Jefferson Sebring wined and dined, charmed and cajoled, and lured and seduced handsome men into his bed. However, he never wanted to keep one longer than a few dates or a few months. He had his work with the CIA and his duties to his family, and with those and his men, he was content. That was, until Ludovic Rivenhall.
First Ludo squired Jefferson’s sister Portia around town, then fell into Jefferson's bed as so many others had. But Ludo wanted more than a same time next year type of relationship; he wanted to stay in Jefferson’s life, and Jefferson found he was willing to allow it as long as they both still wanted it.
Years later, they both still wanted each other -- but men didn't marry men. Or did they, in this new world they had survived to see?
It all fell neatly into place on the night Lady Creighton’s ball for Portia took place.
Freeman escorted Folana Fournaise up the steps to the front door of the huge town house. He murmured something in her ear, then drew back after a servant answered the door, glanced at her invitation, and ushered her in.
I timed my stroll down the sidewalk so that I was before the town house just as Freeman came down the steps, causing him to bump into me.
“Not at all,” I assured him as he was about to go on his way. “It was completely my fault.”
“You’re American.” He paused, looking intrigued, and I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to have him.
“You’re a redhead.”
“I am,” I repeated, giving him the sexiest smile in my repertoire. I’d positioned myself beneath a streetlight so the beams would bring out the rich red of my hair.
“Care for a drink?” He touched his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and this time I let the corner of my mouth quirk up in a grin.
“I’d love one.” I held out my hand. “Jefferson Blackburn.” I used my mother’s maiden name. I didn’t know how clever this man was, but it wouldn’t take much to connect two Americans in London with the last name Sebring.
“Bart Freeman.” He shook my hand, then pulled a watch from his pocket and studied the time. “I’m at a loose end for a few hours.”
“Interesting. As it happens, so am I.”
“I know a small pub near Fleet Street, the Pear and the Chestnut. It ... uh ... it’s a couple of streets from my flat. Or am I being too bold?”
“You keep talking, angel eyes. I’ll let you know if you get too bold.”
“Brilliant. Shall we?” He stepped to the curb and whistled up a cab. Once we were comfortably seated inside, he gave the driver the address.
Only as it turned out, we went straight to his flat, didn’t pass go -- although in a manner of speaking we left go at the starting line -- didn’t even pause for that drink.
His flat was extremely tiny, but along with a bathroom, living room, and kitchenette, it also contained two bedrooms. I stood in the living room and gazed from one door to the other.
He nodded toward the farthest and began loosening his tie. “That’s my flat mate’s. Mine’s the other one.”
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
“Eh? I told you my name is --”
I slid my palm around his neck and pulled him close enough to kiss. “I know what your name is, Freeman.” I brushed my lips over his, but he didn’t respond. Well, some men preferred not to kiss. It was a shame, because I loved it, and it had been quite some time since I’d found a partner who would indulge me. Even Richard thought it was too effeminate. “Suppose you show me what your bedroom looks like?”
“Why didn’t you say so?” He grabbed my hand and dragged me along after him, an entire four steps. “What do you prefer, mate?”
I let my gaze drop down to his fly, then glanced up and into his eyes and licked my lips.
“What are we waiting for?” He dropped his trousers, revealing he hadn’t bothered to wear shorts.