Page 22 of Ascendent
Have I ever told you how hot you look in a tux?
Fuck, it was a good thing he was alone. Ilya and the scientist had moved off, their heads together, grinning. Gunda was nowhere to be seen. Sasha slinked toward the wall, staring between the phone and Sergey. What the fuck should he say? Flirting was as alien to him as Gunda was, as Svetlana’s seductive slink and purr. He didn’t know how to do these soft things, these gentle things. Sergey moved and breathed fire and passion. Sasha was the wall of ice Sergey’s blazing heat crashed against. Would he tire of Sasha’s frigidity? Would Sasha’s frozen core bank Sergey’s fires?No, melt me. Please, melt me.
[ You look better. ]He finally typed.[ The whole country agrees. ]He sighed. He’d gone straight for patriotism. So much for flirting back.
That movie was ridiculous.
Anatoly Petrogorov, a man about ten years younger than Sergey, played the hero, the president. He’d been the sulky action hero for Russian films over the past decade. His movies were short on dialog, big on action. InPresident/Insurgent, there were the obligatory shirtless scenes: Anatoly, in his low-slung jeans, fighting against the traitors caught unawares, and, of course, the ravishment of the sultry Svetlana in their hinterland hideout.
In real life, Sergey, flat on his back on theUSS Honolulu,writhing in Sasha’s hold, had been far, far hotter.
[ You were more impressive than Anatoly was. ]
Oh please.
[ More attractive too. ]
Sasha watched Sergey chuckle at the bar as he accepted a tumbler of whiskey. Mikhail took the glass and sipped it first. He waited. Passed it over. Sergey downed a healthy swallow as Mikhail’s eyes swept the ballroom again.
Mikhail’s gaze landed on Sasha. He nodded. Looked away.
[ Where is Svetlana? She seemed taken with you. ]Sasha had wanted to pry her delicate fingers from Sergey’s elbow, push himself between her perfume and Sergey’s rakish grin. She was the most attractive woman in Russian film, and Sergey was the country’s most eligible bachelor.
And Sasha hid in the curtains. His belly button clenched.
I introduced her to Ostrovsky. He owns diamond mines in Sakha Republic. That seemed more Svetlana’s interest.
Sasha spotted the oligarch Oleg Ostrovsky dancing with Svetlana beneath a glittering crystal ball and twirling rainbow lights. Her arms looped around his neck, and his lips brushed over her thin shoulder. Her head tipped back, laughter falling from her as her diamond necklace sparkled.
There’s only one person I want to dance with here.
He shifted, scratching his forehead with one finger as he downed the rest of his champagne. At the bar, Sergey sipped his whiskey and eyed Sasha across the room.
Waves of ice crashed and roiled in Sasha’s stomach.
[ We can’t. ]
Not out here.
Sasha frowned.
Go to the bathroom. The one behind the lobby.
Four glasses of champagne were three and a half too many. His caution tried to protest, but the hungry part of him, the side that had been watching Sergey from the shadows all evening long, leaped at the offer. Sergey, the sun in his sky, could melt some of this ice inside him. He could free Sasha. He pocketed his phone, glanced once at Sergey, and headed for the hotel lobby. He felt Sergey’s eyes on him, felt their weight burn into his shoulders.
The Ritz was swanky enough to have foreign contractors in to repair the war damage almost immediately. Plush carpet absorbed his quick steps. Marble tiles rose overhead, soaring to the painted ceilings, where crystal-bedecked chandeliers gleamed. Gold staircases rose in duets over the lobby, curling toward the mezzanine. Sasha passed everything by, heading for the dark hallway behind the main stairwell.
He didn’t know what to do in the bathroom. Was Sergey on his way? What were they doing? He paced, one hand rubbing his forehead, the other on his waist. This was stupid. He should—
“One moment, Mr. President. We will check first.” Mikhail’s deep voice sounded through the bathroom door.
Sasha turned to the sinks, started washing his hands. He stared at the water, at his shaking fingers. So cold, he was so fucking cold all of a sudden. Would the water freeze as it poured over his fingers? Mikhail walked into the bathroom, poked his head into every empty stall. Surveyed the ivory and cream marble, the gilded mirrors. His gaze traveled right over Sasha, right through him. He stepped back to the lobby. “All clear, Mr. President.”
“Thank you.” The door pushed open.
Sasha’s eyes flicked to the mirror. He watched Sergey step in. Shut the door behind him.
Turn the lock.
