Free The Merchant and the Clergyman by Bonnie Dee

thoughts and motivations. Fletcher didn’t pretend to be wiser
than any other man. Genuinely humble and with an incisive mind,
this clever yet unassuming man was very attractive to him, and not
merely for his handsome face. Declan felt Fletcher had hidden wells
of untapped passion—if the scene he’d walked in on between Fletcher
and Kip signified anything. Not that he planned to tap any wells
here. A couple of days, and he’d be gone, he reminded himself yet
again.
    “You know and love this place, yet still feel
you don’t belong. Why is that?” Declan pushed, though he knew the
answer. He’d lived with the same feeling his entire life. But he
wanted to prod Fletcher into admitting who he was underneath the
clerical garb. He’d like to plumb below the surface of that tight
starched collar and touch the throbbing throat of the man.
    That imagery made his cock press against the
seam of his trousers as he pictured his hand on the other man’s
throat, almost feeling the pulse in his palm. He was desperate to
see those gray eyes gazing up at him, round and beseeching, begging
for more. This slight man down on his knees, mouth open wide,
tongue lolling as he licked the length of… Declan sucked in a
breath. Christ, this wasn’t the time or place for a heated fantasy!
He snapped his attention back to his luncheon companion, who still
hadn’t answered the question.
    “You don’t have to hide your true nature from
me. I can guess what I walked in on the other day, and I don’t
judge you for it.” Declan had said as much before, but again he
tried to put Fletcher at ease, to invite confidence and maybe…just
maybe encourage him to reach out. There were few enough chances to
indulge in sex with like-minded men. Why shouldn’t they take the
opportunity in these brief days they had together? Today. Right
now. This instant. After all, life passed at a fast clip.
    Fletcher had frozen again, one hand clutching
bread, the other wrapped so tightly around his glass that his
knuckles were white. “I don’t… This topic is something I don’t wish
to discuss. I have put such notions behind me some time ago. I
would be a hypocrite to preach against perverted desires and yet
indulge in them.”
    At least he hadn’t tried to deny the truth.
Declan put his elbows on the table and leaned closer to the other
man. “What you call perverted some cultures deem a natural
inclination. Has it ever occurred to you the doctrines of
Christianity are wrong? That the Bible has been misinterpreted,
that a God who created such feelings in you would not judge you for
acting on them?”
    James cast his gaze to the table as if unable
to meet Declan’s intrusive stare. His lips were a thin line.
    “You’re an intelligent man, broad-minded and
clearly capable of understanding many points of view,” Declan
continued, determined to reach this man and take away his notions
of guilt and shame. “Isn’t it possible what you feel and need deep
in your heart is right? Can you shift your thinking enough to
encompass that idea? Why, in Greece—”
    Fletcher held up his hand. “Stop! I told you
I don’t wish to discuss this. It’s best you finish your meal and be
on your way.”
    Damn, he’d blundered, made those wide-open
eyes shutter like a house facing a storm. He’d tried too hard
instead of gently encouraging the wren to trust him—which, Declan
supposed, again made him a prowling cat eager to pounce on that
bird. Oh, he was. He really was. His body nearly shook with
restrained desire. He wanted to push the small table aside with a
sweep of his arm and grab hold of James Fletcher’s wiry form. Plant
a kiss on those lips that had been haunting his mind since he first
saw them.
    It was insane how suddenly and how badly he
craved this man’s body pressed against his. Would Declan be as big
of a cad as Kip if he indulged his fantasy and embraced Fletcher
right now despite his protests, or did the cleric secretly want him
to? So hard to tell