Free Taming the Lion by Elizabeth Coldwell Page A

under the TV set.”
    In the kitchen, Jon tossed his jacket over the back of a chair. He pulled a packet of coffee beans from the cupboard and set about grinding them. The last time he’d been in the city center, he’d bought a new Peruvian blend from a little shop on New Bond Street. A rich aroma soon filled the air, making him wrinkle his nose in approval.
    Once he’d made the coffee, he placed the cafetière, mugs and jug of cream on a tray and took them through to his guest. A Vivaldi concerto played softly over the sound system. Kaspar had made a selection Jon wouldn’t have expected, but it seemed the perfect accompaniment to conversation.
    Having set down the tray, he took a seat on the sofa, and went about pouring the coffee. “I’ll let you add your own cream and sugar.”
    “Thank you.” Kaspar took the proffered mug. He added a little cream to the brew then took a sip.
    Jon held his breath, waiting for Kaspar’s verdict.
    “Mmm, that’s good.” Kaspar grinned, adding, “For coffee made by an Englishman.”
    Normally, he hated being teased but from this guy, he didn’t seem to mind it. “Thank you—I think.”
    “You have a very nice home,” Kaspar observed.
    “I was lucky,” Jon admitted. “The place needed a lot of work doing to it, so I got it for a bargain price. I’ve had a whole new kitchen and bathroom put in. I could show you around when you’ve finished your drink, if you’d like?”
    Was it just his imagination, or did a tension hang between them, as though they both knew Kaspar had been invited here for more than just a tour of the house? It had been so long since Jon had been alone with a guy who was clearly interested in him that he’d almost forgotten the steps of the mating dance.
    “That would be nice.” Kaspar picked up his coffee. He walked over to a photograph that hung on the chimney breast. It showed a much younger Jon squatting on his haunches at the side of what appeared to be a section of small multi-tiles, smiling at the camera. “Where was this taken?”
    “Northern France. I was doing my post-graduate studies at Cambridge, and we were excavating the site of a Roman villa just outside Caen. The mosaic you can see me working on turned out to be one of the most perfectly preserved ever discovered in that part of the country. It’s probably why I look quite so pleased with myself.”
    “I think you look cute. You’ve got this little smudge of dirt on the end of your nose…” Kaspar turned back to face him. “Do you still go on digs like this?”
    “Not as often as I’d like.” He sighed. “I’ve become entirely too deskbound over the last couple of years. But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all the internal politics of the archaeology department, and I certainly don’t want to talk about them.”
    “So don’t,” Kaspar said, moving to sit on the sofa beside him, so close Jon could feel the heat of the young Dutchman’s thigh through his jeans. “Talking’s overrated. You can say so much without words.”
    He brought his mouth down on Jon’s in a kiss as sweet as it was unexpected.
    Jon smiled against Kaspar’s lips, his eyes closed tight. When Kaspar sought to push his tongue into Jon’s mouth, deepening the kiss, he didn’t resist.
    “You taste good,” Kaspar murmured as they broke apart for a moment. “I could spend the rest of my life kissing you from head to toe.”
    “Well, why don’t you start now?” Jon spoke with a boldness that surprised him.
    “Anything you say…”
    With their mouths locked together, they tugged at each other’s clothing, undoing belts, buttons and all the fiddly things that stood in the way of their being naked.
    Kaspar sucked and nipped at Jon’s neck then pushed the tip of his tongue into the folds of his ear. The wet pressure made Jon squirm and he let out a little noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan.
    “Ticklish, huh?” Kaspar grinned evilly. “Now that’s something I need to file