Noam punched the button for floor 12.
Lehrer’s was the only door on that floor, because of course it was. Noam knocked.
The sound of footsteps on a tile floor, and the door swung open.
Lehrer was in civilian clothes, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows and his collar undone. His gaze slid down the length of Noam’s body, taking in the disheveled uniform and blood-smeared face, but he stepped aside to let Noam in all the same.
The penthouse was ... massive, like the ground floor of someone’s fancy house, all gleaming mahogany furniture and fresh flowers in crystal vases, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a clear view of downtown Dallas. Noam didn’t bother pretending not to stare; he twisted his head to take it all in, from the perfectly carved wall molding to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“I told them I wanted a single room,” Lehrer commented; Noam glanced back as Lehrer shut the door by hand, a dry smile twisting his lips. “Nevertheless, they insisted.”
“It’s very ...”
“Ostentatious?”
“I was gonna say obnoxious.”
Lehrer snorted and stepped farther into the suite, Noam frozen in place as he drew closer. Lehrer’s fingers pressed into Noam’s cheek, thumb curving under his jaw, and Lehrer tilted Noam’s face toward the right.
Could he tell how Noam’s breath went cold in his lungs? How Noam’s skin felt too hot under Lehrer’s touch?
He’d drawn his Faraday shield back up on the plane—but he’d been exhausted, drained. What if it wasn’t enough?
“I wish you would’ve cleaned this,” Lehrer said, and one finger slid up to graze Noam’s cheekbone.
Noam sucked in a sharp gasp, a spark of pain flaring when Lehrer bore down. For one reeling moment he thought that wasLehrer—some sadistic punishment for walking in here covered in dust and mud—but when Lehrer drew his hand away, there was blood on his fingertips. Not the Texan’s blood, presumably.
“Oh,” Noam said, lifting his hand now to touch the laceration on his cheek. The flesh around it was bruised, throbbing. “I didn’t even notice.”
Lehrer wiped his hand on a nearby tablecloth, even though he could have evanesced the blood just as easily. “Do you want me to heal it?”
Once upon a time, Noam would have said no.Hadsaid no, wanting to preserve bruises as trophies of war. Now he just thought about the people he’d killed.
About the bruises on Dara’s thighs, the ones Noam had kissed.
“Yes,” he said.
Lehrer reached for him again, but this time his grasp was firm and intentional; a shudder ran through Noam as he felt Lehrer’s magic stitch through his torn flesh, doing the arcane work of regenerating cells and summoning lymphocytes to consume any early infection. When his fingers skimmed Noam’s cheek again, this time it was painless and smooth.
But Lehrer didn’t let go. Instead he curved that hand back around the nape of Noam’s neck and tugged him closer, leaning down to press a kiss to Noam’s lips.
Noam kissed him back, told himself it was just to maintain the illusion of interest—that there wasn’t some part of him that still grew warm thinking how easy it would be to skim his touch down from Lehrer’s waist to his narrow hips.
Noam was still trying to come up with a fresh excuse to stay out of Lehrer’s bed when Lehrer drew back. He brushed his thumb over Noam’s lower lip, that quartz gaze still fixed on Noam’s mouth.
“Go clean yourself up. You reek of death.”
Lehrer released him, moving away instead of closer—toward the bar cart, picking up a glittering decanter of scotch.
Noam’s heart was still a trapped animal hurling itself against his rib cage. He made himself inhale, one hand—his right hand, the one Lehrer couldn’t see—clenching in a fist.
“I don’t have any other clothes,” Noam said.
Lehrer turned toward him again, lifting that dram of whisky to his lips. He took a small sip, swallowed, then said: “I’ll have some delivered. They’ll be here long before we have to leave for dinner.”
Noam blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yes. With the Texan president and his wife and some of their cabinet members.” Lehrer lowered the scotch glass to hip level, finger tapping against its rim. “I’ve already told them you’ll be attending, in your official capacity as Atlantian representative.”
