Page 59 of Close Quarter
The man glanced back and froze.
His lips parted slightly, and his pupils widened, darkening his brown eyes. An expression close to worship crossed his face. "Oh my God."
Silas rewove the glamour around his body.
"The promenade?"
The gentleman blinked rapidly. "What?" He looked back at the button panel. "Oh. Yeah, it's pressed." He gave Silas another look. Then inspected his own shoes for the rest of the ride.
Some fae enjoyed holding humans in their thrall. Silas never had. Take away the will, the mind of another, and what did that make you?
But that little moment? Oh, that he had enjoyed.
Silas drew circles around the small of Rhys's back. He'd only seen that godlike adoration on Rhys when he'd rammed his cock into him. Never just in passing.
He dropped his hand to stroke Rhys's ass, not caring that both women could see the act.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened on the promenade deck. The man scooted out of the car.
The other of the two women chuckled. She wore a blue-and-black tea-length gown, and her short hair had been bleached white. She entwined her fingers with those of the first woman and raised them for Silas to see. "Whatever you did, thank you," she said. "He looked mortified."
In answer, Silas offered them a small shrug and a wide smile. The women exited the car.
Silas nudged Rhys forward. "This is our deck as well." He steered Rhys toward the Sea View restaurant.
"Okay," Rhys said. "You made your point. He certainly didn't want to screw you. It was like he'd just seen an angel."
Silas chuffed. "Angels cause quite a different reaction than fae."
Rhys shook his head once but said nothing more. Silas let the silence continue, let Rhys digest what he had seen, what he had learned.
On large tables near the window, sunlight turned the china to gold as the maitre d' showed them to their table for two in the center of the dining room. Only when their server had taken their orders, poured water, and brought Rhys a steak knife did Rhys speak again. "They don't mind you being gay, the angels?"
Rhys might not be entirely human, but he had certainly been shaped by them--and by Americans at that. "I don't have a particular compunction about sex with women. Men provide different challenges, different expectations." Silas ran a finger around the top of his water glass. "If the Messengers have an issue with that aspect of my nature, they have never mentioned it."
Rhys stared at him. "You're bi?" A hint of uncertainty touched his voice.
It was always this way with humans. What type? How many? Who? All the questions another fae never asked because they understood. "Fae love and take pleasure with whomever the spirit moves us to."
Rhys looked down at his silverware. "It must be nice." Anger there, bitterness.
Silas had seen that too, many times, but not that deep fear that Rhys held underneath. Rhys was waiting, Silas realized, for Silas to discard him.
That would not happen. Not now. "Seventy times seventy years, Rhys. If you'll have me."
It took a bit of time for Rhys to look up.
"You're serious?" Hope flushed his cheeks, honeyed his voice.
"Very." Silas reached across the table and took Rhys's hand.
"Why?"
Love, Silas wanted to answer, because in many ways hehadbecome True Thomas, unable to lie to Rhys.
The word never made it past his lips. It caught when his throat closed, when his breath failed to come, when his blood turned to ice, then burned.
Anaxandros had walked into the restaurant.
