The Hunt for Eros

by Hunt, Sam J. D.

  “Your father is dear to me. It’s been my pleasure to give him a new start,” Ben assured her.

  As Elise left the room, closing the heavy door behind her, I walked toward Ben, but froze after a few steps. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked. “The floor is so uneven! It’s like the whole room is… lilting.” He chuckled, clearly familiar with centuries old architecture. “We call it wonky,” he grinned. “The inn was built in 1520. Over the years it has settled, swayed. It’s quite sound, though, I assure you. You’re safe with me, Jane,” he said, the double meaning in his words crystal clear. I spanned the few feet between us, and found my comfortable place in his arms. He held me close, his heart pounding in perfect staccato in my ear.

  “I was afraid I lost you there in Bath. When the hotel bartender called to tell me you were talking to Sean… I knew he’d turn you against me, twist things.”

  “The bartender? He called you?” The idea of it made no sense to me.

  “Yes, I’d asked him to keep watch. The bartender sees everything, knows everything. I gave him a modest payment to assure he’d notify me of trouble.”

  His palms wrapped around my chin, lifting my eyes to his. “I’m truly sorry about before, but I’m telling you the truth now, and I’ve never felt this before. I can’t explain it, and I don’t know why you should believe it… I can’t quite believe it myself, but, I’m…” His lips sank down to mine, warm and urgent, as if intent on convincing me that his feelings were real. I wanted to believe him, but somewhere deep inside knew I was probably spiraling toward heartbreak. There was no denying my crush was morphing into falling in love at breakneck speed.

  A knock on the door interrupted the moment as George and another man brought in our luggage. Once George was satisfied we had everything we needed, Ben closed the door and latched it securely shut with a heavy slide lock. As he slid his jacket off and dropped it over a chair, he reassured me with a warm smile that we’d be safe there for the night. “What would Sean do? How far would he go?” I asked quietly. I’d never been in physical danger before, and despite my love for suspense and adventure in romance novels, I was afraid.

  He spanned the several feet that separated us in a few long strides, taking me in his arms. “It’ll be okay, I promise, I’m used to sticky situations.” He leaned down to kiss me, the warmth of his lips igniting that pull within me, a swirling torrent of attraction and emotion swirled into one. I’d never felt this way before. I was attracted to him, of course, but it was more…much more. I was in love with Ben Hunt, and with that soft kiss in the inn that night I finally admitted it to myself. Even more boldly, in that split second, I decided to tell him. Pulling away from him, I looked up into his hypnotic eyes and tried to form the words. “Ben, I want to tell you… It’s just that I think that I’m…” With a jolt, his hand sprung from his back pocket and he interrupted me. “The clue! Jane, we forgot to read the clue.” I was trying to tell him that I loved him, and he was interrupting me about the sculpture. I snapped.

  “Fuck the clue!” I screamed as his face went blank with confusion.

  “Baby, I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” He looked down at the clue, incredulous that I was no longer as interested in it as he was. He searched my face for a few seconds, and a small glint of understanding widened his eyes. “You’re more important than the clue. I’m sorry, that was horrible timing on my part. I suddenly felt it in my pocket and got distracted, please forgive my interruption. What did you want to tell me?”

  “You’re nothing but a liar, a cheater, a thief! You don’t give two shits about me. I should have left with Sean. This is over, fucking done!”

  He reached out to embrace me again, but the swell of feeling, love and hate, hope and fear, swirled through me like a tornado. A cold, clammy sweat swept over my skin—I was going to pass out if I didn’t get away from him. I pushed back on his chest hard, shoving him away from me before I ran to the small bathroom. I slammed the door and locked it behind me. Sliding down the wall to the cold tile floor, my head spun as I fought through my emotions. I loved him, but I wasn’t sure if he really cared about me, or if this was part of his game. No one like Ben Hunt had ever been interested in me before I was to inherit a priceless work of art. Shit, he hadn’t even been interested in me until he saw what the piece was worth. He had to be playing me, I knew it, but yet…there was something in his eyes, in his touch… It felt right, it felt true. Despite the differences in us and our shaky start, there was electricity and an even deeper connection.

  “Jane, please… I can’t lose you.” His voice was soft and shaky; he was afraid. But was he afraid of losing me, or of losing the Michelangelo? Like a dam bursting, tears flooded my face as I went into the hard cry—the kind of sobbing that takes your breath away. He continued to knock as I shook from the excruciating emotion of being in love.

  My debilitating cry was interrupted by paper being slid under the bathroom door. With the back of my hand, I wiped at my cloudy eyes, trying to see through the tears. I’d thought maybe he’d written me a note, but sitting there on the floor was Uncle Stuart’s clue; still sealed and unopened. I turned it over in my fingers as the silence dragged on. Finally he spoke, his syrupy voice close to me on the other side of the door, as if he were sitting on the floor. “This started wrong, I’ll admit,” he began. “I’m not a good man, I don’t deserve the love of a great woman, I know that,” he continued, each word slow as if it pained him to open up. “Jane, I don’t know why this happened, why I fell for you, but I did. What’s happening between us is nothing I’ve ever felt before, nothing I’d even dreamed of. It’s real—search your heart, I know you believe me. That’s why you ran from Sean in Bath—that wasn’t merely attraction, there’s far more between us. What we’re building, what we could have, is worth far more than the Cupid.”

  I stared at the clue in my hand, desperately wanting to believe him. “We’re an unlikely pair,” I finally said, my voice scratchy from crying. He laughed, relieved that I’d spoken. “Yes, I won’t deny that,” he answered. “I need you to trust me, Jane. Without trust, we have nothing, no foundation for this relationship. I want you to destroy the clue, get rid of it. Come back to Cambridge with me and I’ll pay you the ten thousand—hell, I’ll pay you whatever you want, but let’s forget the bloody Cupid and see where this goes between us.”

  “I’m afraid,” was all I could manage to squeak out.

  “I’m afraid, too—scared shitless, in fact. But what do you say?”

  My heart pounded, my stomach fluttered, as I made the decision to trust Ben. Without trust, there was no chance at love. Despite the twists and turns that had brought us here, I had to try—even if it led to heartbreak, the chance of love was worth the risk. “Yes,” I answered, the envelope in my hand as I stood up, wiping the mascara from my face and blowing my nose before opening the door.

  The room was dim, the warm crackling fire and the dim bedside lamp the only sources of light. Ben was sitting cross-legged on the ancient wooden floor, his eyes red and watery. I walked past him, resolved to follow through with my decision before I changed my mind. In a quick burst of faith, I fed the envelope with Uncle Stuart’s clue inside to the fire. Part of me expected him to stop me, to admit it was a trick, but he didn’t. He sat still on the floor as the clue to a priceless work of art burned. When I turned back to him, he stood up—his face warm, his eyes shining. “We’re really going to do this,” he said as he walked toward me, taking me into his arms. “You really meant it, you want to be with me…” I whispered as he leaned down to kiss me. “More than anything,” he breathed as his lips brushed across mine before deepening the kiss.

  I fell into Ben, our tongues tangling, our bodies melding together as he walked us toward the fluffy bed. I trusted him—I didn’t trust love, and a happily ever after was far too many obstacles away, but I did trust him. He’d given up the finest work of art he’d ever obtain for me, Plain Jane Andrews. I felt like I could fly, I’d never been happier.


  The fire hissed and popped in the corner, the clue now only ashes, as he leaned over me on the bed and brushed the hair from my face. “You’re so beautiful,” he said after a deep breath. His lips skated across my neck as he planted a slow, torturous trail of kisses down to my shoulders as he removed my shirt. I fought to breathe as he slipped my bra off, taking a hardening nipple into his wet mouth—a jolt of sensation flowing straight to my clit as he sucked. His erection rubbed against me, my eager fingers reaching to get closer to it, desperate to have him inside me.

  His hungry mouth went lower, trailing down my torso as he pulled off my skirt—the designer skirt he’d paid for. His long fingers pulled aside my panties as his tongue invaded, licking my sex in a frantic, impatient way he’d never done before, as if he had to have me, to consume me. “You’re so sweet, so perfect, I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned against me as he sucked my clit against the flat of his tongue. I wouldn’t last much longer, and as he slipped a finger inside me, everything went blank as I came in an uncontrollable climax.

  Relentlessly, his adoring tongue continued to caress me until I could take no more, pulling him toward me. As he rose up, my nails raked down his hard chest before clawing at his pants, desperate for more of him near me. Ridding himself of clothing, he knelt between my knees, his massive cock condom-free for the first time as he entered me quickly, without the restraint and control that he had always shown before. His need for me was sexy as hell, and nothing I’d ever known before. “Fuck, Jane, I’m desperate for you, I…” he groaned as he thrust all the way into me. His lips found mine, wet and sweet from my earth-shaking climax, as his hands slid gently around my neck. His eyes locked onto mine as our bodies fluidly, effortlessly, and perfectly became one. We’d had sex before—mind-blowing sex—but this was making love in the truest sense, and I’d never known anything like it.

  My legs wrapped around his waist, I wanted to be as close to him as I could, and as I clenched around him, another orgasm ripped through me as he exploded in his own release before collapsing in complete physical and emotional exhaustion.

  When I woke up from my post-orgasmic stupor, Ben was asleep face down, his perfect back rising and falling as he breathed. I rubbed my palm across his back, desperate for more contact with his skin. “Well hello,” he yawned, rolling over and pulling me across his chest. “It was nicer without latex between us,” I observed casually as I felt fluid leaking from me. But…it wasn’t casual to him at all; he bolted straight up, dislodging me from his chest.

  “Bloody fucking hell!”

  “Heat of the moment mistake,” I offered, nowhere near as upset as he was.

  “I’ve never made that mistake, I’m very careful. I don’t do well with surprises…”

  “I’m on the pill, it keeps my periods regular even though I wasn’t getting any action,” I teased.

  He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, pulling me across him again. “I’m the one who should be freaking out, Mr. Freaky Freak. What sort of diseases are you giving me,” I joked, although the reality of unprotected sex with him suddenly didn’t seem so funny.

  “I’m clean, I swear. I always use a condom; and I’ve been tested. Besides, from now on I only want to be a freak with you.” His promise of monogamy made me warm inside as if I’d downed a shot of whiskey.

  “How did my family acquire a Michelangelo in the first place?” I asked sleepily, my fingertips tracing languid circles across his perfect chest. “I’m not exactly sure,” he explained. “The Sleeping Cupid was rumored to be lost during the fire at Whitehall Palace in 1698, but that was an assumption since it wasn’t seen after that. Your ancestors, Margaret and Robert Andrews, were part of the court of James the Second. They were favorites of his; it’s possible that the king gave the sculpture to them prior to being deposed for safekeeping or as a gift for their loyalty. The Andrews went into hiding after James was forced from power.”

  We were quietly curled up against one another, content to be together in the dark of the cozy room. “You gave up a priceless work of art for me, to gain my trust. I’m still amazed you would choose me over the Cupid. Art is your life…”

  “What we could have, Jane, I think that is priceless. I couldn’t think of any other way to prove that I wasn’t with you in order to acquire the sculpture. It wasn’t a hard choice.”

  “But, you love art, you love your museum. To have a Michelangelo… you have to be disappointed that I ruined our chances of finding it by burning the clue.”

  “It was unfortunate that you had to choose to let it go, but it’s my own fault. My past behavior caused you to doubt me.”

  A long moment of silence passed as he stroked my hair. “Ben, I’m starving,” I yawned as my stomach growled, “can we go downstairs and eat?” He nodded, “Of course. The pub has great food.” We climbed out of the warm bed, and as we pulled our clothes on, I caught his eye and confessed, “I read the clue.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two.

  “Jane Andrews! I knew there was a reason why I loved you!”

  His words hung in the air. The blood pumped through my veins, into my temples. Did he mean it, or was that a figure of speech? Either way, it sounded beautiful to my ears. “I had to know if you were playing me,” I said honestly. “I’m sorry I did that, but the doubt was overwhelming. Now I believe you, I trust you. Do you want to pursue the Cupid still? With me?”

  He smiled, his white teeth shining in the dim light. “Yes, my love, I do. However, I’ll offer you a better deal if we find it and can prove that it’s legally yours.” He pulled on a pair of jeans, his mood euphoric—he’d had his cake and was getting to eat it too, as the saying goes. “I’m ravenous, let’s talk about the clue over dinner,” he suggested as he buttoned his shirt.

  We wandered down the off-kilter stairway to the pub below. The place was boisterous with drinkers, both locals and tourists. Elise saw us and guided us to a table, taking our order herself. In true Ben fashion he ordered for me and completely ignored what I’d said I wanted. Sipping on two very large glasses of creamy, lukewarm beer, I asked him if he was ready to hear about the clue.

  “Hit me with it,” he teased.

  “I burned the original. I thought about just burning the envelope, but I was afraid if you were really just in it for the Michelangelo, you’d get the clue from me.”

  “Get it from you? As in harm you? Jane…” His hurt expression made me feel doubly guilty about doubting him.

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  “It’s okay, I understand. We don’t have to do this, you know. I meant what I said—we can easily go back to Cambridge together and see where the relationship leads.”

  “No, Uncle Stuart wanted me to have it. I’m not willing to give up. The clue was about Athens—there was a question about where he was arrested for public nudity in Greece. I remembered the story; he’d met a local girl in Athens when he was young, in his early twenties, and they’d ran through the Parthenon naked on a dare from some friends. So the answer to the clue is either Athens or the Parthenon? It mentioned visiting objects from the location.”

  The food arrived just as Ben began to interpret the clue. Another pie type meal with a side of mashed potatoes—the British definitely liked their meals hearty. After the waitress left, I poked at the flaky crust with my fork, hot steam escaping from the smoldering ingredients inside. “It’s steak and ale pie. The Dog and Pony makes the best one around, and their side of mash is ace.”

  “The mash is ace?” I had no clue what that sentence meant.

  “Mash, as in mashed potatoes. Ace means, er, I guess you might say awesome or amazing.” He made a face indicating awesome wasn’t a word he’d ever use. “We also have another potato dish called faggots,” he added. “Nothing to do with the American use of that word,” he warned as I nearly choked on my beer.

  “So the clue…” I said, still absorbing the many language differences between us.

  “We’re headed to London,” he said, lea
ning in close and lowering his voice. “The British Museum, more precisely. I believe your colorful uncle is directing us to the Elgin Marbles.”

  “Marbles?”

  “Yes. Lord Elgin acquired Greek marble sculptures from the Parthenon and the surrounding Acropolis by a somewhat shaky permit and brought them back here to England. It’s still very controversial as Greece would like them back, but regardless, if Stuart is directing us toward anything having to do with the Parthenon, I’m quite sure the British Museum is our destination. I feel we’re getting close to the end, Jane.” He stabbed his own meal and ate as if this was his first meal in days.

  “The clue suggested that we were nearly there,” I confirmed.

  “We’ll leave in the morning, we’ll just have to be cautious,” he warned. “Do you fancy the pie?”

  “Fancy…? Do I like it, you mean?”

  He nodded with a chuckle. “Yes, is it good?”

  “It’s delicious,” I confessed.

  After the meal was finished, we wandered the cozy pub sipping on another drunken libation, ale. The din in the cozy pub settled into a low hum as the ale slowly swallowed me in its fuzzy warmth. At some point I’d become separated from Ben when Elise engaged me in a conversation about Ohio, a place she had relatives, drawing me in as he drifted through the room. As the night waned and the ancient fireplace roared, I eventually saw Ben drifting toward me with a pint glass in his right hand. As he wrapped himself around me, pulling me close, a large bellowing man approached. “Ben! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you in the Cotswolds, old mate!” He reached a giant paw out in greeting. I could feel Ben’s body tense at the prospect of having to socialize with the large, loud man. “Er, ah, I didn’t see you there Boris, what brings you ‘round?” Boris relaxed, relieved that Ben had acknowledged him. “The missus forced me out to see her nan, I’m afraid. I bailed for the pub the second they were asleep,” he slurred in response. “Are you in search of hidden treasure again, ol’ China?”