As You Wish E-Book

Isobel Starling

• Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

1 wedding, 2 best men, one hell of a love story! Declan Ramsay was set to be the best man at his brother's wedding in Scotland, sharing the best man duties with the bride's gay kid brother Sam. Sam was abroad finishing his studies so the best men communicated by email for more than a year and wouldn't meet for the first time until a few days before the wedding But on meeting Sam Aiken, Declan is surprised to see he isn't a kid at all, but a striking, athletic blond man with gorgeous green eyes and a wicked sense of humor. Declan is alarmed by the ferocious attraction he feels for Sam. And as the attraction is reciprocated, the events at Dunloch Castle change everything Declan has ever believed about himself. But is Sam Aiken all he appears to be?

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

CHAPTER 1

AIRPORT

CHAPTER 2

DUNLOCH CASTLE

CHAPTER 3

LAIRD AND LADYSHIP

CHAPTER 4

INSIGHTS

CHAPTER 5

THE NIGHT BEFORE

CHAPTER 6

SWORDS

CHAPTER 7

A LITTLE DEATH

CHAPTER 8

KILT

CHAPTER 9

MAWWAGE

CHAPTER 10

BOUND

CHAPTER 11

THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY

CHAPTER 12

DUEL

CHAPTER 13

BLEMISH

CHAPTER 14

LAST NIGHT

CHAPTER 15

TO THE PAIN (1)

CHAPTER 16

EVER AFTER

EPILOGUE

As You Wish

SHATTERPROOF BOND #1

Isobel Starling

WWW.DECENTFELLOWSPRESS.COM

Copyright © 2017-2023 Isobel Starling

Second Edition

ISBN: 9783757946166

All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the Author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The mention of or reference to any companies, products or film reference to ”The Princess Bride”(1987) and the book of the same name by William Goldman in these pages is not a challenge to the trademarks or copyrights.

#NOAI

As You Wish, Copyright © 2015-2023 Isobel Starling

Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

Thanks to my family for their love and support.

“Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches”‘The Princess Bride’ by William Goldman

CHAPTER 1

AIRPORT

“Flight BA one-four-three-two to Edinburgh will be boarding from Gate A twenty-six”

Sam Aiken paused and glanced up at the yellow airport signage directing that the walk to Gates A1-A26 would take ten minutes. “Shit,” he exclaimed under his breath. Sam’s flight to Edinburgh was also due to take off in ten bloody minutes. He shouldered his heavy rucksack and sprinted through Terminal Two at London Heathrow Airport ducking and diving around fellow travelers.

It was partly Sam’s fault that he’d been delayed, initially, it was by choosing the wrong queue and getting stuck in the security check line for twenty minutes. And then, by attempting a conversation with a security guard and being given a thorough groping in response. If he hadn’t been so stressed, Sam might actually have enjoyed the attention.

Sam Aiken was over six-feet tall and wore his sandy-blond hair to his shoulders. His boyish face, tanned by the Saudi Arabian desert winds, had sprouted a monstrous attempt at a beard. It looked ridiculous. It couldn’t even be called a beard, being more scrub than forest. Sam had spent the past year in the Middle East, where the beard is the symbol of manhood and honor, so he’d grown it to try and fit in. It worked there, but back in the UK, it just made him look a bit grubby.

Sam was dressed in knee-length khaki shorts and an over washed, cranberry red T-shirt. His appearance was that of your average backpacker, so why Security had singled him out for the extra attention, Sam didn’t know. Maybe he should know better than to try and crack jokes with security officials, especially when they had his balls in their hands.

“Nice wand. Watch where you’re sticking that thing, I might like it” Sam joked nervously in a soft English accent. The very well built, Alpha security guard waving the metal detector wand over his body glared suspiciously at him. Sam arched his brows and grinned, hoping to inspire an illicit smile from the man, but instead, the security guard pulled him aside and got his friend to observe as he gave Sam a thorough feel up. He wished he’d kept his mouth shut. That thirty-minute delay left Sam on a knife-edge.

As he ran through the featureless, white airport corridors towards Gate A26, Sam wasn’t sure whether he would make the flight. His mind raced with the snowball effect of that possible future event. All of his father’s well-made plans would be shot to shit, and he would be the reason—in the dog house and only back in the UK an hour.

Sam turned into a wide open plan lounge. Out of nowhere another traveler suddenly appeared, cutting across Sam’s path, dragging a black, wheeled suitcase. Sam couldn’t stop himself from tripping. He fell forwards and then halted in mid-air. The broad masculine hand of the traveler was gripping his bare forearm to prevent the fall. He pulled Sam to right himself. The two men glared at one another.

“Jesus Christ! Watch what you’re doing with that thing” Sam exclaimed, furious.

“You watch where you’re going, eejit” the stranger retorted in a posh Edinburgh brogue. The Scotsman rushed off dragging his suitcase and Sam continued to run on to the correct gate, fretting internally about what idiot’s people can be.

When Sam arrived minutes later, he saw a throng of passengers milling around, and on glancing at the info board he read there was a delay of ten minutes. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Sam unhooked his rucksack and found a wall to slide down. He searched in the front pocket of his pack, drew out his phone, and made a call.

“Hi, this is Samuel Aiken. I have a 1:30 p.m. pick up from Edinburgh Airport. Well, I just wanted to let you know my flight’s delayed by ten minutes. Great, see you then.” Sam ended the call and glanced down at his left forearm. He saw the outline of red grip marks. He absently rubbed the imprints left by the Scotsman with the wheeled black case, unable to deny that being touched so roughly had made warmth flood into his gut.

****

Declan Ramsay was relieved his flight had been delayed for ten minutes; he would at least get a chance to sit for a moment and catch his breath. The morning had been a disaster. Declan had decided to take the car that morning and got stuck in traffic on the way to Heathrow Airport. No surprise there. Who takes a car through London when they know full well traffic would be a stop-start nightmare? Declan scolded himself for his stupidity. His head just wasn’t in the game these days. His brother’s impending wedding made Declan feel peculiar. Of course, he was happy for Oliver, but the wedding only served to highlight Declan’s own failure at being thirty-two and still single. A cloud of doom descended with the thought of being stuck for a whole week with his relatives reminding him of what a loser he was. It made Declan feel distracted and even grouchier than normal.

“Passengers for Flight BA one-four-three-two, your flight is boarding now through Gate A twenty-six. Please have your boarding cards and identification ready for inspection.”

There was no need to rush to board the British Airways flight. Seats were allocated so there wasn’t the mad dash for the best seats like on the ‘cheap as chips’ Airlines. Declan sauntered over and joined the queue of fellow travelers, his mind still elsewhere. Declan’s absentminded gaze locked on a familiar figure at the front of the queue. It was the guy he nearly floored with his suitcase earlier, the tall young man with dirty blond hair, and a rucksack. “Great” Declan exclaimed sarcastically. He knew he’d done the right thing by saving the young man from falling flat on his face, but the guy had been an arse about his polite gesture. Aye, it was mah suitcase that caused the collision, but still, there’s no need te be an arse, Declan grumbled internally.

The plane to Edinburgh was a narrow-bodied, twin-engine BA City Flyer so there was just a choice of window or aisle seating. Declan boarded the plane and was greeted by a pert, smiley, young air stewardess. Her tag told Declan that her name was Stephanie. She greeted him and checked his ticket and ID. Declan let his eye wander up and down her svelte figure and admitted to himself, yes, she was attractive, but with the distracted mood he was in, Declan neither had the energy, nor inclination to get flirty. Declan noted his seat was six A. He offered a fake smile to Stephanie and moved on dragging his case behind him as the other passengers in front walked a plodding dirge down the narrow aisle. Declan spotted row six and with incredulity, saw the young, blond man sitting in seat six B. Un-fucking-believable! The traveler sat with his head rested back and his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Declan eventually made it to row six and tossed his bag and pea coat over his fellow passenger and into the seat beside him. He heaved his suitcase into the open overhead locker. There was just room enough to squeeze it in beside the young man’s oversized rucksack. Declan knew from the grumbling murmurs behind him that he was blocking the aisle, but fuck it— they could all wait like he’d had to wait. An impatient elderly man tried to push past and Declan was nudged forwards, falling into the blond man’s lap. He opened his surprised eyes and grinned childishly.

“Even though I actually wouldn’t mind, I don’t think they’ll let you sit in my lap for the whole flight,” he said drolly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Declan gave the man a withering glare and pushed himself up to stand. He hated the human race at this very moment. Declan turned and eyeballed the people waiting as yet another passenger tried to push past. Jesus. People are so bloody impatient, he grumbled to himself. He stood back from the seat and looked fixedly at a little old lady behind him snapping ”WAIT” so that the other man could stand up, move, and allow Declan into his seat. Declan knew he must be beetroot red with anger. He removed his suit jacket and took his seat, and the blond man slumped back beside him.

Declan stowed his laptop bag under the seat in front and then folded his coat and suit jacket, placing them on top. He belted up and took a moment to glance at the youth beside him. He was still wearing that bloody smirk. Arsehole. Declan wished he’d let him fall on that beardy smug face. Gah! It’s no’ even a beard; it’s pathetic, compared te the forest I can grow when I’m feelin’ lazy fer a few days. Declan rested his head back, and then closed his eyes as the stewardess went through the safety procedures of the BA City Flyer.

At last, the plane was in the air. Declan’s shoulders slumped in relaxation, and he allowed his legs to fall open a little. His knee hit the bony knee of the other man. When they touched, it was as if Declan had been shocked by an electrical charge. Declan moved his leg away swiftly, never once opening his eyes. His mind drifted to thoughts of the up and coming event, his brother Oliver’s wedding, for which he was the best man… well, the joint best man.

Declan Ramsay was initially delighted when his brother Oliver asked him to be the best man at his wedding to Miss Annabelle Aiken. But then Oliver proceeded to kick him in the nuts, by announcing that he would be having two best men, so Belle’s kid brother Sam wasn’t left out. Declan knew Belle’s brother was gay and remembered joking that Samuel could be a bridesmaid, which got him a richly deserved elbow in the ribs.

Declan had actually never met Samuel Aiken. His initial reaction of being a little pissed-off faded quickly when Declan realized what an asset the kid would be. The young man had been worth his weight in gold when it came to organizing and preparing for the wedding. Young Sam was abroad and wouldn’t be back until a day or two before the nuptials took place. So the best men had exchanged emails for more than a year. Declan was looking forwards to meeting the kid. It would be good to delegate some chores to Sam on the wedding day and leave more time for Declan and any of the bevy of lovely ladies who took his fancy.

The best men had become, well… friendly. Over the year, the email exchanges between Sam and Declan had become one of the highlights of Declan’s week. Sam was intelligent, funny, and extremely eloquent. Usually, Declan received nothing more exciting than work related emails and the odd porn or Viagra email that slipped through his virus protection. He couldn’t deny the warm feeling inside when he saw an email from Sam Aiken in his inbox. The kid had a great sense of humor, and so the two developed a back and forth camaraderie.

Declan had seen only one photo of the young man when he visited the Aiken’s London mansion on a work-related matter. It appeared his boss, Sir James Aiken, was not sentimental. There were no photographs of Sir James’s late wife, Rosalind, but just one photo on the mantelpiece in the vast luxurious lounge, and it was not recent. The silver-framed photograph was of Annabelle at her graduation. She stood in a black gown and mortar board beside a fey, gangly, blond youth who wore a daft grin and looked to be around seventeen. Declan decided the kid must be young Sam.

The impression Declan got from their weekly emails was that Sam was remarkably intelligent. He was studying languages and working as an interpreter part-time. Sam shared the occasional funny story, and after reading, Declan would sit and stare at the laptop screen before replying, searching his mind to find anything about his life that was at all amusing. It was a hard task; Declan knew the kid was gay, and discussing another disastrous Internet date really wasn’t appropriate. So Declan and Sam gravitated to talking about their childhoods, likes, and dislikes, their brother and sister, and then shot ideas back and forth for the best man’s speech they would share.

Declan’s last communication with Sam had been two months ago. Sam was off into the desert to apparently research tribal dialects for his final dissertation. There was no Internet contact at all, and Declan admitted to himself that he missed Sam’s email friendship a lot.

****

Sam Aiken gazed at the older man sitting to his right; he rubbed his own arm absently, remembering the firm grip that prevented him from sprawling on the departure lounge floor. That masterful grip had stayed with him, as did the curl of warmth it ignited in his belly. The man pretending to sleep beside him intrigued Sam. Those hands were incredible—manicured short nails on thick, long fingers, with no wedding ring. The backs of his hands were veiny and sprinkled with a smattering of dark hair. God, they were hands Sam would be more than happy to surrender to. He’d been alone far too long now. Being a gay man living in Russia and then a Muslim country, for the past few years meant for his own personal safety, his sex life had narrowed down to his imagination and wanking hand. Sam told himself that the lack of sex and intimacy must be why the stranger's grip had aroused him so.

Sam’s eyes moved from the hands folded over the man’s crotch, to his face. Fascinated, Sam laid his head to rest at an angle on the back of the seat so he could observe the man. He appeared to be in his early thirties with dark straight hair, worn loose to his jaw and brushed back off his brow, more than enough to run my fingers through, he mused. While standing, Sam recalled the man matched his own height of six-feet-two. But, while Sam was athletically lean and slender, the other man had a bigger build with a broad, stocky chest and wide shoulders. Sam remembered from the few tempered words they’d exchanged during their collision that the man was Scottish… Edinburgh accent. Yes, he’d that Scottish look about his features, slate-grey eyes, a masculine clean-shaven face, with a strong jaw and pointed chin. So far, Sam had only witnessed pinched lips and a dour, withering expression, but he was sure the man hid a glorious smile in there somewhere. He imagined how good this Scotsman would look in a kilt… and out of a kilt. Depraved thoughts danced in his mind. Pity his fantasy would never come true.

****

“Excuse me mate”

Declan grunted as he was nudged awake. The blond man was talking to him. Declan shot another sour look his way and made to ignore him. He couldn’t believe he’d actually let his guard down and fallen asleep.

“We’ve landed,” the young man said as he unclicked his seatbelt and stood to try and get access to the overhead locker. Already? Declan was positive he’d just closed his eyes for a few minutes. But sure enough, passengers were shuffling down the aisle dragging their cabin bags behind them. Declan unfastened his seatbelt and rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. He gave a shameless roar of a yawn as he tried to stretch in his seat then decided to sit it out for a few minutes until the rush cleared. He still had forty minutes to make it to the helipad. The backpacker sat back down, unable to gain egress, and the two of them awkwardly ignored one another for several minutes. When the aisle had cleared, he stood again and opened the overhead locker. He dragged his rucksack down and on to the seat he’d been sitting in.

“Yours is the black case, yeah?” He asked the Scotsman.

“Aye, cheers.” He dragged the man’s case from the locker and passed it to him. Declan now sat in the cramped space holding his luggage. Planes are too bloody small.

Sam awkwardly shouldered his rucksack and looked back at the Scotsman. He smiled politely and nodded farewell, a little disappointed that he would never see his hidden smile.

Declan jerked his chin up in response, relieved to be shot of the backpacker and have the space to move at last.

****

In the arrivals hall at Edinburgh Airport, a slim, ginger-haired woman waited wearing an airport uniform of navy trousers, white blouse, navy jacket with red trim and a matching felt cap. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She was holding a Heliair Charter placard displaying the names Mr. Declan Ramsay and Mr. Samuel Aiken. Declan nodded recognition as he walked past her, and then sauntered around to meet her on the other side of the barrier.

“I’m Declan Ramsay” Declan introduced holding out his hand for a firm sincere handshake.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Ramsay. I trust ye had a pleasant journey. I’m Jeannette from Heliair Charter. We’re just waiting fer Mr. Aiken. He needed a bathroom break” She informed conspiratorially.

After a few minutes of small talk about the Scottish weather, Declan found himself getting stressed again. He felt like he spent his life hanging around waiting for other people to arrive so he could get on with his life. Whether it was waiting for a client for a property viewing or waiting for a date, Declan was always the one right on time. He found it incredibly rude to be late, and although he couldn’t moan at rich clients for lateness, he always made his feelings known to dates. Why’s it so bloody difficult fer everyone else te keep good time? Declan sighed at hearing his internal monolog. When did ye become such a grumpy bastart? Declan asked himself. He decided he needed a piss break too as there were still twenty minutes before they were due to take off. He made his excuses, left his suitcase with the hostess, and headed to the gents.

Declan walked back across the arrivals hall after using the bathroom. He ran his fingers through his now damp, dark hair, and his gaze searched the hall for the hostess. He located her and stopped in his tracks. That bloody hippy man was talking to her. Jesus, is the man stalkin’ me? Declan stormed towards them ready to let his anger flare when Jeannette looked up and said:

“Ah, now you’re both here we can get going”

Declan was stunned for a moment… both here? So this man was Samuel Aiken, his boss’s super-intelligent, gay son and the joint best man? Declan’s mind ran back over their interaction on the plane and he was now mortified by his behavior towards the man he’d thought was a random stranger.

The Samuel Aiken standing in the arrivals hall at Edinburgh Airport was not what Declan was expecting. If he was honest with himself, Declan expected a fey, geeky guy, not a tall, tanned, athletic, young man with dirty-blond hair, and a scraggly attempt at a beard. Sam Aiken was not a kid, by any means. He was a man who looked like he’d just come off a desert hike with Bear Grylls.

Declan quickly assimilated all he knew about his boss’s son. He knew that Sam had been in Russia and the Middle East. Sir James Aiken waxed lyrical about his son’s superior language skills and, because of the importance of the family when doing business in a Muslim country, how useful it was that his son had acted as interpreter on several of his multi-billion pound Saudi property deals. But Declan had trouble meshing the idea of the apparently super-intelligent, young, gay son of his boss — the person he’d been emailing for over a year, and the masculine, yet grubby backpacker in front of his eyes. The two men stared at one other awkwardly, both tongue-tied.

Jeanette strolled to a side door where she keyed in a security code to gain access. Sam and Declan followed her silently through a maze of anonymous corridors until they exited into a vast aircraft hangar. The scent of aviation fuel was powerfully strong in the hangar and the noise of aircraft engines being turned over and tested made Sam cover his ears. They continued to follow Jeanette out of the hangar and onto the tarmac where the wind gusted fiercely and the charter helicopter, a black AB206 Jet Ranger awaited them.

There was enough space in the helicopter cabin for four passengers to sit in relative comfort, but on this flight, it would just be the two of them and their luggage. Jeanette greeted the pilot and signed off on his in-flight clipboard. She folded a copy of the paperwork and put it in her pocket. Jeanette climbed aboard first and secured the luggage to the two empty seats and then got out and beckoned Sam and Declan to climb in. She instructed them on strapping themselves in and the safety procedures. They were told to wear the headphones to dampen the rotor noise and allow them to communicate with the pilot. With a few smooth words of welcome from pilot Andy Daniels, the rotors began to whirr. Jeanette secured their door and waved them off, holding on to her hat.

Sam offered a sidelong glance to Declan. Still, the two men had not shared more than their initial tempered words back at Heathrow and a few words on the plane. Sam couldn’t quite believe he’d been sitting and ogling Oliver’s older brother on the flight from London. He recalled the emails they had shared in the year preceding the wedding. Sam loved writing to Declan. Apart from his family and a couple of Uni friends, the sensitive nature of his work meant he’d had little contact with anyone from the UK for the past few years. Sam’s life was all work, so the emails had kept him going and gave him something to look forwards to. He’d loved organizing the stag weekend; even though he wasn’t in the country to enjoy the event.

Sam’s initial thought about the man he now knew was Declan Ramsay was that he looked nothing like his brother Oliver. Oliver was a lovely bloke, but distinctly average in every department — average height, average build with pale, freckled skin, ginger-blond hair and blue eyes. Sam didn’t find him physically attractive in the slightest, but Annabelle loved him and wanted to make a life with him and that was truly wonderful.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---