The man approached Dima, holding out a bottle of wine, enough for Dima to smell his slightly sweet, mostly spicy cologne. He had an instant flashback to where he’d last smelled it: all over Lizzie before he licked her, relished her wet arousal. His blood surged.
Dima took the wine. “Thanks.”
“I hope it’s decent. My sister said it was.” Paul shrugged. “Lizzie?”
“She’s still getting ready.” The hiss of the pipes turned off as if on cue. Lizzie would be soaking wet, dripping from her shower. Dima stirred the smallest pot on the stove. “She seems to feel a need to dress up for you.”
Paul’s smile lit deeply wicked places. Along with his buzzed blond head, the man’s bright and shiny grin topped off his perfect American image.
“I’m certainly not going to object.” Paul eyed the rest of the apartment. “Nice digs.”
A couple quick flips set the burners on low. The food could simmer a while. “Here, let me show you the rest.”
There was something strange about showing another man his territory, especially knowing Paul would be inside Lizzie in an instant if she gave him the nod again. The nod that she’d failed to give Dima. Maybe that should have bothered him more. Maybe he should have been more worried. He only regarded it as a step. A challenge. Their world was changing. He couldn’t imagine that process would be easy, but nothing they’d tried together ever was. Yet they triumphed.
The key word was together. That was becoming harder to define when their goals were so opposed.
“My sister and I live together too,” Paul said as they drifted through the dining room. “Saves on rent. This city’s a hell of a lot more expensive than Corpus Christi.”
Dima allowed himself to smile. “Lizzie and I haven’t needed to room together for a long time. We simply prefer it that way.”
“Old habits die hard?” Blue eyes flashed. Paul’s grin turned impish.
The growl building in Dima’s throat was held back by pure will. The man made him sound as if he were some old T-shirt yet to be discarded in the Goodwill pile. He held down the surge of emotion. Paul didn’t know the depths he’d wandered into by stepping into their domain. Hell, even after so long, Dima had moments where he was just trying to keep his head above water. Keep up with frantic Lizzie.
“More like, once a person finds a good partnership, breaking it up is foolish.”
Paul’s gaze flicked over him in a look that was pure hunger, enough to take the edge off Dima’s surprising possessiveness. Paul was novel and, better still, he was a hot-as-hell distraction. Dima’s forearms stiffened with the urge to reach out and grab.
The bartender pivoted on a boot heel and shoved his hands in his back pockets as he walked away. “I’m not looking to break anything up. I like my life easy. If that’s what you’re worried about, you might as well let it go.”
“I’m worried about nothing.” Dima could hear that his words came out clipped, heavy with accent.
Wide shoulders shrugged. “Fine. No harm, no foul.”
They stepped side by side through the archway into the living room. Dima found himself looking at the small room with new eyes. If they all congregated here after dinner, how would they arrange themselves? The couch was comfortable for two, but three would be a squeeze. Especially if two were men.
Dima didn’t think he’d mind. Having Lizzie pressed between them, so close that every lovely inch of flesh crushed against him, provided interesting possibilities.
Paul wandered to stand before a bookshelf. Damn, his ass looked good in those jeans. The perfect size and shape to fill Dima’s hands, but there was no telling what his opinion might be. On the spectrum of sexuality, sharing an armful of woman wasn’t the same as fucking another guy.
Yet Dima would love to see that bright smile wrap around his cock. The intense sensation would force his hands to clench Paul’s skull. He looked like a man who’d take a little roughness—like it, actually.
Paul touched a four-picture framed set. “These you two?”
Lizzie had put the display together from pictures of their performance at the Vancouver International. Though Dima had been beyond pissed that they’d come in second for no discernible reason, he hadn’t been allowed to stew. He absolutely hated it when they fell short of his goals. Lizzie had practically brained him with pictures until he’d been able to see that yes, they’d had fun doing that dance.
The four she’d eventually chosen were of three poses and a lift, taken by a professional photographer hired for the event. Lizzie’s hair had still been dark brown. The silver beaded dress she wore had been so low-cut that she’d needed flesh-colored meshing and tape to hold her breasts in place.