Stefan raised an eyebrow. “What happens next?”
“Well, the guys who want to get fucked and abused choose that tent, and the others that one.” Frank nodded to the respective tents. “One side’s prisoners, the other’s . . . victors. Guards. Captors.”
“And you’ll just make tea and turn sausages for those who’ve worked up an appetite? Camp cook?” Stefan’s voice cut deep.
I know you’re disappointed, boy, but it’s not that simple.
“I told you. I like watching.”
Stefan’s jaw muscles tensed as if he were chewing on something. “Then why did you bring me here?”
“Introduce you to some good, sane people to play with. Figured you’d fit in with these guys, and you’ve made a big impression already, so—”
“Frank.” Stefan stepped so close they were chest to chest. Almost eye to eye, except Frank was taller. “Don’t think you can fuck with my head.”
But you with mine?
Frank regarded him impassively. “Just repaying in kind.”
Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of game?”
“You tell me.”
“Frank.” Stefan lowered his voice a little, and his tone softened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You know damn well I’ve been looking at you the same way. I don’t like playing games. Why don’t we—”
“I don’t fuck men who work for me.”
“Is that the only reason?” Stefan glanced around the campsite, at the men talking and flirting as they broke down equipment and cleaned it. His gaze returned to Frank. “Because it seems to me like I’m the only man here who works for you.”
Frank closed his eyes and exhaled, then glared at Stefan. “Leave it alone, all right?”
Stefan showed his palms. “All right. I’m not going to push. But don’t act like this is all coming from me.”
“What?”
“Ever heard the phrase ‘mixed signals’?” Stefan turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Frank shook his head and watched Mike and Chris preparing tea and food over the fire. They both glanced at him, but neither spoke. At least, not until Chris wandered away, and Mike looked up from laying sausages on the grill. They seemed to be pretty traditional bangers, too, none of the fancy artisan stuff that Mike normally preferred.
“Why not be open with him?” Mike kept his voice down. “Might be easier for him to—”
“Because he works for me!” Frank tossed his gloves and mask down. Mike jumped, and Frank sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mike peeled the lid off a jar of red sauce. “And I get it, mate. I do. Some things don’t need to be broadcast all over the place at work.” He looked Frank in the eye. “But he’s got a point about mixed signals.”
Heat rushed into Frank’s cheeks. “You think so?”
Manoeuvring a squeeze tube of mustard into place beside the other condiments, Mike nodded. “Honestly? From the time you guys got here earlier, I was fully expecting you to tell us you two had been fucking for a while now. You know . . . that vibe.”
Frank exhaled, guilt tightening in his chest. He’d been so caught up in his own fantasies and the not-so-subtle flirtation coming from Stefan, it hadn’t occurred to him he might also have “I want you” written across his forehead. “What do you suggest?”
“You know exactly what I suggest. I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
“I suppose I can talk to him in the car on the way back.” Frank searched the group for Stefan and found him sitting beside Chris, a hand over his thigh and some serious eye contact going on. Jealousy hit first, but he couldn’t deny the relief either. Stefan had someone else to hold his attention. He and Chris could blow off some steam, they could all eat, and then Frank and Stefan could clear the air in the car on the way back home.
That was the plan, anyway.
Aside from Mike, Geoff, and Frank, who tended to the food, the guys scattered in pairs, threes, and fours, some going into the tents, some into cars. Frank even thought he saw a couple wander out onto the field. The otherwise quiet forest was filled with the low, constant murmur of amorous moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp, yelp, or roar. They quieted a little at a time, and blissed-out men with untucked T-shirts and rumpled hair shuffled back to the campsite to eat.
Chris and Stefan were the last to come back. Chris could barely walk. Even Stefan’s gait had a slight hitch to it. They grabbed food, then pulled a couple of chairs together and made eyes at each other while they ate. By the time they were tossing their paper plates and plastic cups into the trash bag, Frank knew where the night was headed.
“Hey, Frank.” Stefan stood. “Chris is going to give me a lift back into town. That all right with you?”
Frank swallowed. They needed to have this conversation. Probably sooner than later, especially if he wanted to keep Stefan on Market Garden’s payroll and avoid any bad blood between them. But it could wait a night. Let the kid enjoy himself.