Viscount’s Wager

by Ava March

  Letting out another sigh, he set his bag on the small table and proceeded to unpack, hanging his clothes on the hooks next to the washstand.

  His resolve to stay away from Anthony, however, didn’t stand the test of a few more days.

  Chapter Seven

  Gabriel dropped his forehead to the nape of Anthony’s bowed neck and gasped for air, his lungs heaving under the effort. Pure bliss saturated his senses.

  “Hell and damnation,” Anthony muttered, voice slow and thick.

  “Indeed.” Mindful of his own weight, Gabriel marshaled his muscles and shifted off Anthony’s back to collapse onto his side.

  Rather than collapse himself, Anthony stayed on his hands and knees and crawled across the bed toward the bedside table. A slow smile curved Gabriel’s lips. A part of him knew he shouldn’t like seeing the mark on Anthony’s skin—a mark Gabriel himself had made—but another part of him absolutely relished the reddened handprint on Anthony’s right arse cheek.

  He had actually smacked Anthony on the arse tonight. Christ, Gabriel could still hear the echo of Anthony’s answering moan, the sound thick with unadulterated pleasure. A moan Gabriel had felt all the way to his soul.

  The room was plunged into darkness. Gabriel blinked and allowed his eyes a few moments to adjust to the faint glow of the fire in the hearth. He felt the mattress shift and then dip quite close to him. A knee grazed his own. A large hand cupped his cheek. Warm breath fanned his face. Then soft lips pressed against his own. The kiss was slow and gentle, quite unlike the demanding crush of a kiss that Gabriel had greeted Anthony with when he’d entered the bachelor apartments. The hard bite of lust and desperate need gone, replaced with an achingly soft tenderness that begged Gabriel to respond in kind.

  Draping an arm over Anthony’s waist, Gabriel’s eyes drifted shut as he gave in to that soft kiss.

  Anthony’s hand slid down from Gabriel’s cheek to the small of his back. Deepening the kiss, he pressed up against Gabriel. A full press of sweat-dampened bare skin, his sated cock nudging Gabriel’s own.

  The raw intimacy of the moment shook him to his very core. An intimacy that shouldn’t be his.

  Every muscle in Gabriel’s body went taut. It was all he could do to keep from flinching back, from putting distance between them.

  And what the hell was he even doing in bed with Anthony? He should have continued to stay away. Shouldn’t have knocked on Anthony’s door. Shouldn’t have accepted what Anthony was willing to give him.

  “Stay the night with me,” Anthony murmured against his lips.

  Gabriel’s heart pounded against his ribs in a rapid tattoo that had nothing to do with their recent exertion. He racked his brain, but could summon no excuse but the truth. “Wouldn’t be wise.” Definitely would not be wise for him to stay with Anthony, to sleep beside him, limbs tangled together...

  “Why not?” Anthony coasted his hand up and down Gabriel’s back. A motion clearly meant to soothe, to coax. Yet it had the opposite effect.

  His brain finally dredged up a reason Anthony might accept. “You have neighbors. I can’t be seen leaving your apartments in the morning.”

  “My neighbors aren’t lurking outside my door, making note on who comes and goes.” A brush of Anthony’s nose against his. A gentle nip to Gabriel’s lower lip. “Stay. I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning.”

  “You cook?”

  “In a limited sense. I can brew a pot of coffee, cook up eggs and burn some toast. It’s delicious, I assure you.”

  An image materialized in Gabriel’s mind. The two of them seated at Anthony’s dining table, hair tousled from sleep and clad in only trousers and shirts. Comfortable and easy. No formality between them at all. As if they’d partaken of such a breakfast countless times, like an old married couple.

  But he wasn’t married to Anthony. He’d had a wife of his own, and never once had they shared such a relaxed meal.

  If he had loved her, if he had wanted to marry her, perhaps he could have given her that.

  If he had mourned her, if he felt the grief a proper husband should feel, then he wouldn’t even be in bed with Anthony at this very moment.

  Gabriel leaned back an infinitesimal amount, not more than an inch. Yet he didn’t give up his loose hold about Anthony’s back. “A tempting proposition, yet we shouldn’t. We need to be discreet.”

  “Gabriel, no one will—”

  “I can’t.”

  “But...” Anthony pulled him closer, breaching the scant distance Gabriel had set between them, pressing full up against him anew.

  Gabriel’s entire body tensed.

  A long moment passed. Neither of them moved.

  Then Anthony let out a heavy sigh, breath washing Gabriel’s cheek, resignation slumping his spine. “All right.”

  Anthony’s strong body left him. Air hit Gabriel’s bare skin. He could just make out Anthony’s outline in the near-darkness as the man rolled onto his other side. The fire in the hearth popped and crackled, golden firelight briefly catching the tousled blond hair on the back of Anthony’s head.

  “You can leave now if you so desire.” Anthony’s voice was flat, yet Gabriel could hear the hurt in his tone. See it in the back Anthony had turned toward him.

  He wanted to reassure Anthony, to do...something to take the hurt away. But now that the harsh bite of passion and need had been briefly sated, he couldn’t ignore the part of him that screamed to stay away from Anthony.

  Yet he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave Anthony.

  And he hadn’t realized how cold it was in the room until he’d lost the heat of Anthony’s body. Gooseflesh pricked his skin, chill air seeping into his bones. Anthony must surely be cold as well. Tentative and slow, Gabriel lifted an arm, then dropped his hand back to the mattress.

  Anthony’s bare back rose and fell with each breath. He was close, not even a couple feet from Gabriel, in the same bed for Christ’s sake, but he felt so very far away.

  Anthony shifted. A small little motion. A mere rearrangement of weight.

  And Gabriel reached out, laid a hand on Anthony’s hard biceps and pulled the man to him. Anthony turned toward him, and this time when his body touched Gabriel’s, Gabriel didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch. He leaned into Anthony and buried his face in the man’s neck. Every breath held the comforting scent of Anthony’s warm skin. It felt so right to have Anthony in his arms. And he didn’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever.

  He trailed his lips up Anthony’s neck, over the faint stubble of his day’s beard, and found his mouth.

  Anthony let out a low, faint moan. Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from pushing for more, from pushing Anthony onto his back and covering him. Anthony’s legs parted in welcome, allowing space for Gabriel to settle between them. Chest pressed against chest, the kiss continued on. And Gabriel stopped thinking, stopped worrying. He let instinct and need take over.

  Their tongues twined together. Heat and desire building within. Large hands held him tightly, pulling him closer. A hard erection pushed against his own. Knees came up to bracket his hips. Anthony shifted beneath him, and then the head of Gabriel’s cock brushed Anthony’s still-slick entrance.

  The bottle of oil was on the bedside table, where Gabriel had last set it down, but he wouldn’t give up Anthony’s mouth for a moment. Absolutely refused. He needed Anthony. Needed him now. Needed to feel the tight heat of his body. Needed to be buried inside him.

  He gave a gentle nudge of his hips. Asking, needing. Hands clutching Gabriel’s arse, Anthony moaned into his mouth and tugged, urging him onward. With the head of his cock pressed to Anthony’s entrance, he pushed forward. One long, easy glide, joining them together.

  Crouched low over Anthony, Gabriel thrust in rhythm to their kiss. Slow and deep, thoroughly perfect. Th
eir bodies moving together yet in counterpoint. Strong male muscle surrounding him, holding him. Anthony’s mouth on his, tongue tangling with his. This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. This amazing bond between them.

  And this was what he didn’t deserve.

  But he had it now and he wasn’t about to give up this moment.

  Yet lust would not be denied. Stronger and stronger it built. Sharpening Anthony’s breaths puffing against Gabriel’s cheek. Quickening their pace. The clutch of Anthony’s hands on Gabriel’s arse grew desperate, fingers digging into his skin. The climax coiled down Gabriel’s spine. He reached a hand between them, wrapped his fingers around Anthony’s rock-hard erection. Stroked the length.

  Anthony tensed beneath him, then a groan shook his chest. Liquid heat splattered Gabriel’s chest, sparking his own orgasm. And with their kiss still unbroken, he climaxed deep within his lover.

  * * *

  The snap of a door echoed through his bedchamber, waking him from a light sleep. Anthony didn’t need to open his eyes to know he was alone, not only in his bed but also alone in his apartments.

  Gabriel had left.

  Letting out a sigh, Anthony opened his eyes. Pushing up onto a forearm, he cast his gaze over the bed. Yes, indeed. He was alone. Though Gabriel had covered him with the blanket before he had left. That had to count for something.

  And he should count himself fortunate that Gabriel hadn’t bolted the instant Anthony had given him leave to do so.

  Throwing the blanket aside, Anthony swung his feet over the side of the mattress and stood. He padded across the darkened bedchamber, pulled open the partially closed door and went out into the empty parlor. He stopped before the front window and pulled the heavy damask curtains aside.

  Night still held a firm grip on the city. It must not be close to dawn yet. The air in his parlor had that three o’clock quality about it. Dense and chill and dark. A shiver gripped his spine. The street outside his building was quiet and empty. London was asleep, except for a lone figure striding along the walkway on the opposite side of the street, moving east, away from Anthony’s building. Head tipped down, shoulders hunched within his greatcoat and arms crossed over his chest. Had to be Gabriel.

  As if sensing Anthony’s regard, he glanced over his shoulder. Gabriel must have been able to see at least Anthony’s outline, for he paused midstride, his gaze locked on the window.

  Come back.

  Gabriel’s attention snapped back down to the walkway and he continued on, his pace a bit quicker than before.

  To think Anthony had actually dared to hope Gabriel would stay...

  Fool. He had known the night would end with him alone. Hadn’t taken much for him to pick up the pattern. Why had he bothered to ask Gabriel to stay? Why had he set himself up for the no?

  Because I wanted the yes so badly.

  He had truly believed after Gabriel had hauled him close, held him, kissed him, goddamned made love to him—because that hadn’t been a rough fuck, that second time had definitely been more—that Gabriel would still be in his bed come dawn.

  Anthony waited until Gabriel rounded the street corner and disappeared from sight. Then he released the curtain and, with a shake of his head, turned from the window.

  * * *

  Cheroot and cigar smoke hung heavy in the air, mixing with the scents of unwashed bodies and desperation. A decidedly unpleasant combination, but Gabriel had stopped noticing an hour ago. His attention was fixed on the small white marble as it clacked around the spinning wheel.

  Please, please.

  The wheel slowed, the marble bouncing from number to number until it finally stopped.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to keep the wince hidden from view.

  “Red five,” the croupier announced.

  So damned close. He had debated placing his bet on that very number, but had decided on red twenty-three instead. Anthony’s age.

  And why had Anthony come to the window earlier? Gabriel had been certain the man had been asleep when he’d shifted out of Anthony’s loose embrace. The steady even breaths, the lax limbs. After covering Anthony with the blanket and gathering his clothes, he’d walked out of the bedchamber on silent feet and dressed in the parlor, not even daring to light a candle. Still, he must have woken Anthony at some point before he’d left the apartments. He hadn’t been able to make out much more than Anthony’s outline in the darkened window, but he had sworn he’d been able to feel the hurt in Anthony’s gaze. The impact hitting him square in the chest.

  Yet still, yet even knowing he had caused Anthony pain again, he hadn’t been able to turn around and return to Anthony. He had wanted to, though. Wanted to still be in that bed with Anthony. Still have those strong arms holding him even in sleep.

  Though it was for the best he had left. If he wasn’t with Anthony, then he couldn’t hurt the man.

  “Place your bets.”

  Gabriel looked down to the spot before him on the faded green baize. One chip remained, and winning on a one-chip bet was a waste of a win. He reached into his pocket. Empty. The croupier’s keen eye watched for any signs of cheating as the other men standing around the table placed their bets. Gabriel wanted to be one of them. He had been so damned close to winning the last game. Luck was almost upon him again. He was certain of it. And he needed luck to come back. Needed the thrill of a large win. The way it would wash over his senses, tickling his nerves, the sensation filling his chest. A blessed numbing euphoria that blanketed all the worries, all the shame, all the guilt.

  Pulling his spine straight, he glanced around the hell—to the door, along the walls, the other tables. His gaze stopped on the dark-haired man with a glass in hand and standing with two others near the cashier. Carter. Maybe if he asked, Carter would extend him another loan. He just needed a bit more. Not much. He couldn’t possibly go back to his room yet. Not that lonely, pathetic little room at the inn. Christ, how he hated it, but it put a roof over his head and was far from Mayfair. And frankly, it was all he could afford.

  The croupier spun the wheel. The marble clacked around in the opposite direction of the wheel. Damnation. He was going to miss this game. What if this was to be the moment when luck shined on him again? For a brief instant, he almost placed his remaining chip on red twenty-three again. But no, he needed more than one chip.

  As the croupier announced, “No more bets,” Gabriel turned from the table. He made his way across the room. The crowd had thinned since he’d arrived but wasn’t near to empty yet. He weaved around the other gaming tables, stopped half a pace from Carter’s shoulder and waited for a pause in the man’s conversation.

  When Gabriel had found himself with empty pockets about a week ago, he had been pointed in Carter’s direction. At around forty years of age and with a stout build, Carter had a shrewdness to his gaze that indicated he did not look kindly on those who did not fulfill their obligations. Yet he hadn’t given Gabriel any trouble thus far. He had extended the loan, been clear on the terms and naturally would expect repayment. But that loan wasn’t yet due. Therefore Carter shouldn’t press him on it...yet. Though asking for another likely wouldn’t inspire confidence in Gabriel’s ability to repay.

  Gabriel shifted his weight.

  Carter glanced in his direction. “Ah, Tilden,” he said, with what could almost be considered a smile pulling his thin lips.

  “Good evening, Mr. Carter.” Gabriel gave him a tip of the head.

  Carter looked to the other two men he had been conversing with, bid them good evening then turned fully to face Gabriel. “Come to settle?”

  “Actually, no. The loan is not yet due. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to extend me another.”

  A flicker of a frown. Carter took a swallow from his glass of what appeared to be gin. “Why should I do that? You’ve yet to repay
the first.”

  Because I need more money. I can’t walk away from the tables now, not yet. I can’t be left with only...me. Though Gabriel didn’t think that the answer Carter wished to hear.

  “Your word alone won’t be enough to secure another,” Carter continued. “I must think of my interests, after all. You understand.”

  “Of course.” His mind raced. Carter wanted something of value to secure another loan else he’d refuse him. And the only thing of value Gabriel possessed was... “I have a property in Derbyshire. Farmland, pastures and woods with a manor house. I hold it in its entirety. It’s worth more than enough to secure this loan and the prior.”

  “Do you have the deed with you?”

  “No. It’s at the house.” What man traveled to London with the deed to his property?

  “Then how do I know you speak the truth?”

  Gabriel lifted his chin. “You have my word.”

  “Not enough. In my line of business, men are apt to...exaggerate the truth.” Carter tapped a barmaid on the shoulder as she passed him and requested another glass of gin. “My interests and all. You understand.”

  Of course he bloody well understood—he didn’t need the man to keep going on about it. He wasn’t some degenerate of a liar and he didn’t much care for Carter assuming he was one of that kind. Gabriel had to fight to keep from bristling. “I assure you, I do own the property and it is as I’ve described.”

  Carter pursed his lips, considering. “So if I sent a man to Derbyshire to inquire, he would not return with news to disappoint me?”

  The last thing Gabriel wanted was someone of Carter’s ilk traipsing about Derbyshire and making inquiries regarding himself, but he didn’t much have a choice. The thought of returning to that house, even if only for a few minutes to grab the deed from the safe... No, he did not want to do that. And he wanted to be back at the gaming tables tonight, not days from now.