Chapter 13
The house typified everything he had imagined Ian’s home life as a child would be. The dark, densely printed Axminster carpet. The heavy mahogany furniture laden with books. The right angles on everything from the brass implements on the hearth to the Gainsborough prints on the walls. Lucas had no idea how Ian’s relationship with this Beryl had developed—though from the sounds of it, she seemed to play a maternal role—but Ian was more relaxed now than he’d ever been, even the night of their date. Stepping across the threshold, he’d left behind whatever shell he’d been hiding within, and now touched Lucas with a sensual familiarity that made every caress to date seem like playacting.
Upstairs, he had said. Only a few feet away to a bed. But Lucas couldn’t bring his feet to move
