Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(37)

Frank laughed. “They’re hardly boys.”

“Says a man who’s probably never dated a soldier.” Brandon broke eye contact and focused on spearing a piece of meat on his fork. “Like I said, not opposed to guys my own age, but I’ve always been more compatible with guys who are, well, your age. And no, it’s not a Daddy thing. I just . . . click better.”

Frank supposed that made sense, especially after Brandon’s previous partner had passed. It was probably difficult for him to find common ground with guys who were still at that age where they were immortal when Brandon himself was all too aware of how fragile life could be. Andrew’s last couple of years had aged Frank at least a decade, mentally and emotionally if not physically.

Brandon chewed and swallowed. “Are you worried about people thinking you’re robbing the cradle?”

“I gave up worrying about other people’s opinions a long time ago.”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Frank regarded him silently for a moment. “So I guess I wanted to clear the air. See where this was going, or at least what direction it was headed.”

“It’s headed.” Brandon smiled at him, then became serious enough to signal whatever he said next was not banter. “But it’s worth remembering one thing, Frank.”

Frank suddenly realised he really liked that very American twang in Brandon’s words, especially on “thing,” broadened just wide enough to make it sound affectionate. Then he shook his head and focused.

“I’ve never captured anybody on the field I didn’t want to keep around for a while.”

“Chris and Mike?”

Brandon chuckled. “Different field, and you know it.”

Notches on the marker. Conquests who liked to be conquered. Frank examined that thought. He’d been largely monogamous with Andrew—so much to discover, so much to cherish about him (and right now that thought didn’t hurt)—they’d fooled around when the situation came up, taken in a third a few times, at least until their “statuses” had become clear. Then they’d clung to each other as if terrified of the outside world, building a hard shell around them both. Part of the horror of Andrew’s death was that the protective layer that had shielded them both for years had been ripped apart, and Frank wasn’t sure how to cope with it. But if Brandon wanted his freedom—on this field or any other he chose—he’d cope. Time might come when . . .

Cart before horse.

“You sure hit all my buttons,” he muttered in a low voice.

“I know I do. And we’re gonna play, I promise you that. But maybe not tonight. I want to savour you.”

Frank chuckled. “Chewing through my thick hide is hardly ‘savouring.’”

“There’s a point where every man is tender as a spring chicken.” Brandon gave him that grin. “Just you wait.”

Frank finished off his kebab—it was a great deal more food than he normally had this late in the evening. He signalled the waiter for the bill. And damn, the guy running this place had exquisite taste in men, too. Long-limbed and lean, dark eyes and dark hair, pale faces and strong noses. Persians or something. It was quite astonishing to see that kind of beauty again in random strangers, but without the resentment that he couldn’t have them or the bitterness that they were young and gorgeous and he was really neither. Beauty had become an unexpected gift, and one he was so much more gracious about accepting.

He put twenty-five pounds on the table and stood, shifting to let Brandon pass first, then followed him outside.

“What now?” Brandon slid into his jacket.

“You might as well rest up at my place. I’m heading home.” Gotta take my pills, too.

“Resting?”

“I’d accept a friendly cuddle, too. Breakfast is just nicer with such charming company.”

Brandon glanced back to the restaurant, then pressed his tongue up against an eye tooth. “Breakfast sounds good.”





Something warm and abrasive startled Frank out of a dream. He immediately forgot the dream, and slowly started remembering where he was. Right. His own bed. And—

Brandon’s scruffy jaw brushed the back of Frank’s neck again. Ooh, yes. Now he remembered.

“You’re awake.” Brandon’s voice in his ear gave him goose bumps. “About time.”

Frank laughed, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. “What time is it?”

Brandon’s hand drifted down Frank’s side, and then he pulled Frank’s hip a little so his erection brushed against Frank’s arse. “It’s time for you to wake up. I could use some help with this.”

Frank tried not to grin. “You can’t take care of it yourself?”

“I can.” Brandon’s hand was on the move again, and this time his fingertips skated along the underside of Frank’s dick, which was well on its way to being as hard as Brandon’s. “But, what’s that saying?” He kissed the side of Frank’s neck. “You jerk my dick, I’ll jerk yours?”

Frank laughed. “I’m not sure that’s verbatim, but close enough.”

“Mm-hmm. Close enough.” Brandon’s fingers closed around Frank’s hard-on, and as he started stroking slowly, he nuzzled Frank’s neck, his stubble scratchy enough to raise a shiver.