Henri smiled at him. “The large bathroom is upstairs. Towels are on the rack. Blue is for guests.”
“Sounds great. Can I borrow a T-shirt from you for the ride home?”
“I’ll dig one up.”
“Awesome, thanks.” Nikolai headed up the stairs to the mid-level of the penthouse. A metal-framed bed dominated the space, large enough for three, and mirrors all along the wall—perfect for fucking and watching yourself fuck. He could imagine Henri with a guy there, or two, tousled, sweaty, and possibly taking it up the ass. Nikolai bit his lip. Maybe he could fuck him in there, watch his dick vanish in that trim body. He blew out a breath, disconcerted by how easily that idea had popped into his head and how persistently it clung to his mind. That was a great deal further along than he’d ever wanted to go.
The bathroom was an orgy of silvery-gray granite tiles and incongruously fluffy white bathmats and towels. On one bamboo rack sat a stack of dark blue towels, so he grabbed two of those and placed them strategically near the large shower encased by clear glass. This was the condo of a serious exhibitionist.
Nikolai stripped off the rest of his clothes, regarded himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He didn’t actually look any different after this gay encounter than before it. Nothing had changed on the outside, and he wasn’t sure if anything had changed on the inside. He might even repeat something like this. He slid his fingers across his chest, down to his belly, tracing the line Henri’s tongue had taken. It had left no traces. Nobody could ever tell. Yet something had shifted in his mind. It had to have.
He stepped under the shower, started the water, and enjoyed the chill of the first blast, which then rapidly heated. He soaped himself down and washed, and a sense memory of Henri’s lips and mouth and throat made him shiver in the heat. Nikolai dialed the water down and grabbed the towel. He dried himself quickly, ran a comb through his hair, and put a towel around his hips before he opened the door.
Henri was standing topless in front of his open wardrobe, tailored trousers hugging his ass and thighs. He had a pretty damn nice set of shoulders, but the curve of his spine caught Nikolai’s eye. Henri straightened and glanced back at him. “You could cause a heart attack in that towel.”
“Sorry.” Nikolai grinned and rubbed his neck. “Got a T-shirt?”
“Yes, I was just digging for that.” Henri reached up to a shelf in the wardrobe and dug into a pile of clothes, then pulled out a red T-shirt made of flimsy fabric, something he might wear for jogging. He offered it, and Nikolai moved closer to take it. Immediately, a spark set off again, and he felt tempted to touch him. Remembered those lips around his dick.
Henri swallowed visibly. “I’m . . . I had a really good time, Nikolai. Thank you.”
Nikolai pulled the shirt over his chest, amused at how it was clinging to him, as well as Henri’s gaze. “It’s . . . I mean, yeah. I guess it was exactly what I needed.” He gestured at the bathroom. “I’ll just get dressed, and the shower’s free.”
“Sure. Absolutely.” Henri sat down on the bed, folded his hands in his lap, and waited while Nikolai headed back to mop up what water puddles remained and put on the rest of his clothes. He checked that everything was in place, including the comb and the shower gel. He then left the bathroom to Henri and walked downstairs, just a bit tempted by the large bed with the much larger mirror.
He settled on the couch, caught a whiff of that sex smell, and moved to the other side—to evade the temptation, maybe, put this behind himself. He flipped through the TV channels, not actually seeing anything and with no intention of watching anything anyway, then glanced at the Blu-ray discs stacked in a white wood tower in a corner.
The bookshelf was crowded with books—from novels to popular science, biography, lots and lots of management theory and self-improvement literature, which struck him as odd, seeing as Henri really didn’t need to improve. Large coffee table books on the bottom shelf, with titles such as The Male Nude and collections of photographers such as Mapplethorpe. Extensive collection of artsy naked shots.
He looked up when he heard the bathroom door clap shut, and just a few moments later, Henri sauntered down the stairs, loose-limbed and frankly too attractive for his own good. That nonchalance about him never failed to impress Nikolai. Confidence with a slightly ironic flair, as if he was and wasn’t taking himself seriously at the same time.
Henri stepped off the stairs, wearing the tailored trousers and a comfortable-looking dark gray pullover that had to be cashmere or some other expensive wool. He looked steadier on his feet, too.
“Drink?” he asked. “I have a smooth Polish vodka.”
Nikolai shook his head. “I think I’m about ready to turn in. Do you have a taxi number?”
“You could stay here.”
“I’d just fall into bed now.” That was an escape route and nothing else, but he wasn’t quite ready to think through what had happened and what it meant, and some part of him was really worried about how the evening had gone. Probably the part that was loyal to Ruslan.
Henri nodded, got his phone from the kitchen, and ordered a taxi, voice perfectly pleasant.
He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket, turning around. “Should be with us in fifteen.”
“Thanks.” Nikolai leaned forward and looked up at Henri.
“One thing I’m curious about, Nikolai.”
And why did Henri keep saying his name? Was that a trick from his Perfect Management for Natural Leaders books?
“And that is?”
“Why did you touch me?”
Because it was hot. God, it was hot, the whole sweaty, powerful, thrashing mess of a man. “I didn’t think. It seemed like the nice thing to do.”
Henri laughed. “It was that. Nice. Unexpected. You’re a giving guy, gentle and strong. You can’t imagine how alluring that makes you.”
“I’m typical ‘best friends’ material for all my exes . . . Somewhat self-defeating, I guess. Women do like assholes.”
“They like to fuck them, but they settle and have kids with a nice guy.” Henri sat down next to him, within reach, but allowing him plenty of personal space. “Sounds like you’ve just been unlucky so far.”
“It’s a mixed bag. I usually end up in physical relationships that break down when I’m moving on. I travel a lot. I used to move a couple times a year, and did that for a long time. Australia one month and Scotland the next, and then some rig in Nigeria. I can’t just uproot a woman and make her follow me. Few have quite that much of a taste for adventure. So we stay together while it’s good and move on when, well, when I move on.”
“But you’re no longer on the rigs.”
“No. But we’re currently mostly in Armenia. Unless I’m traveling to beg for an investment, that is.” Nikolai shrugged. “Maybe once the company’s doing all right. Once all the work takes shape. Right now, I don’t have the head for settling down.”
Henri touched his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not exactly a shining example of that myself. But then, I don’t have any aspirations beyond taking over.”
“Married to the job?”
Henri laughed. “Well, same-sex marriage is legal here. Though I’m not sure what gender LBM is, exactly.” He squeezed Nikolai’s shoulder. “Call me if you want more of this.”
“More of . . .?”
“Sex, or talk, or both. There’s a whole weekend ahead of me, and I have to do some reading, but otherwise I’m free.”
More sex. This again. Or something else. It was tempting, all of it. “I might just do that.”
“Please do.”
The same electric current came back when Henri smiled at him and briefly touched Nikolai’s hand. Then the doorbell rang, a rich, deep three-tone that struck Nikolai as old-fashioned. “There’s your taxi. Thanks for getting my car back in one piece.”
That sounded like another bit of flirting; Nikolai found himself grinning as he got up. “That was probably the hardest part of the evening.”
Henri followed him to the door. “Glad to hear it.”
Nikolai kept his soiled clothes in a tight roll under his arm and went to find the taxi. He felt weak but refreshed. What a difference a friendly encounter made, even if the guy in question was probably going to collude with the enemy (or was one of the enemies himself) trying to take his company away.
“I think we’re going to get screwed,” Nikolai said around a mouthful of bacon covered in maple syrup. Something about the combination was totally wrong, yet oh so right. Canada always tried to feed him like he was a lumberjack, and where the English went for a kebab when they’d been out drinking, his Canadian friends went for the heart-stopping poutine, which was harder to rustle up in Toronto than other places he’d been to in Canada. But he liked the dish and would definitely try to get his hands on some before heading to New Zealand and his health-obsessed father.
Tamás looked up from his scrambled eggs. He’d gone without maple syrup, to the very mild and friendly disapproval of the waitress, who’d rightly pegged them as tourists. “What do you mean?”
“I think the old guy’s a shark.”
“And the young guy? You went out to dinner with him. What came of that?”
Well, he ended up giving me a blowjob.
Nikolai chewed and swallowed. “I’m not sure he matters. I assume he’ll play ball with his uncle, if they are going to take control.” He rubbed his face. “It’s weird. I’m not even sure how to explain to Ruslan what went on. It’s just a feeling I have. It’s not even real, you know? Just a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
Tamás pursed his lips. “Ruslan always trusts your gut instinct.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s usually right, too.”
You’re some kind of two-legged precious metal detector, Kolya, aren’t you?
Ruslan liked to think of him as part mascot and part guy whose gut feeling about a drill was usually right. Maybe he was just lucky-guessing. Considering that his gaydar was absolutely awful, his sixth sense seemed terribly arbitrary.
“Anyway, if you want to do anything in the area until we meet the elder LeBeau . . .”
Tamás shrugged. “I might do some shopping. Relax.”
“Sounds good. We’ve worked damned hard for way too long.”
“And the company’s paying.” Tamás winked.
“There’s that.”
After breakfast, with Tamás off to explore the city, Nikolai settled in a café around the corner with his laptop and answered emails. He wrote one to his father, who might already be wondering why on earth he’d heard so much from Nikolai recently, but hey, being at loose ends in a foreign city refocused his mind on things he’d pushed away or ignored for the sake of day-to-day stuff. And there was another email. Talk about family. His mother.
Nikolai, you need to call Anya.
That tone was too commanding and urgent to be ignored for long. He grabbed his phone and dialed his sister’s number. No answer at home (which was odd—usually her wife responded), so he called her cell phone, aware that he was stretching his luck. As a doctor, she just didn’t respond very often.
But, to his amazement, she answered. “Krasnorada.”
“Here, too. Hi Anya, how are you doing?”
“Nikolai? About time you called. Where are you?”
“Canada. On business.”
“Right. Fine. I was just catching a nap. I’m on a nasty shift here in the hospital. Just a moment. I’m grabbing a fresh coffee.”
“We can make it short if you should be sleeping.”
“I can’t really sleep. Been tossing and turning. Next asshole who disturbs me gets a scalpel between the teeth.” She meant it, too, he could tell from her voice. Anya was as fierce as their father had been in his youth, and downright scary. Luckily she was on the “good side,” as she called it. She only made people bleed to save their lives.
Nikolai cleared his throat. “So, Mother asked me to call you. What’s up?”
“I need you to call Lizabeta.”
He sat up straighter. “What happened?”
“She walked out on me. With our son.”
Oh, this was bad. This wasn’t just family stuff, this was a family meltdown, core and all. “She walked out on you?” Sounded a bit like the dove wrestling free from the hawk, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Liz had always appeared pale and meek and utterly gorgeous, and it was pretty clear that Anya was the guy in the relationship, though she’d elbow him and tell him there was no such thing as a guy in a lesbian partnership. Emphasis on thing.
“Why did she walk?”
“She thought I had an affair with a colleague.”
“Did you?”
“That’s beside the fucking point.” Okay, so she had. At which point Lizabeta walking was perfectly understandable. She liked being bossed around and being the wife behind the red-hot trauma surgeon, but even she didn’t like being cheated on. He was tempted to call her to congratulate her on having found her spine and her pride on the same day.
“What is the fucking point, then?”
“Don’t mock me,” Anya snarled. Good for her patients that they usually had bigger problems than the temper of the surgeon saving their lives. Trauma medicine was probably the only place where somebody like Anya could be tolerated.
“Okay, sorry. I’m having a tense situation here. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Talk to her.”
“I barely know her. I don’t think we’re close enough that she’d listen to me—” His sister responded with a snort of icy disdain. “Okay,” he tried again. “What do you want from her?”
“Joint custody. If I can have Szandor to myself, even better.”
“I’m not convinced you have enough leverage there. I mean, Szandor is biologically not yours, and I’m not sure Hungary or Poland recognizes same-sex marriage.”
“That’s where you come in,” she informed him coolly.
“Oh no. No, no, no. No.”
“Oh yes,” she countered. If they’d been fencing, this would be a series of attacks driving him along the piste with willpower and impeccable, merciless technique alone. He’d never told his father (or mother) why he’d given up fencing. Well, getting bruised and scared and constantly beaten on the piste by his much more talented older sister definitely had something to do with it. “Do I have to remind you of your involvement?”
“And we all signed a contract beforehand that says I have no responsibilities and am not liable. I still have my copy, and I’m holding you to it. It was weird enough to act as the donor and impregnate your wife, Anya; I’m not going to fight for custody over a child I barely know and have no space in my life for anyway. And you don’t have time for him either, so do the decent thing and let her go, and ask nicely, and maybe you’ll get a few weekends and a holiday. Why on earth can’t you let her move on when you’ve clearly already found somebody else?”
“You mean that?” Her voice was so cold he could have been sitting right underneath an A/C vent.
“Anya, it’s . . . listen. I know you hate losing, and I imagine it’s a blow, but just get over it. It’s basically your fault.”
“Nikolai.”
“Um, yes?”
“I fucking hate you.” She severed the call, and he sat there, stunned. So much for trying to get any kind of sanity from his sister. He tried to dial her number again, but nobody responded. Typical. She had her head so deep in denial only her toenails were sticking out. If he had the vaguest idea about Lizabeta, the mild-mannered woman had reached the end of her tether, in more senses than one, and sending him to put pressure on her wasn’t nice. Nor would it work.
With a frustrated sigh, he closed his laptop, paid his bill, and left the café, suddenly too restless to stay around and talk to family members who were all in different time zones. He’d mull this over, and by the time he met his father, he’d be all right with it, or at least have calmed down.
He ended up wandering the city, looking a
t buildings and people, soaking up the atmosphere of a bright blue day that could have been either spring or fall. But try as he might, he couldn’t get into the holiday feeling of being in a foreign city with nowhere to urgently be. He went to the Royal Ontario Museum, browsed the shop for something to bring Vadim, and pushed the thought of Anya’s kid out of his mind. With Lizabeta gone, it was entirely possible he’d never see the boy again. And it wouldn’t be fair to Lizabeta to impose on her. At the end of the day, it was absolutely her child. She’d borne him. Was raising him.
Still, he was restless, even with things to look at and even though he struck up short conversations easily—at the ticket counter, or with an elderly couple who mistook him for somebody working in the museum, which led to apologies and then a lovely little chat about where they were from and when he’d arrived. He tended to like people. It was family he struggled with. And, come to think of it, business meetings with multi-millions and more at stake.
He returned to the hotel in the afternoon, plugged his laptop in, and was trying to decide where and what to eat (and whether he should bother Tamás) when his phone rang. Unknown caller. So probably not his sister eager for revenge.
“Krasnorada?”
“LeBeau, the harmless one.”
Nikolai laughed. “Not really, but go on, Henri, what can I do for you?” If you can’t beat them, join them. He could be smooth.
Henri paused, quite possibly surprised. “I was more thinking what I can do for you.”
And you thought you were smooth, Nikolai? Blood rushed south at the timbre of Henri’s voice. Not quite a purr, but with plenty of promise. “Ungh. Damn.”
Now it was Henri’s turn to laugh. “That was easy. I was all concerned about how I should bring up the topic, what excuse to use, but the fact of the matter is that I’d like to see you again, under non-business circumstances.”
Deal. Nikolai sat down. “Dinner?”
“There’s a fantastic Greek place not far from where you are, and it’s casual. The mezze are to die for, and light enough to leave some potential for a little exercise later.” Henri was definitely cranking it up now. This had to count as an audio-based striptease. “Maybe I’d let you fuck me.”
Gold Digger Page 4
