Chapter Nineteen
The confusion in Nikolas’s mind about the various versions of Ben Rider only continued that evening when they returned from tea with some takeaway to eat later.
Nikolas suggested they watch a film—something easy and non-threatening for Ben’s mind.
Ben readily agreed, but when they sat on the sofa together he resisted, embarrassed, when Nikolas tried to pull him to lie back against him.
He wasn’t fucking cuddling with another man! Nikolas reflected wryly that it had taken him almost four years of their acquaintance to lie thus on a sofa, and even then he’d done it for another year under protest, lying stiff and unhappy with the arrangement.
Then an awful realisation hit him.
He rose swiftly and went to the kitchen, making the excuse he was going to select a bottle of wine and put the food on to reheat.
This Ben didn’t love him.
It was obvious really, and he knew it shouldn’t be so painful to realise.
Ben had had sex with him, but he didn’t love him. Not yet. That was eight years of shared experiences away.
But he loved Ben.
For the first time, Nikolas Mikkelsen was in a terrifying country called love on his own. Ben had coaxed him to this unexpected land slowly and by sure steps, easing him out of the shadows of his denial until lying on a sofa, wrapped in Ben’s arms, had been his choice, his preference.
He felt arms slide around his waist and turned into the embrace.
“Whatcha thinking?”
“You’re missing the film.”
“I’ve seen it before.”
“But you don’t remember it.”
“That’s not the point. And you’re doing that thing again.”
“Yes. I know. It’s a deliberate tactic to get you to stop questioning me. It’s been very effective for eight years.”
“Well, I saw through it after one day, so stop it. Tell me. What are you thinking about?”
“You. I was thinking about you and what you think about all this.”
“Good luck with that then. Let me know if you have any insights.”
“I always do.”
“Thought you might.”
“You are very cheeky, Ben Rider-Mikkelsen.”
They stilled. Ben pulled away. Nikolas winced. “I didn’t mean to say that. It’s too much for you to—”
“Rider-Mikkelsen? What do you…? I…? For real?”
Nikolas nodded.
Ben glanced back toward the TV room and pouted a little.
He twitched his nose, clearly thinking. Ben wasn’t stupid—despite Nikolas trying to convince him for the last eight years that he was—and Nikolas had the distinct impression Ben had now worked out for himself what had upset him about the recent scene on the couch.
Ben glanced over. “That’s not who I feel I am. Sorry. I’m just Ben Rider. You get that, yeah?”
Nikolas nodded again. The power of speech had utterly deserted him.
“But I guess I could try…?”
They took the wine in and the Chinese still in its cartons, as Ben declared he may be suddenly gay and about to cuddle with a man (the c word being snarled with such derision Nikolas had to laugh), but he wasn’t fucking eating Chinese takeaway off china plates—the Queen’s or not. That was just bollocks.
They lay together eating and drinking wine, and watching a mindless movie with lots of unnecessary explosions and unlikely recoveries from major head traumas, and Nikolas couldn’t say he was unhappy despite his earlier terrible epiphany.
Sometimes the appearance of something was almost as good as its presence.
Almost.
* * *
Although they didn’t go to bed until four a.m. due to their very late rising, Ben was still not tired.
He was a creature of habit, and his body didn’t take well to this complete change to his normal routines.
He hadn’t run for days; he was eating unusual food; he was in a strange house.
And he’d just been inside an unfamiliar man. Change to his normal routines indeed.
After tossing and turning for some time, he crept quietly from the bed, which had been pristine upon their return from the tearoom, something which had made him frown in wonderment but hadn’t even elicited a flicker of acknowledgment from his boss—Nikolas, he must remember to call him Nikolas—and went to the kitchen.
Chinese food was all very well, but it often made you hungrier after you’d eaten it.
He sat at the kitchen table alongside the snoring dog with a mug of tea and some biscuits, and listened to the empty house.
It was unnerving sitting in a lit kitchen with a glass roof.
He felt like a target on a remote missile launcher in some crazy video game.
He got up and turned the lights off, which was much better.
What the fuck?
He felt as if he’d been on a spinning fairground ride—enjoying the exhilaration while it lasted, but now he had a moment off the ride, so to speak, or not, when he remembered what he’d been doing half an hour before…he was dizzy, sick.
What the fuck?
Had he always had this desire for another man’s cock, lurking under the surface of his normal life?
Sure, he’d always liked sex, although the army left soldiers fewer outlets for normal relationships than other men; more one-night stands, more prostitutes…
But Ben had rarely been interested with that lifestyle either.
He’d always told himself he respected his body too much for casual sex, one night stands—that he wanted more…
Had that just been an excuse for not admitting he wanted…
men? Did he? He hadn’t noticed himself eyeing up other men since this great revelation with Nikolas Mikkelsen.
But he hadn’t met that many—the barber who’d cut his hair, the boy in the Chinese shop…
not much to bring in a verdict one way or the other. Squeezy? Fucking hell.
What did he think now, in this peaceful kitchen bathed in moonlight, when he thought about the man he’d left sleeping alongside him?
A stab in his groin.
A swelling.
A tingle in his spine.
That’s what he thought!
He smiled a small feral smirk of lust and wanted to go back and wake Nikolas Mikkelsen.
What the fuck?
Again.
He sighed and went to put his mug in the sink.
Who’d come and washed the tea things? Who’d taken all the sheets and the mattress and returned it all to a pristine state?
How had the bathroom looked as if no one ever used it?
Who took care of the fucking horses? Didn’t horses need mucking in or something?
What was this place, where everything was so beautiful and gleamed in moonlight?
For one tiny, embarrassing moment, which he knew he would always remember with a deep cringe of horror, he wondered if instead of losing his memory, he’d actually died and gone to heaven.
Strange heaven though…in some ways.
He saw a flicker of light on the counter.
Nikolas’s phone. Unread texts.
Somehow, Ben knew without even knowing who he was or who Nikolas was that he wouldn’t be allowed to read Nikolas’s texts. It was just the way things were between them. This much had been made clear in the three days he’d spent with this strange, challenging man.
He picked it up and thumbed read.
Nikolas wasn’t to know he knew he shouldn’t do this.
Apparently he was Ben Rider-Mikkelsen. Wasn’t it up to him how he interpreted that?
There was one message. It was from a woman called Emilia. It read
: make sure Ben does NOT find out about our plans for Xmas. Will be with u on 22nd Still working on your present. xxxxxxxxxxxx Love u more than u love me Emilia.?
And there it was.
The thing that had sent his memory spiralling into the ether. Emilia.
Nikolas and Emilia.
Don’t tell Ben.
I love you.
He’d been right. He shouldn’t have read Nikolas’s texts.
He didn’t love Nikolas Mikkelsen, of course, but this still stung like hell.
It hurt for the Ben he’d been, the one who’d found out about this betrayal.
He was rubbing the scar on his wrist and suddenly glanced down.
He hadn’t asked—what would he have said?
Did I try to kill myself? It was unthinkable.
But now, maybe not so impossible…But had this scar been connected to his memory loss?
Had this come first? Find out about Emilia… the wrist…memory loss…
What the fuck took on a whole new meaning.
* * *
Nikolas woke when his phone hit him and broke, the back falling off and the battery clattering out on the bed.
It hit him on his nose and cheekbone, which was unfortunate, as he’d suffered injury there before and they were both sensitive.
He sat up and got punched, which sent him off the bed onto the floor.
Being who he was, it was the last hit Ben got in, for Nikolas was then up and on him and had him pinned to the wall before Ben’s fury could inflict more damage.
“What the fuck, Ben!”
* * *
“Who’s Emilia? You bastard! You did this to me! I found out about Emilia and that’s why I’m like this, isn’t it?”
Nikolas’s eyes widened. He bit his lip. He began to tremble slightly.
Ben thought he was seeing fear. Remorse? Then he realised the shaking was amusement!
Ben began to struggle, and he was very strong, and Nikolas would have had to hurt him to keep him pinned to the wall, and it’s hard to harm someone when you’re laughing. Instead, Nikolas backed off quickly to the illusion of safety on the other side of the bed.
When Ben began to advance again, Nikolas jumped onto the bed and was over and out along the walkway before Ben could process just how fast the powerful man could move.
He caught him up halfway along the swim lane, tackled him, and they fell into the cool, blue water.
Nikolas couldn’t swim and laugh either, so he propelled himself out like a cork shooting under pressure from a bottle, and ran dripping and slopping through the kitchen and out the front door into the cold moonlight.
Ben came after him and almost had him down on the grass, but Nikolas was too quick and dodged, disappearing behind a huge rhododendron. Nikolas knew the grounds; Ben didn’t.
“Come here! You fuck!”