Had been flushed and breathless when Wesley had him boxed in against the bricks in the alley.
No, Sebastian hadn’t flirted with the waitress just now, but he might have been flirting with Wesley today. And if Sebastianwasinterested, Wesley would like nothing better than to pin him to the big bed in Shepherd Hall and show him another way they could spend their time in Yorkshire.
Or let Sebastian pin him down with some of that magic. Now there was a thought.
But, on the other hand, Wesley had pulled the man out of a blood terror. Perhaps it wasn’t flirtation so much as Sebastian now seeing Wesley as some kind of gallant rescuer. Perhaps it was just a bit of hero worship.
Perhaps he was seconds away from throwing himself into Wesley’s arms in heartfelt, clinging gratitude.
Wesley loudly cleared his throat. Sebastian looked at him, startled.
“Just bringing both our minds back to the present.” Wesley nodded at Sebastian’s untouched plate. “Are there pork pies in Puerto Rico?”
That got Sebastian talking, some of the tension finally leaving him as he told Wesley about some of his childhood favorites, pasteles and mofongo and rice with pigeon peas.
“Intriguing.” Wesley cut into his fish with his knife and fork. “I’ve never had anything like that.”
Sebastian was finally eating too. “This is my first pork pie,” he said, dipping a piece in the gravy on the side.
“I see what you’re doing, trying to be polite about my lack of experience,” said Wesley. “Except you’ve been in England only months, and I’d wager you’ve gamely tried many of our regional cuisines. Whereas I’ve lived for years only a stone’s throw from London’s restaurants, yet I’ve tried almost nothing.”
Sebastian tilted his head. “You can always wake up one morning and decidetoday is the day I try something new.”
“Out of the question,” said Wesley. “I don’t change.”
Sebastian’s lips quirked up as he picked up his drink. He’d opted for tonic water, not an ale like Wesley.Alcohol makes paranormals lose control of their magic,he’d explained, which sounded either terrifying or intriguing, depending on the paranormal. “You don’t change?”
“Never,” Wesley said firmly. He sat for a moment, then huffed. “You can see how well that’s worked out for me, with my hordes of admirers and lovers.”
Sebastian’s eyes softened. “No one needs a partner to be a whole person.”
“Oh, shut up,” Wesley said, although not harshly, because somewhere along the line he’d discovered he didn’t want to be harsh with Sebastian. “That’s the kind of thing someone says when they could have their pick of partners at any time. I refuse to listen to a handsome man pretend he understands what it’s like to want to find someone when no one can tolerate your presence.”
Sebastian opened his mouth, probably to protest that he wasn’t handsome, which he was, or offer another platitude, which Wesley wouldn’t listen to. He held up a hand to cut Sebastian off. “It’s for the best. I’m a terrible partner.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Sebastian coming to his defense perversely made Wesley all the more determined to convince him of how awful he was. “The day I heard you in that antiques shop in New York, do you know why I was there? Because I had sailed all the way to America to try and win a lover back.”
“Isn’t that a gallant gesture?”
“Maybe from someone else,” said Wesley. “But I only wanted them back because they were attractive and fit conveniently into my life. Then I got to New York and discovered my ex-lover had found someone else, someone genuinely in love with them. And I’m happy for them, because they deserve that. I had treated them no better than a quality accessory, or a well-tailored suit, so you see, I’m no good for anyone.”
But Sebastian shook his head stubbornly. “Not every man would share his bed to keep another man’s demons away.”
Wesley huffed. “You’re looking at me through your rose-colored glasses again—”
“I’m not,” Sebastian said, cutting Wesley off with flattering passion. “You are being mean about yourself when you have been kind to me. You offered me comfort, and you kept my blood terrors away, and I think you’re—”
He snapped his mouth shut.
“You think I’m what?” Wesley pressed. “And if you try to saytallagain, I might have to thrash you.”
Sebastian bit his lip.
This would never do. Wesley had to know the sentiments Sebastian kept stopping himself from uttering. “Say it in Spanish, then I won’t understand what it means.”
Sebastian hesitated, then said, “Creo que eres el brujo, porque cuando estoy contigo, recuerdo como ser libre.”
