7

Oh my God. It had nearly killed Ilya not to yelp, whine, gasp and howl through the whole suturing thing. He'd had to hold back some of those sounds before Julien had even started. Though he hadn't, had he? A splash of disinfectant and he'd wailed like a child. If Julien wasn't a doctor, why and how the hell had he learnt to sew skin? Was he a nurse? A vet? A taxidermist? Ilya sucked in his cheeks, but then skin was skin, he guessed.

He jumped when a bundle of clothes landed on the floor of the bathroom. The door closed again. He didn't know what to make of Julien. He'd said he wasn't gay but there was something about the way Ilya had caught him looking at him a few times… As if he was thinking…

Oh God. Just stop it. He's not bloody gay! Ilya was all too capable of seeing something that wasn't there, particularly with a guy who was so hot. Nothing wrong with that cliché ‘tall, dark and handsome' when describing Julien. The moment he'd seen him at the wedding, and that was long before the necklace had been lifted from his stepmother's neck, Ilya's heart had thumped. He'd tried to be careful not to be seen looking at any guy for too long, but Julien had been tempting, especially with those dark rimmed glasses, though they seemed to have disappeared. Maybe part of a disguise.

Ilya removed his shoes and socks, then struggled out of his wet jeans and underwear. He wiped the remaining red splodges of blood from his body with a wet cloth and once he was sure he wasn't going to mess up the towel, he dried himself.

This crazy attraction had nothing to do with Julien having rescued him, did it? Some twisted version of the Stockholm Syndrome with a dark-haired, blue-eyed knight in an Armani suit? Except Julien wasn't his captor. He wanted Ilya to leave. And I should leave. Except he didn't want to. He didn't feel up to leaving. Not yet.

Julien had stopped the other guy from killing him. Not only that but he'd brought him to his home, stitched him up…taken care of him. It had been a long time since anyone had been so kind. The men Ilya had been with had never shown him much, if any, affection, though he hadn't encouraged it because getting involved with someone was risky. Another reason why he'd rejected Arkady's advances, because Arkady wanted more than Ilya was prepared to give. He wanted a proper relationship. If Arkady had been tall and strong and not flirty, maybe Ilya would have taken a chance. But he wasn't Ilya's type. He was more like Ilya's fair-haired twin. They were similar builds and both mouthy.

Ilya was generally risk averse, but he'd taken a risk when he'd left the UK to live in Russia. That hadn't been a sensible choice in many ways but he'd been desperate to get away from his father's world. Hadn't worked in the end, had it? His father had reeled him back in.

Now Ilya was running and he hoped the line was broken. He'd always had a tendency to pretend he was fine when he wasn't. Pretend he didn't need a hug when a hug was all he needed. Pretend he was confident, when he wasn't. This last month had shown him how vulnerable he was. It had made him more nervy and that was scary. He didn't know if his attraction to Julien came out of overwhelming gratitude for saving him or pure lust. It was like being next to one of his porn favourites. Not that he could ever tell him that. Julien calling him bratkin had made Ilya's heart sing. How could a term of endearment have that effect?

Whatever the explanation for what was going on between them, and Ilya accepted it was likely all from his side, he sensed he was in trouble if he stayed with Julien. But if he wasn't gay, then maybe not deep trouble. Ilya would just have to keep himself under control. No flirting. Even though he wanted to. Then again, why not flirt? It wasn't as if it was going to get him anywhere and he did enjoy seeing self-assured Julien being a little thrown. A lot thrown would be fun!

Then reality slapped him. Shit! Had what happened with Arkady not shown him there was no sense in pursuing the pointless? But Julien hadn't said no yet, not really.

Did I not hear him say he wasn't gay?

Yes, but so what?

The navy sleep pants were much too big, but at least there was a drawstring to tighten them. The pale blue T-shirt was too big as well but it was soft and warm. Not wearing black or grey was a welcome change. He'd not been allowed any bright clothes since he'd been spirited out of Russia, and colours were his life. Well, they had been inside his St Petersburg flat and in clubs and private venues where he felt safe to be himself. Now he could have his rainbow world back, if he wanted it.

Julien wasn't seeing the real him. A slightly ditzy, mouthy, nervous, flirty twink—as long as he felt safe. Julien might not like him now but he might like him even less then. So tone it down! Ilya didn't want to be made to leave. Oh God, I need a friend. I need help. I can't do this on my own. Not yet.

He had the rest of today, tonight and into tomorrow to convince Julien to let him stay for a while. Just while he recovered, until he found his feet.

As he walked back through the bedroom, he paused to admire both the room and view. Smart furnishings, hardwood floor, floor-to-ceiling fitted wardrobes and electric blinds… It looked like a hotel but with no pictures on the walls. This place had to have cost a fortune. He was shocked that Julien had brought him here, though that didn't mean he wasn't going to kill him. Then again, he'd stitched up his arm. Why do that if he was going to get rid of him? To lull me into a false sense of security?

Standing up for him against the guy with the gun didn't mean shit, really. Ilya was aware that all three men, four including the other driver, would be concerned about him betraying them, no matter how hard he tried to convince them he wouldn't. He'd seen enough before his eyes had been covered. So maybe he wouldn't have his rainbow world back for long. The only reason he was here was because Julien was in charge. No other reason no matter how much he might wish there was.

Julien had said no to the ransom thing, but that didn't mean the others agreed. Would his father pay to get him back? It might depend on the price. How much am I worth? The way Ilya had been treated since he'd been brought back from Russia, it hadn't felt as if he was worth anything. He still didn't understand why his father had gone to all that trouble to try to make him straight. Was there some reason he'd missed? Something other than his father's egotistical, homophobic self? Yet when Ilya thought about it, he'd not actually felt his father was anti-gay. He'd never ranted about homosexuals, so none of this made sense.

He needed to go into the other room for his sandwich or Julien would be wondering what he was up to. Thinking too much as usual. Ilya huffed at what he'd said to Julien. I could eat a sandwich. He wished he'd had the courage to say what he'd actually been thinking. I could eat you. He let out a quiet sound that was half laugh and half moan. Lusting after a straight guy was so fucking typical of him. He always fancied men he stood no chance of getting. Julien ticked almost every box of this is what I like, apart from not being gay and possibly wanting him dead. Ilya stifled his laugh.

When he walked into the main room, there was a whole bank of windows to distract him. Dawn was breaking, bathing the harsh lines of the city in soft pink light. On the other side of the river, the towers reaching up into the sky looked like alien invaders nestled among smaller brick buildings.

He felt Julien come up at his side, but didn't turn to look at him.

"I like London,"

Ilya said. "It reminds me a little of St Petersburg. Jumbles of domes and spires, straight lines and curves, lots of shimmering glass and touches of gold. Don't you think it's amazing how you can look at something that's hundreds of years old, then turn your head a fraction and see a building rising so high into the clouds you can barely see the top? New jostling for space with the old. I'm glad we give the old its space and protect it." Stop talking!

"You're right. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to go to St Petersburg."

"It's my favourite Russian city. London has the Shard and St Petersburg has an 8-storey skyscraper, the Lakhta Centre, in the northwest. It's the second tallest building in Russia and over 150 metres taller than London's glass needle. Five twisting towers rising from a pentagon-shaped base and tapering to a point. It was designed by British architects, but they don't shout about that in Russia."

He chuckled. "It's amazing." Really stop talking!

"I'm not good with heights."

"But you live all the way up here."

"There's a thick sheet of tempered glass between me and disaster. When I was being shown around, a…salesman ran at the window to demonstrate how strong it was. I thought my heart was going to explode."

"You're not going to be walking over any glass bridges then?"

"Crawl perhaps."

"With your eyes shut?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Have you seen those glass walkways that seem to break under your feet? They don't really crack, just look as though they do, but it's unsettling."

"Unsettling? It sounds utterly terrifying."

Ilya smiled. "We're in Battersea, right? Where there's a home for lost or unwanted pets, an upmarket shopping centre and a pool suspended in the air between two buildings. I've seen pictures of that."

"I could never swim in it."

"You'd be listening for cracks, watching the level of the water and perpetually trying to convince yourself everything was fine."

"Exactly. What do you want on your sandwich?"

Ilya turned. Julien was in sleep pants and T-shirt too but he filled them out in a…and his…ooh…don't look down there. Ilya lifted his gaze. His hair looked different. Messy. He looked younger. Even more attractive. Shit. "I'm happy with anything."

"Ham?"

"No."

"Jam?"

"No."

"Spam?"

Ilya laughed. "You don't have a tin of spam. You're not the type. No to lamb and yam as well."

"Cheese?"

"No."

Actually, Ilya would have had cheese but he wanted to see how far he could push him.

"Marmite?"

Julien asked.

"Yes."

"I don't have that. Disgusting stuff. It looks like tar. Probably tastes like it too."

Ilya grinned. "Marmalade?"

"Okay."

"I only like Golden Shred."

Julien gave a heavy sigh. "You're out of luck."

"Just bread and butter then."

"Will any butter do?"

"I prefer Danish butter."

But Ilya smiled when he saw Julien's face. "I'll try whatever marmalade and butter you have."

Julien opened the fridge. "How does your arm feel?"

"It aches. I'm just feeling grateful the tracker wasn't put in my dick. I'm not sure I could have coped with you stitching it up. It could have been embarrassing for both of us. The tone of my moans would have been very different, just so you know."

Julien gave a choked laugh.

Ilya settled on the couch. He was still tender from the beating, and his face hurt along with his arm, but he felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. The relief of having escaped from Sandridge, the knowledge that no one who mattered knew where he was, an awareness that he was actually free… Thank fuck! Yet even as all that ran through his head, it all suddenly became so overwhelming that his heart began to race. He no longer had any immediate need to be anxious, but so much could have gone wrong, had gone wrong… I'm fine. I'm safe.

Unless Bryant is dead. Oh God. He shuddered. He hadn't hit him that hard. Nor had he kept on hitting him which would have been murder, not self-defence. Though he knew if he hadn't been so freaked out once he'd struck him that he might have kept hitting him because he fucking hated the bastard. Ilya really didn't think Bryant was dead. But even if there was nothing online, it didn't mean anything. If the police were looking for him, that would be online.

A plate appeared at his side.

Ilya looked up at him. "Thank you."

Julien put a mug of tea on the floor and handed him two capsules. "Paracetamol. Not allergic to them, are you?"

"No."

Julien settled on a chair with a plate of his own.

"Is there anything online about Sandridge?"

Ilya asked. "Are the police looking for a good-looking, sexy guy with beautiful eyes in connection with anything?"

"Who says you have beautiful eyes?"

"I was talking about you."

"Ah. No, nothing."

Was that a blush? Ilya swallowed the capsules with a sip of tea, then worried they might not be paracetamol. Too late now. He picked up the sandwich. Why would Julien bring him back here to poison him? It would be harder to get rid of his body, wouldn't it? Unless he planned to dissolve him in the bath.

"What just went through your head?"

Julien asked.

"Why?"

"You just sort of froze with the sandwich almost in your mouth. What were you thinking?"

"Did you bring me down here to murder me?"

"When I could have saved myself a long journey and let it happen at that church?"

"I was wondering if you were going to dissolve me in the bath."

"I'd be worried about you clogging the drains."

"I'd have preferred you to smile when you said that."

"Bad luck."

Ilya's cock twitched. "I like Golden Shred marmalade better, but the butter is nice."

"Hmm. French butter."

"I noticed your accent has gone."

"I use it when I need to."

As he ate, he could feel Julien watching him. But when he glanced across, Julien averted his gaze. After that happened twice, something stirred in Ilya's gut, a feeling that maybe Julien wasn't being completely straight with him. Ha!

"Why are you looking at me?"

Ilya asked.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"It's usual to look at people when you're talking to them."

"We were eating, not talking."

Julien sighed.

"Is me living here going to be awkward with your girlfriend?"

Julien did look at him then. "You're not living here. Twenty-four hours. That's all."

"Boyfriend then?"

"I told you I wasn't gay."

"You told me that, but then I see the way you're looking at me."

"That look of annoyance? That look of—what the fuck did I think, bringing you back here to my home, stitching you up, making you a sandwich when you are so picky and how the hell am I going to dissolve you in the bath without clogging the drains?"

Ilya hid his smile. "Yes, exactly that look."

Julien barked out a laugh.

Ilya wished he didn't fancy him. Sort of. Except he did and now, despite knowing he was an idiot, he saw Julien as a challenge. He'd never even thought of trying to persuade a straight guy to fuck him but there was always a first time. It was far too risky in Russia. But what did he have to lose now? A bed for the night when he might get a bed for the week? Or longer? His fingers fiddled with the bow he'd tied on his sleep pants. He lifted the T-shirt and scratched his navel.

How brave am I? When it came to making a play, the answer was very. Usually. Though that was generally when he was absolutely sure of himself. In gay clubs in Russia, most guys were after the same thing. And mostly that was not a boyfriend. But a quick hookup? That was easy. Julien was anything but easy.

Maybe Ilya should have thought twice, but he didn't. Before he stood up to take the plate back to the kitchen, he completely unfastened the drawstring, then rose to his feet with his back to Julien. He took one step before the sleep pants slipped down. He yanked them back up one-handed, but he knew he'd given Julien an eyeful of his arse. Ilya said nothing, just walked over to put the plate in the sink, refastened the sleep pants and went back to the couch.

"Enjoy the view?"

Ilya asked.

"Are you going to try and pretend that wasn't deliberate?"

Ilya widened his eyes. "Of course not. That was one of my well-rehearsed come-and-get-me moves. I thought I'd perfected it."

He counted to ten out loud. "Clearly not. You haven't moved. I'm absolutely devastated. I'll have to hand back my ‘I'm gay' card."

"Why would I be interested in seeing your backside?"

"Because it's beautiful?"

"I'm not gay. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Three times before the cock crows. Do cocks crow in London?"

I hope not.

"You're really not my type."

Ilya felt a sharp pang of distress. "But I have a pulse. And I'm really good at blow jobs. You can shut your eyes. What more do you need?"

Julien laughed but shook his head.

Ilya had a choice now. Accept that Julien wasn't into guys and give up, or refuse to accept it and keep pushing. But his body was aching, especially his arm. Was there any point in being a pest, just like Arkady had been to him? Especially when Julien wasn't gay.

Bed called. He rose to his feet and put a big smile on his face. Don't let yourself be brought down. There was someone out there for him, somewhere. "I'm sorry for being a nuisance. Thank you for rescuing me, stitching me up, feeding me."

Then he left the room with his heart hurting more than any other part of his body.