Read Online Taming the Lion by Elizabeth Coldwell - Free Book Online Page A

tracks by an unwelcome sight.
    He hadn’t needed to see the man’s face to recognize him. The wavy red hair and the intricate silver and turquoise bracelet around his left wrist were all too familiar.
    Why was he surprised that Simon might be here? It was where Jon had originally met him, after all. They’d both attended a performance of Long Day’s Journey into Night at the theater next door, and had gotten talking while they’d been waiting to be served at the bar. He and Simon had seemed to have so much in common—a love of the arts, an appreciation of craft beer, a stable family who’d been accepting and supportive of their sexuality. On top of that, Simon possessed a quick wit and a truly outstanding arse that Jon had caught himself checking out a couple of times as they’d been chatting. If he’d known then he was also a liar and a cheat, would Jon have refused the offer of a drink and backed off?
    Dragging himself away from thoughts of that night, Jon had snuck a glance at Simon’s companion. The man had his hair shaved down to the scalp, and a blackwork tattoo encircled his brawny biceps. Not what he’d have classed as his ex’s type, but then how did he know what Simon really went for in a man? Perhaps Jon had been the aberration—educated, nicely spoken and with ambitions to progress to the top of his profession. Maybe what Simon had preferred all along was a bit of rough.
    As if to prove Jon’s theory right, Simon had bent close to press a kiss on his lover’s lips. Jon had stumbled backwards out of the bar, not wanting to see any more. He’d needed a drink more than ever, but not there. If he’d walked in with someone on his arm, he’d have been perfectly happy to show Simon he’d moved on. Instead, he was still alone, still miserable. He didn’t want his ex to have the satisfaction of seeing what he’d been reduced to after they’d split.
    Almost in a daze, he’d wandered down onto Monmouth Street and in the direction of the Abbey, not really caring where he ended up. The lights of a bar on the corner had seemed to beckon to him. Jon had glanced at the name above the door—løve. He vaguely recalled seeing a flyer for the venue on the faculty noticeboard, advertising some cut-price midweek drink deal for anyone producing a valid NUS card. Most of the pubs and clubs in town operated a similar policy. In a university town, students were one of the biggest sources of income for anyone in the hospitality industry.
    The thought that he was very unlikely to bump into any of his own students in here reassured him a little. The summer term had been over for a couple of weeks, and most of his tutor group had flown over to Turkey to take part in a dig supervised by one of Jon’s colleagues, Shaun Armitage.
    Though, being spotted in a trendy city center bar might do wonders for his reputation. It would prove he wasn’t the fusty old stick he suspected the students saw him as, even though he was still a couple of years shy of forty.
    With renewed purpose, Jon strode to the chrome-topped bar counter, where he waited to be served behind a girl who was ordering a pitcher of raspberry mojitos. He scanned the selection of drinks on offer and was relieved to spot a couple of hand pumps offering real ale. His sour mood would not have improved if he’d been forced to drink any beer billing itself as ‘smooth flow’ or ‘extra cold’.
    “What can I get you?”
    The barman’s accent had a guttural tone to it that marked the speaker as coming from somewhere in continental Europe. Scandinavia, maybe? It would fit with the styling of the bar’s name and the Swedish-influenced dance music. But the man’s voice was nothing compared to his stunning eyes. It had to be a trick of the light, but they appeared almost golden in color, like ancient amber.
    You could lose yourself in a pair of eyes like that…
    “A pint of the Bath Gem, please.”
    “Of course.” The barman produced a glass from beneath the