The Sugared Game (The Will Darling Adventures, #2)

by K.J. Charles

They didn’t belong together—Will was a plain man with a knack for violence, while Kim was a twisty upper-class bundle of nerves—but they’d fit.

Kim sighed. “Fate, then. Our wills and fates do so contrary run, and you are the most contrary of Wills.”

“The best defence is a good offence,” Kim said. “And I am nothing if not offensive.

“I know you’ve thought about this,” Will said. “But there are men in the world who aren’t queer or arseholes. Have you considered marrying one of them instead?”

I wish you’d meet a nice girl and settle down and grow roses around the door. A decent, respectable life. Why don’t you go and get that instead of being here?” There was a strained note to Kim’s voice. “Why aren’t you doing that now?”

The blood-red uncivilised streak of his nature that had blossomed in the war didn’t want them. That streak wanted someone who would ask him to infiltrate night-clubs and kick people’s heads in. That streak wanted Kim, who offered none of the things that appealed to Will’s respectable ambitions and everything that fed the wolf.

“It doesn’t keep me awake at night. I had a job and I did it. But it changed me, I know it did. I’m not the man I might have been, not any more. That’s all.” It had been on his mind since meeting Beaumont. Speaking the words aloud felt like a confession. “I’m sure you’re right about that,” Kim said. “But I really can’t bring myself to regret the man you might have been, given the one you are.”

“If what you believe in goes wrong, either you let go the belief, or you believe even harder.”

“Dinner tonight? I can’t do that, but have you had lunch yet? No? Wonderful. I can be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s thingy. Oh, not that thingy, how awful. I shall meet you in our usual place at one.”

I adore Phoebe forever. That is all.

He couldn’t even be bothered with subtlety. “Get your arse down here so I can kick it!” “Are you talking to a burglar, or to me?” Kim called down. “Either,” Will snapped, and stamped up the stairs.

“Tea?” he said, because the kettle was on and he was furious but not a monster.

To hell with Kim Secretan. If he wanted to be a lone wolf, he doubtless knew where the Russian steppes were. Will had more self-respect than to trail after him any more.

“It’s all right.” “It truly isn’t. I might have gone mad without you.”

He wished he had words for what Kim was, the aching pain and the starlight, the beauty and the ugliness.

“If I’m a knight, does that make you my squire?” “Sod off.” “Yeoman, then. You look like a yeoman.” “I don’t even know what that is.” “A horny-handed son of toil.” “Did you say horny-handed?” “I know your hands. If the cap fits...” Will told him to sod off again. Kim started the car. They drove on, towards a reckoning.

When people are obliged to keep an eye out for threats, their eyes tend to be sharp. That’s what women’s intuition means, if you ask me: being unconsciously alert for dangerous men.

“Nor me. If I want someone sticking their hand up my arse—” “Oh, do go on,” Kim said, in a tone of great interest.

“As if we never heard of it in Cardiff. Honestly, they don’t half think they invented everything, the smart lot, do they? Always out in front of us provincials. ‘No, no, nobody at home has ever noticed my uncle Dave living with his pal the schoolteacher for the last fifteen years.’ Can I ask something?”

“What was your rank in the Army, Mr. Darling?” “Private.” “Really? If I were to classify you, I think I should take a leaf out of the insurance people’s book and list you as an Act of God.”

We’re bloody good in bed, and not bad when we’re facing guns, but the parts in between are a mess.”