Chapter 4 #2
“I’ll be just over on the other side of the brick wall if you need me,” he said patting Graeme’s back one more time before walking away.
He deliberately didn’t look back to see if Graeme glanced up from his work to look after him.
He was certain he did, but turning around and meeting Graeme’s eyes when he was stuck in a moment of vulnerability would be taking things too far.
Art might have been as blunt as a dildo and twice as sexual, but he knew when to step on the gas and when to pound the brake.
He gathered up his rucksack and continued on into the other garden.
There would be oodles of time for him to get under Graeme’s skin enough for the man to confide in him.
Maybe that confidence would come when they were horizontal and sweaty together after Art had shown him the time of his life, or maybe it would happen when they were sitting out in the grass on a warm afternoon, sipping lemonade and eating biscuits.
Either way, it would happen. It was only a matter of time.
Until then, the ruins deserved his full attention.
He walked the perimeter of where he thought the ruins were, spending the next hour laying out markers and taking pictures from every angle.
There was no telling what lay under the earth he trod on.
In all likelihood, if the story about the fire was true, it would just be a charred foundation that had been razed and planted over nearly two hundred years ago.
The fact that no raised bits were apparent in the grass and no part of the foundation had been spared indicated no attempt had been made to salvage the cottage all those years ago.
Judging by what he’d seen of the rest of the grounds of Hawthorne House, the stones had probably been repurposed into other buildings, like the glasshouse he’d been shown on his tour of the estate a few days before.
Time slipped through Art’s fingers as he photographed the site, then jotted a few notes in his electronic tablet.
Under normal circumstances, he would have had a team working with him that would help him remove the grass and turf that covered the site, but until the university approved his proposal, he was doing this for fun.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been cutting away small squares of turf and setting them aside to uncover the area of the excavation before he heard footsteps and looked up to see Ryan striding toward him across the grass.
“I thought you could use a snack,” Ryan said, gesturing to the silver tray he carried.
Art laughed as he stood, brushing dirt from his hands onto his khakis. “You’re the snack, I assume,” he said in full-throttle flirt. Ryan could handle it. He had the aura of a man who was desperate for a fuck but holding himself back for some reason.
Ryan chuckled along with him. “Mum insisted on tea and biscuits,” he said, lifting the tray slightly before bending to set it down on the grass.
Art wished he was on Ryan’s other side so he could get a good look at the man’s arse. Even from the front, he could tell Ryan filled those jeans out well. Especially from the front.
“Care to join me?” he asked, gesturing to the ground like it was a table in a three-star restaurant.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Ryan said with a wide smile, flirting right back.
The two of them sat, and like the perfect aristocratic host he probably was not, Ryan poured two cups of tea from the clearly hand-thrown pot on the tray.
“Did your brother make that?” Art asked, nodding to the teapot as he took the offered glass.
Ryan hummed and nodded. “We sell them at the Medieval festival every year. And Nick made the tray,” he said, looking down at the exquisite, silver tray. “Come to think of it, Rafe made the glass plate the cookies are on, too,” he laughed.
“You’re a family of many talents,” Art said. He took a drink of tea, then added, “I can’t wait to discover all your skills,” with a cheeky wink.
Ryan smirked tantalizingly and took a biscuit from the plate. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, then bit into the treat while staring straight at Art.
Pure, giddy lust shot through Art. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for when he’d given up his summer to dig in the dirt of Hawthorne House.
Graeme was one sort of diversion, one he would absolutely enjoy, but Ryan was a different sort entirely.
He didn’t have to play nice with Ryan, he could go straight for what he wanted.
“I would definitely like to know,” he said in a purr, reaching over to stroke Ryan’s leg. “And I think you would enjoy getting to know all about my skills, too.”
Ryan’s expression contorted through half a dozen emotions. He was interested, but hesitating.
Art made an educated guess about why.
“Our adorable gardener friend is on our team, by the way,” he said, returning to a casual tone as he plucked a biscuit from the plate on the tray.
“Graeme?” Ryan asked, quickly glancing over his shoulder to the archway leading to the kitchen garden. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I definitely think so,” Art said, then bit into his biscuit. After he swallowed, he said, “We had a little chat this morning.”
“And he told you he was gay?” Ryan asked, whipping back to him, but keeping his voice as low as possible.
Art beamed at how coy Ryan was being. He guessed he wasn’t the only one who noticed how delicious Graeme was.
“He didn’t tell me in so many words,” he said, “but I ambushed him with a few adjacent questions, and I was able to extrapolate the truth based on that evidence.”
Ryan stared flatly at him. “Think you could say that in English instead of professor speak?”
Art laughed. “He admitted to being divorced, said his wife didn’t cheat on him, but turned extra defensive when he said he didn’t cheat on her.”
“You asked him those things outright?” Ryan seemed shocked and maybe a little embarrassed. Possibly because he might have wanted to ask the same questions.
“The best way to get the answers you want is to ask direct questions,” Art said. “Most people are afraid of asking for what they want, though. Are you?” He swept his hand up Ryan’s leg again and curled his fingers in toward his crotch.
Ryan flinched, but he didn’t bat Art’s hand away.
“See?” Art said. “That little dialog between us told us both more than any long and rambling conversation ever could.”
Ryan flushed and his eyes took on a certain sparkle. “What did it tell you?”
Art put his half-finished cup of tea back on the tray and leaned so close to Ryan that he could have bent down and had his face in the man’s crotch. “It told me that we’re both horny enough to take this somewhere that would make us both happy, and that you’re hung up on Mr. Graeme Dallen.”
“What?” Ryan laughed, tense as a tiger. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“Which part?” Art asked, teasing his fingers closer to the stiffening bulge in Ryan’s jeans. “The part about gagging for it or about wanting to get it from Graeme?”
“Neither,” Ryan said, bristling and grinning at the same time.
“Liar,” Art said, lowering his head just enough to make seductive eyes at Ryan. “For one thing, my hand is still in your crotch and you haven’t even tried to tell me no means no.”
Ryan cleared his throat, grabbed Art’s wrist with two fingers, like he was picking up a dirty tissue, and moved it away from his person.
“You don’t mean that,” Art said with a wink.
Ryan sucked in a breath, then said, “So what if I am horny? We both know how these things go. And sure, I’d let you go down on me if you really wanted to.”
“Or vice versa,” Art interrupted his train of thought.
He could see by the flare of heat in Ryan’s eyes that he went both ways.
“But leave poor Graeme out of this,” Ryan said, back to speaking in his low voice, like Graeme was sitting just behind them, listening in.
“He’s gay, I tell you,” Art insisted, sitting straighter and speaking for all the world to hear, though not shouting.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s known for ages, married a woman to try to avoid the truth, and then something happened last year that meant he couldn’t deny it anymore.
Ooh!” He sat even straighter. “I bet there was a man involved.”
“There’s always a man involved,” Ryan said, borderline camp, rolling his eyes.
Art suddenly found himself wondering what man in Ryan’s life had screwed him over that would put that look on his face.
Hawthorne House was filled with exciting and tempting things to uncover.
“So what do you say?” Art asked in his sultriest tone. “You and me, a bottle of lube, and a walk down by the lake, where there are some excellent fallen tree stumps at just the right height for perfect leverage? I’m on PrEP.”
Ryan laughed so loudly Art was certain Graeme could hear them from the other side of the brick wall. “You’re something else,” he said.
“Yes, I am,” Art said with a broad smile. “And I’ve never seen any point in denying that.”
“I guess not.”
“But just because I’m a shameless hussy who never met a sausage he didn’t want to roll doesn’t mean you don’t like it.”
Ryan continued laughing and shaking his head. “God help me, but I am tempted.”
“So why not skive off work for a little play?” Art asked.
“Because—” Ryan didn’t finish, but he still laughed. “Graeme is straight,” he said at last.
“Nope,” Art said. “You can invite him to join us, if you’d like. I love a good threesome.”
“Listen to you,” Ryan said. Art couldn’t tell if he didn’t take his words seriously or if he was trying to brush the whole thing off because he was intrigued.
Whatever the case, Ryan stood, picking up the tray as he went. “We all have to get back to work,” he said.
“All three of us,” Art agreed, standing as well. He arched one eyebrow at Ryan before he turned to go. “Remember, my door is always open.”
“Yeah, your back door,” Ryan chuckled.
“Exactly,” Art said cheerily. “And wouldn’t you like to come inside?”
Ryan laughed loudly up at the sky and continued to walk back toward the house.
He was walking away, but clearly their frank little conversation had brought them closer together.
Now all Art needed to do was convince Ryan that Graeme was actually one of them, and that he, too, would be up for a laugh that summer.