UNABLE TO move, yet drawn forward by some invisible force, Milo didn’t know what to do. He didn’t usually lose confidence in himself, having dealt with models, celebrities, and designers alike without batting an eyelash. Yet in this instance, no matter how much his brain screamed at him to say something, his gaze remained locked on the stranger’s haunting eyes. The Japanese called them mugen no ao or infinite blue, like the skies over Hokkaido or Okinawa.
Then he said something in a deep and sexy voice that pulled Milo out of his stupor. “Kenji-kun sonna hanashi o yamete. Kare wa hazukashiku narimashita.”
Kenji threw his head back and laughed. “Sono yō na koto shitenai yo.”
They acted as if Milo couldn’t understand them, talking about embarrassing him and Kenji denying that he had. This pissed him off enough to regain his composure.
In equally measured Japanese, he greeted them both a good morning and bowed from the waist, as was customary when meeting a business associate. Then he launched into introducing himself and explaining that Cassandra was currently finishing up some calls and that she sent him to assist them in whatever they may need until she arrived.
“Ara,” Kenji exclaimed, touching his cheek. Then, still speaking Japanese, he said, “I apologize. I didn’t know you spoke Nihongo. You’re quite good.”
Milo straightened to catch a glimpse of how impressed the designer was before the emotion was replaced by the earlier assessing mask he wore. His friend continued to stare, stone-faced, but Milo thought it best to ignore him or he might be struck speechless again.
He plastered on a cordial smile when he said, “I spent a year in Tokyo and picked up a few things.”
Kenji’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I like a boy who understands my desires.”
This brought another blush to Milo’s cheeks, because when said in Japanese, “Watashi no yokubō o rikai shitekureru otokonoko ga suki,” it sounded so sensual, as though Kenji meant more to his words than just expressing his gratefulness at having someone anticipate his needs.
“I’m at your service,” Milo said around a suddenly dry mouth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Look at me forgetting my manners.” Kenji gestured toward his tall, incredibly handsome companion. It would be rude if Milo didn’t look at him, so he schooled his features into a professional mask and returned his gaze to the man who had never stopped staring at him. “Let me introduce Kazuhiko Yukifumi. He’s my best friend and business partner.”
Milo’s eyes widened. An eight-syllable Japanese name? He must come from a hard-core traditional family to walk around with a name like that.
Remembering his own manners, he bowed again and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Yukifumi-san.” Adding the honorific at the end was also customary when meeting a new acquaintance. It was akin to adding “Mr.” or “Ms.” when addressing someone.
Speaking again in a voice that commanded instant attention, Kenji’s companion said in English, “Enough. We’re not in Japan. Let’s dispense with the formalities. Kenji was just having some fun….” He glanced at his friend and then returned those piercing eyes to Milo. “It seems it was at your expense. I apologize. Please, you can call me Kaz.”
For a moment Milo could do nothing but stare… again. There was something so mesmerizing about him. The way he spoke, so calm and precise, took Milo’s breath away. His tone belied his Japanese roots, yet there wasn’t a hint of an accent, which told Milo he’d spent time in the States as well. In fact, his words were so neutral that Milo couldn’t place where he was from.
“Oh, Yuki-kun, you’re no fun.”
Thank God for Kenji and his ability to return Milo to the present. He caught the nickname Kenji used for Kaz. It wasn’t uncommon to take part of someone’s last name in reference to them, especially in instances when said last name had multiple syllables. But it also told Milo that they might not be close enough for Kenji to refer to Kaz by his first name.
A certain intimacy between individuals must be reached before that could happen. Kaz calling Kenji by his first name showed his more Western inclinations.
“Be that as it may,” he finally replied, switching to English as well, “I’d like to keep my job, and keeping my job means I call you Mr. Yukifumi.”
Kaz narrowed his cool gaze at him and nodded once, possibly in acceptance of the continued formality between them. Milo wouldn’t have it any other way.
“It’s nice to meet you, Milo McLaren,” Kaz said.
His name coming from Kaz’s lips sounded like leaves rustling in the wind. It sent a shiver down Milo’s spine.
HOURS LATER, Milo sat at a table for two in his favorite restaurant, surrounded by couples celebrating the longest damn day in the history of long days. He used a reservation he’d made six months in advance for the sole purpose of stuffing himself with the tastiest baby back ribs in order to numb the gnawing pain at the center of his chest. He considered it a fitting reward for surviving half a dozen Candygrams and the multitude of flowers and chocolates delivered to the Rebel offices all day.
Even he received a bouquet of yellow roses and a box of Godiva… from his mother. If Kasey hadn’t taken the box and the blooms away, he would have slashed his wrists with a letter opener. Unfortunately for him, the decorations followed him here too. Red, pink, and silver streamers dangled from the ceiling. How it wasn’t considered a fire hazard baffled him.
He wiped his hands with a Wet-Nap provided by a waiter as a massive platter was set in the middle of his table. His mouth watered at the sight—a whole slab, slathered in the richest honey barbecue sauce. To undercut the sweet-savory combination, he had asked for a side order of blue cheese dressing. No side dishes, no carbs, no veggies. Just the ribs. Straight up.
“Will that be all, sir?” the tuxedo-clad waiter asked, unable to suppress the skeptical look on his pinched face.
“Yes.” Milo handed the man his plate and pulled the entire platter toward him. Not bothering with utensils, he separated the first rib from the rack with his fingers and dove right in, though he almost choked because of the horrified glances from couples nearest his table.
“If there is anything else—”
He cut off the waiter’s words with a wave of the second rib he had liberated. But just before the man could walk away, he said, “I might need another order of this. I’ll let you know.”
“Very good, sir. Enjoy.”
“Oh, I will,” he muttered. Then he took a bite of his third rib, which he dipped into the ramekin of blue cheese.
By the time Milo was halfway through the platter, a figure stood by the vacant chair opposite him. “That looks good.”
Rib between his teeth, he whipped his head up to catch a glimpse of Kaz, still looking polished and gorgeous in his Brioni suit. Surely Milo had barbecue sauce all over his mouth and chin. Oh God. He might as well dig a grave and lie in it.
In embarrassment at having been caught pigging out, he covered his mouth and said, “Mr. Yukifumi, what are you doing here?”
A raven-wing eyebrow twitched up. “May I join you? It seems I picked the wrong night to dine out.”
Swallowing hard, Milo sat in complete disbelief. If he said yes, then how could he continue eating with abandon? But if he said no and it got back to Cassandra that he refused Kenji Suzuki’s business partner… he didn’t want to imagine the consequences.
Picking the lesser of two evils, he nodded and gestured with barbeque-sauce-covered fingers toward the chair opposite him. Unthinking, he popped his thumb into his mouth and sucked. Kaz paused in the act of pulling out the chair to stare at him.
The heat in that look unnerved Milo until he realized what he’d been doing. He pulled out his thumb with an audible pop and quickly picked up another Wet-Nap. Slippery fingers made opening the plastic packet a chore, and it didn’t help that his hands shook. The self-consciousness he’d been feeling around Kaz all day had returned.
When the packet slipped out of his fingers a third time, a large hand picked it up. Before Milo could protest, Kaz had already ripped open the plastic and was handing him the moist napkin. He reached for it with a slight bow and murmured his gratitude. Then he proceeded to concentrate on cleaning his fingers and mouth. So much for stuffing his face with ribs.
Kaz gestured for a waiter and ordered a bottle of wine. After the waiter left, he asked, “Why did you stop?” He indicated the half-eaten slab. “Am I interrupting something? Perhaps you’re waiting for your date tonight?”
Like Kasey that morning, Milo shook his head so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash.
“What about you? No chocolates delivered to you today?” he asked back, referring to the Japanese tradition of women giving men chocolates on Valentine’s Day as a sign of affection.
The men had White Day, which was March 14, to reciprocate by giving gifts like cookies, jewelry, white chocolate, white lingerie, or marshmallows.
A smirk changed the stoic expression Kaz wore into one of roguish appeal. Ah, the man was as mouthwatering as the ribs. The image of licking him from head to toe made Milo sit up straighter, but before Kaz could respond to his question, the waiter returned with a bottle Milo recognized.
It was one of the most expensive wines on the list. Since it was ordered at his table, did that mean he had to pay for it? This wasn’t exactly a work dinner, so using his expense account was out of the question.
“Care to join me?” Kaz asked, indicating the second empty glass the waiter held.
“I don’t really drink wine,” he said, shifting in his seat. If he remembered correctly, that was a fifteen-hundred-dollar bottle.
His sudden dinner guest must have picked up on his unease because he asked the waiter to leave. Once they were alone, he took a sip from his glass and said, “You have to let me pay for dinner. It’s the least I can do for sharing your table with me.”
“What?” Milo jolted. “I can’t let you do that.” Maybe he could write it off as a business expense?
“Please, I insist.” He placed the wineglass on the table and swirled its contents. “I interrupted your dinner by joining you.”
“But….” Milo swallowed the rest of his refusal.
What was one dinner, right? He nodded again, and his shoulders drooped slightly in defeat. On a regular day, he would have a better handle on himself. It was just today that he wasn’t feeling quite his usual self.
“You don’t have to stop on my account,” Kaz said. “Those ribs look really good.”
Milo’s stomach did an unexpected flip. Kaz possessed the kind of confidence of someone who could afford to buy Brioni suits and expensive wine. He’d grown up around it with his father and his business associates.
Men with money. Men with power. They all seemed to walk and talk the same—self-assured, solid, slightly arrogant. A part of him liked it, which put him at ease enough to go back to eating.
“So, you’re Japanese,” he said after swallowing a new bite. He saw it now as he looked at Kaz up close—the slight slant of his eyes, the straightness of the black hair falling across his forehead, angular features.
“Born in Tokyo.” Kaz leaned back in his seat, and his hand never left the stem of the wineglass while the other rested on his thigh. “Went to grade school here, high school there, college here.”
“That’s a lot of back and forth. No wonder you don’t have an accent when speaking either Nihongo or English. Your tone’s very neutral.” He locked gazes with him. “I don’t want to state the obvious….”
“You mean these.” He pointed at his blue eyes. “My mother was from Kansas.”
“Was?” The question slipped out without him having to think twice.
At the hardening of Kaz’s gaze, Milo searched for a change of topic. He was used to gauging the emotions of the people he dealt with and doing what was necessary to avoid potentially awkward or sticky situations. Models, especially, were particularly temperamental.
Ruffling Kaz’s feathers wasn’t on the agenda. If he didn’t want to talk about anything personal, they would switch to business.
“How did you get into fashion?”
The tension in the air quickly eased. Milo silently commended himself for getting it right as Kaz said, “I’m actually not. Kenji is the one in the fashion business.”
“But you’re his business partner.”
The more they spoke, the more at ease Milo became. Kaz didn’t seem as intimidating as he had that morning, maybe because of the calm cadence of his speech. It was almost monotone yet strangely soothing.
“Silent partner,” he corrected.
“So, what do you do?”
He raised his wineglass and took another sip. “Imports and exports.”
Milo’s next question was interrupted by the arrival of a leggy blond in a flowing silk dress the color of the wine Kaz enjoyed. The skirt moved with the sway of her hips. He didn’t have time to hope that she hadn’t seen him, because she was already making her way to their table with purposeful strides.
“Milo?” she asked with a stunning smile.
“Celeste.” Her name tasted foul in his mouth as he pushed back from the table and stood up.
He reached out a hand, but she shimmied closer and gave each of his cheeks quick air kisses. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach the second her signature floral scent entered his nose. God, he missed her.
The thought hit him like a sledgehammer. Even a year later, her effect on him remained the same.
“It’s so good to see you!” Her bubbly demeanor hadn’t changed either.
Searching for something to say other than “You look good,” his gaze found Kaz, who silently watched the exchange. “Celeste, this is Mr. Kazuhiko Yukifumi. He’s Kenji Suzuki’s business partner.”
“You’re Japanese?” she asked with genuine curiosity.
That was one of the things he’d loved about her—the openness, the innocence in everything she did. Then she greeted Kaz in Nihongo.
Kaz stood up and took her hand. He brought her knuckles to his lips, bringing a blush to Celeste’s cheeks. He murmured something about speaking the language beautifully, and she giggled. Before Milo could feel jealousy at having another man touch her, he noticed the large diamond on her finger. Immediate hurt smacked him upside the head.
“You’re getting married?” He could barely get the words out.
Celeste treated him to a wide grin as she bounced in place, showing him the ring. “Isn’t it crazy? You should meet him.”
A wave of nausea hit Milo, and he staggered.
“I think the wine has gone to your head,” Kaz said, immediately moving to his side and lending him support by closing a steady hand around his arm.
“Oh.” Celeste’s lips actually formed an O, concern marring her pretty features. “That’s odd since Milo holds his liquor better than anyone.”
“I should really take him home.”
Good thing Kaz held him up, because Milo could no longer feel his legs. In fact, he could no longer feel much of anything.
“It was good seeing you again, Milo,” she said to him.
He could only nod as Kaz led him away from their table.
“But the bill,” he was finally able to say when they reached the restaurant entrance where a long line of people waited to be seated.
“Don’t worry about it. Can you stand without falling over?”
The ground refused to feel solid beneath him. “She’s getting married.”
Kaz tightened his hold on Milo’s arm. “I think you need a drink.”
“Make that two.”