Page 20 of Close Quarter
"I don't like leaving my life up to fate." Rhys kissed Silas's hand again and inhaled the spicy scent of his flesh. "What can I do to help you?"
Silas looked up at the glass roof. Creases marred his forehead. "You said there was a bar here? In this garden?"
Rhys pointed through the palm trees. "Far end."
"If you wish to help me, remain there until I return." Silas released Rhys's hand. Traced a finger down his throat. "Please."
Though the garden was warm and moist, Rhys felt a chill work down his spine. "How long? What if you don't come back?"
"Until first light." Only that answer.
A stone formed in Rhys's stomach. Business during the dark hours, something that could kill Silas.
"God, are you hunting--"
Silas pressed two fingers against his lips, cutting off the final word.
"Stay here until first light." A sharp expression accented the long lines of Silas's face.
It wasn't desire, though. Rhys had seen that often enough tonight to know. "I will come for you."
The fierceness of those words made Rhys's cheeks warm. Silas removed his fingers.
"Promise?" He whispered the word.
"On my honor." Silas stepped back. "Don't leave the garden."
"You damn well better explain all this."
Silas took another step away. "Over coffee."
He placed his hand over his heart. "Another pledge."
"I'll hold you to that, if I have to tie you down to get the truth."
A flash of teeth. "I have something to look forward to, then."
"Your pal Horace would be horrified.
Looking forward."
Silas laughed. "Probably. He could be such an ass sometimes."
Rhys froze. Did Silas just say--Another wicked grin from the man.
"Tomorrow," he said. Then Silas turned and strode down the path and disappeared from sight.
Gone.
Damn, he hated the emptiness that took hold, fought the instinct to follow Silas.
Bar. He could use a drink. Rhys set about buttoning his shirt, retying his tie. The fall of his jacket covered his partial erection for the most part.
The Tropics Bar was quite the happening place, it turned out. Most of the tables were occupied. All the discreet nooks under the palms were taken, not surprisingly, by couples.
The burble of a water fountain underscored the playing of a jazz pianist. The air smelled sweet, sensual, but not as vibrant as it had when Silas had been in his arms. Or in his mouth.
Rhys took a seat at the bar. He even knew the waiter who stepped over to serve him.
