by Bonnie Dee
He moved toward the door, opened it, and the visitors filed through. Under Tobin’s sunny nature and gregarious chatter lurked an iron will and a force to be reckoned with. Bennet believed that force would soon be turned on him when Tobin demanded his return to London. Was Daniel strong enough to resist? Did he even care to? Perhaps it was time for his metaphorical day of reckoning.
Outside, Bennet and Tobin stood in the yard, arms folded, until the four horsemen disappeared around a bend in the road. Only then did Tobin drop his pose and turn to face him.
“I believe it’s time we had a talk.”
“Too much talking,” Bennet grumbled, staring down at the toe of his boot scuffing the dirt. “Isn’t there some way you might take care of this business? I could hire you.”
“There are ways to assign a proxy, but you’re not my client, so I’m not sure—”
“That is what I want.”
“Bennet, please pay attention. Though I could ensure you received fair payment I think that’s a bad idea.” Tobin’s relentless voice continued. “It would be preferable to our client and in your own best interest to handle this task personally. More than that, I think you need to face your past in order to move beyond it.”
“Sitting in a Lincoln’s Inn office signing paperwork will magically wipe all the memories from my mind, will it?” Bennet growled. He swiped a hand through the air. “Enough. I don’t want to discuss this right now.”
“Our chambers are near the Inner Temple, far better.” Tobin would turn lighthearted, trying to make it all jolly again.
Bennet had to get away. Had to escape. He wasn’t ready for this. He took a few steps toward the barn, but suddenly, Tobin was right there in front of him, barring the way. The man’s chest rose and fell as he breathed rapidly. He grasped Bennet’s arms, holding him in place.
“You can’t escape memories by running and hiding. You need to be Daniel Pierce again, at least for a little bit. You must exhume him,” he said firmly.
“Move.” Bennet tried to shake Tobin off, but the man clung like a burr to a dog’s coat. “I said get out of my way!” He put his hands on Tobin’s chest and pushed.
This time the slighter man’s grip broke, and he stumbled backward.
Bennet started to walk, but again Tobin intercepted him. His eyes flashed, and his hair appeared fierier than ever since his face had grown red. A flare of temper? Bennet hadn’t seen that yet in this good-natured man.
“I won’t allow you to walk away from me this time.” Tobin held up his fists in a fighting stance. “You’re angry. Show me how much.”
Bennet drew back, staring at the suddenly pugnacious lawyer. He batted Tobin’s hands down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to get into a fistfight with you.” He pushed his shoulder against Tobin’s as he tried to pass yet again.
Arms went around his body, holding him back. “I’m quite serious. Your walking away has grown tiresome.”
“Stop it.” Bennet jabbed an elbow, and it connected with solid flesh. Tobin grunted, but he still wouldn’t let go. And then the crazy man suddenly seized him a different way, trying to pin down Bennet’s arms in a poorly executed wrestling hold.
“Nor a wrestling match either.” Bennet attempted to break away, but Tobin’s arms contained an unexpected wiry strength.
Hot puffs of air brushed Bennet’s cheek as Tobin spoke near his ear. “Will you spend your life running and hiding?”
“Let. Me. Go!” Bennet tried in vain to break loose again. He grabbed Tobin, dragging him off his feet, and together they toppled to the ground. They rolled and grunted like boys in a schoolyard brawl, wrestling and occasionally punching as each struggled to get the upper hand. First Tobin was on top. Then Bennet. Bets came running to bark an alarm as she circled their struggling bodies.
Tobin’s fist struck Bennet’s nose, making his eyes sting. He punched back, and the other man’s head smacked against the ground. Bennet was dimly aware of the barking dog and of Tobin’s teeth cutting his knuckles. A part of him seemed to float above, watching from a distance and asking why he was fighting. He wasn’t even angry at Tobin, but he was filled with a powerful rage that surged through him, making him tremble. He needed to stop now, before he actually hurt Tobin.
Bennet saw the blood flowing from the corner of those lips he’d kissed and immediately pulled his next punch. He scrambled away across the ground.
Tobin pushed up to rest on his elbows. He grabbed his chin and moved his jaw, then grinned at Bennet with bloodied lips. “Feel better now?”
“No! How can you ask me that? I feel terrible.” But it wasn’t quite true, was it? Now that the emotion had burned away, leaving him shaking, he felt hollowed out, washed clean, empty and oddly at peace.
Tobin sat up the rest of the way. “Sometimes men need a good tussle.” His eyes burned into Bennet. “And sometimes a bit of solace is what they need, eh?”
He opened his arms to Bennet, who stared at him, wondering if the man had gone mad. But those arms looked so welcoming, he couldn’t resist the invitation. He fell against Tobin, hugging the man so tightly, he grunted.
“You do have a hearty embrace, my friend.”
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bennet murmured, kissing Tobin’s neck and burying his nose in the ginger hair that curled against it. “Forgive me.”
“Forgive yourself.” The words were so quiet they seemed to come more from inside him than from Tobin’s lips.
Bennet squeezed his eyes closed and tears leaked down his face. Forgive yourself. The voice sounded like that of Jacob Phillips.
Chapter Thirteen
Tobin wasn’t about to admit it to Bennet, but his mouth throbbed and his muscles hurt.
He sighed and let himself lean in and relish the hug. He rested against Bennet and wondered how else he could prod and annoy Bennet until the man gave in and came to London—or at least didn’t flee from facing his pain. But this had been cleansing, like a crying jag that left one a little shaky but refreshed.
When he pulled back, the other man still appeared pale and wild eyed, and Tobin decided not to bring up London again. Not today. Nor would he show anything but careless disregard for the incident.
“No need to carry on, my friend. It was just a bit of a scuffle.” Tobin pressed his tongue against his front teeth, testing for looseness.
“I hurt you. I despise men who cause pain.”
“You weren’t trying to hurt me, you know,” Tobin said softly. “You aren’t like the men who hurt Jacob.”
“How am I different? Tell me that? You said something provocative. So did Jacob. And the response was violence.” His voice sounded close to breaking.
Now Tobin rather wished he hadn’t pushed Bennet so far. “The sight of my blood stopped you. I wasn’t there that day, but I know enough to guess that the sight of his blood only made them thirsty for more.”
Bennet seemed about to say something more, but he only touched Tobin’s cheek. At least the haunted look had vanished from Bennet’s face. He examined Tobin. “Let me clean you up a bit. You look…”
Tobin laughed. “That bad, eh?” His lips felt puffy and tender, but the worst of the pain had already passed. “For that matter, how’s your nose? Gave you a little clip. Sorry about that.”
Bennet’s nose wasn’t even bleeding, and he waved away the apology. “I’m fine.”
Tobin took Bennet’s calloused hand in his. “Come, let’s check ewes and lambs and whatnot. What are we neglecting at this moment? Give me the list. Should we be giving the cow a bath? Ought we take another batch of your lambs out to visit Dickon and the dogs?”
At last something like a smile touched the corner of Bennet’s mouth.
They walked to the barn, and Tobin tried not to limp. He must have twisted his ankle a little.
Bennet held his hand tightly as if he thought Tobin might
try to pull away. “Thank you for staying with me for a while longer.”
“Ha, I wasn’t sure if you were cheering my announcement or wishing I’d go to hell or back to the inn with the visitors.” He chuckled. “I could have ridden away on Satan’s back. That would almost be worth doing just so I might say I’d done it.”
Bennet frowned. “You hardly tried to hide the fact. Taylor and the others must know it was me you were looking for.”
“Perhaps they do. But I strongly suspect that it’s a truth that must come out.”
“Must? How do you figure that?” Bennet didn’t sound angry or disgusted. And he kept his hold on Tobin’s hand. “I suppose the village has nothing better to do than gossip.”
Tobin released a long breath of relief. Thank goodness Bennet wasn’t cutting up about his performance with the visitors.
They stepped into the barn, and Bennet let go of Tobin long enough to walk to the jugs and pens, examining the sheep. “All is calm. And the last of the ewes has already dropped her lambs, as you knew when you offered to stay to help, didn’t you?” He studied Tobin but didn’t quiz him about his reasons for wanting to stay. “You need to be cleaned up.”
“I’ll go out to the pump.”
“Too cold. We’ll use warm water. Back in the cottage. Come on.” Bennet brooked no disagreement. He grabbed Tobin’s hand again and led him out of the barn.
Tobin smiled. “You shan’t find an argument from me.” His heart beat faster as he allowed himself to be towed along.
They had no lovely huge tub to share, no luxury of running water. The cake of yellow soap smelled of lye. But as Tobin helped pour the cauldron of hot water into the tin tub by the fire place, he anticipated his bath as if it were the most luxurious of his life.
He held his hands out to his sides. “Strip me?” he suggested.
Bennet shook his head and crossed his arms. He even took a step away from the tub and Tobin. “If I do, you’ll never get clean.”
“That is the only excuse you could give that I’ll allow.” Tobin hastily shed his clothes. The water was near scalding, and he gasped.
Bennet lunged forward. “Are you all right?”
Tobin gingerly shifted in the tub and enjoyed the prickling too-hot water lapping at his legs. “Hmm. Yes. I love water that turns one into a boiled beef.”
“Should I add cold?” his anxious companion asked, his gaze fixed somewhere below Tobin’s face.
“Not at all. This truly is perfect.” He gave a small wiggle, and yes, indeed, Bennet’s attention was riveted to his middle.
Without turning away, Bennet pulled off his coat and laid it over the chair. “Can you sit?” He rolled up his sleeves.
Tobin careful lowered himself into the shallow tub.
His fair skin was bright red already, but his fingers were entirely warm for the first time that day. He examined his knuckles, red and swollen a little from punching Bennet’s face. Wished he could take that back, but luckily, he’d inflicted no real damage to that lovely blade of a nose. He couldn’t lean back and wallow for the tub wasn’t large, but the glow on Bennet’s concerned face, the way the firelight picked out the colors in that beard warmed him inside.
Tobin picked up the flannel draped over the side of the tub and held it out. “You said you’d wash me. ‘Let me clean you up’ was the phrase you used.”
Bennet nodded solemnly. He dipped the flannel into the water, squeezed it nearly dry—the man didn’t know his own strength—and carefully, tentatively dabbed and wiped Tobin’s face. The flannel came away red with blood. Bennet stared at it for a moment, then went back to work, rinsing the cloth and carefully wiping Tobin’s mouth.
Tobin had expected some sort of sexual play. After all, he sat naked and slick with hot water, his cock already half-hard in anticipation. But Bennet seemed determined to wash away every speck of dirt and blood, frowning in concentration as he dipped the cloth, squeezed it, and slid the moist flannel over Tobin’s skin.
He sat back on his heels and examined Tobin. “Close your eyes.”
And before Tobin could ask what he meant, Bennet had emptied most of the water from the last bucket over his head.
“Lean back,” Bennet ordered. “Your hair.”
Tobin sighed. There wasn’t going to be love-play now. He settled his lower back against the tin tub the best he could and let Bennet have at his hair.
Strong fingers rubbing his scalp and working the soap through his hair might not have been intended to be sensual, but his body didn’t know that. A small groan of pleasure escaped as those fingers methodically worked him.
His eyes closed, he leaned into sensation, feeling like a happy animal.
“Forward again.” The voice, husky and almost a whisper, was at his ear. Aha, so Mr. “Simply Performing a Task” Bennet wasn’t unaffected either. Tobin smiled as he leaned over, and he felt a warm rough hand slide down, then up his spine. The water splashed over him.
“Stand up.” The flannel moved over his arse—it was definitely getting extra attention. Pictures filled his mind—pictures of Bennet behind him, moving inside him.
Tobin had taken part in that act, always as the one doing the entering. Yet his belly flipped with excitement at the thought of Bennet filling his body.
Bennet grabbed a large cloth that hung by the fire.
“Good Lord, is that an actual Turkish towel? Not sackcloth?”
“Step out,” Bennet said, and Tobin did, right into Bennet’s arms. The towel had been warmed by the fire and felt delicious on his skin, but better than the towel was the way Bennet’s mouth met his in a hot kiss, filled already with passion and promise.
Tobin pulled him close, greedy for more, but Bennet gently put his hands on his bare shoulders and pushed him back.
“I need to use the water now.”
“What? No. I need you now. I have waited long enough.”
But Bennet was stripping off the rest of his clothes and, before Tobin could stop him, had stepped into the water. At least he didn’t take the time to carefully fold each piece of clothing, but left them on the floor.
He washed himself quickly and efficiently, seeming to ignore Tobin’s greedy stare and his own cock that was at half-stand. He gasped as he poured the water over his own head.
“It’s better than the water that comes out of your pump,” Tobin said. “Mm. I loved kissing you out there. Hurry, would you?”
A moment later, Bennet was out of the tub, dripping on the flagstones. Now it was Tobin’s turn to fold him into an embrace. It felt almost fierce, like another bout of wrestling as they grappled, trying to get as close as they could to each other. Tobin needed more. He wanted to be inside Bennet’s body, and he wanted Bennet in him as well. He recalled an image of a pair of snails mating, with each attaching itself to the other, and he grinned.
“What’s funny?” Bennet said.
“Nothing at all.” He bit Bennet’s earlobe and sucked it into his mouth, enjoying the delicate texture—and the man’s moan of pleasure.
Tobin kissed his way along Bennet’s cheek, then back to find his mouth in the soft nest of a beard.
They half walked, half stumbled. Tobin didn’t want to release even a portion of that sweet flesh as they moved to the other room, where the bed with the rough, chilly sheets waited.
But just as they reached the bed, Bennet eased him down, then, with a muttered, “Pardon, one minute,” he turned and rushed back into the main room. Tobin followed at a slower pace and laughed when he saw what Bennet held—it was a jar, half-filled with a liniment he used with the sheep.
“And what are you going to do with that?” he asked.
What he could see of Bennet’s face turned red. He cleared his throat. “When I first found this in the village, I noticed its slippery quality. That is, one can’t help noticing. It’s something…” He c
oughed.
Tobin loved the shyness of the man. “And if it’s so lovely and slick, why isn’t it by your bedside?”
Bennet blinked. “I try not to think about that part of life. I don’t often indulge in tending to myself.”
Oh dear, naked as the day he was born, standing with the jar of liniment in his hand, he appeared to be losing steam, as it were.
Tobin spread his arms wide. “Here it is again, that part of life. Let’s remind you how sweet it can be. That is my self-appointed task, after all.”
“It does seem to be your vocation,” Bennet said dryly, and that voice made Tobin grin with pleasure.
Tobin ordered. “Bring your slippery substance now. And we shall play and learn what else we might do with the liniment.”
“Play,” Bennet said dubiously.
“Isn’t that how you discovered you enjoyed men? Playing as a boy?”
Since Bennet hadn’t moved, Tobin went to him and plucked the jar from his hand.
“If I think too hard,” Bennet said, “I begin to be lost.”
Tobin first thought he meant lost desire, but then suspected he meant losing even more: hope, joy.
“Don’t think, then. Feel. Or perhaps allow me to feel you? I shall rub your body until you are as slippery as an eel. And then I shall climb on you and slide up and down. Mm. Isn’t that a delicious thought? Both of us, sliding and sinking, skin against skin? We shall need to bathe again when we are through.”
He grinned, then turned on his heel and walked back to the tiny bedroom, trying to sway his hips in a not too ridiculous manner.
Come on, he thought and was glad to hear the soft of shush of bare feet following him.
Strong hands gripped him from behind again and pulled Tobin against cool, hard flesh.
One very hard piece of flesh indeed. Tobin had won.
“Your mouth is a dangerous thing,” Bennet growled in his ear. “Your words. They make me want again.”
“Good. Take what you want, including my mouth.”