“You never asked.”
Andy came the rest of the way down the stairs, but didn’t come much closer.“What are you doing here?”
Leonidas didn’t quite have an answer for that. “I was on my way to St. Jean-Pied-du-Port,” he settled for, which wasn’t a complete lie.
Andy’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders sagged. “Okay. Well.”
He shrugged and turned back toward the stairs.
“Andy, wait.” Leonidas reached out, stopping short of touching. This shouldn’t be hard. Why was this so hard? Even though he hadn’t been sold when he talked to Aeliana, it had sounded reasonable. It made sense.
“What?” Andy sounded tired, and he looked it. There were dark bags under his eyes, the only blemish on his otherwise smooth, white skin, and his clothes looked a bit rumpled. He looked as tired as Leonidas had felt.
“I wanted to see you.”
Andy’s expression softened, then steeled. “You’ve seen me.”
Leonidas winced. “I won’t beg you here, Andy, but can we please go talk somewhere private?”
The silence of Andy’s answer stretched on for longer than Leonidas would have liked, but he wasn’t in much of a place to do anything about it. He’d had almost a full week to think about what he’d done, how callous it had been for him to tell Andy no, how selfish it had been to just let him leave. They were strangers, that much was true, and the truest thing Leonidas knew about Andy was the way his face softened and relaxed when he came, but that had to be enough for now.
Another day.
He could have another day, then go on as he’d planned.
It didn’t matter that their time was finite, that they had a limited number of hours between them. He couldn’t leave it the way they’d left it in Paris. He didn’t want the spark of lust between him and Andy to be tainted with the bitterness of a miserable goodbye.
“Fine.”
Andy gave him a one word answer and turned, stalking back up the stairs. Leonidas jogged to catch up, knowing how overeager he appeared. He followed Andy to the top of the stairs and down a hallway to a door that looked as nondescript as the front of the hotel. Andy swiped his room key, muttering something indecipherable under this breath, then pushed he door open. He didn’t hold it, and Leonidas reached out, catching it with the palm of his hand before it clicked closed.
He slipped through and let it close behind him. The automatic lock engaged, clicking into place. Andy didn’t wait for him. He kicked off his shoes and padded barefoot deeper into the room. It was small, definitely not a suite, but there were two tall windows against the far wall and a king size bed with a mountain of tangled white sheets and blankets.
Leonidas dropped his hiking pack against the closet door in the entry and removed his shoes, then followed Andy to the window. Andy didn’t look at him; instead he stared out the window with his hands braced on either hip and his elbows jutting out in sharp angles.
“I hate it here,” Andy said.
“I know.”
“Do you now?” He turned, his mouth pulled into a thin line of disapproval.
“It’s too much like Paris.”
Andy took a deep breath and let it out, the tight stretch of his mouth softening only in the corners.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Leonidas shrugged a little helplessly, feeling nothing like himself. “I just didn’t want to leave things the way we did.”
“So you followed me to Bordeaux.”
“No,” he answered, maybe a little too quickly. He pulled his beanie out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed, then took a step closer. “No, but I made a small detour.”
“Should I be thanking you?”
He reached Andy, but stopped short of touching him, even though he ached to do it. Even angry, the electricity of their attraction sparked between them. The lust was nearly tangible, and the room was heavy with it.
“I like the way you make me feel,agape mou,” he said softly. “I like the games we played. I like the taste of your sweat.”
