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His eyes flared. “I didn’t count the time I tried kissing you when I was in college. I was hardly a man at the time. Or so you said.”
My face heated. I needed to get out of his room. Immediately. “And I was right.” Even though it remains the most beloved kiss in my memory because it was you.
“Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t a question but a command, and I longed to yield to it.
“No, thank you. Have a good evening, si—Iggy.” I’d almost called him “sir,” something I refused to do anymore…
At least outside of my fantasies.
I nodded awkwardly and left. When I made it safely into my own suite again, I let out a breath and clenched my hands into fists.
Why was he doing this? Why come here? Why ruin my great escape? For all his wealth and privilege, my Iggy had never been a spoiled brat.
He’s also never been a liar.
I pushed that thought away. He couldn’t possibly mean the things he was saying.
Could he?
I thought of the question I hadn’t had the guts to ask Iggy when he’d tried to prove how well he knew me:
What would I do for love?
The answer was as wide as the ocean and as vast as the wild lands surrounding us as we raced through the South African night.
5
IGGY
He wasn’t unaffected by me.
I twirled the thought through my mind as I made my way down the long, hushed corridors of the train to the dining car.
Jon’s hands had trembled as he’d held my cuffs. His cheeks had flushed as they always did when he stood close. And the scent coming off his warm skin was the cologne I’d given him for his birthday last year.
He didn’t believe I wanted him. That was the problem. He thought I was tagging along on his adventure from a selfish desire not to lose my valet.
It still stung like a bastard that he could misunderstand me so badly, but I could be patient.
It wasn’t like I had a choice.
When I arrived in the dining car, I was taken to a table for two. The uniformed server removed the extra place setting with a sympathetic frown—just in case I hadn’t felt pathetically lonely already, thanks very much—and I was halfway through my first martini when Jon walked past my table to the one ahead of mine.
I couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him, something I’d consciously tried not to do in the past. I hadn’t wanted Jon to feel uncomfortable, to see my longing for him and be unable to return it. In fact, I’d made a conscious effort not to speak to him much at all of late, to distract myself with other things and people as much as I could. I hadn’t wanted to give him a reason to leave.
See how well that’s worked out?
The server who sat him went through the same place setting removal and welcome spiel, leaving him sitting directly in front of me. Also alone.
“This is ridiculous,” I told his broad back. “Come sit with me.”
Jon’s body stiffened until his shoulders were by his ears. “No.”
“We’ve shared a thousand meals together.” A thousand easy conversations where we’d talked each other’s ears off, losing time telling each other stories or asking each other challenging questions about life and the world. “Why not one more?”
He stretched his head from side to side without responding.
“You know, Banks… I can help you with that tension problem of yours,” I said, unable to help myself. Wanting to get under his skin the way he currently lived under mine. “Anytime. Just knock on my door. Day or night.”
He didn’t reply. Meanwhile, my words conjured a vision in my head, and I knew I’d be up all night wondering how easy it would be to break the lock on Jon’s door and slide into bed beside him.
“Great, now you’re a creep,” I muttered to myself.
I took another healthy swig of the martini and wondered how long it would take for the server to bring the bottle of wine I’d ordered.
“If only I’d brought my phone,” I said a bit louder. “If only a certain arsehole hadn’t trained me that it was bad manners to bring my phone to dinner.”
“Live in the moment,” Jon had said. “Be present.” But I didn’t want to live in this moment if I couldn’t talk to him or see his face.
“Wonder what that arsehole would say,” I mused, “about the etiquette of not responding when someone is speaking to you.”
Jon sipped his water calmly, and the bubbling cauldron of want and need in my gut threatened to boil over.
“Fuck this.” I threw my napkin on the plate and shoved my chair back. I’d ask the server to send my dinner to my suite instead.
“Oh, for god’s sake, Iggy,” Jon said, turning around at last. “Come sit here, then, if you’re going to be an idiot about it.”
