Sins of the Father by Fyn Alexander Page B

was having an effect on him that he did not understand and did not want to deepen.
    Romodanovsky sat opposite him again, sipping on his brandy while looking unwaveringly at Kael. Refusing to be intimidated, Kael held his gaze until the other man smiled and looked away. “You can call me Arkadiy,” he said. When Kael did not respond, he continued, “My eldest son is named after me. He is a diplomat. The others are businessmen, and the youngest is still at school. Cambridge.”
    It must have been the brandy, but Kael could not keep the recognition from his face.
    “Did you go there?” Romodanovsky asked.
    “Yes,” Kael said. “I studied languages.”
    “My son Dmitri is studying law. He is a good boy but rather effeminate. He used to cry a lot when he was little. I tried to toughen him up by making him play rough sports, but nothing worked. Do you have children?”
    Kael shook his head. The last thing he had ever wanted was children.
    “It used to be easier for fathers. You dropped your sperm and then got on with your life. These days a man is expected to change their nappies and carry them about while they cry.”
    Freddie and Adam with their two little girls came to mind, and the way they loved and nurtured them. Kael pitied Romodanovsky’s children. “Are you close to your sons?” He already knew the answer, but he was curious what the man would say.
    “Fathers and sons should not get too close. Perhaps if I had had a daughter.” He shrugged. “Girls are easier.”
    A chuckle escaped Kael. Zoe and Amelia weren’t easy now. God help their fathers when they reached their teens. “I think it depends on the kid.”
    “But you have none. How would you know?”
    I’ve got Angel, and I am a father to him in some ways . “I have friends with children.”
    “Are they girls?”
    Kael smiled and nodded.
    “Well, there you are then.”
    Putting down his glass, Romodanovsky rose and went to the bedroom. After several minutes, Kael followed. The door was ajar. Romodanovsky had changed into casual trousers and, bare-chested, was picking up a soft, dark casual shirt from the bed. “Please come in,” he said when he saw Kael in the mirror. He pulled on the shirt but did not button it. Kael glanced about the room and was about to return to the study when Romodanovsky walked up to him. There was a split-second pause when they looked into each other’s eyes, and then, to Kael’s complete surprise, the man reached out and placed his hand tenderly on Kael’s cheek. Neither of them moved. What did he want? The gesture seemed paternal, but coming from a man who admitted he had no paternal feelings at all, it must mean something else. Despite their age difference, Kael found the man very attractive.
    It seemed an eternity but was no more than a few seconds, and then Romodanovsky took a half step closer and closed his mouth over Kael’s. He smelled of expensive shaving soap, no colognes, no fragrant deodorants, just a clean, manly smell. Kael’s senses were intoxicated. He tasted brandy on the man’s lips and on his tongue when he pushed it between Kael’s lips. Romodanovsky trailed his mouth away from Kael’s and up to his ear. “Come to bed with me,” he said quietly.
    Suddenly angry and not sure why, Kael took a step back. There was unquestionably an attraction between them. Mature and physically fit, the Russian was exactly the type of man Kael had always found attractive. And he would have accepted his offer in the past. Now he would not accept it because the only man in the world he loved was Angel. And he was as loyal to his boy as he knew Angel was to him.
    But why was he angry? Why did he feel betrayed? Perhaps the paternal gesture of a moment ago had led him to believe Romodanovsky admired him. Never, until he met Angel, had he cared if anyone admired him. He reveled in Angel’s admiration. And he loved it when his mum told him how great he was. But other men’s opinions meant nothing.
    Curling his