Page 7 of Close Quarter
"Rhys Matherton." It was the only thing he could say to the man who stood too close, the man Rhys wanted to stand even closer. If Rhys's name brought any recognition, Vasil didn't show it.
Rhys wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed, but damn, the man was hot. He had changed too, from dark gray to a black pinstripe suit that looked as if it had been tailored straight onto his trim form. A tie that swirled with the muted colors of sun and fire.
Silas nodded to the waiter. "Vasil."
"May I get you something, Mr. Quint?"
"More of that scotch I never had the chance to drink would be lovely." He slipped the fifty-dollar bill out from under Rhys's fingers. "Mr. Matherton has been so kind as to offer to pay for it."
The waiter, Rhys noted, was trying very hard not to laugh. "And for you, Mr. Matherton?"
"Nothing."
"He'll have the same," Silas said.
The waiter paused for a moment, then nodded. "Two scotches. Right away."
Rhys cleared his throat. "I don't really like scotch."
"You will after tonight." The smile that came after those words was wicked.
Rhys noted that Silas had yet to remove his hand from Rhys's back. Mostly because he felt Silas's thumb drawing little circles through his coat and shirt. He might as well have been naked, such was the effect.
God, this man was like a drug.
The waiter returned and placed two scotches in front of Silas. Only then did the hand at Rhys's back drop away. Silas took one glass and handed the other to him. "Cheers."
Rhys knew enough to swirl the glass slightly and sniff before sipping. The burnished liquid smelled of wood and sin. He drank and then waited for the burn, but it didn't come. This scotch slid down his tongue and vanished. He stared at the glass. "What is this?"
"A very good, very expensive single malt scotch," Silas said. "Someday I might even teach you to drink it properly."
Rhys felt the room sway, hoped it was the boat, knew it probably wasn't. "Someday" implied more than he wished to think about at the moment.
He was more than a little surprised by the words that came out of his mouth. "I'd like that."
"Yes," Silas said. "I'm sure you would."
Rhys's cock stiffened. Would everything this man said set him on fire? He took a deep breath, then another sip of the scotch, then spoke. "Would you let me apologize for dumping a tray of drinks on you?"
A dark laugh. "You already have. I rather enjoyed that."
The mere thought of that encounter in the hall threatened to tent his pants. Rhys took another shaky sip of scotch.
Silas lifted his glass. "And now you've compensated me for my ruined scotch. I'd say that sets things aright."
An even playing field. Rhys licked his lips.
"Now what?" The question came out as a whisper.
He both hoped and feared the answer.
Silas set down his drink. Took Rhys's from his hand. "You take a break from the scotch while I fix your tie."
Fix his tie? Before Rhys could protest, Silas had loosened the knot below his throat and started tugging at it. In short order he had it undone completely and set about retying it.
"You don't wear a suit often, do you?"
"No." How was it that no one else in the bar noticed what was happening? No one even looked their way. "Not that often."
