Page 9 of Close Quarter
Dinner? "Why do I have the feeling you've already assumed I'd say yes?"
"Because I have. Because you will." Silas cupped his hand under Rhys's chin. "And because if you ask the right questions, you might get the answers you so desire."
Silas's grip was strong, his fingers very warm. Rhys resisted the urge to lower his chin and lick them.
"Yes, I'll go to dinner with you."
Chapter Three
Silas stroked the side of Rhys's jaw with his thumb before letting Rhys go. The American was dangerous, indeed. He saw straight through Silas's glamour. More interesting, though Rhys saw Silas's true appearance, he wasn't overwhelmed by it. Driven to lust, yes--that was easy enough to see. But he maintained control of himself.
Not exactly a human trait. But the manwashuman. Silas pushed aside his growing doubts and repeated that. Rhys had to be human, despite the soft flow of energy that came with his kiss.
A bold move. Unexpected. Enticing. Silas still tasted him, even through the scotch.
Apparently Rhys was the kind of man who gave as well as received. Silas's cock stiffened at that thought.
It had also been a test to gauge what was happening to the room about them. Smart move.
Bedding this man might be very interesting.
"Shall we, then?" Silas gestured toward the lounge entrance.
Rhys hesitated. "The scotch?"
"So you like it after all?" Silas guessed the answer but was rewarded by a touch of color in Rhys's cheeks.
"Yeah. I do." Rhys paused, then leaned close.
"You make everything taste better."
Even bolder.
Silas brushed his fingers against Rhys's throat and stole a quick taste of his lips. "We'll have to put that to the test sometime."
Oh, that flustered the man. Silas was tempted to skip dinner altogether, take the man to his cabin, and put that mouth to work. But the sunlight outside cast long shadows. He didn't need a clock to tell him night was approaching. After so many years, he felt sunset in his bones.
Rhys would be in danger then, if what Silas suspected was true. If such a thing could be true.
"As for the scotch, bring it along." Silas raised his glass and set off for the restaurant he had chosen. Rhys fell in step next to him.
It was a short walk from the lounge to one of the smaller and more upscale dining establishments on the ship. Soft light, golden accents, and crisp white walls gave the room a Greco-Roman revival feel, though most Roman eateries had never had marble quite this polished.
Silas gave his name to the maitre d', and they were seen to the table he had reserved a scant hour and a half ago.
That had been the first item he had attended to after his shower. The second had been to track down the manager of the lounge for Rhys's business card. His third stop had been the ship's library to access the Internet. The American came with an interesting personal history.
Rhys slid into the seat across from him.
A waitress took their order. Seafood Feuillantine for him, Chateaubriand steak for Rhys.
Once she had left, Rhys looked around.
"Wow."
Silas hazarded a comment about Rhys's past.
"Surely you've been in elegant restaurants before?
