Take Me

Chapter Two: Blue

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 wa, sore o teishi. Anata wa kare o hazukashi.”

Kenji threw his head back and laughed. “Watashi wa sono yōna koto o shita n.”

They acted as if Milo couldn’t understand them, talking about embarrassing him and Kenji denying that he did. 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, 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 wa jibun no yokubō o rikai shite otokonoko o suki” it sounded so sensual. That 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 never stopped staring at him. “Let me introduce Kazuhiko Yukifumi. He is my best friend and business partner.”

Milo’s eyes widened. An eight syllable Japanese name for someone who could pass himself off flawlessly as Caucasian? He must come from a hardcore 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 “Miss” 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 before returning those piercing eyes to Milo. “It seems it was at your expense. I apologize. Please, 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 his breath away. His tone belayed 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 exactly.

“Oh, Yuki-kun, you’re no fun.”

Thank God for Kenji and his ability to return Milo to the present. He caught the nickname used to refer to Kaz. It wasn’t uncommon to take part of someone’s last name to refer to them, especially in instances when said last name had multiple syllables. But it also told Milo that they weren’t close enough for Kenji to refer to his best friend 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 before nodding once, possibly in acceptance of the continued formality between them. Milo wouldn’t have it any other way despite this unknown pull he felt to try out how his name would sound coming from his lips. Maybe it would be like leaves rustling in the wind. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

“It’s nice to meet you, Milo McLaren,” Kaz said.

***

Hours later, Milo sat at a table for two at 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 located at the center of his chest. He considered it a fitting reward for surviving half a dozen candy grams 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 this 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 at 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'd 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 waiter in a tux 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 almost choking 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’d 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 before taking a bite of his third rib which he dipped into the ramekin containing the blue cheese.

By the time Milo reached 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 he had barbecue sauce all over his mouth and chin. Oh God. This wasn't good. He might as well dig a grave and lie in it.

In embarrassment at having been caught pigging out by someone he knew, he covered his mouth and said, “Mr. Yukifumi, what are you doing here?”

A raven wing eyebrow twitched up at him. “May I join you? It seems I picked the wrong night to dine out.”

Swallowing hard, Milo sat there 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 the two evils, he nodded and gestured toward the chair opposite him with barbeque-sauce-covered fingers. 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. It didn’t help that his hands shook as well. 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 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 hadn’t given 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 15th, 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 had Milo sitting 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? Oh no. 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 then said, “You have to let me pay for dinner.”

“What?” Milo jolted. “No. I can’t let you do that.” He’d be late on this month’s rent, but he’d manage.

“I insist.” He placed the wineglass on the table and swirled its contents. “I interrupted your dinner by joining you. The least I could do is pay for your meal.”

“But…” He swallowed the rest of his refusal at the cutting stare sent his way. What was one dinner, right? He nodded once again, his shoulders drooping slightly in defeat. On a regular day, he would have a better handle on himself. It was just today that he was not feeling quite his usual self.

“Eat,” he said. “Shame to waste those ribs.”

Milo’s stomach did an unexpected flip at the hint of command in Kaz’s tone. This was the kind of confidence someone who could afford to buy Brioni suits and expensive wine had. 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 pick up his utensils and commence eating.

“So you’re Japanese,” he said after swallowing a new bite. He saw it now, looking at him up close. The slight slant of his eyes. The straightness of the black hair falling across his forehead. Angular features distinctive of those of Asian descent.

“Born in Tokyo,” Kaz answered, leaning back in his seat, hand never leaving 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 both Nihongo and 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 then 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 did this morning. Maybe because of the calm cadence in his manner of 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 lungs. 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 began greeting him 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 slightly.

“I think the wine has gotten 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. “Milo could never hold his liquor.”

“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.”