"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

After youтАЩve had a decanter of port? Saxton thought.

For a moment, he was tempted to push for precise details on the night, the minute whos and whats and wheresтАФas if they might unlock some sort of relief. But he knew better. Blay was a compassionate, kind soul, and torture was something he did only as part of his job when it was necessary.

There would be no relief coming, not from any combination of sex, conversing, or silence.

Feeling as though he were bracing himself, Saxton buttoned his double-breasted blazer up and checked that his cravat was in place. A passby of his pectoral revealed his pocket square was precisely arranged, but the French cuffs of his shirt need a sharp tug, and he took care of that promptly.

тАЬI must needs take a break before I prepare to speak with the king. My shoulders are killing me from having been at that desk all night.тАЭ

тАЬHave a bath. It might loosen things up?тАЭ

тАЬYes. A bath.тАЭ

тАЬIтАЩll see you later, then,тАЭ Blay said as he poured himself another and came over.

Their mouths met in a brief kiss, after which Blay turned and strode out into the foyer, disappearing up the stairs to go change.

Saxton watched him depart. Even moved forward a couple of steps so that he could see those shitkickers, as the Brothers called them, ascend the grand staircase one step at a time.

Part of him was screaming to follow the male up into their bedroom and help him out of those clothes. Emotions aside, the physical sizzle between the two of them had always been strong, and he felt like he wanted to exploit that now.

Except even that Band-Aid was fraying.

Going over and pouring himself a sherry, he sipped it and went to sit before the fire. Fritz had refreshed the wood not long ago, and the flames were bright and active over the stack of logs.

This was going to hurt, Saxton thought. But it wasnтАЩt going to break him.

He would eventually get over this. Heal. Move on.

Hearts were broken all the timeтАж.

WasnтАЩt there a song about that?

The question was, of course, when did he talk to Blaylock about it.





NINE


The sound of cross-country skis traveling over snow was a rhythmic rush, repeated at a quick clip.

The storm that had drifted down from the north had cleared after dawn, and the rising sun that shone beneath the lip of the departing cloud cover sliced through the forest to the sparkling ground.

To Sola Morte, the shafts of gold looked like blades.

Up ahead, her target presented itself like a Faberg├й egg sitting on a stand: The house on the Hudson River was an architectural showpiece, a cage of seemingly fragile girders holding stack upon stack of countless panels of glass. On all sides, reflections of the water and the nascent sun were like photographs captured by a true artist, the images frozen in the very construction of the home itself.