In the Dragon’s Lair

“She didn’t,” Nate said, then paused. “Well, she probably didn’t. Though I suppose it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility if she was extraordinarily discreet about it. For my purposes, all that matters is that she’s known to have relished Elliston’s performances. She was so impressed by him that she worried he might leave Bath when he inherited some money. Anyway, Ella—you know this place. Lead on.”

We spent the next hour or so wandering around, exploring thoroughly.

“Do you think Jane Austen was a theatre groupie?” I asked as we walked into one of the dressing rooms.

Nate’s face lit with humour. Ella’s, however, was full of scorn. “Don’t you know anything about her?”

I didn’t care what she thought of me. Nate was still grinning, and it was a good look on him.

“I’m going to have to put that in the book,” he said. “I should call it Greasepaint and Blowjobs: The Secret Life of Jane Austen.”

“Honestly.” Ella rolled her eyes and stomped off.

That gave me a chance to finally talk to Nate. “Sorry about last night,” I lied through my teeth. “It seemed the best thing to do in the heat of the moment.”

He smiled at me, a different sort of smile from his amused grin, and it sent all kinds of messages to my cock. “Are you really sorry?” he asked, and for the first time, I understood what people meant when they said someone purred when speaking. “I’m not.”

“Maybe we should try out something for your book,” I suggested. “Get some of the groupie logistics nailed down.”

“I hope it’s more than logistics that are going to be nailed,” he murmured, moving forward, an almost hypnotic sway to his stride.

“Nate!” Ella’s shout echoed down the corridor outside. “You need to look at this.”

The moment was well and truly broken, though my cock still hadn’t got the memo.

“Coming,” he yelled back, and then winced. “Or not,” he added, with a rueful sideways glance at me before heading out of the room.

I followed, enjoying the sight of his arse once again. I didn’t know what to make of Nate Mortimer. My dick knew what it wanted to make of him, and that was a sweating, panting, ruined mess. But I hadn’t spent enough time with him yet to work out who he was. When Charlie had cornered him at the bar, he’d been…vulnerable? Something other than a smooth entitled banker, anyway. I’d warmed to him when we’d joked about Jane Austen giving blowjobs. He would be easy to like. And just now, he’d definitely been open to getting laid.

But he was a banker, so I had no interest in puzzling him out. I simply needed to get him talking so I could find out why one of the Mortimer family had been poking about in James Fortescue’s study.