Gentleman Wolf (Capital Wolves duet Book 1)

by Joanna Chambers

  For a minute or two, they sat in oddly companionable silence, sipping their whisky. Then Nicol said, “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “What is your business with Cruikshank?”

  Lindsay considered how to answer that. At length he decided the truth—or part of it—could be safely shared.

  “He has a set of papers in his possession that I want. They were written by a man called Thomas Naismith two hundred years ago at the height of the witch trials.”

  Nicol looked almost comically surprised. “You are interested in history?”

  Lindsay’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Does that surprise you?”

  Nicol flushed. “I don’t mean to offend you, but yes, it does rather.”

  Lindsay laughed. “At least you’re honest,” he said. “And in truth, the papers are not for me. They’re for a very dear friend of mine.”

  “I see,” Nicol said. “Your friend is the historian then? Is he a learned fellow?”

  Lindsay laughed again. “She is,” he said. “A dedicated scholar, you might say, and well-respected among her peers.”

  “A lady?” Nicol said, eyes wide.

  “Yes, is it so surprising?”

  “It is, rather,” Nicol replied, he though looked more thoughtful than anything. He met Lindsay’s gaze again and asked carefully, “Is she your sweetheart?”

  Lindsay laughed at the very idea. “No,” he said. “We do not... appeal to each other in that way.”

  Understanding gleamed in Nicol’s blue-grey gaze. He lifted his cup to his lips, draining it again, then quirked his brow at Lindsay in inquiry. “Another?”

  By way of answer, Lindsay drained his own cup and set it down on the table in front of Nicol, watching as he splashed two more measures out. Again, Nicol threw the whole measure back in one gulp. He closed his eyes, resting the cup against his lip for a moment before he set it down again, very carefully and precisely.

  “So,” he said quietly, without taking his eyes from the empty cup. “When are you going to tell me why you really came here tonight?” A muscle worked in his cheek and his sandy lashes veiled his eyes.

  Lindsay’s chest ached at this slightest of invitations, this door cracked warily open. It was plain to see that Nicol was torn over this.

  Lindsay thought about the promise he had made Nicol over dinner.

  “I will not speak of it again, if you do not wish me to...”

  But now Nicol was inviting him to speak, and the man had to know what was in Lindsay’s mind.

  Lindsay gazed unhappily at Nicol and wished he could read his heart, but he could not. In the end, he decided that all he could do was answer the question Nicol had asked him truthfully.

  “I came because I couldn’t stay away.”

  That made Nicol look up. The expression in his blue-grey gaze was wary and pained.

  “What sort of thing is that to say to a man?” he whispered.

  Lindsay shrugged. “Merely the truth. Why? Does it worry you?”

  Nicol stared at him. “Yes.”

  “Because...?”

  “Because—well, because I don’t know you. Not really.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll betray you? Gossip about you or behave like an idiot so people guess what has happened between us?”

  Nicol swallowed. “Perhaps.”

  Lindsay smiled. “I’m not an imbecile, you know. I’ve as much to lose as you—maybe even more. And it’s not as though I’m going to be in Edinburgh much longer.”

  Nicol watched him silently, his gaze tracking over Lindsay’s face, as though searching for some clue as to his sincerity.

  “If it were solely up to me,” Lindsay continued, “I’d say, let’s take a little pleasure in one another’s company while I’m here. But you needn’t worry, you know. I won’t force myself on you.”

  Nicol swallowed hard—Lindsay saw the nervous bob of his throat—then he whispered, “What sort of pleasure?”

  In that moment, Lindsay’s blood seemed to slow in his veins, pulsing heavily. He had expected Nicol to back away when Lindsay made it clear that the decision rested with him. But he had not, and now he was staring at Lindsay with an expression that was both fearful and hungry.

  Lindsay hesitated, then carefully he said, “I could suck you again. Did you like that?”

  Nicol let out a tiny helpless moan that made Lindsay’s cock weep with wanting.

  “What I want—” Nicol began, then halted.

  “Yes?” Lindsay prompted.

  “What I want is to”—he closed his eyes again, hiding from Lindsay as he admitted his desire—“is to lie with you. In bed, without our clothes, like—” He broke off.

  “Yes,” Lindsay whispered. “Yes, we can do that.” And now his chest was aching again.

  He had a terrible feeling he was going to sorely regret meeting Drew Nicol one day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The bedchamber was small and cold. There was no fire in the grate, no rug on the bare wooden floorboards. The bed linens were clean, but plain. Even the jug and ewer that sat on the nightstand were a plain brown, no decoration at all.

  All in all, it was a strangely cheerless room.

  Nicol had brought a single candle with them. He set it down on the nightstand, where it guttered briefly then rallied, doing its best to push back against the room’s shadows. When he looked up at Lindsay again, his expression was unsure.

  “Shall we undress?” Lindsay let one side of his mouth quirk up and added, “I should very much like to see you without your clothes.”

  Nicol flushed but he lifted his hands to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat. Lindsay should have liked to do the undressing for him, but he knew, somehow, that Nicol would not allow that. So instead, he busied himself with his own clothes, unpeeling and unwinding all the shining, sumptuous layers and tossing them aside, one by one.

  Nicol moved more slowly, more shyly, setting each garment aside with care, though to his credit, he kept going till he was fully naked. And God, what a sight he was without his clothes. His body was broad and rangy—he was a well-made man, despite being on the thin side.

  Though his hair was fairer than Lindsay’s—at least when Lindsay’s was unpowdered—his skin tone was a shade or two darker and he was far more hirsute too, his lean chest furred with light brown hair that narrowed as it ran down his belly before flaring again round his cock.

  “You look like a Viking,” Lindsay murmured, when Nicol loosened his hair and the strands tumbled about his face. “So tall and strong and fair.”

  Nicol flushed. “You look like a—” He broke off, flushing deeper

  “What?” Lindsay said. Suddenly he was horribly conscious of his powdered hair and made-up face. Christ, he could pass for a whore.

  Nicol swallowed. “Like a—like a prince or something.” He shrugged, plainly embarrassed, and looked away. Lindsay found himself half-frowning, half-smiling in response.

  “A prince?” he said slowly.

  A combative expression crossed Nicol’s face and Lindsay realised he thought he was being mocked.

  “It’s not so surprising,” he said tightly. “You obviously spend a king’s ransom on your clothes.”

  Lindsay smiled and stepped towards him, closing the gap between them. “I’m not teasing you,” he said, his voice low now. “Just surprised. I didn’t think you liked my clothes.”

  Drew swallowed visibly. “When did I say that?”

  “You didn’t,” Lindsay whispered. “I just sensed you disapproved of my attire.” Mere inches separated them now. Lindsay felt the pull of Nicol’s body as surely as if he were being roped in.

  “Well, I suppose I do disapprove,” Nicol breathed, his eyes on Lindsay’s mouth. “But that doesn’t stop you looking like a prince.”

  Lindsay laughed softly. “Ah now, Mr. Nicol. Is that a compliment, or not? I find I’m really not sure.”

  Nicol raised his hand and touched the mouth he’d been s
taring at, his fingertips tracing Lindsay’s lips. “Call me Drew,” he murmured.

  “Drew then,” Lindsay repeated obediently, his lips shifting under Drew’s fingers. “What do you want, Drew?”

  Drew gazed at him helplessly.

  “How about a kiss?” Lindsay offered. “You seem to like my mouth.”

  Drew’s flush deepened. “I’m not sure.”

  Lindsay raised an amused brow. “What then?”

  “Let’s lie down.”

  That sounded promising at least.

  “All right.” Lindsay strolled to the bed, pulling back the covers to expose white sheets before laying down on the mattress and shifting his body to one side. When Nicol didn’t move, he added with a smile, “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  Drew’s answering laugh was uncomfortable but, somewhat to Lindsay’s surprise, he did as suggested, first lowering himself onto the mattress then slowly, stiffly, unbending his long, rangy body till he lay parallel to Lindsay. Close, but not yet touching and deliciously naked.

  His tantalising scent was stronger without his clothes, the faint notes of stone and metal teasing at Lindsay. The scent of something strong and elemental and unchanging.

  “Can I touch you?” Lindsay whispered.

  Drew nodded, then threw his arm over his face, as though to blot out the reality of what he was doing. Blinding himself to what was happening, even as he allowed it to occur.

  Tentatively, Lindsay reached out to stroke his hand over Drew’s chest, his fingertips catching sweetly on pink nipples peaked tight from the coldness of the room—or perhaps from desire. With each caress, Drew groaned softly, trembling under Lindsay’s touch, and Lindsay’s gut clenched tighter with building desire. He twisted up from the mattress, leaning on one elbow to gaze down at Drew, as he explored the lean planes of the man’s body with his free hand.

  It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

  Levering himself up, Lindsay swung one leg over Drew’s hips to straddle him fully, making the man twist and shudder, his scent sharpening and shifting. But it was the velvet drag of Lindsay’s balls over Drew’s hard shaft that had him crying out and—finally—moving his arm from his face.

  “Christ,” Drew hissed. “Jesus Christ.”

  Lindsay repeated the movement and though Drew’s eyes were wide and shocked now, his body knew what it wanted, hips arching up for more contact, cock sliding against Lindsay’s own shaft and nudging at his tender balls.

  “God in heaven—” Drew muttered. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Touch me,” Lindsay gasped. He wondered if Drew would comply or if it would be too much for him, to willingly touch another man. He needn’t have worried. Drew’s big hands closed on his hips, pulling him closer, pressing him hard against the thick pole of Drew’s cock as Drew’s hips arched again. His blue-grey eyes blazed and Lindsay could see that, despite his lack of experience, he wanted to take control of this. His fingers on Lindsay's hips gripped so hard they’d likely leave bruises.

  How many years of wanting, of pent-up desire, had led Drew to this moment?

  Lindsay rocked his hips within Drew's grip.

  “Does that feel good?” he whispered, and Drew nodded tightly.

  “This is even better,” Lindsay promised, and slid his body down till he was lying on top of Drew, their bare chests pressed together.

  “Open your legs,” he murmured, and Drew did, parting his thighs so that when Lindsay thrust, his weeping cock daubed Drew's shaft with sticky fluid, and the swollen heads rubbed together. Drew gasped at the sensation, pulling Lindsay so close their noses brushed and their breaths mingled in an almost-kiss.

  Lindsay undulated his hips again, and again, sliding his cock against Drew’s. “There’s nothing else like this,” he breathed against Drew’s lips. “Man to man. Prick to prick.”

  Drew moaned and arched up to meet the next thrust, chasing more of those hard velvet strokes, more friction.

  God, his scent. Lindsay was infatuated with it. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop to Drew’s shoulder, inhaling deeply as he pressed closer, nuzzling into the side of Drew’s neck to rub his face there.

  Drew's hands moved down Lindsay's sides, curving over his buttocks, urging him ever closer, as though he wanted to fuse their bodies into one.

  They fell into a grinding rhythm, thrusting in counterpoint, the friction only slightly eased by the drops of fluid that wept from their cocks.

  Drew's scent was making Lindsay's head swim. The taste of his skin was on Lindsay tongue and his constant moans of pleasure were the best music.

  Abruptly, Drew flipped Lindsay over, turning him onto his back so quickly he gave a soft Ooof of surprise. And then Drew was the one on top. Drew's weight pressing him down as Lindsay spread his thighs. Drew thrusting while Lindsay arched up, begging for more.

  It was disconcerting to be so soundly bested. So firmly controlled. Lindsay shouldn't have liked it. Not one bit.

  But he did.

  He liked—no, loved—Drew's weight on him. Drew's face pressed into his neck, his lips hungrily tracing Lindsay's skin. The demanding thrusts of his hips and the slide and catch of their hard, sensitive cocks. And God, but he loved Drew's passion, the helpless, roaring rise of it.

  “Christ,” Drew gasped against Lindsay's throat. “Christ, Lindsay.”

  Holding Drew with one arm, Lindsay thrust the other between their bodies, taking hold of both their shafts in one hand. Drew gasped at the new sensation, lifting his head to look down at Lindsay with astonishment before closing his eyes in ecstasy when Lindsay stroked them together.

  “Yes, yes...”

  Lindsay stared at him, entranced. There was no trace of the grim Drew Nicol on this man's face. This man was utterly immersed in the pleasure Lindsay was giving him, his habitually stern countenance softened by wonder. And Christ, but Lindsay's heart seemed to swell, just seeing that. A hot fullness in his chest that was far too powerful for a brief and purely physical liaison.

  This could not end well. He knew it, even as he revelled in the moment. In his own pleasure and the deeper joy of giving Drew pleasure. In his wolf's strutting satisfaction.

  “Let me do it,” Drew whispered, reaching down to nudge Lindsay's hand aside. Sensing Drew’s need for control, Lindsay ceded to him, arching his prick into Drew's fumbling grasp with a quiet moan. Drew's hand was big, his long fingers circling them both easily, and if his movements were clumsy, his eager need and infectious pleasure more than made up for any lack of skill.

  Quickly, he fell into a building rhythm, squeezing and stroking, grinding his hips, his choppy breaths damp against Lindsay's neck.

  Lindsay was in a fire of need and peaking desire, urging Drew on with panting encouragement as he tried to hold back his own imminent climax for just a few moments more. And then Drew was there. Lindsay felt it in the stiffening of his body, the tightening of his grip. Drew lifted his head and stared down at Lindsay as he—as both of them—began to come, eyes going wide, then rolling back in his head and closing as the spend jetted out of him onto Lindsay’s belly.

  Lindsay watched Drew climax, even as his own come spurted, fighting to keep his eyes open, to miss nothing. Why that was so important to him, he couldn't have said, only that it was, and that it filled him with primal satisfaction to have Drew's seed on his body, physically marking him.

  Drew dropped his head to Lindsay's shoulder, his body slack now, all tension leaked away. Lindsay held him, breathing in his scent, an unfamiliar sense of peace filling him as his wolf rumbled its contentment.

  It couldn't last, and it didn't. After a little time, Drew lifted up, tugging himself free. Lindsay let him go, letting his arms fall to the mattress as Drew rolled away from him.

  Drew sat on the side of the bed, his back to Lindsay and hung his head, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck in obvious discomfort.

  Lindsay's stomach twisted and he frowned up at the ceiling, unhappy. He didn't like the way he seemed to respon
d so strongly to each and every reaction Drew showed. It was absurd. Not to mention futile. So, the man was unhappy with his nature. He was hardly the first man Lindsay had met with that problem, and Lindsay could not make him easy with it, simply by willing it.

  Rising up onto his elbows, he said flatly, “Do you want me to leave?”

  Drew turned at the question, seeming startled, as though he’d forgotten Lindsay was even there.

  For several long moments, he just stared at Lindsay. Then he nodded. “That would be best, yes.”

  “Very well,” Lindsay said tightly. Hiding his hurt, he got up without another word and went in search of his clothes.

  He dressed quickly, as though he was in a hurry to leave. Which, yes, perhaps he was now.

  Once he had his clothes on, he went to the looking glass on the wall and, grimacing, tidied his wayward hair as best he could. The small velvet patch at the corner of his mouth had come loose and he peeled it the rest of the way off, tucking the tiny scrap of fabric into the pocket of his waistcoat. Annoyingly, the heart-shaped one with the tiny arrow going though it from his cheekbone had already been lost—likely it lay somewhere in the tangled nest of bedsheets on Drew’s bed.

  When at last he turned to face Drew again, it was to find the man had pulled on his breeches and shirt and was now shouldering into his waistcoat. Drew glanced at Lindsay and away again, obviously unsure how to act. As for Lindsay, he was aware of a growing anger in his gut that warred with the unwanted softer feelings this man provoked in him.

  “I'll be off then,” he said curtly.

  “It's late,” Drew replied. His waistcoat was open, his feet bare, his hair loose and rumpled. “These streets are dangerous. Give me a moment to finish dressing and I'll walk you to your rooms.”

  “No need,” Lindsay replied shortly, brushing past Drew to leave the room. His wolf felt far too close to the surface for comfort. It pressed at him to be freed.

  “Lindsay, wait,” Drew said, but Lindsay ignored him and strode out into the dim corridor. He was reaching for the latch on Drew’s front door when Drew caught him by the arm.