Flowers for the Gardener

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “I thought you detested me.”

  A laugh barked out of him; at the sound, his boss hunched over, though Ethan couldn’t care why. “Yeah, I imagine you do. I never hated you. Disliked, but nothing like despise. And I don’t blackmail. Tell your mother you’re gay, or don’t tell her. No difference to me.”

  Liar. Ethan buried the incriminating evidence of feelings long ignored.

  “Well…if it’s not…Why mention my being…”

  Not for the first time, Richard broke off. Did the man always struggle to complete sentences? Yes, if Ethan wasn’t mistaken. Many habits, patterns of behaviour, were best broken. “You’re gay. Get used to the idea.”

  “I am.” Colour rode Richard’s cheekbones once more but this time the cause seemed to be anger. “I’m not a…a virgin.”

  A familiar amusement washed back in. Why did Richard always do this to him? Make Ethan’s emotions blow fierce and freezing? “Fine. Bully for you. Who was the lucky man?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I wish…” Perfect opening and he froze, chewing on a lip, annoyed with his resistance. Now or never. An apt and true cliché. Ethan fought to free his jaw. “I wish you would.”

  * * * *

  Something must be wrong with his ears. Rich needed to swallow before he managed to speak and still the words whispered out. “What did you say?”

  “I said I wish you would. Fuck me.”

  The surreal events of the day turned outrageous. A struggle to deal with the bizarre situation gave birth to the urge to bolt for the door, but one of two things were likely to happen if he tried. Either Ethan would let him go on his way with the possible result they never spoke again—a possibility which for some reason he disliked. Or, if the man attempted to block his path, they might end up tussling on the floor. The gardener played some game. No way could the man be…

  “You’re…?”

  “Gay? I suggested we screw around. What do you think?”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” A laugh barked out to underline the question.

  Was it so odd that should be the first query out of his mouth? A little anger crept in, helping to clear Rich’s head. “Can’t be such a peculiar ask. I never sensed you liked me, let alone…” The hand he waved appeared regal, so he stopped. Did Ethan simply want to, how did he put it? Screw? Did he long to screw or, more likely, screw over the boss? Much to his horror, the idea of asking was unbearable. He didn’t want the answer to be yes.

  Ethan Fields. Familiar to him, of course, but the man now came across as so much more than the boy Rich remembered. A few years before, on the day Ethan bested him in a brawl, sat on top, pushing the side of Rich’s face in the dirt, Rich had hated the impossibility of their being friends—a more detestable fact than losing the fight. Few children visited the estate. A portion of Rich’s life had revolved around boarding schools, more often with private tutors. He seldom got the chance to meet normal companions. When Ethan’s father came to live and work at the manor bringing his relatives with him, Rich hoped for more. The friendship he longed for changed over time, became a longing he didn’t dare put a name to.

  Now, Ethan offered more—years too late and something beyond imagining. Given the amount of time gone by, was it too little or too much? Hard to decide.

  Best not to confuse the adult with the adolescent. People changed. Rich definitely had. What if Ethan were not an employee? What if he wasn’t one of the gardeners, didn’t work on the grounds? Or live in the staff house? What might his reaction be to Ethan if they’d never met?

  The exact opposite to what he should do, which was to run out of the shed, hike back to the house, dash in, and slam the door on this fiasco.

  What his upbringing dictated as right warred with what he wanted, which was to walk over, and go to his knees. To place his mouth level with Ethan’s crotch, gaze up into those brown eyes while Ethan ran a hand through Rich’s hair and—

  “Hey! Ground control. What planet are you orbiting?”

  If he were able to judge by the degree to which his cheeks sizzled, Rich blushed. “I’m wondering if you think I’m Lady Chatterley.”

  Ethan laughed. Instead of cooling his inner turmoil, the full-throated chuckle made parts of Rich frolic. His skin came alive, sensitised. For some odd reason, his left arm itched. The back of his neck prickled. A broken slat in the chair dug into his spine—when had he retaken his seat?—and it dawned on him this particular piece of furniture was mighty uncomfortable. His cock filled out and stretched against his fly, worsening his discomfort.

  “We can play those roles if you want. Me? I prefer something more equal.”

  Madness. Ethan pulled his leg. Must be a trick. Rich opened his lips to speak—unable to say a word. He needed to clear his throat first; too embarrassed because he’d tried, and it hadn’t worked, so each syllable emerged thick with stress.

  “H-How did you know?”

  “I thought it long ago, and don’t ask me how. How does anyone sense these things? I was still unsure until you answered.”

  “So you asked to see if I would say yes?”

  “Pretty much. And because things have changed. We’re not young anymore, and we’re not inexperienced. I could have kept my mouth shut and let the chance pass, but what’s the point?”

  “Chance?” The idea of the two of them getting together, of Ethan being interested, still struck him as too surreal to be genuine. Opportunities, though, sometimes only came along once. “If we…did. Where do you suggest we…” The word ‘consummate’ flittered, moth-like, through his mind. Fortunately, Ethan spoke before he said it aloud.

  “Do the deed? Well, not here, and it’s too cold out.”

  The idea of sex in the open made Rich stare at the floor. No way to tell what Ethan might see if he met the other man’s gaze, or to swear what Rich’s reaction would be to whatever expression the man wore. Rich’s mouth flooded with saliva, body and soul horrified by the desire to suck cock. Ethan’s cock. Of every penis in the world, Ethan’s should be the one he wanted least. Did he consider having sex with this man?

  Yes. Under the shimmering lust, another craving blossomed. To be held. To not feel isolated. Alone. The days spent knocking around the outsized house, having come home from abroad for his father’s funeral, made the roof of the manor akin to a grave stone.

  Ethan presented a taste of freedom. Liberty he shouldn’t contemplate. If he told his mother he was gay, and if she accepted the fact, she would still vet perspective partners. Her goal was for him to marry someone who represented a financial merger and her plans wouldn’t change. Ethan epitomised the opposite to everything Rich foresaw in his future, which might be part of the attraction. Moreover, he never expected the man to be a source of comfort and found it hard to reject any act of intimacy and kindness.

  Which didn’t mean the sole reason he mulled over the notion of sex and Ethan was all self-centred; Rich would welcome the opportunity to get to know each other better if it had existed sooner. God, but the enticement made Rich’s jaw ache and his pulse to race. If Ethan wanted sex, the other man liked what he saw as much as Rich did. Ethan attracted to him? Who knew such a thing was possible?

  “My room’s the old study. It’s not great, but it’d do.”

  Rich frowned. Why on earth would Ethan live downstairs in the staff cottage when five bedrooms took up most of the first floor? That wasn’t the question that made it to his lips. “Someone might see.”

  “You can manage to climb over a windowsill, can’t you?”

  Instead of putting him off, the notion gave Rich a thrill. What overcame him today? He should find the thought of climbing around after dark through windows appalling, not exciting. “Your room…it’s right beside the kitchen?”

  “It is.”

  Convenient and, as memory served, at least the house came with a ground level toilet and a shower off the utility room. If Ethan slept nearby, he must use those. A daydream of joining the man under the spray d
eluged his mind. Rich caught himself nodding.

  “Sooooo…” Ethan’s smile was as good as a leer. “We’ll need to be quiet. I suggest no screaming.” A wink backed up the proposal.

  Trust Ethan to make light of the situation. Or maybe life was easy for him. Pain flared in Rich’s head. His stomach tightened. Whatever Ethan saw in Rich’s expression, he mistook, because he said, “No doubt you can think of better rooms in that manor of yours where we can go.”

  No doubt, but the hesitation had nothing to do with snobbery. He hadn’t rejected the idea of the staff house, nor of asking Ethan to the manor, but he imagined his mother’s reaction if she discovered what she would take to be an uninvited staff member inside. Much the same if she found a man in his bed. He hadn’t thought Ethan would want a repeat of his father catching them doing something they shouldn’t, either.

  Two birds with one screw? One way to come out. The thought made Rich want to giggle.

  To think he had the hots for the gardener. The adolescent part of him always had. Sexuality formed young. Ethan, always striking, now possessed the body to match and, if Rich believed, the man wished to back up what Rich’s hormones insisted was a fantastic idea. His brain knew better but every inch of longing surrounded his judgement in fog.

  I can’t have him.

  If this were not a joke, the timing, what others expected of him, his mother…Every one of those things, worked against what he wanted. Rich rose to his feet, and forgot his hard-on, again apparent, long enough to be embarrassed by it when he stood and Ethan’s gaze flicked lower in an obvious way.

  “I must go.” One step…and he found the way to the door obstructed, the other man in his path. The blue shade of Ethan’s shirt danced before Rich’s eyes, making him think of a crisp autumnal sky, an image reminiscent of the bitter weather outside. Frosty. Like his mother. Like his life.

  Ethan gave off welcoming warmth into which he longed to fall. If he could only have one moment, a minute to rest his head on Ethan’s shoulder. To feel the man’s hands going first around his waist, one arm cradling his back, holding him. Rich’s eyelids lowered as he imagined closing his eyes and sinking into an embrace. He swayed, eyes jolting open, forcing himself to snap out of it.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. You’re being ridiculous. If I wanted you, and I don’t, we can’t.”

  With luck, Ethan wouldn’t ask for an explanation. No decent answer existed, other than to say his mother wouldn’t approve, and how pathetic did that sound? Such a statement confirmed every odious and outrageous thing Ethan no doubt believed of him.

  The gardener said nothing, but he didn’t move. The stalemate provided too much time for Rich to concentrate on the light stubble gracing Ethan’s chin. Would be nice to rub his own face against it. Would be perfect timing to kiss him.

  A hand fastened on the back of Rich’s neck and tugged him forward. Rich took a step, falling still in shock. “This isn’t…” he began, but lost any sense of how to finish.

  “A good idea?” Ethan grinned.

  Rich meant to nod, but Ethan’s left hand went to his hip as the right tightened at his nape, and he became paralysed. He expected a kiss but much to his surprise, Ethan brought their foreheads together, making Rich unravel.

  “Not sure how I feel about you, little rich boy. Not sure how you feel about me. But I do want you in my bed, even if it’s the once. I think you know what I’m saying.”

  A roll of Ethan’s hips tore a gasp from Rich. So, they were both hard. As were the other man’s lips when he angled his head at last for the kiss. Pressure and movement forced Rich’s mouth open. As soon as his lips parted, Ethan licked over them. A shudder rocked Rich from the tips of his toes rushing through his body to plough into his cock and testicles. The sudden explosion of lust hurt.

  Until now, Rich’s participation in all this remained passive, though the grip stayed too light to call it force. Now the arm which wound around his waist, pulled them close, and the intimacy struck him as so like his imagination, both more and less. He met Ethan’s tongue with his own, grabbed Ethan by the hips, the denim delightfully contrasting, soft and rough under his palms, as he squeezed. Their being if similar height was a luscious thing. Bodies aligned. Felt great through their clothes. Would improve by their being naked.

  Madness. Rich twisted away. God, did he moan? No way to be sure, but he might have moaned. “Can’t.”

  “Stop saying that.” Did Ethan sound angry or frustrated? “No one need know.”

  “But I will.”

  “And that’s terrible?” The man’s eyes narrowed. His expression grew dark. He stepped back. The loss hit Rich as a physical blow.

  “Not terrible. Just…Our lives make this impossible.”

  “Not if you want it.” Ethan’s lips opened and closed, forming another unutterable sentence. His jaw worked, and he said, “If you want me. Think it over.”

  No doubt. In his dreams. Though there was little chance of any of his wishes coming true. Whatever game Ethan played, Rich wanted no part of it…but he did want Ethan.

  They stood apart, separated by circumstances. Surreal. Unreal. None of it happened. He imagined the whole thing. Might believe the pledge if his lips, skin, and cock didn’t tingle. Every inch of him hurt, hungered, hankered after Ethan Fields. Was this what the other man wanted all along? Was it the cause of the man’s erection? Or did Ethan in truth want sex with his boss?

  What might Ethan’s father say? The man threw a mammoth fit when he found the two of them fighting. No limit to Rich’s guessing what William Fields might say if he caught them fucking.

  To his increasing horror, he wanted to find out. Insanity loomed. Rich marched past Ethan into the frigid air before he acted on the impulse.

  Despite the chill wind, he took the long way round back to the house, the frost doing a better job than an icy shower. His mother’s stare when he made it back to the house and crossed paths with her on her way out froze hell over.

  Chapter 4

  Ruby Gardener eyed her son, her expression questioning.

  Please don’t ask. Rich sent up a silent prayer for her not to voice the most obvious enquiry—he could give no realistic explanation why he was outside minus a jacket on such an arctic morning. He breathed easier when she glanced at her wristwatch, more concerned with time.

  “I’m going out.”

  The coat, and handbag gave the fact away, but Rich took his mother’s cue and asked no questions.

  “I’ll be out most of the day.” She gave him another stare, this one more reflective, while tugging on her gloves as though they offended her. “Please find something to do with yourself.” The tone implied he did nothing. Wasted his life.

  “I have meetings next week.”

  “Of course you do. So…prepare for them?” The lilt of her voice changed the suggestion into a question, without disguising the insult.

  A crooked wisdom tooth ached as it always did when he bit down hard on it. Discomfort made him ease up, to lessen the pressure on his jaw. The temptation to argue fled with the pain. No use in trying. Rich stepped aside, giving his mother a berth so wide she could have driven past in her car.

  The door banged shut behind him as he rushed in without waiting to watch her drive away, but he exhaled at last as the engine purred to life, gravel crunched, and all sounds faded. Irritation set his feet to wandering, aimless. The impromptu inspection of the property, less than cheerful, still helped to expel some nervous energy.

  Hard to believe he owned the entire estate. Sort of. Fine, the house and land belonged to him, his mother, and to Sapphire, their ownership situation unaltered but, since his father’s death, any decisions were now theirs with Rich having the deciding vote. This left him with no clue what to do with the place.

  To a young Richard Gardener the house had alternated between magical and mystifying. Sometimes the warren of rooms and corridors appeared to be marvellous and menacing, the house a playground, li
mited at most by the depths of his imagination. Now, the size of the manor resembled a gigantic coffin enclosing them all beneath the earth, forever interred with a man already buried.

  “I’d rather live in Downton Abbey.” His words echoed, taunting, but he didn’t joke. A number of magnificent mansions came to mind where the rooms welcomed the visitor and occupants alike. Here…too much marble. The white fireplace reached two floors up to the roof, more in keeping with something a person might visit in a National Trust property.

  He ambled into what his mother referred to as the master lobby. What should one call a hall so grand he always expected to find the Beast dancing with Belle, not to mention they owned an actual ballroom? The entrance room led to a hallway—a long galley which put him in mind of an orangery. How crazy? What purpose did it serve? Not until the estate agent listed them did Rich fully appreciate the manor-house contained five reception areas.

  He should try to examine the house by the agent’s viewpoint. Despite trying, Rich shivered when the noise of his footsteps followed in ghostlike treads. He stopped long enough in one of the bathrooms to relieve himself, dismayed when the tumult of urine as it hit the toilet pan reverberated off the ceramic-lined walls. Unable to finish fast enough, he risked pissing on his shoes, cleaned off, tucked his cock away, zipped and flushed.

  Rich approached the twin sinks—yet more marble—and washed his hands. No denying it—the house struck him as cold and soulless. Had it always been so? Or might his father have provided a spark no one was aware of until illness extinguished it?

  For the first time, a flood of gratitude overcame him for having spent as much time away as under this roof, if he counted the months at boarding schools, further education and travelling. No wonder the gardener’s son once wanted to beat him. Despicable behaviour, of course—Rich did not agree with any form of bullying—but the antagonism he at least understood. Ethan’s animosity was in part caused by Rich acting superior, his having money in the bank, wealth providing status. The imbalance of affluence was what remained wrong with the world. He believed in empathy and compassion, hated on occasion the quantity of zeros on the end of his savings balance which made the line between sensitivity and being patronising blur.