“Why aren’t you?”
“Christmas karaoke and technicolour shots aren’t my style. I only came to buy them a few drinks for their hard work today. I was happy to see them go.”
It pleased Sacha more than he was ready for to learn that he had Jonah all to himself, that they were alone, even in the crowded bar. He tipped his vodka down his throat and ordered another, along with a rum for Jonah. “Let’s sit. It has been a long day.”
Sacha took Jonah’s arm and steered him through the bar. It reminded him of the ball and the night they’d met, but this was Farringdon, not Mayfair, and an altogether different crowd. The pub was dark and sticky, decked out in tacky plastic for the festive season, not the regal gold of the Dorchester, and Sacha liked it just as much. Only the growl of his belly made him long for something else.
They found a couch in a quiet-ish corner and huddled together out of a necessity that Sacha enjoyed. Jonah’s leg pressed against his and they were close enough that an inch more would mean a kiss.
Sacha’s lips tingled. He blamed the vodka, drank more, and asked Jonah banal questions about his work that neither of them cared about.
For a while, Jonah appeared to humour him, but his roaming fingertips said something else as they danced on Sacha’s thigh, leaving fire in their wake.
Sacha fought the burn, and zeroed in on Jonah’s anecdote about the reality star FG had used in the campaign they’d created for a rainbow condom company. “It was crude, really,” Jonah said. “But if you understood that, you weren’t the target audience.”
“You were targeting stupid people?”
“No, more those easily influenced by shiny images on social media.”
“And where did your “celebrity” fall on such things?”
Jonah laughed, soft and low. “I’m not altogether sure. He was too busy chatting up Nico.”
“Nico? The computer man with the tattoos on his neck?”
“That’s him. I think he would be a better model than anyone we’ve ever hired, but he’s too shy about stuff like that. He’d literally rather die.”
“I thought he was straight,” Sacha said absently, not bothering to deny that he’d noticed how attractive the tall computer geek was when he’d found himself hunched over his laptop that morning, hacking into FG’s secure portal.
Jonah snorted. “Yes, well. We know how that goes, don’t we? Is anyone ever anything until they meet their person?”
“You think there is a person out there for everyone?”
“Maybe. Ask me another day. All I know for certain right now is that you, today, were some kind of angel for me.”
“An angel?”
“Yes. I need to repay you. What do you want, Ivanov? What can I do for you?”
Sacha glanced at the long, elegant fingers still tracing patterns on his leg. You are already doing it, luchik. “I am hungry,” he said. “I had four slices of krendel this morning, but it is not enough for what I have in mind for you later.”
Jonah smirked. “Okay, let’s unpack that. What’s krendel? Am I saying it right?”
“No. Not even close, but to answer your question, it is the fruit bread I saw you eating this morning. Is Russian Christmas food.”
“It’s divine.”
“I know. It is the only thing my mother ever cooked.”
“She’s a bad cook? I can relate to that.”
Sacha shook his head. “She was not bad, but my father’s mother was better, so she never got the chance.”
“You’re speaking in past tense. She’s dead?”
“Yes. Long time now.”
“I’m sorry. Without the rum, I might’ve phrased that better.”
“What would be the point of that?” Sacha drained his glass and set it on a nearby table. “She would still be dead.”
Jonah flinched. “Yes, but perhaps I could’ve asked more gently.”
“My point stands.”
“Only if you want it to.”
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever you want.” Jonah finished his drink too. He leaned in, but stopped a hairsbreadth away from kissing Sacha, uncertainty flickering in his warm gaze.
He wants to kiss me.
I want to kiss him.
Sacha had feelings on public displays of affection, but with Jonah so close he forgot every sensibility that had ever crossed his mind. He forgot about everything except how it might feel to cup Jonah’s neck and press their lips together.
After all, he’d kissed Jonah everywhere else.
Sacha’s eyes grew heavy, as if a smog of desire had settled over him. He took a breath, leaned in, and—
“Jonah!”
Sacha jumped back, startling Jonah as much as the shriek of his name had. He gripped Jonah’s shoulder, holding him in place, searching for the source. For a moment, there was nothing and he feared they’d imagined it. That their combined subconscious had objected to what Sacha already knew was going to be the best kiss of his life.
Then his gaze fell on a wild-eyed FG staff member who’d become Helga’s best source of gossip. Her name was Winona? Maybe? He couldn’t quite remember.
“Jonah!” she called again.
Jonah rose from his seat, already reaching for his coat. “What is it?”
“It’s Carl,” she said. “He got punched.”
9
Jonah pushed through the crowds milling between the mellow pub and the rowdy bar next door. In the chaos, he lost sight of Winona and her raven hair, and panic clawed at his chest. He was younger than some of his staff—a lot of them, actually—but still felt a responsibility for them that made his stomach clench.
And Carl was among the few Jonah counted as friends. The thought of him being hurt made Jonah want to vomit.
Disoriented, he rose on his toes, fighting to see over the throng, but it was no good. He couldn’t see a thing, the Friday night bustle was too thick and he rocked back with a stagger.
Strong hands caught him. Steadying him. Sacha gripped Jonah’s shoulders and used him as leverage to conduct his own sweep of their surroundings. “Over there,” he said. “Come on.”
He towed Jonah on without waiting for an answer, elbowing a path through the masses until they came to a small clearing where they found Carl propped against a lamp post, blood dripping from a nasty gash in his scalp.
Jonah dropped to a crouch beside him. “What the hell happened?”
“Some arsehole put his hand down Winona’s pants. I pushed him away so he slammed a bottle into my head.”
“A bottle? Jesus.” Jonah put gentle hands on Carl’s face, tilting his head to inspect the messy wound. “Who did it? Where are they?”
Carl pointed beyond Jonah to another body he hadn’t noticed in a heap on the pavement. Nico stood nearby, arms folded, scowling as security staff tried to back him against a wall.
Jonah knew him well enough to join the dots. “Wow. Maybe you should’ve let Nico handle it from the start.”
Carl offered him a weak grin. “Maybe, but he wasn’t around, and the dude was already assaulting Winona, so I didn’t think.”