“I-I didn’t want that.”
“No? What do you want?”
His skin prickled with awareness, and his heart slammed in painful beats. “We should go back to the table.”
“We should.”
But neither of them made a motion to leave.
“I—” Words failed him when Spencer’s hand lightly gripped his nape.
“How long does it take before you let someone in? Days? Months?” Spencer touched his cheek, and the smell of his cologne and heat nearly shattered Wolf. “Years?”
Every nerve ending in his body screamed, but Wolf couldn’t move. His heart thundered, and he wondered if it was about to give out altogether.
“Do you want to let me in again? Is that what it’s about?”
At the first brush of Spencer’s lips, Wolf fought for control and held it together by digging his fingernails into the wall behind him.
“Is it?” Spencer’s fingers and lips left a trail of fire where they touched him, and Wolf panicked, while at the same time hunger for Spencer exploded inside him. “Do you want me?”
What the hell was happening? He couldn’t do this. Not again. Not now. He wasn’t drunk—there was no excuse or explanation this time, like he’d made up in his mind after the disaster in Milan. And Wolf knew if Spencer kissed him, it wouldn’t be like it was with Anthony. Once Spencer touched him, there’d be no stopping them until they got naked.
No matter how much he wanted it, Wolf couldn’t risk that.
“No. Get off me.” He shoved Spencer away, and they stood glaring at each other, chests heaving.
Spencer’s eyes glittered. An odd smile played on his lips, but he said nothing and walked away. Wolf sagged against the wall, wishing he’d never come. Earlier at home, dressing in the ridiculous outfit Spencer had sent him, a foreboding about the evening crept over him. He should’ve listened to his head, which told him nothing good would come of being in close proximity to Spencer.
Instead, he’d let his heart do the thinking, and it had played on their years of friendship and how hurt Spencer would be if he stayed away. And he didn’t want to be lectured by Elliot and Chess once again about their bad behavior toward each other, or how increasingly nasty their remarks had become over the years.
Wolf knew exactly when it had started. That one night.
That incredibly stupid yet beautiful mistake.
With his head finally on straight, he was confident enough to return to the table, where he intended to spend only a few minutes before making his excuses to leave, but it wasn’t necessary. Spencer was nowhere to be found, and his nervous stomach settled. He sat next to André, who slid a glass of champagne in front of him.
“So, who’s the new man?”
Wolf snorted. “Hardly. He was someone I met while out on a walk yesterday. We struck up a conversation and met for drinks. That’s all.”
“Where is he?” Chess peered over at him from André’s other side. “You should’ve brought him to meet us.”
Wolf sipped the champagne, wishing for something stronger. “There’s no reason.”
“But it’s the first time we’ve ever seen you with anyone.”
Why hadn’t he ever noticed how annoyingly persistent Chess could be? “And it’ll be the last with him.”
“You seemed to be getting along on the dance floor. He was certainly putting the moves on you.”
Heat rose to his face. “Can’t we find something else to talk about?”
A photographer came to their table. “Gentlemen, we’d like to take some pictures. You two first.” He pointed to Chess and André. “Come with me.”
They slid out of the booth, and Wolf breathed a sigh of relief now that the inquisition was over, but then Elliot scooted over to take their place. Win had left to talk to one of the security guards who was a cop moonlighting for extra cash, so it was only the two of them, and Wolf’s stomach sank. He was trapped.
Elliot nudged his foot. “You don’t look good. I get the feeling something happened when you and that guy—I can’t even remember his name—walked off the dance floor.”
