“Oh dear.” Eleanor’s voice broke into Sacha’s musings. “There goes William Ratner. He always seems to make a beeline for Jonah at these things, and Jonah doesn’t care for him at all. You must rescue him.”
Sacha didn’t have to check to know the insistent man was the same as the one whose very presence had rattled Jonah so earlier in the evening. And he didn’t need Eleanor to tell him to put himself between them.
He left her and strode across the ballroom, not giving a single fuck what anyone thought of him. I don’t know these people. They don’t know me. Neither did Jonah, but the relief on his face when he saw Sacha coming was all Sacha needed to see to know he’d made the right call.
Smiling, he stepped between Jonah and the man with the bad hair, cutting off any interaction before it could happen. He took Jonah’s hands. “Come with me, luchik.”
“Where?”
“Just come.”
Without waiting for further response Sacha steered Jonah away. Jonah let him, and they eased through the crowds as though they’d danced this dance a hundred times or more. “You know,” Sacha said. “Your English balls are very civilised. Even in Russian high society there would be some sort of fighting by now.”
“I’m sure we could find you a pub brawl somewhere around here if you’re feeling pugnacious.”
“What does that word mean?”
“Combative. Quick to fight.”
Sacha chuckled. “That isn’t me. I don’t waste my energy on people I don’t care about, and I don’t care about most people.”
“No?”
“No. But you’re not like that, I can see. Tell me, Jonah Gray, what did that man with the unspeakable hair do to you?”
“What man?” Jonah kept moving, but his bright gaze turned to glass.
Sacha accepted his answer, filed it away, and gestured around the ballroom. “My father had this money once. Now he has only enough to look down on others, but not to ever be satisfied. I don’t know if there is a word for this in your language.”
“I can’t think of one.”
“Then maybe there isn’t.”
“Are you close to your parents?”
“No.”
Jonah turned his head, treating Sacha to a clear view of a face that seemed to grow more beautiful as the evening progressed. If their date had been real, Sacha would not have had much to complain about. “You said that with such finality, but you speak as if your father is still alive.”
“He is.”
“But you don’t like him?”
“Not much. The feeling is mutual.”
“Why?”
Sacha shrugged and looked beyond Jonah to the waiter bearing down on them. More champagne was tempting, as was the cognac now the hour was late enough to justify heavy liquor, but he resisted and forced himself to meet Jonah’s gaze again. “Many reasons. None of interest to you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Is first date, no? Complex conversations come later, or so I’m told.”
“Second date?”
“I would not know. First date is usually the only date for me.”
“Ah.” Jonah nodded his understanding. “Busy man, I suppose. No time for romance?”
Sacha smirked. “What is this romance you speak of?”
“Beats me. I’m a busy man too.” Jonah’s lips turned up, his grin boyish.
And irresistible.
Sacha stopped walking, reclaimed his arm from around Jonah’s waist, and dropped his hands onto shoulders that seemed to be made of steel.
Warm steel that soaked into Sacha’s palms and nearly derailed his power of speech. “Was this date everything you dreamed it would be?”
“I didn’t dream about it. I didn’t know you existed until an hour before you got here.”
“Yes, but you have dreamed of bringing a date here with you, haven’t you? What was that like?”
The final strands of tension melted from Jonah, and his frown became one of amused speculation as he considered Sacha’s question. “I don’t date, so I never thought it would happen, but…”
“Yes?”
“But, when I did think of it, it wasn’t as easy as tonight has been with you. This feels like…” Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Like we’ve done this before. I barely know your name, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”
Sacha soaked in the words. They were sweet and made him feel good, and there weren’t many people in the world who made Sacha feel that way. Actually, he couldn’t think of anyone who made his stomach flutter quite the way Jonah did. What a strange thing indeed. “I am glad you have enjoyed your evening. And your mother too. That was your intention, yes? To make her happy?”
“I suppose.” Jonah slid his hands to where Sacha’s were still grasping his shoulders. He twined their fingers together and laughed. “I can’t actually remember what I was thinking when I invited you here. It doesn’t make much sense now.”
“Or maybe it does and that is the confusion.”
“Maybe. This isn’t where I would bring a date, though, for the first time or otherwise.”
“Where would you take them?”
“Anywhere but here. You?”
“Me?”
“Yes, Sacha Ivanov. Where do you take your first and only dates?”
“To the wine bar close to my home, and then…”
Jonah’s auburn eyebrow ticked. He squeezed Sacha’s hand and closed the minuscule distance between them. His whole body was as hard and warm as the handful of places Sacha had already touched him. “And then…? What do you do next?”
“I take them home and fuck them, Jonah Gray. Would you like me to do that to you?”
3
Jonah was high. There was no other explanation for the speed at which he’d yanked Sacha out of the Dorchester hotel and into the waiting limo. It would explain his stampeding heart too. And the sweat sticking his clasped hands together. Calm down. It isn’t like you’ve never had a one night stand before.
It really wasn’t, but this felt different. Perhaps it was the misplaced intimacy they’d already shared. The light touches and lingering stares. Sacha’s gentle, guiding hands, and rapt attention to every word Jonah had spoken. He’d played his part to perfection, so much so that Jonah had almost forgotten it wasn’t real. But…here they were, huddled on the backseat of the limo, gliding along the streets of London on their way to Jonah’s penthouse apartment. Maybe he didn’t mean it. He’ll come in for a drink. We’ll laugh. Exchange numbers for no reason whatsoever, then see each other on Monday and pretend this never happened.
It made more sense than the heat gathering pace in his veins.
“Jonah.”
“Hmm?”
Sacha gave another of the deep chuckles Jonah had become addicted to as the evening had progressed. “We don’t have to do anything. I can go home.”
“I don’t want you to go home.”
“Then you should probably look at me.”
Jonah turned in his seat. Sacha was spread out beside him, the picture of roguish relaxation. His grin was easy, and his obvious amusement was kind, not mocking. “Sorry,” Jonah said. “It’s just not how I expected this night to go when I woke up this morning.”