Page 31 of Enemies with an Earl
Sam
Thesharpringofa bell jolted Sam upright in bed. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head to dispel the fog of sleep. Turning toward the wall, he squinted at the row of levers. His eyebrows shot up. Lord Bentley was calling. And then they snapped down, and he glared at the offending lever. Was this going to be yet another night of frivolous summons, petty tasks meant solely to test Sam’s patience? Lord Bentley hadn’t called for him that evening to assist him out of his formal attire. And those tailcoats were impossibly tight. Which meant he’d have acquired assistance elsewhere. That spoke volumes about whether or not what had passed between them earlier…was going to continue. Or begin.
Which meant this was probably Bentley using his last night to torture Sam. Grumbling, he pulled on a pair of stockings and trousers and whipped a lawn shirt over his head. He snatched up a waistcoat, fumbled with it, and finally managed to get it on. He gave his head another shake. Lord, he felt drunk, and he hadn’t even had a drop of liquor. He gritted his teeth. But that’s what happened when one was woken in the middle of a deep sleep—he glanced at the clock—at two in the bloody morning.
He padded down the hall and into the guest wing until he paused before Lord Bentley’s room. He lifted his hand and knocked. He swore to all that was holy, if the man didn’t respond and only woke Sam as a cruel jest, Sam may very well go in there and teach him a lesson. About… About something. About human decency!
“Enter.”
Sam silently slipped into the room, his gaze immediately going to where Lord Bentley was leaning against the wall near his dressing table. A lone candle flickered on the table, the flame’s light dancing over the man’s bare chest and defined stomach. Sam let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to stop the up tick in his pulse, the way his groin instantly tightened.
He stepped forward, eyeing Lord Bentley. The man gave almost nothing away, his face a blank mask, lips flat, fingers drumming lightly against the wall. But as Sam neared there was no mistaking the heat glowing in the man’s amber eyes. Sam’s blood rushed south. Perhaps not such an inconvenience to be awoken after all. He really,reallyhoped this was going where he thought it was going.
Sam licked his lips. Lord Bentley’s gaze dropped to the movement and Sam nearly chuckled. Oh, this was going exactly where he wanted this to be going.
“You rang, my lord?” he asked innocently.
Bentley lifted a hand and casually inspected his fingernails. “I did.” He glanced back at Sam, his face a bored mask. “I see you couldn’t even manage dressing properly.”
Sam couldn’t stop the chuckle that time. Because the way the man’s gaze trailed over where Sam’s shirt gaped open? He didn’t mind Sam’s state of dishabille one blasted bit.
“Given it’s two in the bloody morning, the fact that I managed a waistcoat at all should be impressive.”
“You couldn’t even manage to button it,” Lord Bentley pointed out.
True. Sam couldn’t find the damn buttons in his half-asleep state.
Lord Bentley’s amber brows pinched. “Actually. I believe it’s on inside out.”
Sam glanced down, and his lips twitched. No wonder he couldn’t find the buttons. His gaze found Bentley’s again. “I know you didn’t ring for me to insult my attire, my lord.”
He let his stare drop to the man’s naked skin, slowly taking in every inch of the lean, defined swell before him. And he didn’t hide his appreciation as he lifted his eyes back to Bentley’s. He let his voice drop. “What is it you want?”
Lord Bentley’s gaze darkened, and he crossed his arms over his honed chest. “I think you know, Thorne,” he murmured.
Sam’s face split into a grin. “Oh, I think I do, too. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you say it.”
The man’s plush lips flattened, and it was delicious. For so long, that displeased scowl had irked Sam. Now? Sam wanted to tug on it with his teeth.
“Come on now,” Sam prodded. “You can admit it. It’s not your fault that I’m extremely irresistible.”
Lord Bentley threw Sam a hard stare, disbelief etched across his features. “Humble, I see. You think quite highly of yourself.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” But there was no heat in Sam’s words. His grin only grew wider as he stepped closer to Lord Bentley. The man swallowed, and Sam’s eyes tracked the movement. The bob of that tempting Adam’s apple. He’d love to know what that pale freckled skin tasted like. “The difference is I know my statement was fact.” He leaned forward, his cheek inches from Lord Bentley’s. “I’ve had many a man confess their appreciation for my particular kind of rough.”
Heat and elation sliced through Sam at Lord Bentley’s shiver. Sam leaned back and cocked a brow.You know exactly how to get what you want.
And by the tic in Lord Bentley’s jaw, he knew, too. But now there was a challenge in the air. And it was obvious the man didn’t want to concede.
Sam lifted a hand and gently slid a finger over the ridge of Bentley’s collar bone. Back and forth. And again. Then he coasted his knuckles up the man’s neck and gripped his jaw. “Do you want a bit o’ rough, my lord? Want me to bend you over and show you how a real man fucks?”
Lord Bentley ripped his jaw from Sam’s grip and scoffed. His entire body went rigid, flinching away from Sam. “The last thing I’d do is bend over for you.”
Sam tilted his head, brows furrowing. Not…the response he’d been aiming for. There was definite truth in the man’s statement. No matter. Every man had different preferences. Even though the defensiveness rolling off the Bentley made Sam think perhaps there was more to that reaction than met the eye.
Sam stepped forward, purposely brushing their hips together, and Lord Bentley’s sharp intake of breath pierced the quiet. “All right. No worries, I’m…receptive to all manner of activities. I’m a very amenable cove that way. Whatever you wish. Just say the word.”
“Just like that?” Bentley eyed him. “Regardless of your dislike, of our clear friction.”
