Page 21 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

“Well, it kind of trashed my life at that age. Not that she didn’t deserve to live her own life too, but just about everyone we knew turned on her and Sarah.

My dad was the worst of all. I came under attack at school from a score of homophobic bullies.

That stress made my stutter worse, which in turn increased the bullying.

And so on … I’ve never been out. Not after I lived through that fallout as a young teen.

I know I’m in a metropolis now. I know I should be, and all that’s behind me and my family is a world away. It’s just … It’s still hard.”

“You’re certainly out now, like it or not.”

Noah glanced at him. “After what I just said?”

Timo frowned. “After moving in here. Everyone at work thinks we’re sleeping together.”

“Oh, that. Funny, but I haven’t heard a single whisper to that effect. In fact, when I walk to my desk or into the kitchen lately everyone smiles and goes quiet or talks about their trades.”

“Shouldn’t they be smiling and talking about trades? I do like to provide a good working environment.”

“No, you like to yell at people and tell them that if they were being paid by the brain cell they wouldn’t earn enough in a year to get dinner out of a vending machine.”

“Have I said that?” Timo appeared genuinely surprised.

“Or fire people on the spot who have lost you money several days in a row even though they might have made good traders if you’d given them a fair chance.”

“The world’s not made of chances, Noah. It’s made of opportunities that are waiting to be captured by the man out front after the flag drops.”

“You’ve told them to leave me alone, haven’t you?”

“Who?” Timo asked innocently.

“The whole Wolf Pack. I got here on Monday, now it’s Thursday night. Not a word.”

“Isn’t that nice. Must have a few brain cells after all.” Timo smiled. “Dessert? I got you a treat.”

“If it’s made of leather or rubber I’m not interested.”

“I wish you would drink more often. It brings out your natural sense of whimsy.”

“It’s only making me more likely to say what I’m thinking. Speaking of which, I can’t believe you just used the word ‘whimsy.’”

“Me too, now that you mention it. Next thing you know I’ll be collecting cat figurines and admiring pictures of other people’s grandchildren.”

“Based on tonight, you’re halfway there.”

“Noah? I have heard of a phenomenon in the States known as a sundae bar.”

Noah meditatively scratched his throat with one finger. “I think a lot of bars are open on Sundays.”

Timo sighed. “Why don’t you stay there?”

Noah, however, followed him into the kitchen to load the dishwasher while Timo got out their dessert. Noah’s motor skills were fine after only two glasses, but he did finally feel relaxed sharing the space with Timo, which must be a sign of profound inebriation.

While Noah cleaned up from dinner, Timo laid on a spread of pints of organic Yorkshire ice cream in three flavours, roasted salted pistachios and crushed almonds, salted caramel sauce and warm chocolate sauce, chocolate biscuits for crumbling, real whipped cream that he must have whipped earlier and had in a glass dish, macerated strawberries, and whole fresh cherries.

Noah had never seen Timo eat anything like ice cream. Timo didn’t even eat a biscuit with his coffee in the kitchen. But he happily asked Noah to show him how one made an American sundae, as if they didn’t have such things over here, and Noah, much to his own shock, greatly enjoyed doing so.

* * *

“You can’t just sit there in silence.”

“I’m not translating the whole movie for you —”

“Why not?”

“Watch the original if you care.”

“You shouldn’t lose your Russian.”

“I should.”

“There! What’d he say?”

“How can I tell when you’re talking over the dialogue?”

“I’ll be quiet.” That lasted thirty seconds before Noah was laughing again. “That is the best voice. Like a Russian Chris Hemsworth. No wonder you were disappointed when you heard them speak for themselves.”

“I told you we had the finest voice talent.”

They were on the couch, each at one end, Noah’s blankets smoothed out like a slipcover. Timo’s sundae dish was empty and set aside while Noah was still scraping out the last of the pooled chocolate and strawberry, so distracted by the movie Timo had found online, he ate slowly.

“Another glass?” Timo offered.

“Ginger tea?” Noah couldn’t drag his attention from the TV. “But I’ll get it. You stay here and tell me what they’re saying.”

“Talking over the talent isn’t the point of the film.” Timo stood. He whisked both glass dishes to the sink, not about to let Noah be the one to get the tea because Noah would again sit at the wrong end of the couch.

It made Timo’s heart pound, having to listen to all that spoken Russian, giving him flashbacks of breaking with his Moscow employers not so long ago, finally severing ties.

An old colleague had approached Timo at a London conference last July and started addressing him in Russian. Timo had nearly punched the man, but settled on grabbing a lapel.

“We’re in England,” Timo had growled into his face. “Address me in English or leave me the fuck alone.”

Timo had been pleased when the man chose the latter option.

Now this. It was a proverbial question, wasn’t it? What wouldn’t we do for love? Tonight, Timo was pushing the matter to extremes and still hadn’t found out.

He leaned across Noah when he returned to rest Noah’s mug on the coaster on the end table. So it made sense to sit right next to him, Timo naturally falling into place almost touching.

He feigned both his smile and his interest in the film, only to find that Noah, although buzzed, wasn’t devoid of attention.

Noah edged away and found nowhere to go. “You promised hands off.”

“Unless you say otherwise. That’s right.” Beaming at him, Timo displayed his own hands-off hands above his lap, just happening to frame his crotch to direct Noah’s attention as he looked at them.

“I didn’t say otherwise.”

“I’m not touching you. But how can I translate for you if I’m all the way at the other side of the couch and have to shout to be heard?”

Noah glanced past him to the far arm of the couch a few feet away. He looked at Timo, their noses inches apart, while Timo beamed with adoration.

Noah’s gaze skated across Timo’s face, eyes to lips and back, his own face flushed. He looked away.

“I … don’t think …”

“Noah —”

“Bathroom.” Noah scrambled up.

Timo sat back, chin tipped to the ceiling, jaw clenched. He swore fluently under his breath to help relieve his feelings. Not that he could. What would relieve his feelings was finding out that Noah had only gone in there for lube.

Timo had been doing perfectly. He’d asked some of the 36 questions that allegedly made people fall in love. He’d gazed deeply into Noah’s eyes. He’d been light-hearted, indulgent in treats and silly dubbed movies, not overbearing. He’d mostly moved away, not closer, allowing Noah to follow him.

He’d taken an interest; he was listening to bloody Russian for Noah’s sake.

Timo failing? This couldn’t be possible.

No, keep it together. This had been the first day.

Reciprocal love and the other guy taking the first steps for physical contact might take, oh …

two or three days? Did it? That was a lot of days.

Even more when he looked at it as hours.

The few times Timo had found himself involved in an emotionally romantic relationship had started the same way he’d kicked off purely physical relationships.

This whole “talk first, sex later — maybe” bullshit was about to lead him straight into an early grave because he was going to suffer a breakdown from the stress long before Noah figured out the part he was playing in this drama.

Run away for the dog to chase you; run away, run away, run away.

Fuck it.

Timo banged his head on the back of the couch.

He couldn’t do this. If Noah slept here one more night while keeping apart from Timo, Timo was the one who needed a hotel room.

He could run a marathon and tackle Snowdonia on a bike and slay a bear with a knife if he had to.

He could turn a pound into a million on oil trading with his eyes closed and read the market like a wolf reads an injured deer.

He could not get through another night two rooms away from Noah.

One hand over his eyes, happy visions of intercepting Noah in the hallway flooded his mind.

Noah had called him a liar, right? Might as well justify the claim.

He could pin Noah to the wall, kiss him, melt him, slide fingers down his trousers.

Noah would cave — had to. In half a minute he would be begging Timo for more.

Timo bunched his free hand into a fist so as not to open his own fly.

He had played nice, given Noah a fair chance.

It wasn’t Timo’s fault if Noah couldn’t see what a good thing he had here.

What next? If this was going to take dozens of hours, he really should get himself a hotel room.

What about both of them in a hotel? What if being on Timo’s home turf was what made Noah so uncomfortable?

Then again, Noah had always been uncomfortable around Timo. Just Timo’s personal power, he supposed. He couldn’t help it if he was a force of nature.

How could he put the weekend to best use? He likely had social engagements, but never mind. He’d tell Spencer to cancel all of them because he and Noah would be busy — “Timo?”

Timo jerked his head around to look over the back of the couch.

Noah was on the far side of the kitchen, empty-handed. “Is your phone in your room? Something’s buzzing.”

Something was buzzing all right.

Timo sat forwards, elbows on knees, hunched into a ball for a moment. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll … check it.”