Page 30 of Chasing Benedict
He grunted when a heavy foot came down on his, jerked off balance by Alex’s graceless steps.
“Christ, I thought you were joking,” he yelled to be heard above the music. “You really are terrible.”
Alex shrugged. “Alas, I am good at many things, but dancing isn’t one of them.”
Benedict winced when Alex crushed his toes again, adjusting their positions so he was the dominant partner. “For the love of … Let me lead before you break every bone in my foot.”
Alex threw his head back and laughed, but seemed to follow the steps better with Benedict holding him tight, guiding him through every turn. They were closer now than they’d ever been, mashed together from chest to thighs and breathing the same air. Alex grew suddenly serious, his fingers tightening around Benedict’s. Benedict had become a bundle of exposed nerves, new sensations overwhelming him all at once.
Alex smelled like the peppermint stick he’d eaten after dinner, and honeyed ale. He was solid and warm in Benedict’s hold, his chest firm and broad, his thighs taut and sinewy. His face flushed at the feel of Alex growing hard against him, the pulse of blood in his cock in tandem with Benedict’s own. With each step and turn, they brushed against one another, further inflaming the unmistakable surge of desire growing between them.
They came to a stop almost at once, though the music continued. Alex had grown two inches in the past year and now looked down at Benedict with heavy-lidded eyes, his lips parted on panting breaths. Benedict was having trouble breathing as well, the feelings he’d tried to repress bursting from him in a sudden rush. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lunged, seeking Alex’s mouth with his own. This kiss was clumsy and unskilled, Benedict’s hunger driving him to mash his mouth against Alex’s, clutching at his shoulders for dear life.
Alex pulled away, framing Benedict’s face in his hands. He was smiling, his lips reddened and his eyes bright. Benedict shook with the force of his fear that Alex would reject him. It would serve him right after that night in the alley, but hope made him lean in, yearning and waiting, desperate where before he had been reticent.
Long, dark lashes lowered over Alex’s eyes as he met Benedict in the middle, his lips soft and seeking. Benedict sighed against his mouth, leaning in to accept the kiss. Alex was methodical and controlled, slowly accustoming Benedict to the invasion of the kiss. He nibbled at Benedict’s lower lip, stroked his tongue into the seam of Benedict’s mouth. Threading his fingers through Benedict’s hair, Alex tilted his head and delved deeper with his tongue. Benedict’s palate was overwhelmed by the sugary sweet taste of Alex, drunk on the need for more, and then more. An entire world of possibility had just been opened to him, and he hardly knew where to begin now that he’d decided to stop fighting it.
One thing was clear, as he and Alex stood drinking from each other’s mouths as if starved—he didn’t have to figure it out alone. He had Alex and hoped to God that wouldn’t change any time soon.
“BEN!”
With a blink, Benedict ascended from a drugging haze of memory, his head swimming and his limbs heavy yet somehow weightless. His beefsteak sat before him untouched, and he’d been so lost in recollections of the past that the waiter returning to deliver it had escaped him. His stomach had tied itself in knots, so the sight of the food only made him feel sick.
Alex seemed to have suffered no such debilitation. His plate was clean, his wineglass emptied. It was his voice raised over the music that had snatched Benedict out of his musings—his mind chasing the wisps of memory that filled this place like a heavy fog.
What had he been thinking, agreeing to step foot inside Mother Morton’s? After Alex’s departure from London, Benedict had avoided what had once been one of his favorite haunts like the plague. Alex, the crafty bastard, had to know how difficult it was for Benedict to maintain his apathy within these walls. Sitting across from him at a table he was certain they had shared before, Benedict found it far too easy to forget where they stood now. Against the backdrop of Mother Morton’s, they were young men again—free from the burdens they now carried, and discovering what it meant to be in love.
Alex was watching him with a pensive expression, fingers toying with the stem of his glass. Benedict returned his gaze as if meeting an unspoken challenge. Alex could bring him here and make Benedict feel things he didn’t wish to feel … but in the end, it would change nothing. Trying to find the words to express those thoughts, Benedict ground his teeth, annoyed that they wouldn’t leap off his tongue as easily as before. It was this tavern, the place where he and Alex had experienced so many firsts together. It was Alex himself—too perfect to be real, too close to be ignored.
The music changed from a dizzying tempo to a slow, swelling one that made Benedict’s chest constrict around his lungs. With a soft smile, Alex inclined his head toward the dance floor, crowded with men drawing close to one another for a waltz.
“Dance?”
No. No, he didn’t care to dance with Alex. A waltz was too intimate. He hadn’t danced with another man since Alex left him, hadn’t wanted to spoil his coveted memories with a different partner. It didn’t make sense, considering the hatred Benedict had fostered for his former lover over the years, but there you had it. There were some things he was simply unwilling to taint by drawing one of his temporary lovers into them, regardless of how he’d come to feel about Alex.
Despite himself, Benedict spit out the first answer that came to mind. “Are you still terrible at it?”
Shrugging one shoulder, Alex’s grin widened. “No better than the last time we danced, but certainly no worse.”
With a labored sigh, Benedict came to his feet. “Then, I’m leading.”
Alex rushed to follow Benedict into the crowd of dancers like an eager puppy, his smile both charming and infuriating. This wasn’t some romantic gesture or olive branch; it was a test. Benedict needed to remind himself that being near Alex again wasn’t enough to change him, or heal his festering internal wounds. It would be a way to prove that he could survive this arrangement without losing himself in the process. He was in this for the promised money, nothing more.
They drew into each other with an ease born from years of practice, Alex submitting to Benedict’s dominant hold with satisfying pliancy. Hands clasped and arms around one another, they fell into the dip and sway of the waltz, Benedict’s controlled movements guiding Alex’s. There was much raucous laughter and jostling on the dance floor, but the drunken revelry seemed far removed from them. Benedict refused to break Alex’s stare, taking the other man’s probing gaze as a challenge.
I am in control here,he said without speaking, resolve driving his every thought, his every move.I’m here because I choose to be, because I intend to exact every penny of the money I need to save my skin before leaving you as you left me.
Alex was far too stubborn to be cowed, staring back at Benedict with unspoken challenges of his own. If he could read Alex’s thoughts, Benedict was certain they would echo the things already said. He was determined to win, to break through the walls Benedict had constructed around himself and reclaim a heart that had long shriveled up and died. There was the rub. He was almost tempted to warn Alex off, to tell him that there was no heart left for him to win. But it was far crueler and more satisfying to allow Alex to discover that for himself. It seemed a just reward for his unpardonable offense.
“You’re still as graceful as ever,” Alex said, his expression growing wistful. “The only partner who could manage to make me look good on the dance floor.”
“It’s simply a matter of residual skill,” Benedict replied. “I’m good enough for no one to notice how terrible you are.”
Alex chuckled. “Indeed. It’s one of the reasons I’ll be glad to quit London so I can shun all the invitations piling up in my study. If I’m not here to attend their balls, no one can coerce me into dancing with their daughters. The poor ladies’ toes will be trampled into dust by the time I’m finished with them.”
“I’m certain dear Lady Vautrey didn’t mind, as your massive fortune must have been a comfort to her, crushed toes notwithstanding.”
Alex stiffened, coming to an abrupt halt and nearly causing Benedict to stumble over his next step. The amusement faded from his face, replaced by stony ire. Without a word, he pushed Benedict aside and weaved his way through the other dancers without bothering to offer an apology.
