Page 35 of King's Man

His stomach growled at the sight of the bread, cheese, and thick wedges of pork pie. Apples too. A veritable feast. He sighed in anticipation.

And then Nate looked up, smiled, and Sam froze.

Nate sat cross-legged on the floor near the warmth of the fire, shirtsleeves rolled up exposing his tanned forearms. Firelight gleamed against his hair, picking out coppery threads and turning his dark eyes liquid. He looked just the way he used to when sitting by the fire in Sam’s parlor, all black and gold, vibrant and passionate and so very full of life. Sam missed him so badly it hurt.

“Come and eat,” Nate said. “It’s good.”

Nodding, not risking his voice, Sam dropped down on the opposite side of the fireplace. Nate produced his knife and began to slice the bread and cheese into chunks, setting the pieces between them. They ate in silence, Sam concentrating on the sharpness of the cheese and the sweetness of the apples to keep from looking at Nate and remembering the passion they’d shared last night. Christ, his body still resonated like a struck bell. He was surprised Nate couldn’t feel the reverberations.

But it had been the sight of him sleeping this morning, so beautiful and peaceful, that had truly undone Sam. His heart had damn near burst when he’d woken to the sight of Nate’s tangled hair falling across his face and those elegant lips slightly parted. Rare had been the times they’d woken in the morning together, even back in Rosemont, and the moment had felt precious.

And had rendered him stupid.

To caress Nate like that, to permit himself any tenderness, had been foolish. Reckless, even, and he’d pay a heavy price. Yet he longed for more: another smile, another touch, another night.

It was like quenching your thirst with saltwater — entirely self-defeating. Because Nate was still Nate and Sam was still banished. Nothing material had changed.

He found himself cursing the times in which they lived. Fifty years ago, he and Nate might never have known war. They might have lived out their days in Rosemont, intimate friends in the way the world allowed. And quietly, privately they might have loved each other and been happy. Instead, the world had convulsed beneath their feet and thrown them down on opposite sides.

And it kept them there still.

From outside came the night-time hoots and rustles of the woods, inside there was only the crackle of the burning logs. In other circumstances it might have been peaceful. But tonight, the air was alive with tension. Every time Sam glanced up, he found Nate’s gaze just slipping away from him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He’d taste like apples, sweet and sharp. Like Nate himself.

Sam licked his lips and found Nate’s eyes on him again, catching the firelight. Full of invitation, pulling Sam out like a dangerous tide.

He had to resist.

“You should stay here,” he said, finishing his last slice of pie. “I’m going to survey the house.”

“Now?” Nate looked alarmed. “In the dark?”

“We’ll be escaping in the dark. It’s best to reconnoiter in the same conditions.”

“As every thief knows?”

“And every fugitive.”

Nate considered that but didn’t comment. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “For protection.”

Sam paused in wrapping the remains of the cheese and stowing it safely in his bag for tomorrow. “I don’t need your protection. I’ve walked the streets of St Giles at all times of night without coming to harm, I think I’ll outwit a couple of badgers and a fox.”

“I was talking aboutmyprotection,” Nate said, eying the dark window. “I don’t want to wait here alone.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

Nate bristled. “Let’s just say I’m not so fond of all this bucolic tranquility. As you may remember, I’m a born and bred Bostonian.”

Sam gave a soft grunt. Of course he remembered. He remembered everything about Nate, starting with the day he’d walked into Reed’s office with the crisp fall sunshine glinting in his hair, palpable tension in his lithe body, and an arrogant flash in his eyes. He’d looked so dazzling, so urbane and out of place, that Sam had wanted him even before he’d recognized his own desires.

Nate had known, though. Nate had known from the start.

“I remember you didn’t even know how to fish.”

“But you taught me.” Nate glanced up and they shared a long look. “And in return, I gave you Voltaire and Paine, Rousseau and Barnfield.”

“Among other things.” Like joy, companionship — and love. Most of all love. “Christ, I thought we’d always be —” His voice caught, and he stopped talking, embarrassed.

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