smacking foreheads with John. Despite himself, John laughed at the absurd disruption. Ravishan looked much less amused. They both jerked back into their seats at the sound of the driver unlatching the door.
“We have arrived at the Ivory Bower, sirs,” the driver informed them.
Ravishan scrambled out of the carriage. John gathered up their packs and followed him. From the way the driver stood expectantly beside the open door, John surmised that tipping was expected in Nurjima just as much as in any cosmopolitan city.
He paid the driver and quickly followed Ravishan into the palatial grandeur of the Ivory Bower. Marble blossoms festooned the exterior of the towering hotel and inside sprays of exotic southern flowers perfumed the grand entry.
Throughout the process, Ravishan avoided John’s gaze and seemed strangely nervous about standing near him.
As an impeccably dressed footman showed them up to their rooms and then walked them through, Ravishan hung back, absently shredding the petals of a red lily that he’d plucked from some vase.
John hadn’t seen him snatch it, but Ravishan was fast and here flowers seemed to be abundant.
Beyond the ornate vases bursting with blooms, the rooms also boasted a silken master’s bed with a servant’s cot at the foot, a private tub, and an expansive view of the city streets all lit up and shining in the darkness like strings of jewels spilled across black velvet.
Once the footman—who had walked them through the amenities of their suite with the air of a sommelier handing a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite over to two hillbillies—had accepted his tip and departed, John locked the door and took a moment simply to observe Ravishan in these new surroundings.
He stood near the large window that overlooked the street but didn’t show any real interest in the view. Instead, he lowered his gaze to his hands. Discarded lily petals lay abandoned at his feet. He stole a glance at John and flushed ever so slightly as he realized that John was regarding him in return.
“I think that footman suspected us of stealing the money to rent this suite.”
“He accepted his tip readily enough,” John replied and Ravishan gave a fleeting smile.
John moved to Ravishan’s side. Ravishan watched him with dark, expectant eyes. John couldn’t remember him seeming this nervous…except that first night they’d met in Candle Alley. Flower blossoms had perfumed the air then too.
Though now, John could hardly think of that narrow alley without immediately remembering the heat of Dayyid’s blood on his hands—the dead body at his feet. John instantly pushed the memory from his thoughts.
He was alone with Ravishan. That was all that mattered right now.
“Come to bed with me?” John asked.
Ravishan lifted his dark eyes to John for just a moment and his entire face flushed.
“Yes,” Ravishan whispered, but he seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. John caught his hand gently and drew him back from the window. Ravishan’s hand trembled, just slightly.
He was probably as nervous as he was excited about this, John realized. What experiences Ravishan had had with sex had most likely been limited to furtive, anonymous groping in a dirty alley. And at least once it had ended with a murder. The thought tempered John’s own desire a little.
He stopped at the bedside and kissed Ravishan once gently, reassuringly. Ravishan returned the kiss slowly, as if just awakening to the idea of pleasure.
“It’s going to be all right,” John whispered to him. “In fact, it’ll be lovely. I promise.”
“Even if I’m a clumsy oaf who nearly knocks you unconscious trying to kiss you?” Ravishan hid his face against the curve of John’s neck.
“You didn’t come close to knocking me out.” John had to fight not to smile. “There aren’t many ways I’d rather get a bruise.”
“I don’t know how…not with someone like you.” Ravishan sounded almost miserable and John realized that he
“We have arrived at the Ivory Bower, sirs,” the driver informed them.
Ravishan scrambled out of the carriage. John gathered up their packs and followed him. From the way the driver stood expectantly beside the open door, John surmised that tipping was expected in Nurjima just as much as in any cosmopolitan city.
He paid the driver and quickly followed Ravishan into the palatial grandeur of the Ivory Bower. Marble blossoms festooned the exterior of the towering hotel and inside sprays of exotic southern flowers perfumed the grand entry.
Throughout the process, Ravishan avoided John’s gaze and seemed strangely nervous about standing near him.
As an impeccably dressed footman showed them up to their rooms and then walked them through, Ravishan hung back, absently shredding the petals of a red lily that he’d plucked from some vase.
John hadn’t seen him snatch it, but Ravishan was fast and here flowers seemed to be abundant.
Beyond the ornate vases bursting with blooms, the rooms also boasted a silken master’s bed with a servant’s cot at the foot, a private tub, and an expansive view of the city streets all lit up and shining in the darkness like strings of jewels spilled across black velvet.
Once the footman—who had walked them through the amenities of their suite with the air of a sommelier handing a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite over to two hillbillies—had accepted his tip and departed, John locked the door and took a moment simply to observe Ravishan in these new surroundings.
He stood near the large window that overlooked the street but didn’t show any real interest in the view. Instead, he lowered his gaze to his hands. Discarded lily petals lay abandoned at his feet. He stole a glance at John and flushed ever so slightly as he realized that John was regarding him in return.
“I think that footman suspected us of stealing the money to rent this suite.”
“He accepted his tip readily enough,” John replied and Ravishan gave a fleeting smile.
John moved to Ravishan’s side. Ravishan watched him with dark, expectant eyes. John couldn’t remember him seeming this nervous…except that first night they’d met in Candle Alley. Flower blossoms had perfumed the air then too.
Though now, John could hardly think of that narrow alley without immediately remembering the heat of Dayyid’s blood on his hands—the dead body at his feet. John instantly pushed the memory from his thoughts.
He was alone with Ravishan. That was all that mattered right now.
“Come to bed with me?” John asked.
Ravishan lifted his dark eyes to John for just a moment and his entire face flushed.
“Yes,” Ravishan whispered, but he seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. John caught his hand gently and drew him back from the window. Ravishan’s hand trembled, just slightly.
He was probably as nervous as he was excited about this, John realized. What experiences Ravishan had had with sex had most likely been limited to furtive, anonymous groping in a dirty alley. And at least once it had ended with a murder. The thought tempered John’s own desire a little.
He stopped at the bedside and kissed Ravishan once gently, reassuringly. Ravishan returned the kiss slowly, as if just awakening to the idea of pleasure.
“It’s going to be all right,” John whispered to him. “In fact, it’ll be lovely. I promise.”
“Even if I’m a clumsy oaf who nearly knocks you unconscious trying to kiss you?” Ravishan hid his face against the curve of John’s neck.
“You didn’t come close to knocking me out.” John had to fight not to smile. “There aren’t many ways I’d rather get a bruise.”
“I don’t know how…not with someone like you.” Ravishan sounded almost miserable and John realized that he
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