Kyle conjured up an expression that was meant to communicate patience and tolerance with Brock’s naivety. It involved raising an eyebrow.
“There’s significantly more gossip and idle speculation in Business Class than there is in First. The stewards in First Class are hand-picked and trained to be discreet. It’s a legitimate business expense and one my organization is more than happy to pay. We will arrive rested and more alert. It will also get us out of the airport at the other end a hell of a lot quicker and with a lot fewer questions, because we’ll get priority disembarkation and our bags will be offloaded before anyone else’s.”
Brock grinned. “There endeth the lesson?”
“Cheeky brat. If need be, I can find us a private bathroom, spank your behind and let you sit through a ten-hour flight shifting from one cheek to the other.” It was Kyle’s turn to grin as Brock winced and shifted in his chair as if imagining an aching ass. Kyle took the opportunity to give Brock an appraising examination. To a casual observer, Brock appeared relaxed. He wore comfortable beige cargoes and a pale blue open-necked shirt that highlighted the color of his eyes. His blond hair was a little tousled and very sexy. It hadn’t escaped Kyle’s notice that Brock drew a lot of admiring glances from both women and a few men. The lounge attendant in particular had far too much time on his hands and was using it to cast lascivious glances Brock’s way. Kyle allowed himself to imagine putting the guy in an arm lock and squeezing him into unconsciousness. His thoughts must have been reflected in his expression because the young man flushed to the roots of his ginger hair and found something else to gawk at. Kyle switched his attention back to Brock. He knew his traveling companion wasn’t nearly as comfortable as he appeared. Brock was a bundle of nerves. A certain cure would be to tie him to the nearest flat surface and fuck the anxiety out of him, but that wasn’t really an option. Kyle chuckled. Knowing his countrymen, he could probably do whatever the hell he wanted and no one would bat an eyelid.
“Care to share the joke?” Brock asked.
“Just pondering the eccentricities of the English.”
“Really?” Brock sounded dubious. “Then why does that guy over there look like he’s expecting an assassination attempt?” Brock nodded toward the attendant, who was polishing a table to within an inch of its life.
“He was ogling you.” Kyle decided that should be enough explanation.
Brock shook his head. “And I suppose you gave him the patented Kyle death glare?”
“Death glare?”
“Uh-huh. Brings new meaning to the phrase ‘if looks could kill’.”
“He shouldn’t have been watching you.” Kyle had an unexplainable urge to pout. “At least not like he was undressing you with his beady little eyes.”
“He doesn’t have beady eyes.”
“You shouldn’t be taking any notice of him either,” Kyle growled.
“You take possessive to whole new levels, don’t you?” Brock stood and gave him a challenging stare. “I’m going to get a drink. Would you like anything?”
Kyle wanted to throw Brock back into his chair but he knew damn well Brock was baiting him. Well, he could act like a grown-up. Revenge could come later—in a Miami hotel room.
“An orange juice would be nice, thank you. Freshly squeezed, with ice.”
“That smile is scarier than the whole growly thing.” Brock appeared a little pale.
“Payback’s a bitch, sunshine. See if your new friend can rustle up some snacks while you’re over there. I’m feeling peckish.” He watched as Brock strolled across to the attendant and had a brief conversation. They both cast nervous glances in his direction and a warm sense of satisfaction spread through his bones.
“Just as it should be,” he muttered happily. “That boy needs to learn his place.”
Brock returned with tall glasses of juice for both of them. He sat down and threw across a bag of macadamias.
“Thanks, I love these.” Kyle ripped open the packet. “Have you ever had them fresh from the shell? Delicious.”
Brock sipped his drink, then ran his tongue across his lower lip.
“I’m not keen on nuts.”
“Really? These are great, but half the fun is cracking the shell and freeing the tender center from its protective case.” Kyle chomped on a nut and kept his unblinking gaze fixed on Brock. His lover’s cheeks were pinking nicely.
“You’re not talking about nuts anymore, are you?” Brock whispered.
“Very perceptive… Well, not the kind that grow on trees anyway.”
“You are not putting me in chastity,” Brock hissed.
“The idea’s making you hard, isn’t it? We’ll see… If you can avoid ogling any more men during this trip, I might let you off.” Kyle shrugged. “Then again…maybe not.”
Brock frowned. “This is going to be the longest flight in history.”
Kyle chuckled. “I’m sure there will be some good films playing to keep you entertained. They have great privacy screens in first class. It’s almost as good as having your own room. You could take in Deep Impact… Max Payne is quite good, or you can’t go wrong with Die Hard.” Kyle kept a straight face as Brock coughed and spluttered into his juice. Kyle was looking forward to the flight. Having a few hours to contemplate all the things he would do to Brock on their return home was a rare pleasure and his imagination needed a workout.
* * * *
The flight was comfortable and the time passed quickly. Once Kyle had scanned the faces of the other First Class passengers and decided that none of them constituted a threat, he felt able to sit back and enjoy a few hours of relaxation. In his head, he ran over the meticulous plans he had put in place for the next two weeks, plans that had been many months in the making. There was a great deal riding on this mission and a huge weight sitting on Kyle’s shoulders. He was used to the pressure. Brock, however, was not. Kyle had no doubt that the young photographer was brave, resourceful and tenacious. He’d been tested mentally and physically during previous expeditions to hostile parts of the world, but this trip was different. Risking his life for his country was part of Kyle’s job. Brock didn’t normally operate with the threat of an unpleasant death hanging over his head.
Kyle glanced across to his companion. Brock had his head buried in a back issue of National Geographic that he’d brought with him. As if sensing Kyle’s gaze, Brock lifted his head and smiled.
“This is a really interesting article… Listen.” He began to read. “‘Observed in the wild, tucked away in museum collections and even exhibited in zoos around the world, there is one mysterious creature that has been a victim of mistaken identity for more than one hundred years. A team of Smithsonian scientists, however, uncovered overlooked museum specimens of this remarkable animal, which took them on a journey from museum cabinets in Chicago to cloud forests in South America to genetics labs in Washington, DC. The result—the olinguito (Bassaricyon neblina)—the first carnivore species to be discovered in the American continents in thirty-five years.’” His eyes sparkled. “Can you imagine what it must be like to discover a new species?”
Kyle shook his head. “I spend my time discovering secrets, sweetheart, and, though those secrets often involve sub-species of human, they aren’t exactly rare. More’s the pity.”
Brock rolled his eyes and continued to read out loud. “‘A team, led by Smithsonian scientist Kristofer Helgen, spent ten years examining hundreds of museum specimens and tracking animals in the wild in the cloud forests.’ They discovered this…” He reversed the magazine and displayed a photograph of an animal that seemed to be a cross between a house cat and a teddy bear.
“Cute,” Kyle muttered.
“Cute? That’s all you can say? Do you have any idea how rare it is to discover a new mammal? This one comes from the same family as raccoons, coatis and kinkajous. It weighs about two pounds and is native to the cloud forests of Colombia. If we’re really lucky, we might get to see one.”
Kyle gave Brock wha
t he hoped was an encouraging smile. It was good for Brock to have something else to think about other than their mission.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? The discovery of the olinguito shows us that the world is not yet completely explored, its most basic secrets not yet revealed. There must be more species out there to be discovered. Of course, most of those will be in the deep ocean, but who knows what’s lurking in the remote forests of the world. These Andean forests are so amazing. There must be loads of cool species to discover yet.”
“Maybe you should get back to more wildlife photography, give landscape a rest for a while?” Kyle knew that Brock loved both. He’d seen every shot Brock had ever had published—spectacular vistas from all around the world, often taken from incredibly dangerous positions.
“I don’t think so,” Brock mused, clearly having given it some thought. “I don’t have the patience to specialize in wildlife photography, but I’ve had some luck on my trips. I think the animals I’ve taken pictures of are so surprised to meet a human that they just pose for me because they don’t know that they need to run away.”
Kyle imagined Brock, halfway up a rock face, coming nose-to-nose with some startled creature, and laughed. “I prefer to rely on planning rather than luck.”
“You’re no fun.” Brock pouted and Kyle wanted nothing more than to take that plump lower lip between his teeth and bite down.
“You’ll find out just how much fun I can be when we get to Miami. You, me, a luxury hotel room and plenty of time before our next flight. I have interesting plans for that tender little behind of yours.”
Kyle looked up as a very red-faced steward cleared his throat. He stood in the aisle with a silver tray in his hands, two glasses of iced water on it.
“Drinks before your meal, Sir. Just water, as requested.”
Kyle winked at him. The steward chewed on his lip and gave him a shy smile in exchange.
“Let me know if you gentlemen would like some company in Miami.” The drinks were delivered and Kyle watched as the steward’s neat little butt, encased in uniform trousers, swayed back down the aisle.
“Stop staring at his ass,” Brock grumbled.
“Why? He’s cute in a sweet, twinky kind of way. Not really my type but nice enough to watch.”
“You’re incorrigible. So what is your type then?”
“Oh, I don’t know… Tall, blond, likes to call me Sir.”
Brock blushed almost as brightly as the steward.
“Who said I like it?”
“You like it.” Kyle sipped his drink and studied the menu.
For the remainder of the flight, Kyle kept the conversation to safe, innocuous subjects. Brock was a voracious reader and provided a running commentary on any interesting articles he came across. He also showed Kyle the photographs he liked and pointed out the compositional flaws in most of them. It was an interesting insight into Brock’s personality that Kyle valued. It was something that months of observation hadn’t told him. His sub—for that was how Kyle couldn’t help but think of Brock—was a stubborn perfectionist, passionate about every detail of his craft. That passion would stand him in good stead in the days ahead.
* * * *
The descent into Miami was smooth, as was passage through immigration and passport control. As they walked out through the automatic door into the Arrivals hall, a crowd of people holding up signs on assorted cards waited behind a rope barrier. At the back of the group, a nondescript man in a Miami Dolphins cap held up a small card with ‘A. Smith’ written on it. Kyle nodded in his direction and the man moved toward the doors.
“That’s our ride,” Kyle said, and followed.
“You had this arranged? Why Smith?” Lysander asked quietly.
“Just follow me. The fewer questions you ask, the better.” Kyle scanned his surroundings as they made their way toward short-term parking. He had no reason to believe that anyone would be watching them, but it was in his blood to be suspicious. He had no intention of risking Brock’s life if there was even a hint that the mission had been compromised.
The car the driver took them to was a sleek BMW with tinted windows. Once their luggage had been stowed in the trunk, Kyle and Brock settled into the back seat. The car smelled of leather and polish, a scent that Kyle felt very at home with. He contemplated fucking Brock there and then but decided that he didn’t need to provide their chauffeur with in-car entertainment. Kyle leaned forward. “You know what to do?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” The driver nodded and started the ignition. He slipped the car into gear and pulled smoothly away. “The office made everything clear.”
“Good. Nice ride… You prefer the stick shift?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” The driver grinned, directing his gaze at the rear-view mirror so that Kyle could see his expression without him having to take his eyes off the road by twisting around. “Much more responsive, should the situation require it.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t.” Kyle settled back and rested a hand on Brock’s thigh.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Brock asked, sounding a little nervous.
“No, not at all. Car chases in downtown Miami are really not my favorite form of entertainment. Don’t worry.”
Brock closed his eyes. “Okay. I can’t wait to get to the hotel.”
“Feeling tired?” Kyle checked his watch. “Eight o’clock—that makes it one in the morning back in England.”
Brock yawned. “I could nap.”
Kyle smiled as Brock leaned against him. He pulled him closer and Brock didn’t resist, just snuggled in with a contented sigh.
My God, he’s converting me into a cuddler. I do not cuddle. Still, it felt good in the cool air-conditioned interior of the car to have Brock’s warm body so close.
The car wound its way through the evening traffic and pulled up in front of the Palace Hotel. Kyle gave Brock a gentle shake.
“We’re here, Brock. Let’s go.”
Brock grumbled but followed him out of the car onto the pavement.
“The driver will bring in our bags. Let’s go and check in. The sooner we’re in the room, the sooner I can stuff my dick up your ass.” That woke Brock up.
“Fuck, Kyle! Tell the whole street, why don’t you?” Brock scanned the area with a scowl but his cheeks were flushed and his trousers were tented.
“It’s too warm to be standing around out here.” The Florida humidity was enough to sap anyone’s strength. Kyle pushed his way through the revolving doors into the hotel lobby and strolled over to the reception desk. He tipped the driver when he placed a couple of bags next to Kyle’s feet. The man briefly raised his cap.
“Have a good stay, sir.” He headed back out to the car and Kyle completed check-in. He declined a porter and handed one of the bags to Brock. “Here you go.”
“But this isn’t—”
“The lifts are over there,” Kyle interrupted and led Brock across the lobby. Once in the lift, which was free of other passengers, he pressed a finger to his lips and gave Brock a warning glower. The bell rang and the doors opened out onto the ninth floor.
“We’re in nine three seven—this way.” Kyle strolled down the carpeted corridor with Brock trailing behind him. Kyle slipped the electronic key card into the door lock and pushed it open. He ignored the beautiful view and the plush appointments and instead switched the TV onto high volume and began unpacking the bags.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Kyle?” Brock sat down on the end of one of the two beds. “These aren’t our bags.”
“To all intents and purposes, this is our hotel and we need to make it appear as if we are staying here. We won’t be, though. Keats, that’s our driver, will be waiting in the underground parking garage with a different vehicle and he’ll be taking us on to another place where we will spend the night. Our bags are still in the trunk. It’s all precautionary, but normal practice in my line of work.” He glanced at Brock, who looked a bit stunned. “Here, put the
se wash bags in the bathroom. Wet the sink and spray a bit of deodorant around. Make it look used.”
Brock did as he was asked and disappeared into the small en suite. A few minutes later, the toilet flushed and Brock heard the taps running. Brock reappeared, drying his hands on a towel, which he flung onto the end of the bed. Kyle pulled back the covers on both beds and rumpled the sheets.
“That will do. We just need to leave the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door and we’re done. It won’t stand up under expert scrutiny, but to a casual observer, it looks like there are people staying in the room. Let’s go.”
They took the stairs and didn’t come across a single soul as they descended nine floors to ground level, then two more to the basement garage. A quick flash of headlights told Kyle which car to head toward and a few minutes later they were back on the road, this time in a nondescript Ford. Kyle put his arm around Brock’s tense shoulders and pulled him close.
“Not long now, love.”
Brock sighed. “Really? This is just the beginning. I feel a bit sick.”
“Jet lag. Don’t worry, a few hours’ sleep and you’ll feel better.” Kyle tried to sound confident but he knew that Brock’s nausea was more to do with stress than lack of sleep. The cloak and dagger antics were a necessary precaution and there was little Kyle could do to protect Brock from the pressures of his world. Even if he had the power to call off the mission, he wouldn’t do it. He was convinced that Brock had the inner strength to cope with the challenges ahead and, for the next few hours at least, he would make sure that his mind was occupied with much more entertaining thoughts.
Chapter Seven
Brock awoke in gradual increments, pulling himself from vague dreams of heat and mist and hundreds of shades of green. For a moment he couldn’t work out where he was. He lay on sheets of the highest quality cotton and cool air brushed his bare skin. He didn’t recall undressing and a momentary stab of anxiety twisted his gut into a tight coil.
“Relax. You’re in Miami, safe and sound.”
Testing Lysander Page 8