tight, you’ll be right as a trivet in no time.” He disappeared.

Milo laid his head against the mattress. The summer sky was still blue. Breath taking, glorious blue. He wanted to go outside so much he ached with it, could taste it.

“In here, Mr. Grange.”

Milo looked up waiting to see the next person that he would have to inflict himself on, and his breath stopped in his throat at the sight of the man who walked through the door. Tall. So tall he had to stoop to get through. When he straightened and gave a short bow Milo was vaguely aware that Brownlow was talking, but all Milo could do was stare. The man was young, he’d wager younger than his own six and twenty years, but broad in the shoulder. Dark curling hair framed a smiling face and eyes so blue they looked as though they had been cut from the sky outside that enticed him so. He dragged his gaze away, suddenly conscious that he was staring.

“Shall we get you up?” the man said.

Milo stared again, but this time humiliation surged through every last fibre of his body. “f**k off.” The words came from nowhere and dimmed the smile in the beautiful man’s eyes. Milo watched as he glanced warily at Brownlow. Any minute now they would start talking over his head, making arrangements for him.

“Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to offend. How can I best help?”

Milo stared. He was being asked? “Take me outside.”

The smile came back. “Right away. Is it best to carry the chair down and then you?”

“I don’t care how you do it, just get me outside.”

“Righto.” The man hesitated a moment and then picked up the monstrous wheelchair as though it weighed nothing and headed out of the door. Brownlow looked as astounded as Milo felt.

“Who on earth is he?” Milo asked.

“He answered the advertisement, sir. He came with excellent references and is a good hard worker.” Brownlow fidgeted a little. “I hadn’t realised that you wanted to go outside, sir.”

Milo smiled as best he could. “Think nothing of it. Just a whim.”

When Grange returned, Milo’s heart sped up alarmingly. The man bent down in front of him and eyed him consideringly. So close, Milo could feel the warmth from his large body.

“How will this work best?” he asked, and again, Milo’s heart flipped. “Perhaps if you put your arms around my neck and I lift you up so.” He gestured with his arms as though he were lifting a child. Milo nodded, if only to have the opportunity to put his arms around the man’s neck. He squatted closer and Milo took hold of those broad shoulders and in a moment he was held aloft like a maiden. Grange jiggled him a little to get a decent hold and then set off. Milo clung to his shoulders, excitement bubbling through his veins partly at the thought of being outside, but mainly at being held in strong arms with the scent of a man drifting tantalisingly about his nostrils. Milo had no doubt that whatever had destroyed his legs as a child had badly altered him inside. He recalled little of the illness, just searing, unbearable pain, and then afterwards being an invalid. Years later when he realised that he only became aroused at the sight of men not women, only imagined men when he took himself in hand, he could only assume that it was not only his legs that were damaged, something inside him had been too. He avoided Grange’s eye and held tight.