“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.