Page 65 of Enemy of My Enemy

The actual dinner was elegant and understated. Sergey got a kick out of reading about each of the different sets of china at the tables, and Ethan sent Barbara and Brandt a double thumbs-up.

Sergey made small talk with Elizabeth, wit and verbal repartee bouncing back and forth between them like they were flirting, everything from pop culture to international politics being pilloried. Ethan and Jack shared bites from each other’s plates and traded sips of wine. Sasha sat silently across from Sergey and watched his president like a hawk.

Halfway through the dinner, Ethan nudged Jack to his feet. They circled the room, personally greeting and thanking thirty of the guests they had invited from their cards of support and congratulations. They posed for pictures and for selfies and came back to find Sergey recording their antics with a smile.

Barbara had hired a small swing and blues band, and after dinner, everyone moved to the East Room for dancing and more wine and champagne. Jack’s hands lingered on Ethan. His smile was a little broader, his eyes a little brighter. Warmth raced under Ethan’s skin, a gentle blurring of the world at the edges.

He and Jack led the first dance, swaying together and laughing as the cameras flashed.

“You did amazing,” Jack said, beaming as Ethan pulled him close after a spin. “This is perfect.”

He shrugged. “All part of my job.” He couldn’t hold in his grin as Jack threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Not too bad, though, huh?” He spun Jack again, pulling him close for a kiss after. Surrounding them, the guests were smiling, clapping, and radiant joy hung in the air. For the first time, being out and public with Jack feltgood. Really good. Like he wasn’t screwing everything up for Jack, and the world really was on their side.

Jack pressed his palm to Ethan’s cheek. “Not bad at all, love.”

They took a break after. Ethan snagged two flutes of champagne for them both. Jack made eyes at him as he sipped his, smoldering looks that went straight to Ethan’s cock.

They had a few hours left in the evening, but no one would miss them if they sneaked out for a quickie, would they?

Scott would no doubt shit a gold-plated brick, emblazoned with the Presidential Seal.

It would be worth it.

He was just about to grab Jack’s hand and whisk him away when Sergey appeared, slapping both of their backs and pulling them into another big hug.

“My friends!”

Ethan bobbled his champagne, but Jack was much smoother. He grabbed Sergey back with a smile. “Are you having fun?”

“This is too much fun,” Sergey said, pointing at Jack. “Too much fun for Americans like you. Only Russians can have this much fun!”

Jack rolled his eyes as Ethan spotted Sasha hanging behind Sergey. He smiled at the younger Russian.

Sasha looked like he was ready to bolt, cataloging exits and escape paths through the crowd.

“Mr. President.” Sergey made a show of straightening and adjusting his bow tie. He held out one hand. “May I have this dance?” He winked at Jack.

Jack’s jaw dropped. “Do you have any idea what the press will do with that?”

“It will be fantastic.” Sergey beckoned Jack again. Around them, people had started to notice. “We can take turns leading,” he said, trying to encourage Jack.

Jack looked at Ethan. Ethan looked back at him. “Go for it,” he said. “Give them something to really talk about.”

Sergey beamed at Ethan as Jack took his hand. “I don’t trust you, Sergey,” Jack chuckled.

“What? Me?” Sergey feigned shocked outrage, leading Jack to the dance floor. “We are allies! Partners! What is not to trust?” He stopped dead center on the dance floor and took Jack politely into his arms, one hand on Jack’s hip and the other gently holding his hand aloft.

Everyone stopped. Everyone stared. Sergey stepped off first, leading Jack on a fun, easy swing dance while the band played. Cameras flashed, and cell phones streamed the dance live to the Internet.

Ethan slid over to Sasha, standing stock still with his arms locked behind his back, his eyes tracking Sergey’s every movement. Even though he was Russian, and they were a stoic, hard people, Ethan had never actually seen someone look quite so dour.

He glanced back at Sergey and Jack. Sergey had stopped and changed position, letting Jack take the lead. Jack’s hand was on Sergey’s hip and he steered Sergey back across the dance floor, laughing at something he’d said.

“I know what it’s like,” he said, under his breath.

Sasha slowly turned, staring Ethan down.

Ethan nodded to Jack and Sergey. “I can tell by how you look at him. It’s how I used to look at Jack. Before.”