I’d long forgotten my earlier irritation at being a pawn in the PR game and let myself enjoy being somewhere special with someone I admired and yes…lusted after.
Serious lust.
I could honestly say I’d never been more aware of another human being in my life. We sat across from each other at a tiny bistro table on the Southbank with our knees touching and thigh to thigh at a pub a few hours later, sexual tension humming between us like a vibrator stuck on an impossible-to-ignore setting. No joke. I was a man on the verge of sexual combustion. I felt a little better knowing I wasn’t alone in this.
Seb watched me when he didn’t think I’d notice. I felt his gaze on me when I scrolled through messages on my cell or studied the tomb of a knight who’d died five hundred years ago. Sometimes, our eyes would meet and we’d share an awkward smile before moving on again.
Don’t get me wrong. We weren’t a couple of schmoopy teenagers by any means. On the contrary, I think we actively resisted the pull between us. We bickered about silly things like exchange rates and which way to turn at a roundabout. Which, quite honestly, was me being an asshole. Seb’s success proved he was better at money than me and he knew this city well.
“This menu is the same as the pub we were in earlier,” I commented, studying the worn paper menu.
“It’s a chain.” Seb tucked his reading glasses into his pocket and twisted in his seat from our corner window at a small pub to glance at the line forming at the bar. “We have to get in line to order food. What would you like to eat?”
“Um, I’ll try the beef pasty this time. I don’t know what a sarnie is.”
“It’s a sandwich.”
“You have no idea how mortifying it is that I tried to impress you with a British accent when we met,” I deadpanned.
Seb snickered. “That was funny.”
“Hysterical. How often do you come to Europe?”
“A few times a year. It depends on our filming schedule. I spend more time in Toronto than any other location, but last year we filmed in Iceland, so I popped over to London before or after each visit. I love it. Maybe it’s our shared language in a mix of hundreds of others I don’t know. It’s familiar yet different. Do you know what I mean?”
He slid his forefinger along the condensation on his glass as he spoke. Damn, I wanted him to do that to me—his finger tracing the column of my throat, hand cupping my neck while I licked his lips and— Oops. I shifted on my seat and fixated on the menu again, willing my dick to behave. I couldn’t get in that line rockin’ a boner, and it was definitely my turn to pay. I pointed at the verbiage above the “Pasty” selection.
“Yeah, like spelling. Here’s an example…the word favorite. They add a ‘u’ just because. It’s like no one ever told them they’re doing it wrong,” I joked.
Seb chuckled. “I read somewhere that we changed the spelling a couple hundred years ago in an effort to be different.”
“Americans.” I sighed derisively.
“I know, right? I’ll order. I’m hungry. Want another lager?”
“Yeah, but I’m buying. It’s my turn.”
“Thanks. I’ll have the beef pasty with chips too.”
“It comes with chips,” I reported, making no effort to move.
“Great.” He waited a beat, then cocked his head. “The line is getting longer. What are you waiting for?”
I motioned below the table. “Boner alert.”
Seb snorted. “Seriously? Here?”
“Yeah, it’s your fault. Quit it with those porn finger moves. You’re killing me,” I grumbled.
He glanced at his half-empty glass and circled a digit around the rim. “This gets you?”
“It does,” I rasped. “I’m in bad shape. Maybe it’s jet lag. Or maybe it’s you.”
Seb held my gaze for a long moment, took one last slug of lager, and pushed away from the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
We sprint walked to the hotel and rode the elevator with a talkative couple from Seattle before calmly stepping onto our floor. I started toward my room, pulling my key card from my pocket. But Seb had other ideas. He slipped his hand in mine and steered me down the hall.
Maybe this was a minor detail in the grand scheme of things, but holding hands with a man was a new one for me. I wasn’t big on PDA in any form, and I’d never run into it with a man. This was only minorly public, yet it felt significant. If anyone happened to see, I wouldn’t have let go. I didn’t care if anyone noticed that my hand drifted to his waist when he opened the door or that I stood impossibly close to him, whispering dirty sweet nothings into his ear.