by Tara Lain
Prince of the Playhouse
Love in Laguna, book three
Tara Lain
Tara Lain Books
Published by
Tara Lain Books
www.taralain.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Prince of the Playhouse © 2020 Tara Lain
Cover Art by Cate Ashwood
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Tara Lain Books
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Ashland, OR. 97520
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Contents
Prince of the Playhouse
Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Meet Tara Lain
Books by Tara Lain
Keep Reading for an Exclusive Excerpt of LORD OF A THOUSAND STEPS
Prince of the Playhouse
Love in Laguna, book three
Is Ru’s shady past the new black?
Fashion designer Ru Maitland’s so obsessed with movie star Gray Anson, the Cosmic Joker can’t resist bringing them face-to-face at the Laguna Playhouse.
But Gray’s in the closet—to protect his billion-dollar career.
Ru’s so not.
When Ru’s dark past collides with Gray’s paparazzi-haunted present, Gray’s macho identity threatens to crumble, and Ru finds himself in jail!
Somebody better learn that the only acceptable compromise is the truth.
PRINCE OF THE PLAYHOUSE is a coming out, hidden identity, billionaire, movie star, your-past-comes-back-to-bite-you, MM romance.
To all my professors at American University who gave me my love of theater and challenged me to read plays I might have skipped that became my favorites.
Note to Readers
Hi and thank you for reading PRINCE OF THE PLAYHOUSE. Someone might have noticed that the places I’ve lived for many years all have notable theater companies. My present home, Ashland, Oregon, has the famous Oregon Shakespeare Festival, and Laguna Beach, where I lived for 28 years and where PRINCE OF THE PLAYHOUSE is set, has the well-known Laguna Playhouse. In fact, I love theater and have a degree in it. While I didn’t end up making it a career, I can have the fun of including theater in my books.
In PRINCE OF THE PLAYHOUSE, I get to take an action movie star and throw him into the very deep water of a performance of Hamlet. While the central theme of the story is actually the past intruding on the present, I get to weave in a bit of Shakespeare along the way. My hero, Ru Maitland, is a mass of unexpected contradictions and I love him. I hope you will too.
Take a deep breath and dive into PRINCE OF THE PLAYHOUSE.
Chapter One
Ru stared at the gigantic movie screen and pressed a hand down under his jacket on his erect cock. In the background of the shot, a woman lay on a big bed, her blonde hair falling over her bare shoulders and only a sheet between her huge boobs and the audience’s prying eyes. But who the fuck could see her? Ru held his breath. Walking into the frame in the foreground came the most perfect, rock-hard asscheeks ever created by a gracious universe. Flex, release, flex, release. The ass prowled toward the bed, revealing inch after inch of smooth back, narrow waist, and finally wide, wide shoulders, all the color of melted honey.
The man said, “This what you were looking for?”
The woman’s gaze dropped to the man’s crotch, her eyes widened, and she giggled.
The End.
A couple got up instantly and pushed past Ru, but he didn’t move. It usually took him the length of the credits to get his boner to go down. You’d think after the twelfth viewing you could handle the ass better. But no go. If anything, each one got worse—or better, depending on your point of view. Oddly, after three years of sheer obsession, he still couldn’t quite define why he loved Gray Anson. The ass, the hair, the eyes—all perfection. But somehow an air of—what? Aloneness?—attracted Ru most. He let his breath out slowly. A feeling he knew a lot about.
Still, what were the chances the biggest movie star in the world felt anything in common with him?
He pulled his hand from under his jacket, grabbed the phone out of his pocket, and glanced at the time. Shoot. Get moving, Maitland.
He took another deep breath, then got up, pulled on the jacket to cover the remnants of his hard-on, and hurried from the theater. Outside, the blast of early afternoon sunlight off the ocean made him blink. He power walked the few blocks to his house, changed into his fabulous suit, then took off down the hill toward the Playhouse.
Linger with Gray Anson tomorrow, darling. Today is about fashion.
The banner on the outside of the Playhouse proclaimed AIDS Research Fund Raiser and Fashion Show.
It would have been nice if they’d used his name, but hell, who’d ever heard of Ru Maitland? No one. Yet. He opened the door to the lobby and then pushed into the auditorium. Chaos! The set builders were putting the last touches on the long runway they’d thrust out from the Playhouse stage into the middle of the audience. Three of Ru’s models stood in a circle giggling while several far-too-good-looking guys ogled them from ladders.
The stage manager saw Ru, his eyes widened, and he trotted over with a small frown. “Thought we’d lost you. Can we get your models corralled in the back? The crew is so distracted by them running around, I can’t get the damned lights set.”
“No problem, darling.” Ru waved at the models as he walked over to them. “Ladies, let’s get to work.”
His favorite model, Molly, turned in all her six-foot-one glory and flashed her teeth. He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
Wonder what the macho admirers on the ladders would think if they knew Molly was born Mortimer McKee?
Four frantic hours later, he tossed his dark hair off his forehead and blew out his breath. The girls clustered backstage in various degrees of undress, and the audience sat ready to be wowed. Good thing the fire marshal wasn’t being too particular today, because the place was packed.
Music started and
he could hear Mrs. Atchison, the head of the Playhouse Foundation, welcoming the audience and thanking them for their generous donations. Seats had cost as much as five thousand apiece.
Ru looked back at the makeshift dressing area, where two of Shaz’s hair and makeup stylists were working on last-second touches to one of the models. Molly walked up, dressed in the opening outfit. Clarisse came next, then the other models Shaz had booked for the event. Ru knew those girls, but not as well as his two favorites.
He adjusted the stiff neckpiece on Molly’s jacket and gave her a smile. “Ready to wow them?”
“You bet, sweetie.” She grinned. Not an expression many people saw, since her somber model face made her big bucks.
“Don’t feel any pressure. After all, it only determines if we get to go to Fashion Week.” He smiled, and she kissed his cheek.
“Drama, drama. You know you’re great.”
“Thanks, girl. Give ’em fierce.” He swatted her narrow butt, and she stomped her long-legged way around the corner to the stage and out of sight.
The quiet in the audience turned to a hum as people whispered to each other, and the flash of cameras lit up the stage. They like it.
A hand grasped his shoulder and turned him around. “How’s it going, dear?”
Ru wrapped Shaz, his best friend and boss, in a hug. “You tell me. You were out amongst them while I’m back here sewing on fallen buttons.”
Shaz flipped his mane of brilliant red hair. “They’re raking it in for AIDS research. People are donating on top of their tickets.”
“That’s great.”
“Hopefully some of that moola will find its way into the coffers of Ru Maitland Designs.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Molly exited and raced past him, clothes flying. Ru checked to be sure the dresser was ready with the next change. Not all the clothes were his. Some came from other local designers, so they supervised some of the styling.
“Now that this craziness is over, you’ll get to focus on the collection.”
“Yes, thank God. I’m planning on using a couple of these pieces for Fashion Week, so it hasn’t been a total distraction.”
“Good. Which ones?”
“The outfit Molly wore.”
“Fabulous.”
“And the finale piece.” He grinned. “You’ll see.”
He looked over to where Molly stood in bikini panties and skin-and-bone, ready to slip on the pièce de résistance.
Clarisse raced by in her second change. Shaz said, “Want to come out for a drink with Billy and me later?”
Ru shook his head. “I’m pretty whipped. I think I’ll go home and sleep.”
Shaz crossed his arms. “Right.”
“I’m tired.” Ru looked at his cuffs and adjusted his bow tie.
“Is ‘I’m tired’ code for another evening with Gray Anson on the big screen? Come on, darling, let me fix you up with a real man.”
He frowned and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Real men are complicated. Movies relax me.”
Shaz laughed. “Not when you sit there with a hard-on the whole time.”
Molly came rushing forward. Shaz slapped a hand to his mouth. “Oh my God, that’s amazing. It’s a masterpiece. Congratulations.”
Ru grinned. “What? This old thing?” He adjusted the yards of ruffles that made up the grand train of the finale piece—the wedding gown, pure white with a shocking spray of red silk flowers framing the waist. Molly’s veil stood out from her head, a mass of floral silk tumbling to her waist. “All right, dear. Off you go.”
He held his breath and listened. Shaz grasped his hand. Silence from the audience, and then a rising roar of exclamations, applause, then whistles and even stomps. The smile spread across his face like a caress. Yes!
Shaz enclosed him in a bear hug from behind and lifted him, even though Ru had three inches on him. “Gorgeous, brilliant, amazing! Watch as many movies as you want. Just be sure to have popcorn.” He kissed Ru’s cheek. “Love you. Toodles.”
“Love you too, dear.”
Waving over his shoulder, Shaz walked away—toward his successful business, his husband, and life. Some people would call Shaz lucky, but luck had little to do with it. It was talent, hard work, and a kind and loving spirit. The fact that Shaz loved him and believed in him gave Ru hope for his future. Of course, Shaz’s basic goodness attracted good to him. Me? Not so good.
A half hour later, he’d gotten all the clothing back on its racks, and Shaz’s helpers loaded it into vans to return to their building on Ocean Avenue. Ru sipped champagne with a group of big contributors.
A slim California-blonde lady wearing expensive clothes far too old for her pressed her business card into his hand. “I loved your clothes, Ru. I could pick yours out instantly. And that wedding gown? God. I’d think of marrying again just to get to wear it.”
Helena Atchison, the head of the Playhouse Foundation, came up beside him. “Pardon me, ladies. May I borrow you for a minute, Ru?”
He made his apologies and stepped away with her. “How do you think it went?”
“Brilliantly. So much money raised for research.” She sipped her champagne and gave him an appraising look. “I have a proposition for you I hope will intrigue you.”
“I’m fascinated already.” He grinned.
“In three months we’re celebrating the anniversary of the Playhouse. We’re having a special performance of Hamlet. We were wondering if you’d consider designing the costumes?”
He blew out his breath. “Historical. Not exactly my forte, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, but you see, we plan to reset the play in a contemporary fantasy setting. Real-world, but over the top. You would have carte blanche to design anything you wanted.”
He stuck a hand on his hip and the other behind his head. “And you know I’m the master of over the top.” She laughed. He sobered. “It’s very tempting, and sounds like great fun, but it would be a huge commitment of time. I’m designing my first collection for Fashion Week, and a lot of people have invested in me. I can’t let them down.”
“Yes, I understand. That must be a big undertaking.” She sipped her wine again and gave him a sideways look. “But the event will be very high profile. I’m sure it will attract press and reviewers from all over California. It will probably get national attention. It would be great exposure.”
He smiled and tried not to look skeptical. The Playhouse was popular and respected, but hardly Broadway. “I’m sure it will be a great event.”
She pounced. “That’s an understatement. You see, we’ve secured a commitment from Gray Anson as our Hamlet.”
Ru’s whole chest froze. Heart quit. Balls tied in knots. “I, uh, I see.”
“Surprise! Isn’t it amazing?” She clapped her hands over her chest. “The world’s greatest action hero performs Hamlet. God, who wouldn’t come to see him?”
“Yes.” Say something intelligent. “I certainly want to see him.” No dummy, don’t say that. “I mean, I’ll be looking forward to the performance.”
She looked in her wineglass and ran a finger around the rim. “Of course, if you’re supplying costumes, you’ll see every rehearsal you want to see as well as have VIP seats at the performance.”
Oh sweet Jesus, he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. But what amazing exposure. He relaxed the muscles of his face and beamed. “You must know I wear my rue with a difference.”
She laughed at the allusion to the famous line of Ophelia’s.
Something like white noise hissed in his ears. The words rushed out on a long stream of breath. “Ah, I fear you’ve twisted my arm. I’d be honored to design the costumes.”
“Bravo! I can’t wait to tell the board. I have your e-mail. I’ll contact you about a good time for a planning meeting.”
“Uh, what’s the date of the performance?”
“July 11 begins the one-week run. That’s all we could get Gray for—although we may extend the s
how with a different actor in the lead for the balance of the summer. It would be a shame to go to all that work for just one week.”
“When will I have the, uh, actors? You know, for fittings and—” He waved a hand. “—inspiration.”
She grinned. Maybe she’d caught on to more than he’d like. “You can have most of them anytime. One or two will be harder to book since they’re playing out of town. Gray we get off and on throughout the time, which is actually a lot considering he’s worth about a gazillion dollars a day. Honestly, I think he’s a little nervous about taking on such an iconic role. Anyway, you’ll have to work off measurements and photographs a lot, but I’m sure, like most of us, you know exactly what he looks like.” She sighed audibly, and Ru tried not to join her. “Sound doable?”
He knew what Gray looked like down to a butt hair in the dark. He nodded and attempted breathing.
She gave him a hug. “Guess I’ll see you at the Playhouse.” She walked back to her guests.
Half his brain wanted to go screaming to everyone, but half wanted to keep it quiet. Shaz would see through him in seconds, and Shaz and Billy had invested a lot in Ru’s Fashion Week collection. While the play would be huge publicity, it would also be a huge distraction. A Gray Anson-sized distraction. Ru shivered. No. Better to stay mum for a little while—until he figured out how to break the news.
