Anticipation. Something he’d never paused to savor before.
He reached across the table, saying nothing, merely brushing his finger over Piers’ on the glass, then placing his hand fully over Piers’, gently squeezing. Fire danced where their skin met.
Piers’ breath quickened, his eyes darkening. He’d felt the jolt too?
“I wish we could dance again,” Piers blurted. He let out a sigh. “At the club, I felt like I’d been played. You, Jess, and Max, my boss, all trying to get me to dance with you. I felt like being pushed into something against my will. Not a good feeling.”
Being manipulated. No, not a good feeling, based on Wycke’s firsthand experience and the reason for the mice at the ball incident. Oh, and the lizards. Mustn’t forget the lizards. Over and over, his tutors told him to put on a good front, attend functions he’d rather die to avoid, make nice with this or that dignitary. Fawn over some young lady—or man—to win favor with their parents. All because he might be needed to replace Radre one day or“Your behavior reflects on the king and queen.”Yeah, definitely sucked.
“You more than made up for any slights since.” A smile formed on Wycke’s mouth before he realized. He’d been so used to controlling every emotion, he’d thought spontaneous smiles beyond his capabilities.
And yet, George the Ogre claimed to easily read Wycke’s expressions. Maybe he wasn’t so guarded after all, or at least, not away from the palace.
“Many of the guys from the club aren’t nice,” Piers concluded. “You are.”
Piers had been blowing Wycke off by dancing with everyone but him. Wycke should have gone home already, given Saris his sad report. Yet, here he sat, admiring a man so different from any he’d known before.
Desire churned within him. Soon, he’d return to his gilded prison in Dhugach, charm dignitaries again, play the part laid out for him. Tonight? Tonight, he could be himself, merely a man, who wanted another man.
Following through might make things more difficult when Wycke had to leave, but he’d have memories to hold on to—if Piers said yes.
Heart pounding, Wycke held out his hand. “Come up to my room.” He held his breath, waiting. If Piers left now, they’d still have enjoyed a pleasant evening. So confusing!
Piers’ relaxed gaze turned wary.
Wycke wiggled his fingers. “Just a dance.” Anything to hold Piers again. He quickly added, “If you want to.” Besides, sooner or later, someone was bound to realize the hotel bar shouldn’t be open this late during a weekday.
Magic. A wonderful thing.
When it worked.
Piers stared at Wycke’s fingers for so long Wycke started to lower his hand. His reluctant, hopefully, soon-to-be lover finally reached out. Wycke didn’t reiterate“just a dance.”They both knew what heading upstairs meant.
The slide of palm against palm sent sparks through Wycke’s veins.
The widening of Piers’ eyes said he’d felt the flash too. This man, this unassuming bartender, was a lot more than he seemed.
How much more? What had Wycke gotten himself into? And would he ever want to escape?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
What the hell? Piers didn’t do casual hookups, and definitely not with someone just passing through. Or with someone he dreamed about and possibly drew a long time ago.
This guy waltzed right in, tag-teamed with Jess and Max, and now Piers couldn’t get Wycke off his mind.
He’d dreamed of a man with white hair and golden eyes, remembering nothing else of the dream. And the drawing must’ve been a fluke. Piers usually started drawing, and the images created themselves.
Their meeting at the restaurant should have been a disaster, Wycke revealing his true intent of just getting laid. Yet dinner and the walk had been amazing. If only Wycke weren’t leaving soon.
Piers should be in bed. Sleeping. Alone. Not chasing thoughts around and around his head or going to a near stranger’s hotel room.
Hell, the most intriguing guy he’d ever met, and worry stole the thrill.
Wycke stayed in a nice hotel. Piers could do worse, a whole lot worse. He shuddered. At least the maids would likely find his body the next day if Wycke turned out to be an ax murderer.
Even being ax-murdered beat the guys who wanted Piers to worship them. Something about when Wycke touched Piers, too. He didn’t want not to touch. Even a brush of finger against finger sent tingles racing down his spine.
When they’d joined hands? Fire.