Page 13 of Isaiah and Jameson
“Excellent. Thank you.”
“Holler if you two need me. I’ll be just out of eavesdropping range.” Diego winked. A coconspirator.
Isaiah garnered intense love, loyalty. He loved that. Looked like Diego was also a great judge of character, deciding to trust that Jameson had Isaiah’s best interests at heart.
“Thank you, Diego.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t harm him. I’ll feed you to the sunshine.”
“Naturally.” That sort of fierce faithfulness deserved respect, not defensiveness. When Diego left him, he turned to the sound system, which was state of the art about five years ago. Lovely. They could update later.
He found Isaiah’s playlists—the titles of hungry, lonely, bored made him frown, but he found dance and sex-me-up and dare-the-sun that tickled him.
So he played it.Come dance with me, love. Come on.
It took three songs before he saw the ballroom door crack open. Score. All he had to do now was meet Isaiah halfway without being super cheesy andDirty Dancing.
Isaiah crept around the edges of the huge, empty room, eyes huge and watching. “Jameson? You’ve turned on the house speakers.”
“I have. Sounds amazing too. Nothing like Marvin Gaye to set a mood.”
“It does, but you…you’re mooding the whole house.” Isaiah’s hair was down, and Jameson hadn’t realized how wild it was, how heavy.
“Is that bad? Did I distract you from something wonderful?” His fingers itched to touch.
“I was reading.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“What were you reading?” Jameson held out one hand.
“A-a book. Just a book.” Isaiah blinked at him, took his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Dancing with you.” Tugging Isaiah into his arms was the easiest thing ever. Isaiah blinked up at him, then smiled, fangs dropping down.
“Oh please. Thank you.”
Hello, beauty. Isaiah came right into his embrace, fitting as if they were born for one another.
“We’ll have to dance together in public, right?”
“We do. And I want to.” That seemed important to note. He wanted Isaiah already.
Isaiah smiled up at him, eyes catching the bits of light that leaked in from the open door. They moved together, slow and sure to the throbbing music. Isaiah was a natural, moving like the music was a part of him.
They swayed, and he hummed. He did love some Motown.
“You have a lovely voice.” The compliment warmed him all through.
“Thank you. I never know.” More than once he’d been accused of being annoying.
“About what?”
“Whether or not people like my singing. To some ears it’s a difficult frequency, I think.” Werewolves, for instance.
“Your friend wolf, hmm? I find it comforting.”
