The Hunt for Eros

by Hunt, Sam J. D.

  “Don’t touch me. You’ve been lying to me?”

  “Yes.” His topaz eyes met mine, testing my resolve. I fought the strong urge to fall into his arms. “But Jane, everyone is lying to you.”

  “I want my stuff, I’m going—” A dark car approached, the same car that had been following us, and parked on the curb down the block. Ben turned white, and moved to grab my arm, “Let’s go. Jane, I swear I’ll explain, but please, right now, we need to go. You’re in danger.”

  “Who’s in the car, Ben? Sean Devane?”

  He pulled my arm more firmly, and I absently began to walk with him toward his rental car. “Elizabeth and Edward Hope are in the car. She’ll do anything, including harm you, to get what she wants.”

  The dark car rolled further up the street, the windows tinted so that I couldn’t see in. “Elizabeth wants the Cupid?” He tugged me harder, his urgency increasing as he opened the passenger door, pushing me in. “No, she wants me.”

  Ben jumped in the driver’s seat and hurriedly started the car. Before he could wrap his seatbelt around his waist, the small DB9 was slammed from behind. The impact wasn’t hard, but his perfect face smashed into the steering wheel before his head snapped back against the contoured leather headrest.

  “BEN!” I screamed as he threw the car into gear and hit the gas. A thin trickle of blood was meandering slowly down his face as if in slow motion. I looked back, the car was close, but Ben was putting distance between us. The large sedan wasn’t as able to navigate the narrow, crowded streets as the small, agile sports car. Elizabeth was falling further and further behind, and I, for once, was thankful for Ben’s insane driving.

  Neither of us spoke until we were well out of the city, with no sign of being followed for miles. I was still reeling from the afternoon’s revelations when Ben finally pulled into a crowded parking lot, backing into a spot so he could watch the road. He turned off the engine, and stepped out to size up the damage to the back of the car. He silently returned and leaned back in his seat. I couldn’t look at him; I was afraid I’d cry if I did. Instead, I examined my fingernails awkwardly. “You’re bleeding, are you okay?” My concern was the opening he was waiting for—his hand reached over and covered mine. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

  We sat there in a long silence, the afternoon light growing dim as if a curtain was being closed across our brief relationship. Large teardrops filled my eyes, spilling out over his hand in salty puddles. His gentle fingertips slid across my cheeks, drying my tears, before lifting my chin to look into his hypnotic eyes. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I wanted to last night but lost the courage. Sean paid Stuart’s agent to recommend me to you, Stuart never intended me to be involved. Even worse, I conspired with Elizabeth to ensure that I got my hands on the Cupid before Sean did. I’m not a good man, Jane, but I’m not evil either. Sean was going to steal the piece from you—you would have gotten nothing. I want that Cupid for the museum, not for myself, and plan to pay you for it. I suspect if Sean gets it, he’ll sell it on the black market. If the Cupid is what I think it is, it belongs in a museum.”

  “Do you love her? Elizabeth?”

  “God, no. I’ve never loved anyone, and certainly not her. But…I’ve used her for years: her, Edward, and Lord Hope, for that matter. She’s upset because she sees that I’m falling for you. That part wasn’t supposed to happen.” He smiled, leaning in closer, “I’m still completely gobsmacked by that development myself.” Gobsmacked, another word for my mental glossary of British slang. When he’d said the words falling for you, I warmed from the inside, as if I’d been drinking whiskey in Mrs. Carr’s living room again.

  “I don’t trust you at all, Ben Hunt. You’re full of shit, but right now you’re at least the devil I know. Besides, you’re easy on the eyes,” I teased, the dark mood in the small car lightening. I reached into my pocket and tore open the clue, reading it aloud:

  My dear Jane,

  You’ve done very well to get this far. I’m sure by this point in your journey, the vultures are circling, so I’ll be brief.

  When you were little, I told you many stories of my adventures one winter in Tunisia. The one you found most interesting was about a little pet monkey I kept in my lodgings, but do you remember what I was doing there? Where was I digging?

  Good luck, love, and trust no one,

  Stuart

  “I’m not sure I remember enough of his stories about Tunisia to crack this one. He was digging in ancient Carthage around some Roman thermal springs, though.”

  Ben kissed me quickly and started the car. He grabbed his iPhone, tapped out a lengthy text message, and set the GPS app. He was excited, the game was on again, and he was still the only player with me to guide the clues. He pulled out of the parking lot, and at his normal breakneck speed headed away from Glasgow. My stomach was in knots—I really didn’t trust Ben, or believe him for that matter, but I wanted to. Deep down, however, I knew I was headed for disaster. The strange thing, the part I couldn’t explain, was that for some reason I believed in him. I didn’t think he was a good man, but I thought there was good in there, and the electric charge I felt with him was intoxicating.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  “I suppose we’re not going to Tunisia either?” I asked, dramatic disappointment weighing down my words.

  Ben laughed and looked over at me, his warm blue eyes sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Jane, I’ve traveled the world and I forget that this is all new to you. Sadly, I suspect the Cupid is right here in Great Britain but if you stay with me after this, I’ll take you places you’ve only dreamt of.” I hoped there was deeper meaning to his promise than simply travel. “Where are we going?” I asked, dreading more driving. The sun was setting low in the afternoon sky, and my stomach was growling. I’d only had water from the gas station since Caroline’s baps that morning at the cottage—a morning that felt like forever ago, the morning after the best night of my life.

  “We’re headed back to England, to Bath, specifically. I sent a text to my butler before we left the car park and asked him to secure a private jet from Edinburgh to fly us there this afternoon. We can return this bloody auto.” We were both sick of that car, but at least I hadn’t been sick in the car after that first day. I’d never been in a private jet, and I was beyond excited at the idea of it.

  An hour later, the damaged car paid for and returned, we climbed into the luxurious jet. “Are you okay in small planes? We know how you tend to get motion sick.” Ben asked from the seat next to me, his hand reaching out to cradle mine. “I love to fly, let’s just hope the pilot is a better aviator than you are a driver.” His eyebrows raised in mock indignation before he leaned in to kiss me, the kiss deepening as my lips parted to welcome his probing tongue. Just as his hand was reaching into my coat, slowly caressing my hardening nipple through my sweater, I heard the ruffle of packages nearby. A flight attendant was preparing a food on a small tray, the smell of roasted meat invoking a loud growl from my eager stomach.

  “Hungry, baby?” Ben purred, breaking the kiss but keeping me pressed against his chest.

  “Starving.”

  “I’m starving, too, but I’ll settle for food until we get to Bath.”

  After devouring dinner, including a shared bottle of wine, I drifted to sleep nestled on his shoulder. The next thing I remember was Ben nuzzled into my ear, whispering, “We’re here.” I sat up and looked around, it was dark outside and the plane appeared to be taxiing into a small airport. “Damn, I slept through my first ride on a private jet!” I whined. Ben kissed me quickly and smiled. “Let’s get to a hotel and get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” Sleep? Sleep was the last thing on my mind as he stood up, his snug jeans showing off his perfect ass.

  To my relief, a large car was waiting at the airport to drive us to our hotel. We were quickly checked in to The Royal Crescent Hotel, in the center of the city. I was elated that Ben chose one room, with one bed. As soon as he tipped the be
llman and shut the door, I was in his arms, our lips locking in a perfect rhythm. I stroked his tongue with mine as he hardened against me; and then his cellphone buzzed in his pocket. “Bloody fucking hell,” he moaned, fishing it out and glancing at the screen. “Let me just deal with her, baby, for a second?” I nodded, understanding that Elizabeth Hope wasn’t going to let go easily. “Can she trace your location?” I whispered as he answered her call.

  He shook his head no before saying, “Hello, Elizabeth. You fucking crashed into my car—that was uncalled for.” I was jealous that she was getting his attention, but understood the need to placate her. After he listened for a minute, he argued, “Lizzie, I’m working this out, okay? You have to give me some time…” He listened a minute more, his eyes on the ceiling, as I slunk down in front of him. “I don’t know the answer to that, I’m working on it. Give me a few more days…” Kneeling, I reached up and rubbed him through his jeans, enjoying the sensation of him hardening at my touch. Surprised at my boldness, his eyes sprung down to mine.

  His breath quickened as I unzipped his jeans. “Lizzie, I have to go, but I promise to...” He went silent again as I released his straining cock from the confines of the fitted jeans. By the time he was free of the fly of the jeans, I was craving him. As I wrapped my lips around the pulsing head, I felt his legs brace. His left hand held the phone while his right hand wrapped itself in my hair, tugging roughly in encouragement. “Elizabeth, I’ll call you in the morning, I’m shattered and need to—” As she cut him off, yelling loudly enough that I could hear her shrill shouts through the phone, I wrapped my hand around his engorged cock, stroking his purple shaft with my thumb and forefinger as my tongue licked at the salty fluid seeping from his sensitive underside. My left hand reached into his jeans to cup his balls, heavy and full, as he argued back, “I’ll…yes, I’ll tell her, tomorrow at breakfast, I swear…”

  He was close to going over the edge—his twitching cock and shaking thighs making it more difficult for him to continue his call. Elizabeth was still yelling through the phone as he attempted to dislodge me, to move me away from his ready-to-come cock, but I couldn’t let go. I grazed my teeth gently along his cleft, pulling gently at his heavy sac as he suppressed a moan. “Two days, that’s all, I swear…please?” he pleaded, to which of us I wasn’t quite sure.

  I sucked him in harder, deeper, until my narrow throat could take no more—yet I kept trying. Finally, his hooded eyes locked on my mouth, he reached down and lifted my chin, allowing his entire length to sheath itself in my greedy throat. The flicker of a surprised grin floated across his lips as he held his pulsing cock in place, Elizabeth and the phone conversation momentarily forgotten. I swallowed hard as my eyes watered, my impaled throat resisting the urge to cough. Slowly he pulled out, bringing his tip to my lips, then back in again as I sucked—nearly coming myself from the sensation.

  Once again the shrill voice on the other end of his cellphone interrupted us, and he answered with an appeasing, “Uh huh.” I was determined to return his focus to me, and despite one more attempt to dislodge me, I held on—my flicking tongue, although inexperienced, instinctively seemed to know how to send him into ecstasy. The tension in his taut legs pushed me higher, and I slid my fingers back further, behind his impossibly heavy balls, and felt him spasm. He dropped the phone on the floor as the first wave of his climax struck him, my tongue savoring his warm salty release. Biting his lip, his fists balled, he suppressed all noise except a grunt as he came in my mouth. I licked my lips hungrily as he picked the iPhone up from the floor and calmly said, “Goodnight Elizabeth.” After stabbing the “end call” button with his shaking finger, he picked me up from the floor, and kissed me deeply before carrying me to bed.

  Late that night, after three or more earth-shattering orgasms, I was half-asleep when I heard him whisper, “Don’t fall for me, Jane.” I ran my palm against his hard chest before nuzzling into his neck, inhaling a mix of sex, perspiration, and pure peppery-clean Ben, before confessing, “It’s too late.” He breathed deeply, his fingertips floating over my cheek before he pulled me close against him. “For me, too, I’m afraid,” he sighed, “and I have no idea what we’re going to do about it.”

  Chapter Nineteen.

  The next morning, we were up early. Ben wanted to get to the Roman Baths before anyone else did. I sat deliciously sore in my plush blue chair in the hotel’s opulent restaurant, The Dower House, and nibbled on my delicious scone. When it arrived, I asked if it should be triangular, and Ben never looked up from his iPhone screen, answering me with a terse, “No.” He was preoccupied, researching the Baths, answering emails, and trying to keep up with the needs of the museum back in Cambridge. As he sipped his milky tea, he glanced up at me and added, “You need to put the clotted cream on it.” His topaz eyes slid back to his screen, his long index finger swiping across impatiently. “Clotted cream sounds kind of gross, it’s good like this,” I argued. “Jane, try the damn cream,” he scolded gently, once again treating me like a child. I was tempted to bite my nails just to annoy him further, but instead I slid the heavy butter knife into the tiny white china pot holding what looked to be thick butter and slathered it on. It was heavenly, and I had no idea how I would ever live without English scones and clotted cream. Even better, for the first time in days I was drinking real brewed coffee, not the foul instant stuff from a packet.

  Ben glanced at his shiny Breitling watch, finally putting his phone down and making eye contact with me. “The Baths open at nine. I think it would make sense for us to separate and each search half, but do be careful. You’ll need to be able to contact me, and since you don’t have international service, I want you to carry this.” He slid a new cellphone toward me. “You bought me a phone? When?” I asked, confused. “I had the hotel concierge acquire it. My mobile number is already stored in the contacts.” He poked at the remnants of my scone with his fork before swallowing the last of the perfect pastry. “You enjoyed the cream?” he asked, his eyebrows raised to make clear his double meaning. “Yes, I enjoyed the cream very much, and hope to get more of it very soon,” I replied in the best flirty-voice I could muster. “That is a definite, Miss Andrews.”

  “Back at Hopetoun, the butler said that he and Stuart were lovers—and you already knew that?”

  He nodded, “Yes, I knew. I’m not sure if it was common knowledge, but I’ve spent more than my fair share of nights there.” I swallowed the stab of jealousy that rose from my gut to my throat.

  “I’m very to each his own,” I explained, “but Uncle Stuart was full of stories about his female conquests. Were those all bullshit?”

  Ben laughed as he handed the waiter his credit card to pay for breakfast. “No, Stuart pretty much went after everything, male or female, as it struck his fancy.”

  We made it to the Baths just before nine. I wanted to stay near Ben, but the complex was large and already filling with tourists; I understood why he thought it wise to split up. Several times I got sidetracked by the place—it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Built in the first century AD by the Romans as a spa, the Baths and the temple built with it, the Temple of Sulis Minerva, are some of the most well preserved Roman remnants in England. The water still steams from the hot spring underneath that feeds it, but signs everywhere told me the water was unsafe, partially due to the fact that the complex is plumbed with the original lead pipes.

  I searched for two hours and found nothing. There were countless statues and displays, and I had no idea where a clue might be hidden. I’d sent Ben several texts, but he had yet to answer, so I kept looking, trying to not draw attention from the many guides and costumed performers who worked there. As I examined some Roman coins from a hoard found nearby, another shiny thing that distracted me from my quest, I heard his voice speaking in a near whisper. “Baby, just stop, okay? You know I have to do this, play along, make her believe I’m into her. Why are you getting so bleeding bent out of shape over Jane Andrews, for fuck’s sake? Yo
u can’t be threatened by her, it’s preposterous.”

  I froze where I was, eavesdropping around a partial stone wall. My heart pounded in my chest; I had to focus in order to avoid fainting. He went silent and I assumed he was listening to Elizabeth on the other end of the phone. “I have to secure the Cupid—Sean can’t be far away. I need you to hold it together for another night or two. You sleep with your husband, by the way, every damn night and you don’t see me flying into jealous rages.” I leaned into the wall for support, tears threatening to break loose as I shoved them back. Once more he spoke, his tone delicate and loving, “I promise—you have to trust me, baby…”

  I couldn’t hear any more. I was used to him referring to her as the cool “darling” but he called me baby—and when he did, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. He’d said it to her twice, and instead of lucky, I now felt like the stupidest woman in the world. I’d fallen for his game, and I’d fallen hard. Hurt beyond reason, I left the museum area, and then almost ran from the Roman Baths area entirely. I made it back to the hotel, on foot, determined to get my things and go home—without the statue or the ten thousand dollars. Money seemed to be the least important thing I was losing at that moment.

  In the richly decorated lobby, I remembered I didn’t have a key to our hotel room. I wandered up to the front desk, brushing tears from my eyelashes, and asked for a key to my room. “Your name, Miss?” “I’m Jane Andrews, but I’m here with Ben Hunt, I’m not sure he put my name on the registration.” She clicked on her keyboard for a second, and smiled as she said, “I’m sorry, Miss Andrews, Mr. Hunt would need to obtain an extra key for you.” My passport was in the room—I couldn’t get home without it, and I was kicking myself for not having it on me. My cellphone, the one Ben gave me that morning, began to ring. I glanced at the screen: Ben was calling me after texting me several times. The texts were general inquiries as to where I was, followed by a more worried one begging me to answer. I didn’t. I once more appealed to the lady at the desk, “Please, he won’t be back for hours, and I need to get my passport from the room or I’ll miss my flight…” She wasn’t wavering, she shook her head no, explaining, “I’m really sorry, it’s hotel policy. If you’d like to wait in the lounge, I’ll have a chat with the concierge and see what can be done?”