One of the boys at our table overheard and sighed. “You lucky dog,” he said enviously. “I wish I could get my johns to talk to me that way.”
I smiled and patted his shoulder, but I could have burst with pride. This was my guy, not some john.
Wills, meanwhile, was oblivious. A waiter had come by with filled glasses, and he’d taken two. He selected a fresh peach from a bowl in the center of the table and sat down, sliding down onto his spine. I knew that under the table his legs would be sprawled apart, and I licked my lips, but the taste of his come had been replaced by the sharp bite of the mint.
“What are you planning?”
He grinned up at me through his lashes, picked up a paring knife, and sliced into the peach. It was plump and juicy, and the juice ran down his fingers. The first slice he dropped into my glass, the second into his, and the third he offered to me. I held his hand steady and licked his fingers, then bit into the slice. The juice dribbled down my chin.
Before I could try to catch the sweet drops on my tongue, Wills was there. He wrapped his hand around my neck, urging me close to him, and licked them off.
Someone behind us cleared his throat. “I’ve been watching you. As one of my last official acts, could I persuade you to join us as an escort?” Charlemagne was standing there, a slight flush on his cheeks.
“Sorry, Theo,” Wills apologized softly. “I forgot we weren’t alone.”
“He’s not for sale.” I squeezed the hand that he was just removing from my neck. “You wanted something, Charlemagne?”
“I’ve come to claim my dance.”
Wills straightened in his chair, reached for a napkin to dry his hands, then rose to his feet. “It’s almost midnight,” he said, apropos of nothing.
I gave a slight nod. Before the clock struck twelve, I’d have him back in my arms, where he belonged.
The band was playing old standards that offered the perfect excuse to hold that someone special close, and the dance floor was packed, but the crowd parted to let Le Roi and the man he’d chosen as his dancing partner step onto the floor.
I overheard various comments as I approached the crowded area.
“Who’s that with Le Roi?”
“He belongs to Sweetcheeks.” I was pleased to hear that. They’d know not to poach.
“What happened to Michael?”
“Who? Oh, the archangel from Halloween? Beats me.”
“I heard he was gone by the next morning.”
“Poor Charlemagne.” There was gloating in the commiseration. There were always two or three escorts in the running for Le Roi, and I recognized the speaker as one who had lost to Charlemagne. “That’s the second time that’s happened to him, isn’t it?”
“In ten years? I’d say that wasn’t bad.” It was the brunet security man. The blond was beside him, intently scanning the crowd. Comments faded.
I continued weaving through the couples. It wasn’t difficult to find my lover and Le Roi. There was a space around them, and people were nodding and murmuring in approval.
They did make a striking couple: about the same height, Wills with his dark hair and eyes, but very fair skin, and Charlemagne with his deep auburn hair, blue eyes, and equally fair skin.
I felt my brows snap together and my lips narrow into a grim line. Charlemagne had his hand on Wills’s ass. Wills was smiling at him, but I was close enough to see that his eyes were cold.
“I could be very good to you,” Charlemagne was saying. “Whatever Sweet…” Wills stepped on his foot, just hard enough to get the point across. “That is to say, whatever Theo is giving you, I can give you more and better.”
“I’m not interested. Now, take your hand off my ass Right. This. Instant. Or I will, and I’ll break every one of your fingers while I’m at it.” There was a hard quality to his words, but they were spoken quietly, and I doubted anyone else could hear them.
Charlemagne quickly moved his hand.
I tapped his shoulder. “Cutting in.” I bared my teeth at him in a faux grin.
“Fine. Thank you for the dance.”
“You’re welcome.”
It wasn’t going to look good if Le Roi of all the rent boys didn’t have a partner when the New Year was rung in. He’d probably have to settle for one of his own boys. I just felt so bad about that.
Charlemagne turned and started to walk away, but came to an abrupt halt. “Michael,” he whispered.
I gazed around to see who had caught his attention.
Coming toward us, dressed in a tuxedo so white it almost hurt the eyes to look upon, was the archangel from the Halloween Ball.
“I told you I would return.”
A fanfare from the band drew everyone’s attention from the two embracing men. Everyone faced the bandleader, who was looking at the clock. The countdown had begun.
“Our first New Year, Wills.”
“Yes.” He squeezed my hand, and though we counted along with everyone else, our eyes were locked on each other’s.
“Three. Two. One! Happy New Year!”
The ball dropped and confetti and streamers fell from the ceiling, balloons rose up from the floor. Cheers and laughter rang out, kisses were shared.
“Happy New Year, Wills,” I murmured and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft beneath mine.