Chapter Three

 

 

 

It was raining again in the morning—relentless, heavy rain from a low, oppressive sky. It was dark enough that when Brock woke, he thought for a while that it was still the middle of the night. He listened to the drumming beat against the window and glanced at the clock—six-thirty—not early for him. He turned onto his back and froze as warm fingers brushed his thigh. “Oh shit.”

In a rush, the previous night came back to him. Strong hands on his body, a demanding mouth doing things to his cock that he had never experienced before.

“My willpower is about as strong as melting jelly,” he muttered under his breath. Kyle had given him the chance to stop it and he had stayed silent. Now here he was, millimeters from the man that had driven him to an incredible orgasm, a man he should not desire. Instead he craved his touch almost as much as he wanted to run and hide from his feelings.

“Good morning. You think too much.” Kyle’s voice broke into his thoughts, deep and slightly amused.

Brock didn’t look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I can practically hear the cogs whirring—you’re trying to understand why you like me. I’ll give you a way out—you were chained to the bed and couldn’t stop me.”

He raised one knee and put his hands behind his head.

“You would have stopped if I asked you.” Brock’s voice was quiet but sure.

“Of course.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop—because I didn’t want you to.”

“Is it really so hard to accept that you’re attracted to me? Or do I repulse you? Was it just a physical reaction last night? I know I’m not the prettiest man in the world…maybe I’m just not your type?” Kyle sounded hurt, but resigned.

Brock turned on to his side and gazed at Kyle. It was time to face up to the truth of how he felt.

“You’re gorgeous, Kyle. How could you not know that?”

Kyle swallowed. “Not like you—you’re beautiful.”

Brock flushed. He’d been complimented on his appearance by plenty of men, but none of them had ever made him feel the way Kyle did. He turned onto his back again and closed his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I can’t look at you without wanting you to touch me. Just the sound of your voice makes me nervous. Last night, when you took control, it felt amazing. You could have done anything and I would have let you.”

“Now you tell me!”

“It can’t happen again, Kyle. It can’t.”

“Are you finding it hard to ignore the fact that so far I’ve stalked you, invaded your privacy, broken into your home, threatened your family…?”

Brock snickered. “You’re not doing a great job of promoting yourself. But no, that’s not it. I don’t know you. Such sudden, intense feelings scare me. I can’t ignore that.”

Brock flinched as Kyle snaked a hand across his bare stomach and stroked his skin gently but persistently.

“I think I could make you ignore it.”

Brock groaned. “I know you could. That’s the problem.”

He clambered out of bed, avoiding Kyle’s steely gaze and pulled on underwear and jeans before turning to face him.

“I’ll do what you ask because you are in charge of this mission. I’ll even sleep in this bed if you insist on it. But please don’t touch me again. I need time to understand why I feel the way I do.” He turned away and left the room.

 

Kyle clenched his fists in frustration. He loved his job, but sometimes it seemed to get in the way of any chance he had for finding real happiness. He sighed. It had been a nice dream while it lasted. He wouldn’t give up—that wasn’t in him—but for now the mission had to come first. He got up, showered and dressed quickly. Downstairs, he found Brock sitting at the small dining table eating a bowl of cereal. He didn’t make eye contact but Kyle detected a slight blush highlighting pretty cheekbones. Kyle grinned, pleased that Brock wasn’t going to find it easy to resist his feelings.

In the kitchen, there was a pot of coffee brewing. Kyle poured himself a mug and slammed a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. When it was done and slathered in butter, he carried his breakfast through to the dining room and joined Brock at the table.

“So, today you get to show me why you have the reputation of being the best in your field.”

Brock glanced up curiously. “Today? What’s happening today?”

Kyle chewed on his toast. In between bites he said, “Have you ever heard of Imber?”

Brock frowned. “Yes, of course. I did a series of location shots a couple of years ago on lost villages. The magazine I worked for wanted to feature Imber but couldn’t get permission from the military.”

Kyle sipped his coffee. “The village was evacuated in November 1943 to facilitate training of American troops for the D-Day landings. The village has remained in military occupation ever since. It’s only accessible to the public on a few days per year.”

“I remember now. Weren’t the villagers told they would be able to return to their homes after the war but then never were?”

“That’s right. If you looked on a map now, you wouldn’t even know the village was there at all. There’s just a big blank space.”

“So, what does this have to do with me?”

Kyle stared at Brock. “Do you ever regret your career choice?”

Brock rubbed a hand through his hair. “No. Never. The fact that I can make a good living doing what I love never ceases to amaze me.”

“How did you know that you wanted to be a photographer?” Kyle pushed a little, trying to get Brock to reveal some personal details.

Brock chewed his lip. “I wanted to be a wildlife photographer from the moment my father gave me a disposable camera and pointed out the squirrels romping around our local park. From that moment, I was hooked. School and university provided opportunities to develop the skills that give me an edge. It’s a competitive field.”

Kyle drummed his fingers on the table. “Your reputation has been built on your willingness to shoot in the most inhospitable, inaccessible places on the planet. In the last two years, you’ve taken assignments in Alaska, Irian Jaya, Vietnam and Botswana.”

“Yes, and in a few weeks I’m supposed to be heading to the cloud forests of the eastern Andes to photograph a range of local wildlife and explore some of the deep cave systems in the area. I have a commission from National Geographic.”

“Yes, I know, which is the perfect cover for our mission. However, my employers are keen to test your abilities first.”

“In what way, exactly?”

“There is a church in Imber, kept in reasonable repair because it’s Grade One listed. It’s called St Giles. The tower was built around 1400 and there are even some ancient wall paintings that have survived.” He paused. “The church tower provides the perfect vantage point to observe military activities going on in the area. Tomorrow night, a small anti-terrorist unit will be engaged in training exercises in and around Imber. You are going to take pictures of them.”

Brock looked incredulous. “Without them knowing?”

Kyle nodded. “I want you to trespass on military property—at night—climb a crumbling church tower without ropes and yes, take pictures of a bunch of highly trained troops who will be mightily pissed off if they catch you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“What happens if they do catch me?”

“I’ll disappear from your life and you’ll be able to take your trip as planned. We will seek alternative help for the mission in Columbia. Oh—and someone will get you out of military custody, of course.”

“Charming. So it’s succeed or get dumped? I’m not sure I like the options.”

Kyle shoved his chair back and was behind Brock in an instant, yanking his head back by the hair. “You don’t have a choice. I don’t question my orders and you will not question mine. Understand?” Kyle resisted the urge to bend down and give Brock a punishing kiss as he fought Kyle’s hold.

“Let me go!”

“Show some respect or I’ll put you over my knee.”

Brock ripped himself from Kyle’s grip, sacrificing a few golden strands of hair. He sat, trembling, his face flushed.

Kyle grinned. “Or maybe that’s what you want?”

“Fuck off, Kyle. Show me what camera equipment I’ll be using so I can start to prepare. The sooner this is done the better.”

 

* * * *

 

Brock jerked awake, heart pounding, and for a moment couldn’t remember where he was. Lights streaked toward him, blue-white out of the darkness then flashed by. A car…he was in a car. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“An hour or so. We’re nearly at the drop off point.” Kyle looked utterly relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on the gear stick. “There are glucose tablets in the glove compartment. I suggest you take a couple now.”

Brock found the packet and chewed a couple of the chalky tablets. “You want any?”

Kyle shook his head. “I’ll be dozing in the car while you’re romping around Salisbury Plain.”

“Good to know. I wouldn’t want you to be biting your nails worrying about me,” Brock said, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“We’re here.” Kyle pulled in to a deserted garage, switched off the headlights and drove to the rear of the building. “This place was abandoned years ago. It’ll be easy enough for you to get back to and it’s highly unlikely that any patrols will pass, military or local plod.” He turned off the ignition. “Let’s get you ready.”

Both men got out of the car and circled around to the boot. Brock wore matt black climbing gear with a hooded fleece over the top. He had on light hiking boots and thin gloves. Every inch of his pale skin was covered, apart from his face. Kyle opened the boot and rummaged in a bag. He pulled out a stick of camouflage paint. He smeared the black goo over Brock’s cheeks and rubbed it in.

“Better. Make sure you keep the hood up, your hair is like a fucking Belisha beacon.” He handed Brock a small rucksack. “Right, in here you have climbing shoes, camera and a bottle of water. Here’s your map—” He handed over a small square of laminated paper. “Keep exactly to the marked route. You’ll be crossing a live firing area and there may be undetonated shells. Do you understand me, Brock? Do not stray from the path.”

Brock shouldered the pack. “You do care.” He pulled on a pair of night vision goggles and let his eyes adjust to the eerie landscape.

“You have five hours. You may not need it all, but that’s the safe limit for darkness. It’s a cloudy night and there’s no moon, so conditions couldn’t be better. Forecast said there was a chance of rain. Remember, some of the ground is boggy. Take your time—you don’t want to pick up an injury.”

Brock shrugged the pack into a more comfortable position. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. I’ll do what I have to do. I’m good at this, remember? That’s why you want me to help you.”

He moved to the edge of the building and checked for traffic. There was no sign of life or light for as far as the eye could see. He sucked in his breath as Kyle gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Be careful.”

Brock shrugged off Kyle’s touch and sprinted across the road, into the darkness.

Finally alone, Brock found running through the night therapeutic. Being close to Kyle had made him jittery and tense. He longed for the man’s touch. Running gave him time to think, to analyze the way he felt. From time to time he glanced at his little route map, but he had memorized every feature and so far it proved to be accurate. The path hugged crumbling walls and fence lines, skirting open spaces as much as possible. Brock kept low and tried to move at a steady pace, grateful for the night vision goggles that allowed him to negotiate the rough terrain safely.

At one point he saw a line of figures moving in the distance and ducked into a ditch, holding his breath. He crouched in the damp, muddy channel for what he thought was a safe time then poked his head out cautiously. It was all clear, so he carried on, heart pounding. He couldn’t get caught. Someone was watching over him because he had just crossed a narrow rutted track when a tank rumbled over a nearby ridge and sped down the hill toward him. Brock threw himself down and froze—careless of the boggy ground. Scant feet away from his prone form, the hunk of metal trundled past without stopping. Too close. Brock pushed down a sob of relief and carried on.

When the church finally came into view, Brock found a relatively dry spot and changed into his climbing shoes. He took the small camera Kyle had supplied from his pack, hung it around his neck, then stashed the pack—and his boots—under a bush. The biggest obstacles between him and his goal were the rolls of razor wire that blocked the lanes around the tiny hamlet of Imber. Abandoned buildings loomed from the darkness like a scene from the apocalypse. Brock shivered and focused on his goal, moving carefully toward the church. This was where things got unpredictable. Though Kyle had shown him pictures of the tower he had to climb, he hadn’t been able to tell him about the condition of the stone. Brock had to climb freestyle, without ropes, and he didn’t like the uncertainty. It was dangerous.

He paused at the base of the squat tower and looked up. Black forms flitted in and out of the uppermost window like shadowy confetti. His destination was apparently home to a colony of bats. He took a moment to double-check the settings on his unfamiliar camera and took a couple of test shots of the tower. It was an expensive model designed to cope with the lack of light.

Brock adjusted the camera strap around his neck then felt for his first hand and toe holds and started upwards. The ancient stone held firm and there were plenty of niches to dig his fingers into. As climbs went, it was one of the easiest he’d tackled from a technical perspective, but his heart still raced with the fear of being seen. Just below the opening that the bats were using, there was a narrow projection in the stonework. Brock used the extra stability to hold on with one hand and pull himself over the ledge. The rickety floor of the tower room was thick with bat guano and Brock cringed as his thin climbing shoes sank deep into the muck. He hunkered down and rested his camera on the ledge. He found himself assessing the angle and proportions of the scene below and shook his head. Just take the pictures, you idiot! Aesthetics are not important right at this moment.

He had to stay frozen in position for what seem to be an endless time before anything happened but after a while, an armored vehicle trundled into the road alongside the church. A few minutes later, heavily camouflaged men came into view. The group gathered briefly, then fanned out and began searching the area. Brock snapped away, mindful of his precarious position but still determined to get good shots. He had no idea what the soldiers below him were doing and he didn’t care. A couple of them were using equipment that resembled sophisticated metal detectors, so he made sure to get close-ups of the kit. He also zoomed in on faces where he could. When he was satisfied that he had enough shots, he ducked inside the tower room and waited patiently for the noises below to cease.

Every few minutes, Brock took a peek out of the window. His muscles were beginning to ache in his crouched position, but he didn’t want to sit in three inches of bat shit. When the soldiers finally moved away, he climbed down the tower slowly and steadily, breathing a sigh of relief as he hit solid ground. He stretched out his cramped muscles then ran back to the place he’d left his pack. As he changed his footwear again and stowed the camera safely, he heard the distant sound of men’s voices. Frantically, he looked around. There wasn’t much cover, just a drainage channel lined with barbed wire. There was no choice. He flung himself down into the narrow depression, clamping his mouth shut as razor-sharp barbs pierced his clothes and the tender flesh beneath.

“Who was it said they saw something?” A gruff voice sounded far too close.

“Private Jacobs, sir. Said he thought there was movement at the church tower window. He was too far away to say for sure, though.”

“Fine. Let’s take a gander. He does realize that there are about ten thousand fucking bats living in there?”

Heavy footsteps moved away. Brock risked rolling backwards a fraction. Barbed wire had wrapped itself around his forearm and another section pierced his hip. He didn’t dare pull it free. He hardly dared breathe and it seemed like an age before the soldiers returned.

“I have bat shit on my boots, Private. Tell your colleague he’ll be cleaning them off when we get back to barracks. There’s no sign of anything happening here…”

Brock didn’t catch the tail end of the conversation as the soldiers moved away. He lay in his uncomfortable hiding place for twenty minutes until he was absolutely certain that they were gone. Painfully, he extricated himself from the wire, wincing as the metal thorns ripped his skin. There was no time to check the damage. He had to move. The delay had cost him valuable time—he’d be lucky to get back to Kyle on schedule.

Brock’s muscles ached and he could feel the seep of blood down his arm as he ran. He prayed that the pictures were good enough. Thoughts of Kyle filled his mind. Brock could fight his attraction but he couldn’t deny it. He’d like to photograph Kyle’s handsome, scarred face. Take pictures of his hard, muscled body. He could imagine the subtle lighting and the angles. Black and white would work well. His cock jerked happily and Brock moaned. Now was absolutely not the time. To compound his misery, it started to rain, lightly at first but then more steadily, giving him a thorough soaking. He was muddy and exhausted by the time he reached the road opposite the abandoned service station. He crouched low before crossing and circling behind the dilapidated building.

The car was still there, dark and silent in the shadows. He edged toward the vehicle, hugging the wall then pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat. The instant the door clunked shut, the locks engaged. Brock slumped back in his seat, utterly drained both mentally and physically.

“You got the pictures.” Kyle’s comment was a statement not a question and Brock didn’t answer.

“Turn toward me.”

Brock didn’t have the energy to resist as Kyle slipped a blindfold around his eyes

“You have to be fucking kidding me? I got your pictures. I came back. I did everything you asked.”

“You did, and I’m impressed. However, you still can’t know where the safe house is and it will be light soon. It was different driving out because it was too dark to matter.”

“You’re paranoid,” Brock muttered stubbornly.

Kyle started the car. “I suggest you stop bitching and rest.” He reached in to the back seat and grabbed a thick fleecy travel blanket. “You’re wet and cold. You need to warm up.” He tucked the blanket around Brock’s body and turned the heater up to full.

 

* * * *

 

Despite his discomfort, Brock had slipped instantly into sleep, lulled by the heat and thrum of the car’s engine. When he awoke, dawn had arrived and with it, a few shreds of light that seeped beneath the edge of his blindfold. He shifted and moaned as clammy clothing chafed his skin. He ached everywhere.

“Couple of minutes and we’ll be back,” Kyle stated. “You can take off the blindfold, there’s nothing around here to identify where we are.” He turned the car through a gate and onto a well-maintained track. Brock guessed they were heading for a farmhouse and he was proved right when they crested the brow of a hill and some buildings came into view. They looked old—the main house more a cottage than anything. There was a scattering of outbuildings as well and Kyle pulled the car up in front of what appeared to be a stable block.

Brock grabbed his pack, wriggled free of the blanket and levered himself stiffly out of the car. Kyle took his arm gently and pushed him toward the house, letting go only to use his keys and open the door. He immediately locked it behind them.

Brock dumped the pack and sagged against the door. “I’m too tired and sore to think, let alone climb those stairs.”

Kyle helped him off with his fleece, his fingers lingering on Brock’s skin a little too long.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” Kyle pulled at Brock’s top until he lifted his arms and allowed Kyle to remove it, revealing the angry tears in his skin that ran from elbow to wrist.

“I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.”

“Do you have these anywhere else?” Kyle probed at the wounds delicately.

“Right leg. Had to lie on razor wire.”

“Jesus. Go and take a shower. I’ll be up in a minute with the first aid kit.” Kyle stomped toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

Brock couldn’t be bothered to think any more, it was too much effort. He dragged himself up the stairs and stripped the moment he entered the bathroom, dropping his clothing carelessly in a pile. He clambered into the shower and let the hot water wash away mud and blood in a gory stream. He summoned the energy to shampoo his hair and lather some gel over his tired limbs. When he was done, he wrapped a towel around his hips and sat on the edge of the bath, head in his hands. Kyle came in, his hands full of first aid supplies. He put antiseptic, cotton wool pads and gauze next to the sink as Brock watched him nervously.

“Stand up.”

Brock stepped away from the bath. Kyle grabbed the towel and yanked it free, leaving Brock naked and exposed.

“What the hell!” Brock turned, frantically looking for a way out.

“Keep still.” Kyle snapped the order and something in Brock’s mind responded. He stilled, his face heating, and placed his hands protectively over his crotch.

“Hands at your sides. You don’t hide yourself from me.”

“I… No, I’m not doing this,” Brock stammered even as his hands seemed to move of their own accord.

“You’ll do as I say. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Deep down, you want me to tell you what to do. Being obedient makes you feel good.”

“No…” Brock tried to deny it but his hardening cock betrayed him. Kyle’s touch was torment as he treated the dozens of small cuts on Brock’s arm and leg.

With the first aid complete, Kyle took a step back. “You’re exhausted and injured. You need to rest.”

Kyle didn’t make eye contact and when Brock retrieved the discarded towel and wrapped it around his hip, Kyle made no move to stop him.

Brock pushed past Kyle and headed for the bedroom. He yanked the curtains closed to shut out the early morning light, dropped the towel and slipped into bed.

Kyle paused inside the bedroom door then stripped off his own clothes. Brock watched him with tired exasperation. He couldn’t stop himself admiring Kyle’s body and that made him feel even more frustrated. When Kyle joined him in bed, Brock edged over as far as he could, leaving a gap between them and turned away.

“I had to test you,” Kyle murmured. “What I need you to do, the real mission, is too important to leave to chance. I had to know that you could handle pressure and difficult conditions. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Brock’s head was swimming. Everything seemed fuzzy and indistinct. He longed to be comforted and held tight. Kyle must have sensed his need because he pressed hard against Brock’s back and pulled him in to an inescapable embrace.

Brock shivered as Kyle stroked his hair away from his face.

“I could hold you like this forever, Lysander. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go,” Kyle whispered.

As Brock drifted into sleep, he wondered if Kyle was talking about when the mission ended—or something else. Something much more difficult to resist.