Then, in university, there had been Prakash. Virtually no one besides James's dons understood how deep his interest in the sciences really was, or realized that his First had been genuinely earned. Prakash would have been one of the few students who got it. They had been study partners from virtually the first day, lovers from halfway through their first year; a month after James had been orphaned, loneliness had driven him to risk reaching out, and Prakash had responded with just as much hunger and need. Although James had continued dutifully appearing at country weekends, meeting aristocratic friends for drinks at the pub, his best hours had been spent with Prakash in his suite of rooms--whether studying or "studying."
It hadn't been love, not really. They liked each other, but they were so very different. James had sometimes wondered whether they understood anything about each other that couldn't be discovered in a textbook or in bed. Prakash's family back in Panaji were deeply conservative, which meant the two of them had been equally committed to absolute secrecy. So at least they could trust each other as they learned how to be lovers, what they wanted from sex, how to give what someone else wanted in turn. When they had graduated, James had returned to royal life, and Prakash had gone on to pursue a doctorate in California. They parted without even discussing whether they would ever meet again; they both knew they wouldn't.
James had been horribly lonely in the year after university, so lonely he had made his one and only mistake. He let himself be drawn in by Niall Edgerton.
It had been an obvious blunder from the beginning. To begin with, Niall was a servant, an assistant to the Keeper of the Privy Purse. It wasn't as undignified as bedding a footman, but not much better.
Worse, Niall's chiseled face and slender body had concealed a manipulative, cruel spirit. James had honestly believed Niall had fallen for him, and in those early, heady days, he'd thought he was caught up in some grand forbidden passion. But then Niall asked for more and more favors, began to jostle for greater authority. James had slowly realized he was being played.
If he had pulled away immediately, he might have minimized the damage. He hadn't. That gave Niall power, and power went to Niall's head. He became controlling, both in bed and beyond it. Others on the staff began to comment on his attitude, and while their affair had not yet been exposed, James realized that sooner or later pride would lead Niall to flaunt his connections.
Finally, James had told Niall it had to end, and promised he would be given the most glowing references were he to leave employ at the palace immediately. James had said this feeling as though his heart were breaking. He'd even entertained a faint hope that Niall might see the error of his ways and promise to do better, if only they could give it another chance.
Niall had instead shrugged and said they should talk about money.
The following year was the most humiliating of James's life. Being blackmailed was about more than losing cash, and he lost quite a lot of that. It was like losing a bit of your soul, check by check. Every single time Niall came demanding more, James had to face anew what a fool he'd been.
And now Niall . . . well, that was over. There was no more to be said. He tried to not even think about it.
James had sworn never to be so weak and stupid again. He could make do with films and fantasies and his own hand. Better that than to make another such mistake. When he took another lover, if he ever did, it would be someone vetted. Trusted. A known quantity whose influence, and potential damage, could be contained.
Certainly it could not be a stranger he met in Africa. A dashing novelist who seemed to have swept in from a more romantic age. A foreigner on the edge of the world.
But Ben took his breath away.
Already James had told Ben more about his inner life than he'd told anyone else--even Cass, even Indigo. Already Ben had told James so much in return, maybe more than Ben himself realized. He was gay too: unashamed, confident, comfortable in his own skin, all the things James wanted so badly to be. Over the course of the two hours they'd spent together, James had gone from merely being attracted to Ben to feeling as if he couldn't bear not touching him one moment longer.
Concentrate on the bloody game.
He concentrated. He saw his opportunity. And he took it.
James moved his remaining rook into position and said, "Mate in two."
Ben squinted at the board as though he could somehow change the game at this point, but after another moment he nodded. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." This would probably be a good moment to say he'd lingered here too long, to make a clean, polite break.
Still, his dinner with the team from Medecins Sans Frontieres wasn't for another three hours . . .
A flash of daring made James lean forward with a smirk on his face. "So, where's my last secret? I've earned one, haven't I?"
"Give me a moment." Ben pushed back from the table, rose, and went to the bar to top up his drink. "I have to come up with something worthy of your victory."
The distance between them was slightly bracing. James got to his feet. The rain hadn't slowed at all; if anything the real world only seemed further away. But reality was out there, waiting to catch him back up in the grind. He would never see Ben again. Already it seemed impossible to him that he'd spoken so openly to a man he'd only known for hours.
Yet, when Ben turned back with his glass of rum, James was under his spell again in an instant.
Ben's dark eyes met his with almost unnerving directness. "Are you ready for your prize?"
"Can't wait."
"My final secret is this." Ben took another sip of his rum, then said, "I want you. And I know you want me too."
For one half second, escape was still possible. James could have acted surprised, even as if he didn't understand what on earth Ben was talking about, and that would have been all the plausible deniability he needed. But he said nothing. He did nothing. He only stood there, heart pounding in his chest, unable to look away.
One more sip, and Ben put aside his glass. He walked toward James, his steps slow but decisive. His eyes never left James's. He never smiled. When he was close enough for them to touch, his hands closed around James's shoulders, and then he stopped. He raised one eyebrow, almost mocking, daring James to make a move.
"I don't--" James's mouth was dry, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "I don't often, ah, indulge."
"How long has it been?"
The last time had been with Niall, already knowing their end was near, hating himself the whole time. "About three years."
Ben breathed out sharply, as though in sympathetic pain. One of his thumbs brushed against James's shoulder in gentle circles. "It's all right." His voice grew softer than it had been at any other point in the day. "I promise."
It was anything but all right. Yet James couldn't care about that any longer, not now that Ben was finally touching him.
I'm taking this. One stolen hour in my entire bloody life--it's mine, he's mine, and no one else ever has to know.
"Yes," James said. "Yes."
Ben brought his mouth to James's, claiming him with a brutal kiss.
It had been so fucking long. Every part of it was new to James again: the tension in Ben's lips, the rasp of stubble beneath his palm as he touched Ben's face, the heat of Ben's body as they leaned into each other. James opened his mouth, giving into it completely. Ben tasted like rum, and their lips burned from the alcohol, slightly numbed.
Ben raked his teeth along James's lower lip, then pulled away. Without touching James or even looking back, he walked toward his bedroom. James took a deep breath and followed. There was no telling whether the thumping of his pulse and the shaking of his breath came from arousal or fright. They were both commingled, inseparable.
The bedroom in this suite was less sumptuous than James's own, but grand all the same. An enormous four-poster bed stretched nearly the width of the room, with sheer panels of white linen hanging from the sides. Ben stood in front of the bed, stripping off his clot
hes. His motions were swift, almost businesslike--save for the heat in his gaze, which never left James. Although James felt as though he must be shaking, he tried to follow suit just as smoothly. He'd kicked off his soggy shoes earlier, so he only had to unbutton his shirt, unfasten his belt, ditch the trousers.
It wasn't easy getting naked in front of a stranger. Aside from the intimacy of it, the fact remained that James didn't even know this man. Even the mildest secrets he'd told Ben were too much exposure. And this? This was madness. He had never felt so vulnerable. Yet he kept going, refusing to focus on his own fear, instead looking only at Ben. Every inch of skin Ben revealed, every line of his perfect body, took James further out of himself. Further away from the world. Nothing existed except what was here. Nothing mattered except what happened now.
Ben came to him, and James sucked in a sharp breath as their chests touched, as he felt the brush of Ben's stiff cock against his own. They kissed, slow and wet, as Ben slowly walked him backward, then leaned him back onto the bed.
That was it. James surrendered completely. He gave in to every wild impulse he'd felt since he first saw Ben through the rain. Every inch of Ben's body was his to caress, to kiss, to lick, and to suck. Ben tried to reciprocate--to be generous--but James didn't want generosity. He wanted to touch this man even more than he wanted to be touched. Yet he gloried in the heat of Ben's mouth on his skin, the way they thrust blindly against each other, the stickiness of pre-come on his thighs and face.
As Ben's tongue teased at his nipple, James managed to groan, "Tell me--please, tell me you have protection. Supplies. Something we can use."
"Fuck. No. I didn't know--"
"Me either," James panted between kisses. "You caught me by surprise." The downside of being spontaneous, but that was a minor disappointment. Any resort this luxurious would be well stocked.
Thick, fragrant lotion waited in a heavy glass bottle not far from the bed. It smelled of coconut and the beach. James slicked his hand, his belly, his thighs, and did the same for Ben, enjoying the slip of Ben's skin everywhere he touched. At first they just kept thrusting against each other wherever they touched, wrestling almost like boys. You couldn't get off like that, but the teasing, glancing touches had their own heat, as did the few moments of real pressure that made them groan.
At last he got his hand around his cock and Ben's both, right at the tip; Ben closed his huge fist at the base, though their slippery fingers overlapped. They thrust against each other blindly, slow then fast then slow again.
James was surprised to find himself groaning, then crying out. He'd always been quiet in bed before--always felt as though he'd had to be--but not here. Not today, with Ben, sealed away from the rest of the world.
"That's right," Ben murmured against James's shoulder, before nipping at the skin with his teeth. "Let me hear you."
Ben came first, and the sudden catch in his throat, plus the hot stickiness spurting through James's fingers, was enough to bring James to the edge. When he climaxed, he shouted it out--all of it, all the pleasure he'd felt and all he'd held back before. It was almost ridiculous to make that much noise. But when he was himself again, and could look Ben in the face, Ben was smiling. "That sounded good."
"Uh-huh." James grinned up at Ben, then pulled him close for a kiss.
For a few moments after that, they simply held each other as they tried to recover something like sense. James leaned his head onto Ben's shoulder and closed his eyes so that he would only feel Ben's nearness, only hear Ben's heartbeat and the constant rain.
Don't fall asleep, he told himself. Before long he'd have to excuse himself, get back to his own cabin, and tidy up for tonight's official function. But leaving Ben today meant leaving Ben forever. James only wanted to steal a few more minutes.
He opened his eyes. The linen curtains around the bed softened the light. Ben drowsed next to him, apparently as content as James felt.
Just a little while longer, James thought as he snuggled closer.
He never chose to close his eyes again. He simply did.
*
Ben awoke to the sound of James quietly swearing. He propped up on his elbows to see James at the foot of the bed, gathering his clothes.
The rustle of the covers made James turn. His cheeks flushed. "Oh. I--there's a dinner in less than an hour. I've got to go."
"Right. Yeah, of course."
He'd actually gone to bed with the Prince of Wales. No denying it. The smell of sex hung thick in the air (tinged with coconut lotion), and James himself was only a few feet away, struggling back into his damp clothes. Still, Ben felt more as though he'd had a very vivid masturbation fantasy. None of this could be real, could it?
James half-tucked his shirt, which was rumpled from having landed on the floor wet. "My shoes, my shoes--oh, yes, under the table." He dashed out, and Ben let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
Pleasant as the memory of their lovemaking was, Ben was eager for James to leave. He felt exposed to the point of being raw. Not because of the nudity or the sex.
Because of the secrets.
He'd made that ridiculous wager because he thought it was the best way to break down the barriers between them and possibly, just possibly, get James into his bed. The gambit had worked. That much Ben understood. What he didn't understand was why he'd felt compelled to tell James the truth. He could have made something up. Anything. Instead he'd poured out things he never spoke about with anyone.
Remember, Ben thought, you'll never see this man again. And he can't talk about this with a single soul. If he pokes so much as one toe out of the closet, he loses his money and his crown and all the other things he values more than the truth.
The sounds of James scrambling for his shoes stilled. No doubt he was now ready to go. Ben figured he should kiss James good-bye. Only polite, after all. He rose from his bed, slipped on one of the thick white robes of Turkish cotton supplied by the lodge, and stepped into the front room, expecting to find James waiting for him.
Instead James stood in front of the desk. The desk drawers were open. And in his hand he held Ben's press pass.
Shit.
"I don't--" James's voice broke off. "You can't be with Global Media Services. In Kenya, that's Sybil Thorpe. I've given her interviews before."
Once again, the damnable truth came spilling from Ben's mouth. "She's pregnant. I filled in."
"You said you were a novelist!"
"I didn't!"
James finally turned toward Ben. His face was white, his features drawn. He did not look boyish now. "You didn't, did you? I assumed. I said so. And you let me believe it."
A lie of omission was still a lie. Ben usually considered himself above that kind of thing.
Before he could begin to explain, James said, "So, all this was just a trick? Just a game to get your story?"
"I don't screw people to get ahead at my job," Ben shot back. Anger blossomed red and hot within him. Did this high-and-mighty prince think he could insult anyone who threatened his hiding place in the closet?
James took a step back. "Then it's about money."
"Fuck you and fuck your money. You want to live like a coward? You want to live a lie? Have at it. Punishment enough for the likes of you."
"The likes of me? I'm not the one who lied about who he was--who told me it was all right, you swore it was all right--" James's voice broke off. He looked almost pathetic there in his rumpled, damp clothes. The press pass fell from his fingers, as if he couldn't even hold on to it any longer.
But Ben was too furious for pity. "What were you doing, going through my desk?"
"You're accusing me of invading your privacy? You're media, Ben! You're here to report on me, and you lured me into this! How could I have been so stupid? Tell me, was it all a lie? All of it? Every secret you told me?" The pain in his voice cut through Ben's rage for just an instant, until James added, "I bet your parents are alive and well."
Ben snapped. "Get the hell
out of here before I take your picture and post it to the worldwide news feed. I could do it in an instant. So go. Run, if you know what's good for you."
James grimaced as though in disgust, but he went. As he slid open the door to the veranda, a breeze blew through the room, stirring up papers and ruffling Ben's hair. Without once looking back, James ran down the steps out into the rain. The twilight mingled with the downpour to blur his form almost immediately, and then he vanished. But for the rumpled bed, Ben could almost believe it had all been a dream.
His anger remained, though, stoking higher and higher until he paced the room like something wild and caged.
The worst of it wasn't James's arrogant assumptions. It wasn't even the horrible thing he'd said about Ben's parents.
No, the worst part was remembering the betrayed hurt in James's eyes.
*
You idiot. You fucking idiot. You just slept with a reporter. For all you know he was recording the whole thing. Your sex tape's probably going to be on TMZ within the hour.
James ran into his own lodge, sopping wet again. With just over a half hour to go until his next official dinner, he needed to jump into the shower and make himself halfway presentable. Instead he braced his hands against the wall and fought back tears. If he gave in to them now, he'd never be able to pull himself together in time.
Fear clutched at his guts like a cold, desperate fist. It was as though he could feel each and every blood vessel in his body as they burned from the adrenaline.
All those years. All that restraint and loneliness. All that caution. Once--just once in his entire life--he'd dared to seize a moment of pure pleasure, and his reward was immediate betrayal.
Maybe Ben won't publish anything about it, James thought, though the hope was feeble. He got so angry when I asked if he would. Maybe he won't do it, just to prove me wrong.
But money usually meant more to people than their reputations. Besides, the rest of the world would congratulate Ben on his "scoop," laugh at the naive prince who'd rolled over so quickly for a stranger . . .