The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,11

bed. “Thank you. So how have you been?”

“Much as I was since you last popped in. Get on with it.”

“No finesse at all,” Kim said plaintively. “Very well, if you insist. I made what one might consider a small error of judgement last week. A young man got talking to me in the street and I invited him back to my flat. I’m sure I needn’t go into details.”

“Not really,” Will said, as drily as he could. Fucking hell, Kim. If you wanted to suck someone off, you could have come round here.

“He stayed for two hours. I know the time exactly because that was what he said while informing me that he had someone outside who’d testify how long he’d been in my flat, while he would swear to the number and variety of acts committed.”

“For God’s sake.” This stung like hell, no matter how he told himself it shouldn’t. Kim could pick up trade in the street if he wanted; it was none of Will’s business. “Still, it’s your word against his and we both know you’re a good liar. I hope you told him to clear off.”

“I did not.”

“You paid up? You bloody fool. How much did he tap you for?”

“I told him only had ten quid in the house, and he settled for that without much argument.”

“It’s not bad for two hours’ work,” Will said. “Especially since I expect you did most of the work anyway.”

He regretted it as soon as he’d said it. He was entitled to be rude about this, extremely so, but Kim liked to oblige in bed and had taken abuse for his tastes in the past. For all he deserved, he didn’t deserve that.

Kim’s brow was arched, with a little sardonic smile on his lips, the sort of expression that said, You can’t hurt me. Will clenched a fist, annoyed at himself. “Sorry. That was a shitty thing to say.”

“You needn’t worry about my feelings.”

“I don’t. I just didn’t mean to hurt them that particular way.”

Kim’s brows twitched. “No offence taken.”

“Yes, well, take this: you’re an idiot for paying him a penny, because that’s an admission. Now I’ll have to beat the daylights out of him when he comes back.”

A sideways sort of smile slithered its way onto Kim’s face. “Is that an offer?”

Will sighed. “Just call me when he turns up.”

“That is remarkably kind of you, Will.” Kim sounded entirely sincere. “I really do appreciate it. But it’s not necessary.”

“It will be. You’re a rich man, and he’ll know that if he’s been in your flat. I doubt he’ll settle for less than a hundred.”

“In his place I’d have demanded two hundred up front, no dancing around,” Kim agreed. “The fact that he didn’t suggests he cared far less about cash in hand than about proving I’m vulnerable to blackmail.”

Will sat up. “And why would he want that?”

“Because I’ve been nosing around some things people would prefer me not to.”

“Of course you have. For the War Office?”

“I told you, I don’t work for the War Office.”

“You’ve told me lots of things, and at least two-thirds were barefaced lies,” Will pointed out. “And I think you’ve just told me another, come to that.”

“Me?” Kim said innocently.

“You’re doing hush-hush work, someone tries an obvious bit of entrapment, and you expect me to believe you didn’t realise what was going on, and paid up in a flap?” Will saw the twitch at the corner of Kim’s mouth, which emboldened him to say, with certainty, “You prick. What are you lying about now?”

Kim’s expression broke into the wolfish grin that brought up the hairs on Will’s arms. “I do enjoy you, even if you ruin my fun. It is possible that I saw him coming a mile off, yes.”

“So why would you fuck him? No, wait.” Will took a quick mental skim back over the conversation. “You didn’t say you did. So what happened, he just hung around chatting and making passes, and then said he’d accuse you anyway?”

“It’s an incredibly common tactic,” Kim said. “A youth wangles his way into a bachelor’s flat and threatens to make claims on how the time was spent. The bachelors frequently pay up if they don’t have a witness to the contrary, or at least that’s their story and they’re sticking to it. I expect a fair few of them are actually paying for services rendered, but who am I to criticise?”

“You’re right there. And who was the witness to the contrary that five quid says you

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