Gold Digger (5 page)

He pulled Henri closer for a moment, against his shoulder, and stroked his back. “Feel better?”

Henri groaned and nodded. “Much. Damn.”

Nikolai closed his eyes and held him, let his breathing calm down, but his weight got really uncomfortable in that position, so he nudged Henri to get up. Henri pushed to his feet, still wobbly, and looked down at himself—the crumpled suit, his semi-hard dick hanging out, his shirt splattered with cum. Nikolai didn’t look any better.

“Too bad I left my phone in the kitchen. I’d love a snap of that.”

Nikolai covered his dick with his hand. “Memory will have to be enough.”

“Yeah, well.” Henri pulled his shirt off, baring a sleek, defined upper body, and balled it into one hand. Of all the bare torsos he’d seen in the showers or on the beach, this was the first to fascinate him. “Want to stay around for a shower?”

Nikolai nodded and levered his boneless body out of the chair. He pulled his shirt off and the undershirt with it. He should have a shower to wash off that sex smell; might as well do it here.

“My God, a guy can dream,” Henri said.

Nikolai quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at his abs. “What, you have a blue collar kink?” One of his exes had helpfully informed him that he looked very much like a construction worker—but one from a sexy calendar, with the ripped abs instead of the potbelly. She was a lawyer and half her attraction to him had been about the fact that he looked rough and powerful. He wiped his chest with his undershirt, suddenly self-conscious of how he looked without even a vestige of the nice suit his father had chosen for him.

Henri pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking. He shook his head. “I just hadn’t expected quite that. You’re even more gorgeous out of your clothes.”

Nikolai shrugged. “You can take the guy out of the oil, but not the oil out of the guy.” He could still smell the crude and the drilling fluid, feel the constant vibration in his bones, and woke some nights with the sour taste of claustrophobia triggered by being trapped on a tiny speck of metal surrounded by absolutely nothing but ice-cold, steel-gray ocean hungry to devour and kill them.

Henri smiled at him. “The large bathroom is upstairs. Towels are on the rack. Blue is for guests.”

“Sounds great. Can I borrow a T-shirt from you for the ride home?”

“I’ll dig one up.”

“Awesome, thanks.” Nikolai headed up the stairs to the mid-level of the penthouse. A metal-framed bed dominated the space, large enough for three, and mirrors all along the wall—perfect for fucking and watching yourself fuck. He could imagine Henri with a guy there, or two, tousled, sweaty, and possibly taking it up the ass. Nikolai bit his lip. Maybe he could fuck him in there, watch his dick vanish in that trim body. He blew out a breath, disconcerted by how easily that idea had popped into his head and how persistently it clung to his mind. That was a great deal further along than he’d ever wanted to go.

The bathroom was an orgy of silvery-gray granite tiles and incongruously fluffy white bathmats and towels. On one bamboo rack sat a stack of dark blue towels, so he grabbed two of those and placed them strategically near the large shower encased by clear glass. This was the condo of a serious exhibitionist.

Nikolai stripped off the rest of his clothes, regarded himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. He didn’t actually look any different after this gay encounter than before it. Nothing had changed on the outside, and he wasn’t sure if anything had changed on the inside. He might even repeat something like this. He slid his fingers across his chest, down to his belly, tracing the line Henri’s tongue had taken. It had left no traces. Nobody could ever tell. Yet something had shifted in his mind. It had to have.

He stepped under the shower, started the water, and enjoyed the chill of the first blast, which then rapidly heated. He soaped himself down and washed, and a sense memory of Henri’s lips and mouth and throat made him shiver in the heat. Nikolai dialed the water down and grabbed the towel. He dried himself quickly, ran a comb through his hair, and put a towel around his hips before he opened the door.

Henri was standing topless in front of his open wardrobe, tailored trousers hugging his ass and thighs. He had a pretty damn nice set of shoulders, but the curve of his spine caught Nikolai’s eye. Henri straightened and glanced back at him. “You could cause a heart attack in that towel.”

“Sorry.” Nikolai grinned and rubbed his neck. “Got a T-shirt?”

“Yes, I was just digging for that.” Henri reached up to a shelf in the wardrobe and dug into a pile of clothes, then pulled out a red T-shirt made of flimsy fabric, something he might wear for jogging. He offered it, and Nikolai moved closer to take it. Immediately, a spark set off again, and he felt tempted to touch him. Remembered those lips around his dick.

Henri swallowed visibly. “I’m . . . I had a really good time, Nikolai. Thank you.”

Nikolai pulled the shirt over his chest, amused at how it was clinging to him, as well as Henri’s gaze. “It’s . . . I mean, yeah. I guess it was exactly what I needed.” He gestured at the bathroom. “I’ll just get dressed, and the shower’s free.”

“Sure. Absolutely.” Henri sat down on the bed, folded his hands in his lap, and waited while Nikolai headed back to mop up what water puddles remained and put on the rest of his clothes. He checked that everything was in place, including the comb and the shower gel. He then left the bathroom to Henri and walked downstairs, just a bit tempted by the large bed with the much larger mirror.

He settled on the couch, caught a whiff of that sex smell, and moved to the other side—to evade the temptation, maybe, put this behind himself. He flipped through the TV channels, not actually seeing anything and with no intention of watching anything anyway, then glanced at the Blu-ray discs stacked in a white wood tower in a corner.

The bookshelf was crowded with books—from novels to popular science, biography, lots and lots of management theory and self-improvement literature, which struck him as odd, seeing as Henri really didn’t need to improve. Large coffee table books on the bottom shelf, with titles such as
The Male Nude
and collections of photographers such as Mapplethorpe. Extensive collection of artsy naked shots.

He looked up when he heard the bathroom door clap shut, and just a few moments later, Henri sauntered down the stairs, loose-limbed and frankly too attractive for his own good. That nonchalance about him never failed to impress Nikolai. Confidence with a slightly ironic flair, as if he was and wasn’t taking himself seriously at the same time.

Henri stepped off the stairs, wearing the tailored trousers and a comfortable-looking dark gray pullover that had to be cashmere or some other expensive wool. He looked steadier on his feet, too.

“Drink?” he asked. “I have a smooth Polish vodka.”

Nikolai shook his head. “I think I’m about ready to turn in. Do you have a taxi number?”

“You could stay here.”

“I’d just fall into bed now.” That was an escape route and nothing else, but he wasn’t quite ready to think through what had happened and what it meant, and some part of him was really worried about how the evening had gone. Probably the part that was loyal to Ruslan.

Henri nodded, got his phone from the kitchen, and ordered a taxi, voice perfectly pleasant.

He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket, turning around. “Should be with us in fifteen.”

“Thanks.” Nikolai leaned forward and looked up at Henri.

“One thing I’m curious about, Nikolai.”

And why did Henri keep saying his name? Was that a trick from his
Perfect Management for Natural Leaders
books?

“And that is?”

“Why did you touch me?”

Because it was hot. God, it was hot, the whole sweaty, powerful, thrashing mess of a man. “I didn’t think. It seemed like the nice thing to do.”

Henri laughed. “It was that. Nice. Unexpected. You’re a giving guy, gentle and strong. You can’t imagine how alluring that makes you.”

“I’m typical ‘best friends’ material for all my exes . . . Somewhat self-defeating, I guess. Women do like assholes.”

“They like to fuck them, but they settle and have kids with a nice guy.” Henri sat down next to him, within reach, but allowing him plenty of personal space. “Sounds like you’ve just been unlucky so far.”

“It’s a mixed bag. I usually end up in physical relationships that break down when I’m moving on. I travel a lot. I used to move a couple times a year, and did that for a long time. Australia one month and Scotland the next, and then some rig in Nigeria. I can’t just uproot a woman and make her follow me. Few have quite that much of a taste for adventure. So we stay together while it’s good and move on when, well, when I move on.”

“But you’re no longer on the rigs.”

“No. But we’re currently mostly in Armenia. Unless I’m traveling to beg for an investment, that is.” Nikolai shrugged. “Maybe once the company’s doing all right. Once all the work takes shape. Right now, I don’t have the head for settling down.”

Henri touched his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not exactly a shining example of that myself. But then, I don’t have any aspirations beyond taking over.”

“Married to the job?”

Henri laughed. “Well, same-sex marriage is legal here. Though I’m not sure what gender LBM is, exactly.” He squeezed Nikolai’s shoulder. “Call me if you want more of this.”

“More of . . .?”

“Sex, or talk, or both. There’s a whole weekend ahead of me, and I have to do some reading, but otherwise I’m free.”

More sex. This again. Or something else. It was tempting, all of it. “I might just do that.”

“Please do.”

The same electric current came back when Henri smiled at him and briefly touched Nikolai’s hand. Then the doorbell rang, a rich, deep three-tone that struck Nikolai as old-fashioned. “There’s your taxi. Thanks for getting my car back in one piece.”

That sounded like another bit of flirting; Nikolai found himself grinning as he got up. “That was probably the hardest part of the evening.”

Henri followed him to the door. “Glad to hear it.”

Nikolai kept his soiled clothes in a tight roll under his arm and went to find the taxi. He felt weak but refreshed. What a difference a friendly encounter made, even if the guy in question was probably going to collude with the enemy (or was one of the enemies himself) trying to take his company away.

“I think we’re going to get screwed,” Nikolai said around a mouthful of bacon covered in maple syrup. Something about the combination was totally wrong, yet oh so right. Canada always tried to feed him like he was a lumberjack, and where the English went for a kebab when they’d been out drinking, his Canadian friends went for the heart-stopping
poutine
, which was harder to rustle up in Toronto than other places he’d been to in Canada. But he liked the dish and would definitely try to get his hands on some before heading to New Zealand and his health-obsessed father.

Tamás looked up from his scrambled eggs. He’d gone without maple syrup, to the very mild and friendly disapproval of the waitress, who’d rightly pegged them as tourists. “What do you mean?”

“I think the old guy’s a shark.”

“And the young guy? You went out to dinner with him. What came of that?”

Well, he ended up giving me a blowjob.

Nikolai chewed and swallowed. “I’m not sure he matters. I assume he’ll play ball with his uncle, if they are going to take control.” He rubbed his face. “It’s weird. I’m not even sure how to explain to Ruslan what went on. It’s just a feeling I have. It’s not even real, you know? Just a really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach.”

Tamás pursed his lips. “Ruslan always trusts your gut instinct.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s usually right, too.”

You’re some kind of two-legged precious metal detector, Kolya, aren’t you?

Ruslan liked to think of him as part mascot and part guy whose gut feeling about a drill was usually right. Maybe he was just lucky-guessing. Considering that his gaydar was absolutely awful, his sixth sense seemed terribly arbitrary.

“Anyway, if you want to do anything in the area until we meet the elder LeBeau . . .”

Tamás shrugged. “I might do some shopping. Relax.”

“Sounds good. We’ve worked damned hard for way too long.”

“And the company’s paying.” Tamás winked.

“There’s that.”

After breakfast, with Tamás off to explore the city, Nikolai settled in a café around the corner with his laptop and answered emails. He wrote one to his father, who might already be wondering why on earth he’d heard so much from Nikolai recently, but hey, being at loose ends in a foreign city refocused his mind on things he’d pushed away or ignored for the sake of day-to-day stuff. And there was another email. Talk about family. His mother.

Nikolai, you need to call Anya.

That tone was too commanding and urgent to be ignored for long. He grabbed his phone and dialed his sister’s number. No answer at home (which was odd—usually her wife responded), so he called her cell phone, aware that he was stretching his luck. As a doctor, she just didn’t respond very often.