by Jules Jones
BLACK LEATHER ROSE
Jules Jones
®
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.
Black Leather Rose
Jules Jones
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © June 2007 by Jules Jones
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-511-1
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Raven McKnight
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Chapter One
“John, I think we need to talk about your rent for next month.”
John looked up at his landlord. “As it happens, I’m writing the cheque right now.” Which might not be a coincidence. Was this about to be a suggestion that the rent for his room go up?
“Ah. Yes. Well, I think you should consider finding somewhere else to live. Since it’s coming up to the end of the month, you can have next month to find somewhere else. I think I can do that much for you, even in the circumstances. But after that…”
John could have pointed out that he was entitled to a month’s notice anyway, but didn’t bother. Sammy presenting it as a generous favour wasn’t worth arguing about. “What circumstances?”
Sammy shuffled his feet and looked nervous. “Well, really, I don’t like to go into detail ‑‑”
“If you’re chucking me out, I’d like to know why.” John wasn’t all that surprised at being asked to leave; he and Sammy had never got on, and he wasn’t that enamoured of the other two tenants who shared Sammy’s house. They had a decided lack of respect for other people’s privacy and property.
Sammy hesitated; then it came out in a rush. “Maybe if you’d said you were gay, but us finding out by finding those videos lying around in your room, well…”
He didn’t leave DVDs lying around. Not even the milder ones he didn’t mind people knowing about. Or anything else he didn’t want pawed through. Not after the time they’d had the cheek to complain that he’d locked down his laptop. “You came into my room while I was out, unlocked my cupboard, and then broke into a locked storage box?” It was a cheap storage box with a lock that could be easily picked, but its main purpose was to serve notice that the contents were not common property of the household. “That’s an interesting definition of ‘finding’.” Definitely time to move.
“We wanted something to watch because the TV was crap, and you were away, so we didn’t think you’d mind if we borrowed a DVD. The box was open.”
Liar.
He stared at Sammy long enough to make the point without actually saying it, then picked up the half-written cheque. “Well, as you don’t want a queer living here, I’ll move immediately.” He tore the cheque in two, enjoying the satisfying sound of paper ripping. “I will, of course, be staying until the end of this month. Unless you care to give me a refund of the rent already paid.” Less than a week left, which wasn’t much time to find somewhere else, but he wanted out. Now.
Not for the homophobia, and not even for the breaking into a locked box to rummage through his things. But for expecting him to accept the blatant lie without complaint. That easy, shameless lie had crystallised the unease he’d felt for the last month or two. He couldn’t trust these people in even the smallest thing.
Sammy stared at the torn cheque. “But you can’t just walk out like that! Tracy has to give a month’s notice on her place!”
Oh-ho. “You’ve just told me that I can.” Though not expecting him to do so, of course. He was supposed to be grateful for the month’s notice he was entitled to anyway, and leave quietly when it suited Sammy. Sammy and his pursuit of the lovely Tracy, who had obviously been persuaded that what she really wanted was a nice cheap room two minutes’ walk from the Tube station.
“But how the hell am I supposed to pay the bills this month when I’m one lodger down?”
“Not my problem, Sammy.” He pulled the laptop in front of him. “Now be a good boy and let me look at the ‘rooms to let’ listings in peace, and I won’t tell Tracy that you’re just trying to get into her knickers and the rent will include more than she expected.”
It was a more potent threat than he expected, for Sammy went without further argument.
Chapter Two
Charles opened the door to find the Man In Black standing on the doorstep. Tallish, slim, and dressed head to foot in casual but neat black clothing, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Obviously the would-be new lodger. Or at least he looked like a hacker.
“Charles Kemp?” the man said, and Charles recognised the voice from the phone call.
“That’s me. You must be John Atkins.” Charles held out his hand, and John shook it briefly before releasing it as rapidly as politeness would allow.
Obviously not very friendly with strangers. Oh, well. Charles stood to one side. “Come in, please.”
John walked past him into the hallway, took off his sunglasses, and slipped them into a pocket. Charles still couldn’t get a fix on his age, but guessed mid-thirties. Nice-looking man, though with a slightly wary expression that suggested that the sunglasses had been as much to hide behind as to protect his eyes from the sun. Definitely one Charles wouldn’t mind screwing, although he’d better keep that thought under wraps. He didn’t want to scare John off before they’d even got past the front hall, and any suggestion that he might want to roger the lodger would probably do that.
Though he was safe enough for now. John was looking around at the hall, taking in its features. “Reproduction or original?” he asked.
“Original with some tender loving restoration,” Charles said, with a little of what he considered perfectly justifiable pride.
John tapped the tiled floor gently with his toe. “It’s nice to see Victorian tilework in such good condition, especially when it’s an attractive pattern like that.”
Charles felt himself warming to the man already, in spite of his initial hesitation. At least this was someone who appreciated the house for itself, who wasn’t just looking for a cheap room. “You like old houses?”
“Yes. I may be into modern technology, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy other types of craftsmanship.” John smiled at him, and Charles suddenly felt that some emotional connection had been made. “Though I hope it isn’t all original fittings.”
Practical man. Charles laughed and said, “It has been modernised where appropriate. Sympathetically modernised, but there’s eight inches of insulation in the loft and a very modern gas boiler for the hot water. I’m still working on som
e things, but it’s comfortable enough to live in. Though I’ll give you fair warning ‑‑ the renovation is ongoing, and there’ll be workmen tramping in and out during the day.”
John nodded. “I can handle that, I think. Could I see the room, please?”
“Certainly.” As Charles led the way up the stairs, he asked John about his job. The man was reticent without being overtly rude, and Charles didn’t pry. It felt like an honest wariness of giving too much detail to a stranger, rather than an attempt to hide something.
In turn John quizzed him, adding quite frankly, “There are compatibility issues where I am now, and it’s partly my fault for not asking more questions before I moved in.”
“You hadn’t shared before?”
“Not with strangers. I’d only just moved to London and didn’t know anyone with a spare room within easy commuting distance of the job; and all the solo places I saw in the first couple of weeks were either dumps or outrageously priced or both.” John shrugged. “This place was convenient for work, and I thought it would be somewhere to stay for a few months while I found my feet. Unfortunately they turned out to have no respect for other people’s privacy. Couldn’t understand why my work laptop wasn’t available for everyone in the house to use, stuff like that.”
“Ow.” Charles could see why the man was touchy about that. And it went some way to explaining John’s standoffish behaviour when he’d arrived. “Well, that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about here. It’s a friendly household and people are in and out of each other’s rooms, but they also understand that a closed door stays closed. I don’t tolerate poking through other people’s things without permission. I need to keep work matters confidential as well.”
“So what do you do for a living?”
“I work in local politics as a party agent. I wheel and deal; I glad hand; I persuade people to do things. Or bully them, if necessary. One of these days I may try for Parliament, but I think I can achieve more being a gadfly to the local council for now.”
John looked around at the room. “And it pays enough for this?”
Sensible question. “No. People like you pay for this. I inherited the house, so I don’t have a mortgage as such, but taking in lodgers covers the running costs and pays for the modernisation programme.” He rapped on the wall with his knuckles, listening to the solid thunk of Victorian brickwork beneath the plaster. “It was structurally sound, but my grandparents didn’t believe in spending money they didn’t have to.”
John walked over to the microwave and patted it. “This will be useful if I’m on late shift. Do I have to be sociable?”
He’d put microwaves in some of the rooms as a concession to reality. Some people were looking for a bedsit, rather than being flatmates. John seemed to be one of them. “We’d prefer it if you were sociable, but it’s not compulsory. What is compulsory is having some respect for other people, and being quiet if you come in late at night.”
“Oh, good.”
Charles deduced from the grin that this, too, had been an issue at John’s current place. “Let’s take a look round the rest of the house. There’s a lot of it ‑‑ this is one of those seven-bedroom-and-three-reception-room monstrosities built for the Victorian upper middle class. You’ll make the fifth person living here, and we’ll still have plenty of room.”
* * * * *
At the end of the tour, Charles was satisfied that John would do as a lodger. He was certainly reserved, but that was probably better than a party animal. “So are you interested?”
“Yes.” Said with as much emotion as John had displayed so far.
“When do you want to move in? As you can see, the room’s empty, but there’s no urgency if you’ve got to give notice at the current place. There are two more rooms still being renovated, and I can hold one of those for you instead.”
“As soon as possible. But one thing first…”
Now what? The man was definitely edgy about something. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m gay. Is that going to be an issue?”
Obviously he’d done a good job of squashing his physical reaction to John. “Not likely. So am I. Well, bi.”
John blinked in surprise, but said nothing.
“Why bring it up?” Charles realised why before John could answer. “Your current landlord found out and asked you to leave?”
“Well, it was the excuse. A very convenient excuse, I think.”
“Bastard! You don’t have to put up with it, you know. You’ve got rights. He didn’t try to throw you out without notice, did he?”
But John was shaking his head. “Actually, he’s most upset I didn’t take advantage of his generous offer of a month to look for somewhere else. Odd as it sounds, I think it really was an excuse. There’s this girl he fancies, and she was complaining that she doesn’t like where she’s currently living. I think he must have offered her my room on impulse; and when she asked about me, he told her that I wanted to move out, rather than admit he’d have to ask me to find somewhere else.”
“So you told him to take his month’s notice and shove it?”
There was a sparkle of glee in John’s eyes. “I tore up next month’s rent cheque in front of him. He was silly enough to tell me while I was in the middle of writing it.”
Oh, very nice. Charles laughed and held out his hand. “You’re welcome to move in early if you want. It’s only a few days, so no need to wait until the first of the month.”
“Thanks.” John shook his hand. A proper shake this time. “Look, I know I’m jumping at this because I can’t stand where I am any longer. We might both be making a mistake. If it doesn’t work out, well, I’ll apologise and find somewhere else. But thanks for letting me get out of there now.”
“I hope it does work out. I don’t want the inconvenience of finding another lodger. But we can worry about that later.” He doubted they’d need to. John just had the jitters after a bad experience with house sharing; give him a couple of weeks to settle in and he’d be all right. “Let’s go and sign the paperwork, and you can write a new cheque for next month’s rent. One written to me. Fancy a cup of coffee?”
“Love one.”
* * * * *
Even over coffee, running through the paperwork, John was guarded. Nevertheless, Charles decided that he liked John. It was the way the man’s eyes lit up when Charles mentioned the secondhand bookshop in the local shopping parade.
“Does this mean we can look forward to helping you carry boxes of books up the stairs?”
“No. Most of mine are still in storage in a friend’s attic back home. I’d planned to leave them there until I found somewhere permanent here, or another job at home.” John sighed and stared into his coffee mug. “I was only going to be at Sammy’s for a few weeks. How did I end up staying there for a year? I don’t fit in there. I hate the place. I just didn’t realise it until yesterday.”
“Too busy trying to keep up with the new job ‑‑ or same job in a new place?”
“Transfer,” John said. “Then a new job, when the old one went under. One good thing about London, it wasn’t difficult to find another job in my field, or close enough.”
“So you’re busy chasing your tail, and time passes.” Charles pushed the plate of biscuits over to him. “Here, have one. Homemade.”
John took one and bit into it. “Mmm. This is already an improvement. I wonder if I’ve got time to move everything today.”
If he was that miserable where he was, it would be a good idea. “You can make a start, at least. You’re welcome to have dinner here, though it won’t be anything fancy. We’re indulging and getting takeaway pizza tonight rather than cooking; it’ll be no trouble to order one more if you fancy some.” And it would be a good opportunity to start getting to know John.
“Best offer I’ve had all week.” John smiled at Charles. He had a nice smile when he relaxed. “I can’t move in tonight unless I can get everything moved, because I don’t trust Sammy to lea
ve my stuff alone if I’m not there; but it’ll be nice to eat here instead of having to face him bitching at me over the dinner table.”
* * * * *
There were a lot of boxes cluttering up the front room for the next few days because, to save time, John dumped everything in there rather than carrying each load up the stairs to his room as he brought it over. But he did get everything out of his old digs the same day. Not without a certain amount of verbal abuse from Sammy, it seemed ‑‑ he asked Charles to come with him on the last trip to help. “Sorry to impose, but having a large witness along might be a good idea. He’s not happy that I really am moving out without giving him the cheque for next month. He didn’t expect me to find somewhere else so quickly.”
“No problem.” It wasn’t. Sammy had said, “You do know he’s queer?” and Charles had said, “Yes. And I also know the gay-community liaison officer on the local police force. He’ll be interested in your harassment of your tenant.” There had been no further trouble after that.
John spent most of his spare time that week moving the boxes upstairs, then unpacking ‑‑ or hiding in his room. They didn’t see much of him outside mealtimes. On Friday evening Charles went to call him for dinner. “What are your plans for the weekend?”
“Walk around the neighbourhood to get to know it. Stay in my room.” John hugged himself, apparently without even noticing he was doing it. “Sorry, Charles. I’m not a social being at the best of times, and right now I need to have some time on my own.”
Charles would have liked to hug him, but knew better than to try. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “You could do with a weekend to recover. I just don’t want you to feel you have to stay in your room all weekend to get some peace and quiet. Come and eat with the rest of us, and then go back to your room for some quiet time.”
“That would be good. Thanks.”