Illuminate the Shadows E-Book

Isobel Starling

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

Beschreibung

A Scotsman and an Englishman fall in love… After the most amazing week of his life, at Dunloch Castle on the banks of Loch Ness, in Scotland. The charming, mysterious Samuel Aiken has turned Declan Ramsay’s life upside down. Declan has experienced a remarkable change. He has come to terms with the fact he is bisexual, and he has fallen head-over-heels in love with his boss’s son Sam. However, falling for his boss’s son was never going to be an easy path to happiness, mainly because the boss in question is multi-millionaire property tycoon and former MI5 operative, Sir James Aiken. Sir James is repulsed by his son’s homosexuality, and so discovering that his employee Declan Ramsay- the man he installed to run his luxury property rental empire- is in a relationship with Sam, does not go down well. The lovers cannot hide from the looming presence of Sir James Aiken for long! Soon enough James makes his move, and Declan finds out what he will have to endure to stay with Sam, and what he will have to give to feel worthy of Sam's love.”

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Synopsis of “As You Wish.”

CHAPTER 1

BREAKFAST

CHAPTER 2

VIPER

CHAPTER 3

THE INTERVIEW

CHAPTER 4

CLEAN UP

CHAPTER 5

YOUNG DECLAN

CHAPTER 6

FINGERTIP SEARCH

CHAPTER 7

INTERROGATION

CHAPTER 8

NUMPTY

CHAPTER 9

TRUE LOVE

CHAPTER 10

REVELATIONS

CHAPTER 12

COBURG

CHAPTER 13

SELF DOUBT

CHAPTER 14

COMING OUT

CHAPTER 15

SEPARATION ANXIETY

CHAPTER 16

COMING HOME

CHAPTER 17

TAKE ME TO THE EDGE

Illuminate The Shadows

SHATTERPROOF BOND #2

Isobel Starling

WWW.DECENTFELLOWSPRESS.COM

© 2016-2023 Isobel Starling

First Edition

ISBN: 9783757947231

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

Illuminate the Shadows,

Copyright © 2016-2023 Isobel Starling

Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

To my family for their unflinching support

Synopsis of “As You Wish.”

Scotsman, Declan Ramsay, and Englishman, Sam Aiken, met for the first time just days before the wedding of their siblings, Annabelle Aiken to Oliver Ramsay at Dunloch Castle on the banks of Loch Ness in Scotland. Sam and Declan were both best men, and through laughter, kilts, and a shared love of ‘The Princess Bride’ movie, they fell in love.

Declan Ramsay’s life before Dunloch Castle had been in freefall. Professionally, the thirty-two-year-old Scotsman was ahead of the game. He worked for Aiken Luxury Lettings, (A.L.L) where he managed Sir James Aiken’s property portfolio, and enjoyed the perks that schmoozing with the rich and famous offered. However, Declan’s private life was a mess. He was a serial dater, commitment-phobic, and had never been in a relationship for more than three months.

Sam Aiken, James’s twenty-three-year-old son, had been in the Middle-East studying Linguistics and interpreting for his father’s foreign property deals. Declan’s only contact with Sam before the wedding was through email. However, on meeting the blond, slender, and devilishly mischievous Sam Aiken, Declan could not deny his compulsive attraction. Swiftly Sam Aiken became everything Declan never knew he wanted. His best friend, lover, and sidekick.

When Sam disappears after the week in Scotland and remains untraceable for three whole months, Declan is distraught and has no idea how to move forwards with his life. But then, he receives a phone call from the police, with a request to check out an A.L.L property that had been damaged during a break–in. Mysteriously, he finds Sam Aiken at the house. The aftermath of that erotic, passionate reconnection ensures that both Sam and Declan know exactly how they feel about each other. Declan is made aware of who the real Sam Aiken is, and the true nature of what he does for a living.

And, as the story continues, Declan Ramsay discovers that falling in love with his boss’s son was never going to be the easiest path to happiness. Not when his secretive, multimillionaire boss, Sir James Aiken, finds out about their relationship.

****

WESTLEY: Hear this now: I will always come for you.

BUTTERCUP: But, how can you be sure?

WESTLEY: This is true love — you think this happens every day?

‘The Princess Bride’ by William Goldman

CHAPTER 1

BREAKFAST

Declan Ramsay licked a pearl of cum from the side of his mouth and rested his rough, stubbly cheek on his lover’s sweaty abdomen. He let out a deep, throaty chuckle and smiled, so very pleased with how hard he’d just made Sam climax.

Sam’s fingers raked into Declan’s thick, dark hair, and he laughed lazily at the tickling sensation of Declan’s rapidly sprouting beard rasping against his belly. His cock flopped languorously to rest on his thigh, and he sighed out his deep satisfaction as the euphoria of orgasm passed. Declan may be a newbie, but God, the man was a natural cocksucker.

The lovers lay there in satiating silence for several minutes before the peace was broken by Declan’s snicker.

“What?” Sam inquired, his lips forming a drowsy smile.

“Yer tum’s rumblin,’” Declan relayed in his broad Scottish accent. He drew his fingers slowly up Sam’s slender right thigh, over his protruding hip bone to lay flat on Sam’s stomach. He felt the rumble through his fingertips.

“Then, feed me” Sam instructed playfully. “You’ve sucked my brains out. Seriously, Ramsay, I can’t move. I never wanna move again.”

Declan responded to that sentiment by peppering tender kisses around Sam’s navel. He was so deliriously happy and content. Sam and Declan had spent the past two days in bed making love, talking and laughing. The natural high Declan felt at being so adored, and in-love showed no signs of abating.

Before this weekend of loving, Sam had not been in contact with Declan for three whole months. Declan had been lost in a maze of depression and confusion. Only to discover that Sam wasn’t, as he had said, in Dubai, but actually minutes from Declan’s Mayfair home, in a house at number Sixty-Seven Chester Row, Belgravia.

The anger that had initially pulsed through Declan on finding Sam and his lie had evaporated. Sam opened his heart and shared his feelings, and Declan had mirrored him. They loved each other and made a commitment. It was that simple. There was no more anger left in the Scotsman’s body. It was replaced by a gentle delighted hum in his chest, and curling warmth in his belly. For the first time in months, Declan felt whole. He wasn’t fighting with his feelings, and the surrender to Sam Aiken was just so breathtakingly sweet.

“I think ye need to be on the dangerous substances list, Sonny! Yer spunk is fuckin’ addictive,” Declan said in a deep, lazy drawl. Sam exhaled a laugh.

His hand moved from Declan’s hair to grip the back of his neck, “C’mere” Sam beckoned. Declan shifted up the bed and Sam rose to meet him halfway with a smiling kiss. His free hand cupped Declan’s stubbly face, and his tongue slipped effortlessly between Declan’s lips, soft and swollen from cock sucking. Sam’s warm, velvety tongue filled Declan’s mouth, exploring deeply, stealing his breath. Sam tasted the salty bitterness of his own semen mingled with Declan’s saliva. They tasted so delicious together. Declan’s arms snuck around Sam’s narrow waist. He rolled, and Sam whooped as he followed, overjoyed for his slender, athletic body to be enfolded and crushed in strong, muscled arms, against Declan’s chest.

“So, what de ye want for brekkie?”

Sam’s hand slipped between their bodies and gripped Declan’s soft cock. Declan had recently showered, and Sam’s blow job was, like the best of blow job’s, passionate and unplanned.

“Hands off, I’m starvin’ Sam,” Declan complained roughly, as Sam continued his compulsive caresses.

“You can get me back later,” Declan gave a throaty laugh and flicked his hips to push Sam’s eager hand away.

Sam pouted at the rebuttal; he was hornier than he could ever remember. He surrendered, reluctantly letting go of Declan’s cock,

“Okay, Mr. Ramsay, food, then fucking sounds like a good way to spend the day.”

Declan took a glance at the alarm clock; it was twelve-twenty-three p.m.

“There’s no’ much of the day left. Thank God it’s a bank holiday, or I’d be late for work.” Very late indeed.

“Brunch then?” Declan offered. “How’s about one o’ mah super-duper breakfast bagels? I can run around the corner and pick up some fresh bagels from Baker and Spice. You hop in the shower, aye? I’ll just be ten minutes.” Declan instructed.

They had eaten nothing, but takeout food all weekend. Grilling some bacon, frying a few eggs and whipping up a hollandaise sauce was the least Declan could do for his lover.

Sam held Declan’s face in his hands and met his gaze. He observed his lover intently. “Has anyone ever told you just how amazing you are?” He inquired sincerely. Declan’s hands had eased down Sam’s back and were planted on Sam’s arse cheeks, giving them gentle squeezes and caresses.

“Aye, but no one that mattered… ’cept you!” Declan admitted candidly. The two men were lost in each other’s eyes for a drawn-out minute before Sam said, in a near mournful tone,

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Ramsay” he began.

“It’s… an odd feeling, needing someone so… desperately. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, y’know… like I’ve known you my whole life, but we hardly know one another.”

Declan chest tightened with an explosion of tenderness — mingled with a stab of fear. The thought of ever being without Sam again… Declan struggled to breathe for a moment, wondering how he could finally feel so in control of his life, and yet so completely lost at the same time. Finding Sam’s whereabouts had been the obsessive focus of his free time for the past three months. And now, Sam was back in his arms, and this love was the only thing that mattered. The only real thing Declan had ever wanted, he now possessed... but for how long?

Declan couldn’t deny the disquieting thoughts at the back of his mind. He knew they would have to face Sam’s father, and Declan’s boss, Sir James Aiken sooner, rather than later. Days before, Sam had explained the ‘family secret’ — that Sir James was a former M15 counterintelligence operative, who, on retiring from government service, set up his own covert agency, which fronted as a property letting company, Aiken Luxury lettings — A.L.L. Declan had discovered he had unwittingly been acting as Sir James’s business face for Aikens for over two years and had been facilitating God knows what secret deals. The revelations had baffled him.

Declan had also discovered that Sam Aiken had been a child prodigy, naturally gifted with languages, and he’d been employed as an interpreter and undercover operative by A.L.L, since the tender age of sixteen. But still, Declan didn’t know any details of what Sam actually did for the organization. However, Sam was right about one thing. No matter the strength of their feelings, they hardly knew one another.

Sam had explained that after eight years, he had wanted out of living life in the shadows. Sam felt the pull of longing for a normal life — he wanted a nine to five job, a proper home that he could go back to every night, and he wanted to sleep in the same, familiar bed. He wanted to have his belongings with him, and not divided between the room at his father’s Holland Park home he rarely slept in and the A.L.L storage facility near Heathrow Airport. And most of all; he wanted a real relationship… with Declan Ramsay.

Sam said that on falling in love, he’d devised a way to escape his father’s remit. He planned to go off-grid, take Declan with him, and start a new life. However, Sir James found out, and to keep his son in the game; he made a deal with him. Sam could have Declan Ramsay, as long as both men stayed and worked with the agency.

Declan had realized then, that the job he considered as straightforward and somewhat mundane, was nothing of the sort. The company he worked for was a cover, and he was entwined in the lie. Sir James had apparently decided upon a ‘new use’ for them both. This was to be the beginning of a whole new chapter, and Declan had no idea what this could entail.

“Do you trust me?” Sam said, noting his lover's distant look. Declan reached out and mirrored Sam, cupping Sam’s boyish face in his broad, strong hands.

“Jesus, of course, I trust ye. Ye drive me demented, Sam. Can ye no see that?” Sam bit his lower lip and focused on Declan’s moist, sex-bruised lips as he spoke.

“Ye know, I nearly lost it when I didnae hear from ye! We come as a package now. Yer no gonna to be without me again, ya hear! I don’t care if yer da is James fuckin’ Bond. If he messes wi’ you, I’ll mess wi' him!” Declan trembled in Sam’s arms, his Scottish accent ringing thick with emotion. He meant those words with every cell in his body.

Sam felt the explosion of warmth and tightness in his chest at the declaration. To have his love reciprocated was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. He appreciated the sentiment and fighting talk. Declan may come across as having a handsome, yet dour, serious, exterior, but Sam knew the man beneath, and that man was a puppy, and deeply romantic.

However, Sam was confused by the rising curl of dread in his gut at even the mention of his father. The words about ‘messin’ with Sir James were fierce but naive. Declan really had no idea just who the hell he was dealing with. Sam shuddered involuntarily and hid his face in the crook of Declan’s shoulder. He reveled in the skin contact, inhaling his lover’s freshly showered citrus scent. He was overcome by a wave of guilt, and the knowing of what was to come. What kind of life had he selfishly dragged Declan into? Sam was genuinely afraid for his lover and hoped his fighting talk was more than bluff and bluster.

James didn’t allow just any random Tom, Dick, or Harry into his organization. There were hoops to jump through. Sir James was a punishing boss and tested all his candidates to their limits. Declan would need to dig deep if he was to survive what was coming. Sam decided that after brunch, he would explain some of the more… unethical interview techniques A.L.L used on their candidates, just so he’d have an idea of what was around the corner. But, Sam mused, there was plenty of time before Declan would need to deal with the information, anyway.

Declan gave Sam an enveloping bear hug and then laid a stinging slap on Sam’s pert, pale bottom. Sam yelped. “Shower, now!” Declan commanded roughly, pushing Sam off his body. He knew Sam could easily fall back to sleep and then, Declan would give in to his tender compulsion to hold him, and neither would get fed. Sam rolled over and off the bed, then sluggishly stumbled to the en-suite bathroom. Declan joined him and took a piss, while Sam turned the shower on to run a while, so the water heated.

“D’we need anythin’ else when I’m out?”

“A family pack of condoms and a bucket of lube,” Sam suggested lewdly. Declan smirked and nodded. He leaned in to give Sam a peck on the cheek and slapped his arse again for good measure before he left the bathroom.

“You’ll pay for that!” Sam yelled. Declan jogged naked down the stairs chuckling to himself with happiness.

He strolled into the dining room and found his clothes there, exactly where he had discarded them two days before. Declan dressed hurriedly. He only planned to be clothed for long enough to pop to the bakery and chemist, so ignored his underwear and pulled on his jeans, shirt, and jacket, before pushing sock-less feet into leather slip-ons.

Declan then headed for the front door. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and listened to the sound of running water and Sam singing happily in the shower. Sentimental warmth tugged at his chest. He would make the best damn fry up Sam Aiken had ever tasted! Declan strode down the black and white checkerboard tiled hallway and opened the front door. He was taken aback to see a man standing there, his fist raised, as if ready to knock… or punch him.

“Oh, sorry,” The man said in a German-accented voice. The stranger on the doorstep was five-foot-nine tall and looked to be in his late-twenties. He was rake thin, and had tanned; block chiseled, severe features on a head that looked a little too small for his body. His hair was bleached platinum blond and cropped close to his scalp. He was dressed in dark overalls and was holding a courier’s handheld terminal.

“Delivery for a Mr. Samoohuel Ayyyken,”

“Och aye, Sam’s in the shower, I’ll take it,” Declan offered. The man looked at his terminal and clicked on the screen with his stylus.

“And you are?” He asked, his gaze flitting from the terminal to catch Declan’s eye “… for ze proof of delivery”.

“Oh, Declan Ramsay” The courier nodded, smiled amiably, tapped the screen a few more times, and then offered the terminal for Declan to add his signature. Declan did so and then handed the terminal back. The man nodded again, turned and hopped down the front steps. He strode along the quiet London back street towards a black van that Declan had just noticed was parked by the curb a couple of doors down, his view partially shielded by a willow tree. Declan waited for a moment before hearing the courier call out,

“I’m sorry. Mr. Ramsay, could you give me a hand viz zis, it is heavier zan I expected,”

“Ah sure, nay bother,” Declan called back. He jogged down the front steps and strode to the van. The van’s side door was open, and the man had gone around behind the van and opened one of the back doors too. Declan had no idea what Sam had ordered but thought the item must be huge. He leaned inside the van as the back door was suddenly slammed. Stunned, Declan saw another person inside, masked, and dressed in black, holding a black cotton bag. Before he could comprehend and react, Declan felt a pinch to his neck — and then, darkness descended.

****

CHAPTER 2

VIPER

“Jesus Dec, did you leave the front door open?” Sam hollered, feeling the early December chill wind rushing into the bedroom as he was dressing. There was no reply. Sam stepped into lounge pants and shrugged into a long-sleeved tee.

“Declan?” Sam hollered again, unsure if his lover was back from his jaunt around the corner to the bakery. Sam thundered down the stairs to see the front door wide open. He strolled down the hall in long strides, huffing, “For fuck's sake, Ramsay, were you born in a barn?” Sam stopped in his tracks and fear flooded his gut. A white sheet of paper was attached to the door knocker and flapped lazily in the icy breeze. He quickly stepped up to the door to see his name scrawled on the front of the note. No one should know I’m at this address. Sam’s chest tightened as he prized the taped paper off the brass knocker. He opened the folded note and saw a receipt for ‘E-Zee Fix’ — a computer servicing establishment that Sam knew did not exist. The note was written in a barely legible scrawl, for a little authenticity, he supposed. The receipt had that day’s date and his name as the customer. It read,

Customer: Mr. Sam Aiken

Item: Mr. Declan Ramsay. Full service.

Delivery in seven days,

Signed: A K 47

“LYING BASTARD,” Sam roared. He ran barefoot, out onto the front step and down the stairs. He surveyed the street and spotted a black van turning from Chester Row onto Eaton Terrace. There was no point pursuing, Declan was gone.

Sam’s raked his fingers through damp blond hair, and his shoulders slumped dejectedly. He knew this would happen, but he really didn’t think it would happen so soon. Damn you, Father. Sam returned to the house and slammed the front door behind him in frustration. He stalked into the lounge and picked up the landline phone. Sam waited for a moment and then, on hearing a pip, said the words, “Desert Fox for Viper,” after another minute, a stern conversational voice said,

“Desert Fox?”

Sam launched into his furious diatribe, “What the hell Dad? Two fucking days?” He sank down onto the couch, his free hand threading through his hair anxiously.

“You said I was to be on the team. I was gonna bring him in. Damn it, you promised me. There was really no need for this”, Sam spat vehemently. He knew he shouldn’t have been so surprised, but another broken promise from his father stung keenly.

“Two days is plenty of time to… reacquaint. And come on, you know there was never any chance I would seriously let you interview the man you are apparently… in love with.”

There was a beat of awkward silence between them, and Sam wondered if his father was allowing his distaste to dissolve before he could move on. It stung that James gave the impression that he didn’t believe Sam’s feelings for Declan were genuine. You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the arse, father. Sam jaw tightened, and he choked back the furious, cutting response.

“Mrs. K has chosen Agent Devon Brody, and her new protégé, Agent Ranier Strauss to assist her with the interview. Clean up at Chester Row and move to the Mayfair apartment. We’ve double checked his bank accounts, emails, and social media. Fingertip search the apartment. I want to know if he has any burner devices, check paperwork, books, anything suspicious, report straight away.”

Sam’s mind was a whir. He was starving, distraught and now had to get his head back in the game. “Yes, sir,” Sam replied in a subservient tone, devoid of any emotion. There was another moment of awkward silence between them, and then James said,

“Sam, you really have nothing to worry about. This is standard procedure for all candidates… and of course, Declan is virtually family. You know how I look after my own.” He reassured, with a condescending sneer in his cut-glass British accent.

The call ended, and Sam slammed the phone down on the coffee table. He hid his face in his hands. That was what Sam was afraid of. Even as Sir James’s only son, he had been shown no mercy for his ‘interview.'

Jesus, Declan, I’m so sorry.

****

Sir James Aiken stepped into the lift on the third floor of his Georgian townhouse mansion, in London’s affluent Holland Park district. He placed his elegant, long-fingered hand on the wall mounted tablet screen. A shaft of green light was triggered, scanning his palm. “Viper,” he said in a commanding tone. The doors slid shut, and the lift began its descent.

When the doors opened again, James stepped out into a long, silent, subterranean hallway. An eerie, watery light permeated the length of the almost clinically pale hall, bouncing off white walls and polished floor. James was a sharp-suited, handsome man, well-made and looking incredibly fit for his fifty-five years. He ran his hand through his cropped golden blond hair, which graduated to white-grey at the sides, and glanced up as he walked, the tip-tap of his footfall on polished concrete, echoing in the hallway. As always, he was enjoying the wonderfully eccentric spectacle of the thick, bulletproof glass ceiling, high above his head—doubling as the bottom of a ‘lap lane’ swimming pool which ran the length of the hall. He smiled wryly, recognizing the svelte, agile, naked form of Akiko Kimura swimming lengths. She turned and kicked off the pool wall, her sleek, streamlined, ochre-skinned frame moving arrow-like through the water, and her long, black hair dancing like swirling ink in the current.

The corridor intersected, left and right. There was also a white doorway in front of James, camouflaged within the wall — the slight rectangular outline could be seen if you knew to look for it. There was no handle or visible means of opening the hidden door. The left corridor was sealed off by a thick, chrome, polished sheet metal door, with another hand scanner attached to the adjoining surface. Through a small aperture of bulletproof glass, the view down the hall could be seen, and it continued with white walls, several doors, and hallways leading to who knows where, polished concrete floors and basic, industrial strip lighting housed in the ceiling.

James took the right turn, and met a second steel door, he scanned his hand again, and when a buzzer sounded, pushed the door open, and strode into a hallway that was starkly different from the rest of the warren-like basement complex, hidden hundreds of meters beneath historical London. Here, in the second corridor, there was expensive, original art on the walls, designer light fittings, and a plush carpeted floor that made his footfall completely silent. Several doors led off from the main hallway. James took the first door and stepped into his office.

Sir James’s Aiken’s office was a large, rectangular room, minimally decorated, with two faux sash windows on the wall opposite the door, artificially giving the impression of daylight underground. Simple and masculine, sleek black leather, glass, and chrome furnished the room. A grand antique oak desk was positioned to the left of the entrance door, with a couch and coffee table in the center of the room and a long, glass low table against the far right wall. The far wall also held a huge flat screen, and on the glass table beneath the screen, there was a line-up of tech — several computer tablets, a blade thin laptop, a bank of individually labeled cell phones, and a charging satellite phone.

James walked to the glass table and picked up the first laptop. He slumped on the leather Chesterfield couch, opened the computer cover, and pressed his thumb to the screen. With his ID verified, a series of photographs of the thirty-two-year-old property manager, Declan Ramsay, appeared on his screen. He was pictured, in a staccato of images, leaving The Ritz Hotel days before. James sat back and steepled his fingers. A smile played on his lips. Declan Ramsay was an enigma, and secretly, James found the man completely fascinating.

Since a peculiar event, eleven years ago, Declan Ramsay had been somewhat of a personal side project for James. Like the shrewdest of predators, James had watched his prey for a long while, enjoying the thrill of the hunt, before he decided it was time to pounce. It had taken many years and, admittedly, a little interference on his part, to pull the man willingly into his remit. The Scotsman was a devil for detail and excellent at his job, managing James’s vast portfolio of luxury London properties. However, through his personal surveillance, James had concluded that the Scotsman appeared to be completely oblivious of the laws of cause and effect, especially concerning his own actions. James could not figure Ramsay out, and not for want of trying. He didn’t know whether Declan was an ordinary man who just happened to stumble into dangerous situations, or if he was the most ingenious sleeper agent he had ever met — working for a rival counter-espionage organization. Maybe Ramsay has been just a lone wolf, carrying out self-selected assignments as a hobby — with what could only be considered at face value, as ineptitude, and brilliance in equal measure. The man was an itch James could not scratch, and this conundrum had given him many sleepless nights.

James’s eyes twinkled secretively. He had permitted Sam to tell Declan the bare bones of A.L.L. James had listened in to a live audio feed and heard Declan’s reaction to what Sam had shared, and the Scotsman did actually seem genuinely surprised.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---