Sweet Temptations

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Brinley Delvaux would have avoided the pub on the East-West Road had he guessed temptation might have offered itself in the shape of the luscious-looking man in the corner.

At first, he passed over him, the image slow to sink into his mind, while a young woman took him to a horrendous chair sandwiched between the kitchen and the children’s play area. The shittiest seat in the room. Typical. He shouldn’t feel shocked, the positioning clearly the most suitable for anyone with the audacity to eat alone. The woman thrust out her hip as she stuck the menu under his nose and asked for his drink order.

Did he want a drink? Did he ever!

By the time she turned away, the gorgeous stranger’s details flared, vibrant; Brinley savoured the picture in his imagination. The bloke was…what? Thirty? About his own age, so perfect. Jeans covered long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles where the fellow sat, a positive trip hazard leading to slim hips. A plain and paler denim shirt, buttons open at the neck, revealed a light tan, a few wisps of hair peeping out. Long honey blond wavy hair, cut off at chin-length.

And what a chin. Square, firm, slight stubble, strong. Full lips. Bright eyes. Sadly no way to tell their colour from a distance and with such a brief examination. But the details. Oh, boy, the details. He’d taken in plenty of those, the sight enough to distract his mind from the multi-coloured carpet and wood panelling lining the walls.

It’ll be fine. When I look, these men are never as yummy as I first imagine.

So, why hesitate? The answer sprung to mind, the reason simple. This night of all nights, Brinley didn’t want to set himself up for disillusionment.

Let this one go. Just…let the opportunity pass.

He didn’t want to, yet still hadn’t taken another gander, unprepared for disappointment. What did he have to lose? Another glimpse wouldn’t hurt. Should the man turn out to be stunning that didn’t mean he must make overtures. Besides, what were the chances the man was gay? Mind, his senses seldom steered him wrong. And where was the harm? One peek and his desire would likely dissipate, and that would be a good thing.

Berating himself as a coward, Brinley crooked his head right and peered over. Two-seconds later, he pretended interest in the row of bottles decorating the back of the pub’s bar, having to admit he might be wrong.

He was. The man looked more handsome when Brinley’s gaze returned to the object of his desire and lingered.

The view took on a whole lengthier dimension, coupled with unheard-of enjoyment, the stranger leaning back in his chair, beer bottle in hand, one knee now bent, the ankle of the leg resting across the other thigh. In the brief glimpse, laughter lit up the bloke’s face—humour provoked by something the woman at his side said to him.

Which one of his friends was the striking devil with? The man or the woman? Neither? Both? All possibilities sprang open. Brinley liked men, though fate decreed he had fooled around with the occasional bisexual bloke, was even amenable to an infrequent threesome or more, as long as the other two people involved never expected him to have s*x with a woman. But those times were long past, too adventurous for this older and wiser version of himself. These days he kept away from anything too complex.

Alas, now a stray thought plagued him—something Brinley hadn’t contemplated in years. To think one glimpse of this bloke made him brood over doing something he hadn’t done in ages; to do anything required, including something he never had—sleep with a woman to snare the man. What was the matter with him? The man wasn’t that much of a knockout, and…who was he kidding? The pull, the draw to look across grew stronger even as he tried to steer his mind away. Something about this attractive stranger snared Brinley’s attention.

The server returned, acting as a welcome interruption to where his thoughts led, so he ordered food, took the glass, swirled its contents around the one piece of ice added at his request, c******g against the sides, and ordered another, all the while toying with the concept of doing whatever it took to get to know the unknown man.

Bad Brinley.

Not the…sacrifice. No, not so much the temporary abdication of his confirmed sexuality should it prove necessary, for he admired women. Loved them in many platonic ways. He wasn’t a fortunately rare hater. Sure, such people existed in the world of both straights and gays. Every group harboured its share of rotten apples; putrid to the core. Brinley didn’t count himself among them, did his best to be counted a feminist. Which provided the unwanted answer—no, he wouldn’t abuse the woman to reach the man, his nature never so devious. Not with affairs of the heart.

Besides, he got ahead of himself. If he was wrong, and the stranger was with the woman, what chance did Brinley have they’d be willing to share? If with the man, the same non-starter applied. One thing he’d never do was break up any kind of relationship. Brinley preferred things simple. Undemanding.

Simple didn’t include the tall drink of water.

Stopping here for a one-night stand might become an unexpected hiccup and one he didn’t have time for. Still…

Performing a slow study of the room’s occupants, setting his back to the play area and the piercing scream of one particular child, Brinley faked interest in the decor, letting his gaze drift, up, down, over, across, back and forth, focusing on one specific decoration; unfortunately, the only one which interested him.

Bugger, but the man was still the finest specimen to cross Brinley’s path in…goodness knew how long. If only he got the chance to comb his fingers through the shaggy hair, and peer into those fetching eyes, he’d sleep the sleep of the contented. Whatever the shade, Brinley wanted to stare into those eyes while pounding into the body of their owner.

The trouble with fantasies meant the reality seldom lived up to the expectation, but this man…Brinley shivered with need and longing.

As the fellow glanced from his male friend to the female, his gaze passed over Brinley, moved on a fraction, jolted back, the movements small, subtle, yet the jolt keen, Brinley speared by the attention. Time to study the rest of the people, to pretend indifference…all while the stranger’s stare scorched one side of his face. Talk about torture.

Imagination or reality, Brinley’s cheek smouldered, the heat transferring to nerve-endings too long dormant.

This would not do.

After lifting the glass to his nose, Brinley inhaled the smoky scent of the whisky. A much better aroma than the heavy perfume of the woman who stumbled into him a moment later, jostling him, making him splash alcohol on the tabletop, and his wrist.

“Oh, sorry.” A hand on his arm branded him with excessive irritation. Heat travelled up his spine. Definitely not the warmth of desire as she peered into his face, her lips stretching in welcome. “Hello, sweetie.”

The fever flared level with his shoulders. If the fire reached his nape, he couldn’t hold himself responsible for what might happen.

His level of animosity startled him. Not responsible? If not him, then who? Who else should he hold liable? Only he should account for his actions.

Brinley offered her a weak grin. “Barking up the wrong tree, darling.”

He never outed himself in such a fashion, but he was only here for a drink or two, a bite to fill an empty stomach, planning to jump into bed back in the meagre room at the bland hotel he must spend the night in before driving on. If he didn’t need to pick up the key to his new residence, he might have driven through into the early hours. Alas, the agent proved unavailable until nine in the morning, despite Brinley’s offer to pay for out of hours service. Predestination leading to unwanted complications. Oh joy!

Suppressing a sigh, Brinley awaited the woman’s reaction, stunned by her lack of response. Often he distinguished an expression of distaste from one of disappointment on a person’s face when he refused their interest, but not from this woman. Uncertainty kept her longer. Her lips curled, her eyes glittered with challenge. When the possibility he must insult her grew real, a rough voice shattered their silent tableau.

“Come on, love, let me buy you another drink for the road.” What a warm, rich, amorous voice.

The electrical thrill dissolved as Brinley turned to the speaker…Not the handsome stranger, as he hoped; only someone acquainted with this woman, providing a helping hand to extract her. The woman shot him another glance of speculation, before she moved off, swinging on the man’s arm, giggling, while Brinley’s heart plummeted to the base of his stomach.

What caused such dreadful dismay? The unknown man did him a favour, extracting an unwanted, intoxicated, and interested female. Perhaps he should buy him a tipple to thank him. If she’d lingered, she might have spoiled the passionate night Brinley mulled over. Now, if a voice remotely as welcoming belonged to the object of his affection, it would help decide his course of action.

Not as the subject of his desire must talk.

The meal arrived, and he tucked in, not so much with gusto as with wanting to finish and leave. Tastier than expected, still he didn’t linger over the flavours, shovelling down food as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Dessert?”

No sooner did he empty the plate than his server swiped the crockery away.

“No. But I will take another drink.”

Though he prepared for derision, she didn’t so much as blink. And no wonder. Three drinks did not label him an alcoholic, and he likely drank less than most of the patrons. But why take the drink when he wanted to leave? His nerves zinged, providing the answer. He needed something to mellow him out. He needed another peep at the man he desired, the only way to make sure he chose the right action. One more stealthy gander at the attractive stranger wouldn’t go amiss while he waited for his libation. Another glimpse might settle the matter.

Alas, no. Brinley’s nerves, sparked by another glance, made his hands shake. With a tip of the glass, he downed the remains of the ice cube, crunched, searched for his server who stood back by the bar lifting a tray of drinks to make the rounds between her tables. No doubt one glass wended his way, but he must be patient. Wouldn’t take her long to deliver his order, at which point he’d ask for the bill. Pity he hadn’t already done so. Able to down the drink in a few gulps—something he never usually did with fine scotch—he could have left, been out of there, discarding temptation.

Enough of this. The bloke couldn’t be his, not with Brinley on the precipice of something new.

Tomorrow…Well, his life began anew tomorrow. Had to. Brinley tired of drifting from place to place. He faced a new home. A new business, having spent months, years, tracking down a suitable building. The moment he stepped into Holberton Hall, the old house communicated the right vibe. If he hadn’t needed to return to his last residence to settle his affairs and pack up his belongings, he would have stayed right away. Of course, these things took time despite cash purchases.

The drink came. He asked for the bill. Downing the third scotch, Brinley ground his teeth together. Should he risk ordering a fourth? No, better to wait. Raid the mini bar at the hotel if he still craved alcohol by the time he walked off this frustrating itch. Despite being sick of hankering over things—buildings or men—having waited ten weeks to go through all the rigmarole tying up his buying Holberton…Time during which he itched at least once a day every day to move in. Despite all that, now, a different desire burrowed beneath his skin.

Brinley rose, throwing down an overpayment, signalling the server; she nodded in his direction, showing as soon as she offloaded the plates she carried, she’d be over. Great, because he needed to leave before he contemplated doing anything stupid. With all the work to do prior to opening up, he—

“If you’re driving, I’d reconsider.”

The voice…warm and a little husky, sent shivers up Brinley’s spine. No surprise those dulcet tones came from the local physical attraction.

Though around the same height, Brinley stood the shorter by two inches at most. A flick of his gaze would at long last answer the question of the stranger’s eye colour, but Brinley stared in the general direction of the man’s chin, not trusting his own reaction. A constricting tightness settled in his windpipe, his heart fluttering, his d**k hardening. Sweet, sweet, sinful temptation, too close, at hand, much too near. Fighting not to switch on the charm, not to flirt, disconcerted, he swallowed to clear his throat before asking, “Why’s that?”

“I’m only a decent civilian warning against the sins of drinking and driving. You’re over the limit.”

Perhaps he should reprimand the stranger for his arrogance, although Brinley agreed with the sentiment. But bugger if a flash of pearly whites didn’t make Brinley hold his breath. Took effort to say, “It’s a good thing I’m staying right down the street.”

The man nodded. “Down the street, you say. You must mean The Poacher.”

“Yep.” No point denying the truth. Only dive in town, though Brinley didn’t say so aloud. The server arrived, took the money, giving the amount a cursory once over, and disappeared forever with every intention of keeping his change; Brinley didn’t need to be a mind reader to work that out. Same as Brinley understood the juvenile protest from the bloke he admired had little or nothing to do with whether he intended to drive drunk. A clumsy way to make contact, so why was Brinley so glad the man bothered?

Because he lacked the courage to divert from the path leading straight to Holberton Hall, and a new start, even for one night. He feared something waylaying him, making him question his decisions. Not that he believed anyone followed him, and this newcomer was only an ordinary man, posing no threat greater than carnal lechery.

“Sure you can walk straight?” the stranger asked.

“After only three scotches?” Although not about to sit behind the wheel of a car, Brinley required more alcohol than he’d consumed this evening to affect him.

“I’ve met those who can’t.” The man drained then set down an empty beer bottle, still blocking Brinley’s exit.

He’s not leaving. Does he…want me?

The question ping-ponged around in his head, making Brinley a little uneasy, the feeling a strange occurrence as Brinley was more often self-assured. This time, when the man looked at him, Brinley peered right into his eyes. Neither green nor blue eyes, but hazel. Inviting. Dangerously so. An odd notion, but unshakable.

“Jack.”

“Hmm?”

“I said, my name’s Jack.” The man introduced himself.

Jack and the beanstalk. Jack the Giant Slayer. Jack in the box.

Those eyes kept regarding him, did so for long enough it finally sunk in the man required something of him. Oh, of course, reciprocation.

“Brin…” The start of his name ended in another bit of throat clearing. “Brinley.” Should he offer to shake hands? And why give this Jack his real name? He expected ridicule. At least a modicum of surprise, but Jack appeared to take the name on board, absorbing and digesting fast. Accepting. Well, why shouldn’t he? Neither of them needed to care what to call the other. Likely Jack believed Brinley was nothing more than a fake name, one poorly made up on the spot.

“Nice to meet you, Brinley.” Jack gave a nod.

Time hung heavy until, at last, Brinley returned the gesture. What came next?

“Well, I’m off,” Jack said, making Brinley’s heart trip. “If you’d like an escort to accompany you back to the most excellent accommodation that this area offers…”

The smile hovering over those full, kissable lips at least said the man didn’t take himself seriously. Also, he had a sense of humour. Needed one to live around here, most likely. No wonder he caught this bloke’s interest. Brinley might feel more flattered if the pickings were richer. Course, the man might be out to mug him the moment they stepped outside. Unlikely, but not impossible.

Stop being so judgmental and obnoxious.

Truth was, he tried to talk himself out of this, Jack an unnecessary hurdle. Pity his d**k didn’t agree.

“I might get turned around in the darkness, so thank you.” The words came of their own volition. As he followed in Jack’s wake, the noise faded, the surrounding scene grew hazy. His skin contracted, and his body tightened, as Brinley settled into an acceptance of his intention. What in the universe did he think he was doing?

Having a little fun for once. Meant nothing, and there was no comeback, Jack a mere diversion. The two men would part come morning, perhaps before. Jack would go back to his life, and Brinley would go on to his new one. No harm; no foul. So, why the unease? What did he believe could possibly go wrong?