Chapter 2

The words tumbledout of Quentin’s mouth before he could stop them. And after they were out, he wanted to scoop them up and shove them back in and then run away so he never had to face this man again. Why had he suggested Kaine wait around for him?

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t.

Propositioning a customer at work might get his ass fired. He liked having his own money. And he was damn sure that if he wasn’t working and studying, his father would make him do something more useful with his life. At one point, his father suggested he join the military the way he had.

Of course, there was no military to join in Mont de Leucoy, so he would have to return to England, and he didn’t want to do that. Return to England or join the military.

Kaine released his hand, and Quentin missed his touch immediately. There was something about him that had caught his attention the moment he walked in. There was an edge to him, a watchfulness in his gaze as if he could take in an entire room in three seconds. He was confident without being cocky. Maybe that’s all it was.

That and being unlawfully hot.

That black wavy hair and dark eyes and leather jacket. He looked like trouble but wrote in a forgotten alphabet. While Quentin had never tried drugs, he now understood why the first hit got people hooked. He wanted to do more than shake Kaine’s hand. He wanted Kaine’s hands all over him. Or his all over him. He wasn’t fussed.

As he walked to the counter to grab Kaine’s dinner he tried to will away the semi, rubbing against the fly of his jeans.

I finish at eight.

The words echoed in his mind. He only finished at eight because it was a Wednesday night, and after the dinner service, it got pretty quiet. Not that it was busy tonight. It was extra quiet, with only four other tables taken, and two of those tables were regulars.

The extra snow the storm had brought was probably one reason, even though the cold weather didn’t seem to stop people around here.

He was going to be wiping tables and polishing the bar until it was time for him to leave. He turned around, plate in hand, and added try not to stare at Kaine to the list of things he needed to do until eight.

For a few heartbeats, he had gotten control of his dick.

But Kaine was watching him. If it bothered him to be caught watching, it didn’t show. His lips curved as Quentin walked back over… Okay, so he may have sashayed a little. By the time he’d been seventeen, he’d worked out that being subtle wasn’t worth the hassle. That didn’t mean being obvious at work was a smart idea.

And he couldn’t get fired.

He needed this job, and not just for the money and freedom.

His steps faltered, and his smile slipped for a moment. No, he wasn’t going to think of that until Friday. Then he’d do it, and he’d put it out of his mind for another week or until he found a way to slip the leash. But with every passing week, it was getting harder.

He should’ve told his father straight away. But his father wouldn’t care if something happened to Mum. He’d call her a floozy or something and say she deserved it.

Kaine lifted one dark eyebrow.

Fuck.

He’d noticed. Oh god, was he working for those men? Did he know what Quentin was doing?

His stomach tumbled for all the wrong reasons, but at least his hard-on was gone. He put the plate down in front of Kaine and made sure his smile was extra bright. “Can I get you anything else?”

Kaine had barely sipped his beer.

“This will do for the moment. Since it’s quiet, I’ll be able to sit here and work until eight.” The way Kaine was looking at him, Quentin felt naked. He had stripped away his clothes with a smile and saw exactly what was going on. Quentin didn’t mind when a man undressed him with his eyes, but this was hella unnerving.

“Unless you now have to work late?” Kaine asked.

Was Kaine giving him an out? Did Kaine think he suddenly had cold feet about hooking up? It was just sex, and that was easy. Fun. He didn’t need to think about it, only want it. It was about the only time he didn’t need to think about grades, blackmail, or his father.

And if Kaine was working with the blackmailers?

Quentin didn’t see how that changed anything. Unless he ended up dead. Kaine didn’t give off assassin vibes, though. Assassins didn’t write in forgotten alphabets. At least he didn’t think they did. Though it would be a good way to keep nefarious plans a secret. The people in his class who he chatted with online were all about history and making finds and thought digging up some new artifacts would be cool.

He’d rather crack a dead language so everybody could read what was written. It was why he also took classes in code breaking. Computers were smart, but they couldn’t solve the riddle of dead languages from a burnt scroll or a broken tablet.

He shook his head. “Not unless we suddenly get a massive load of tourists in, and that’s usually on a Thursday night.”

Kaine nodded. “The joys of being a tourist destination.”

“Yeah, but the Americans always tip well.” He grinned. He liked it when the American tourists came through because it was easy money.

“If you smile at them like that, I’m sure they do.”

Quentin laughed. “Oh God, no. Some of them are offended by my shoes.”

“They’re in the wrong fucking country, then.”

That was one benefit of being a tiny mountain bound European kingdom. Gay marriage had never been illegal. There had never been an official religion, with Catholics and protestants and practitioners of some ancient religion, all getting along. It was as if Mont de Leucoy was both somehow progressive and also bound in history.

It was a mix of cobbled streets and modern glass buildings.

Of jet boats on pristine lakes for celebrity holidays and thousand-year-old castles. Of snow and forests and fully equipped modern ski lodges.

Even if his father found another job and moved away, Quentin couldn’t imagine himself leaving. There was an almost magical quality as if the country shouldn’t exist.

He could, however, imagine himself finishing his degree, finding a job, and getting his own place. Because he was well and truly sick of living with his father. He was reasonably confident he’d be able to find work in Mont de Leucoy, if only because there was so much history.

And if he couldn’t?

He needed to finish his degree first, and he had another six months to go.

The future was a problem for later. His more immediate problem was sitting and looking up at him with at least half a dozen questions forming on his rather lovely lips.

“I guess I should ask how close you live, or are you staying somewhere nearby?” He hadn’t seen the man before, but he wasn’t a tourist.

“I’ll book a hotel room.”

Quentin’s mouth opened, then he shut it just as fast. As much as he wanted to say, don’t bother, come back to my place. It wasn’t his place.

“What? You don’t like the idea?”

“That seems like a lot of effort,” was all he managed to say.

Kaine smiled. “I don’t like people coming to my house. I am more than happy to pay for a hotel room. I don’t expect you to contribute, as you are clearly a uni student putting some extra money in your bank account by working.”

Quentin gave a slow nod. He didn’t know anything about this man, and he was about to go to a hotel room with him. Which, on one hand, sounded as hot as fuck and like a great night, and so much better than a restroom or some other equally urgent place, but on the other hand, it also seemed like the ideal way to be found dead the next morning. “And what is it you do?”

His smile widened. “I work for a security company.”

Right. That could mean he worked at the castle, or as a bodyguard for one of the royals, or that he worked in cyber security, which was one of the country’s primary employers—and exports, apparently. The quaint little country developed solutions for problems hackers hadn’t thought of yet, according to his father, or he was much more involved in the actual physical security of things.

“At the castle or…” Because the last thing he wanted was for this man and his father to be chatting and for them to realize they were both talking about Quentin. Being gay had been another disappointment for his father.

“I can’t discuss what I do.” He pulled the plate a little closer and picked up a fork. “I’ll see you at eight.”

Quentin took a step away, then turned back. “Do you do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Pick up people and book a room?”

Kaine cut a piece of the pie and stabbed it. “You put the offer out there. I accepted and will make the arrangements.”

“That answered half my question.”

Kaine considered him for several seconds, and Quentin was sure that he’d blown it from the way Kaine considered him. “No. Because it’s a lot of effort for mediocre reward.”

“Then why tonight?”

“Because it was easy. Now…” Kaine studied him, and Quentin had the distinct feeling he was becoming far too much effort.

“Enjoy your meal.” He turned, and this time, he kept walking. Even though he felt Kaine’s eyes on his ass, he didn’t turn around.