Dash and Dingo (6 page)

Henry looked down at the bottle in surprise. “It’s cold.”

Dingo gestured toward the sink. “I sent for ice.”

Henry practically shoved him aside to see. Sure enough, the small sink was brimming with ice. Henry moaned with appreciation and grabbed a handful. He sat on the chair near the decking and rubbed it around his neck.

Dingo laughed. “Enjoy it while you can. It won’t last long in this temp.”

Holding the rapidly melting handful of ice against his neck, Henry looked around him for a glass for his beer. At that moment Dingo drank directly from the bottle, and Henry felt decidedly prissy for not doing the same. With Dingo watching him, Henry relished the first taste of the cold beer. No wonder Dingo had been disgusted by the warm beer served by the pubs back home; in this weather, this was the only way to drink it, and it seemed to have a clearer, crisper taste when cooled.

“That’ll get a dog up ya,” Dingo said appreciatively.

Not knowing what that meant, Henry nodded as if he understood

perfectly. “Yes. Quite.”

Not fooled, Dingo laughed. He stretched his feet out upon the bed, and the fold of the towel fell away to expose a muscular thigh. Henry gulped down even more beer, as if it could chase away the thoughts coming to mind, even as his gaze tracked up the line of Dingo’s leg, taking in the curly golden hair that glinted against his tanned skin. The towel cast a shadow where his inner thigh curved toward his pelvis, hinting at what lay beneath. Henry wanted nothing more than to snatch away the towel and—

Gasping, Henry turned and plunged toward the window, peering out between the slats of the blinds, holding his bottle to his forehead. It was still rather cool, and the condensation that dripped from the bottle felt good against

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his heated skin. He willed himself to stop thinking about the nearly naked man sprawled on the bed behind him and at least pretend to take an interest in his new surroundings.

Despite the heat and heaviness between his legs, Henry forced himself to concentrate on the city outside their hotel. The sky was not yet black, just the rich blue of dusk that contrasted so well with the yellows, pinks, and reds of the insistent neon signs. He was surprised at the mix of traditional Siamese architecture, with the upturned corners and sweeping rooflines decorated with knobs and ceramic figures of dogs, right alongside copies of traditional French buildings with mansard roofs, mingled with the sleek silhouettes of spare modernist office blocks towering at least six stories high.

Having never been outside England except for a brief visit to Paris, Henry was unprepared for the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Bangkok. And all of the automobiles! In his imagination, he’d pictured rickshaws, of which there were indeed plenty, weaving in and out of the cars with a reckless disregard that made him resolve not to be caught in one, although if Dingo sensed his reluctance, Henry had not a doubt that he would insist on their taking one.

Damnation! He couldn’t seem to get Dingo off his mind, and the knowledge that the other man was lolling virtually naked upon the bed behind him didn’t help Henry at all. Especially the way the towel clung to Dingo, outlining suggestive shapes in certain places—Henry quickly took a swig of his beer, grimacing now that it was nearly warm.

“So, what do you think?”

“Beautiful,” Henry muttered, and then he flushed in embarrassment. He could feel heat roll over his entire body, breaking into a sweat when he realized Dingo had come up behind him.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite catch?”

Irritated, Henry turned, bumping his elbow into Dingo’s ribs, the other man stood so close. “I said it’s exotic!” Henry said, embarrassed again that his own discomfort had made him practically shout the words. He heaved a sigh of relief to see that Dingo had put on his trousers and presumably his underpants as well…. Of course, he had no business thinking about Dingo’s underpants. Golden hair followed a line from Dingo’s navel to spread over his broad chest. Henry licked his lips at the sight of the dusky nipples peeking from the light covering of fur and abruptly turned to face the window again.

What was Dingo going on about now?

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“Exotic to you maybe, but the Siamese call it home,” Dingo said with a laugh.

“I’m hungry,” Henry announced. Then he cringed, considering the trend of his thoughts and the uncanny way Dingo seemed to be able to read his mind.

“I could use a bite and some more beer,” Dingo agreed.

He turned away to find a clean shirt, much to Henry’s relief. Taking care of himself in the bath earlier seemed to have made no impression on his unruly organ at all; he was uncomfortably half-hard in his trousers.

“So what’ll it be? English pub food? French? Indian? Siamese?”

“Siamese,” Henry answered. “I’ve never had that.”

“I like your style,” Dingo said, reaching for Henry’s hand and pumping it. “Tonight you are going to experience a meal the likes you’ve never seen in England.”

Henry had become a bit more used to Dingo’s… touching habits and braced himself just in time. “A willingness to try foreign cuisine is hardly a mark of character,” he said.

“You’re going to love it,” Dingo assured him. “Love it.” He clapped his hat on his head and held the door open for Henry.

“What’s the food like?”

“Ever eaten spicy squid?” Dingo countered with a grin. “Goat? Or wait, I know, coal-fired tarantula. You’d like that, I expect, especially when the hairs are singed off—”

“I’ll pass on that and the dog as well,” Henry said firmly. “I’m rather interested in trying the squid though, and yes, I have had goat.”

Dingo seemed disappointed. “Well, once you’ve had goat, you know not to try it again. Right then, let’s go.” Dingo’s fingers bit into Henry’s shoulder, and he was swept from the room without being given a chance to close the door that led to his. “Leave it all to me, Dash, me boy.”

Adventurously, Henry decided against wearing his hat, feeling that the Siamese could hardly expect it of him, not knowing him. For the first time he realized that he was out of England at last, far from the traditions and expectations of his narrow circle, in a place where people didn’t know him at all. He could reinvent himself, so to speak.

He walked beside Dingo when they emerged onto the crowded

sidewalk, enjoying the coolness of the night air stirring his hair. Dingo hadn’t

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bothered with a jacket, and Henry was beginning to think that his rolled-up shirtsleeves were the way to go as he eyed the way the hard sinew rippled in Dingo’s bare forearms… He took off his jacket, sighing in relief as the air cooled his damp shirt, and slung the jacket over his shoulder, feeling rather jaunty and devil-may-care.

It filled him with exhilaration to be walking freely with Dingo on the sidewalk in another country far from home. For a moment he forgot all about Tassie and why he was even here in Bangkok. Street vendors pressed close around them as they walked, offering goods and food of every description.

Henry was impressed when Dingo smilingly refused them in some pidgin argot of English and what sounded like Siamese. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding about the spiders; one vendor seemed to specialize in roasted bugs of all sizes and description.

“Where are we going?” Henry shouted to be heard over the cacophony of street noises.

“Little place I know. I think you’ll like it,” Dingo said over his shoulder. “Stay close. Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“Don’t worry,” Henry murmured under his breath. “I don’t want to lose you either.” It suddenly struck him that despite the struggles he was having hiding his urges, he quite liked Dingo in some ways. He hadn’t had a friend since graduating from university, at least not one he felt close to the way he was beginning to feel with Dingo. Or
allow
himself to feel with Dingo, even if it was verging on dangerous territory.

Dingo plunged down a side street, where there were fewer automobiles and no street vendors. Henry relaxed while walking on the less crowded sidewalk, able to stride along beside Dingo now, rather than trailing him through the blur of people.

“Do you come here often?”

Dingo gave him one of those knowing, amused glances from under his lashes. “Is that a come-on line, or do you want the story of my life?”

“How long a story is it?” Henry retorted.

“Longer than we’ve got time for in one night, but maybe I’ll be able to catch you up on the trip.” Dingo turned into an open doorway, holding out an arm to guide Henry inside ahead of him. “Here we are.”

“Dingo!”

Henry looked up to see a wizened Siamese man who appeared to be about eighty, standing behind a glass display case that doubled as a counter.

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His face was creased in a huge smile, exposing a missing tooth, and he held both hands up in salute. It seemed to be a family establishment, as his wife, two younger men, and one pretty girl emulated him, holding up their arms and crying out the greeting. “Dingo!”

“Phraya, you old dog!” Dingo raised his arms as well. “
Quam sook T

die pop coon!
”

Henry wondered if he ought to join in this orgy of salutation. And also found himself wondering just how accurate Dingo’s grasp of the language was, although at this point nothing he learned about Dingo would surprise him.

“You come, bring friend,” Phraya said, still beaming and pointing to Henry.

“My friend, Dash,” Dingo explained, drawing Henry forward.

Henry ducked his head and gave Phraya a shy smile.

“Dash!” Phraya exclaimed raising his hands in the air once again. His family aped his behavior, crying out, “Dash!”

Henry grinned and raised his own hands in the air. “Phraya!”

Dingo stared at him with his mouth open, as if he couldn’t believe this was his staid Henry. But Henry was feeling rather Dash-like at the moment, laughing when he thought of his father’s disapproving reaction if he could have seen him now. The thought of becoming
Dash
was an intoxicating one.

Especially if it meant he would remain in Dingo’s world.

“Sit! Sit! I fix you!” Phraya gestured at an open table.

“Thank you,” Dingo said. “Bring us a beer,
Sway
!”

“Is that her name?” Henry asked.

“Her name is Maew,” Dingo said. “I’m calling her beautiful, I hope.”

“Better watch out, or she’ll fall in love with you,” Henry said, watching how the girl giggled and smiled as she brought two cold bottles to the table, unloading them from a tray with a curtsey. He was pleased to see a look of dismay come over Dingo’s face.

“Cripes, I never thought of that,” Dingo muttered. He toned down his smile from the heat of the sun to a gentle simmer, but Henry thought anyone might still fall for the man. “
Khurp
, thank you.”

“
Khurp
is thank you?”

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“Yeah,” Dingo answered. “Eat is
Gin
. Drink,
Durn
, and when you need the toilet,
Hung Nam.
That’s all you really need to know. Most of them speak a little English.”

“Well, you can’t go wrong either way saying
Gin
,” Henry quipped.

Dingo stared at him for a moment before breaking into a loud guffaw.

“Damn me! I never thought of that! You’re quick.”

“I try.” Henry grinned and took a long drink of the cold beer. It was hot in the little restaurant, but the crisp taste of the chilled beer was just as satisfying as the first one in the hotel room. “So what did you order?”

Dingo looked a bit uncomfortable. “I don’t actually know. I just come here, and Phraya makes up a platter for me. I’ve never asked what anything was. I feel certain I’d rather not know.”

“So, the tarantulas?” Henry teased.

“I hate to say this, but they’re actually quite tasty, if you can get past the idea,” Dingo said thoughtfully. “And the legs. But Phraya doesn’t do them here. Apparently they’re better fresh out of the ground.”

“Damn,” Henry said, pretending to be disappointed, although he was secretly glad he wouldn’t be expanding his gastronomic horizons quite that far. “How did you meet Phraya?”

“Just walked in here one day. The most amazing smell was coming out the door, and I was hungry.” Dingo shrugged. “How does one meet anyone?”

“I guess it depends what circles one moves in,” Henry said

thoughtfully. He leaned back to allow Maew to set down a platter of something that was completely unrecognizable, although it smelled rather appetizing. “
Khurp.
”

Maew smiled and nodded, before backing away with a bow.

Henry picked up the chopsticks and dug them into the pile on the platter, lifting whatever it was to his mouth, which was instantly filled with a spicy, savory flavor of something garlicky. It was some kind of vegetable, still a bit crunchy as he chewed.

“You know how to use chopsticks?” Dingo said, as if amazed by

Henry’s prowess with them.

“I
have
eaten in Chinese restaurants, you know,” Henry said with a grin.

“This is quite tasty.”

“Hope it’s not goat,” Dingo muttered as he selected a piece.

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Henry wondered what kind of experience Dingo had had with goat, but didn’t bother to inform him that the dish consisted of vegetables in a spicy sauce.

“Not goat,” Dingo said in a tone of satisfaction.

While the two men ate, Maew came to the table with two bowls of sticky rice, indicating that the vegetables should be eaten with them.

Henry identified a hint of basil, but the subtle flavors of unknown spices escaped him. He decided that he liked it anyway, and the beer complemented the food perfectly. His usual limit was two, but he was already on his fourth, although he was sure he wasn’t getting drunk. It was still warm enough that he felt he was sweating out the alcohol almost immediately.

“What’s our next stop, and when do we leave?” Henry asked.