Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection

by Odin Nightshade

  “Right now?” said Marcus uselessly, frantic at the thought of having to leave – and at the thought he'd gotten this position in the first place. How could Isaac possibly know that Marcus was what he was looking for from those brief few moments they'd spent together? “I don't know. I'm at an audition; I can't-”

  “Mr. Wills insists,” said Benson. Evidently Marcus had no chance to insist right back, because at that, the line went dead.

  He hung up the line, sliding the phone back into his pocket, and sighed. “Well, then.”

  “Hey, Baker. Talking to yourself again?”

  Marcus looked up at this familiar voice, catching sight of a face equally familiar. This was Charles's friend Jack, who showed up in the same circles every now and again. Marcus hadn't been expecting to see him today. He tended to aim for more musical parts, and this audition was for a play. He didn't doubt that Jack would pose strong competition regardless. He was traditionally handsome with his golden hair and glowing tan and tidy, chiseled features. He wouldn't be out of place on stage, whenever he inevitably made it there.

  He grinned, trying to play it off like nothing seriously weird had just happened. The last thing he needed was even more conversation about Isaac Wills. “Got to get in the zone somehow.”

  “Hey; whatever works.”

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past, letting the hand linger there for a little longer than it should. It wasn't the first time Marcus had harbored suspicions about Jack's intentions with him – and ordinarily, he couldn't say he minded. Jack was hot, and New York was lonely. Right now, though, he had other things to focus on.

  Right now, apparently, Isaac Wills was expecting him.

  “Number 12 – Marcus Baker?”

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding.”

  He picked up his script, fist tightening and loosening around it with nerves. He had probably read it twice in total, and now it was his turn to audition. Making sure his cell was at least on silent, he headed out into the studio with as natural a smile as he could force on.

  There was nothing he could do now. In this state of mind, he was almost guaranteed to bomb it.

  Chapter Four

  It had been a long time since he'd screwed an audition up that badly, and he could already feel the cold sweat gathering on the back of his neck from the sheer humiliation of it. That casting director would probably see a whole host of first-timers who performed better than he had today, and he'd never get another chance to make that first impression.

  The frustration of receiving such a demanding phone call right before he was called in had not helped – but he couldn't entirely blame Isaac or Benson, and he knew that. After all, it had been his fault for spending the whole prep period trying to convince Charles that he wasn't going to be a hooker.

  Actually, he still wasn't absolutely sure whether or not he was going to be a hooker, but that was another matter.

  Marcus ran his hands through his hair as he approached the apartment building. This time, the doorman let him straight through. Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel slightly powerful about that. A small and obnoxious part of him hoped that somebody else off the street would try to walk in straight after him, and be obscured by the security staff. Of course, that wasn't going to happen, as nobody walked into random apartment buildings just out of interest – but still, it felt strangely good to be part of that elite.

  Knowing what he was letting himself in for this time made the approach a hell of a lot easier. He had already forgotten how badly Isaac Wills gave him the creeps; all he could think about right now was that shitty old couch of AJ's, and how he might never have to sleep on it again. He hadn't liked Charles's tone or his condescension, but maybe he was right. Maybe living in a place like this would be worth any price.

  At least it'd be one thing he had going right for him.

  However, it wasn't Benson that opened the door today. Isaac stood there himself, long-legged and handsome, and stepped aside to let him through. “So kind of you to come – though we may need to reaffirm the meaning of 'immediately'.”

  “I had an audition I was about to walk into,” Marcus said. “I tried to explain, but...”

  “Come right this way.”

  Marcus hated being interrupted, but it seemed like that was pretty much Isaac's modus operandi. He was just going to have to get used to taking deep breaths and pacing himself if this was going to work out.

  “You of course have full use of the kitchen, which is through here,” said Isaac, pointing down a corridor. “It's always fully stocked. All the facilities I have here are open to you. We have a gym with a small pool. A library. The only places you're not permitted to go uninvited are my office, which you've seen, and – one other place, which I'll show you in due course.”

  Ominous, thought Marcus, but he said nothing.

  “This is your room,” Isaac told him, opening the door for him and then standing aside. “Go ahead; take a look. I won't invade.”

  It had been a long couple of weeks since Marcus had lost his room at AJ's, and the thought of actually having his own room again knocked the wind out of him – in a good way. Of course he'd known, or strongly suspected, that he wouldn't be sharing with Isaac, but to have it confirmed and to see the environment he'd be living in was a huge weight off his shoulders.

  Despite the slightly lukewarm way he felt towards Isaac, he couldn't help but exhale as he saw the room. “This is incredible.”

  He turned to look at Isaac, whose smile suddenly didn't look so predatory. “It'll do?”

  “Oh, boy. Yeah. I've never even stepped in a place like this before.”

  “Good.” Isaac tapped the frame of the door, and nodded towards the window. “Controls for the blinds are by the bed, but I'm told it's nice to leave them open and rise with the sun. Bathroom through the door to the left – closet to the right.”

  Marcus didn't think he had enough clothes to warrant a walk-in wardrobe. Then, however, he caught sight of a suit laid out on the bed. “Um…?”

  “Ah, yes,” said Isaac, remembering. “That's for you. Get dressed; we'll be having dinner as soon as you're ready.”

  “What, right now?”

  Isaac grinned. “We really do need to work on your understanding of 'immediately', don't we?”

  “I mean...” Marcus trailed off, confused. He rubbed the sleeve of the suit jacket between his fingers, marveling at the expensive fabric. He wouldn't like to think how much it actually cost. Would it even fit? “What are my working hours? What will I actually be doing?”

  “I'll explain over dinner,” Isaac told him. “As for your working hours – well. I need you to be available for me at any time, at a moment's notice.”

  “I can't leave?”

  “Of course you can,” said Isaac. “But we'll discuss further at dinner. Get clean; get into your suit. I'm sure Chef is already beside herself at how late we are. Chop chop.”

  With that, he was gone, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Marcus sat down on the bed with a slump, face blank, and glanced down at the suit beside him. Only an hour ago he was ruining an audition, and now he was here in this incredible room. The view he had across the city was stunning.

  If only mom could see me now, he thought – but then quickly took it back. He'd save the celebration for after he knew what the hell it was he'd be doing. Goodness only knew he needed to leave room to allow himself to walk away if that felt necessary. Not that it had felt that way when Isaac had announced it, but dinner could be pretty romantic – or at least it was possible for it to have romantic connotations. With the gift of the suit alongside everything else, Marcus didn't know what to think.

  That being said, he was clearly lucky to even have stumbled across the opportunity. Whatever Isaac had seen in him, it had evidently pleased him enough to try him out – and Marcus didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than he already had.

  He just hoped, as he stepped under the hot jets of
water, that there were no hidden cameras in the shower.

  Chapter Five

  Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised at all – but the suit did fit. The dark gray fabric looked good against his skin, and Marcus couldn't help but admire himself in the mirror as he left the bathroom. No wonder rich people found it so easy to get laid. Apparently, all he'd needed to look this good was a high-quality suit.

  Of course, he didn't have any of his other clothes at the penthouse yet, so for now it was his only option regardless. He wondered when he might get a chance to go and pick them up.

  Forced to assume that the dining room was somehow attached to the kitchen, Marcus made his way back through the apartment to try and find his host. His boss? He still didn't know how he should think of Isaac, beyond trying to suppress his attraction to him. Hopefully the guy would make good on his promise to explain everything over dinner. Otherwise, Marcus wasn't sure how much longer he could take the confusion and uncertainty.

  After all, it was getting harder and harder to imagine himself walking away. The shower had been predictably divine; it was one of those designs meant to imitate a waterfall, combining powerful water pressure with a crazy amount of room, and even calming lighting. Was this really the way the 'other side' lived? No wonder they were so greedy. Marcus expected he'd be afraid to abandon all this luxury after spending his entire life with it, too.

  As it turned out, the dining room was beyond the door right next to the kitchen – and there sat Isaac, alone at the other side of an impressive mahogany table. It wasn't as big as Marcus had been expecting. Clearly there were no enormous dinner parties going on here. At least, not in this room.

  “At long last,” said Isaac. “The guest of honor.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Marcus, rushing to take his seat. “I just showered, and then-”

  “I'm teasing you, you know.”

  “...Oh.” Marcus had never really considered that before – that all of Isaac's intimidating behavior might just be playful. He had been so thrown off by the environment and the power imbalance that he had failed to realize that… well. Isaac was just a person, in the end. He gave a sheepish smile, tucking his chair closer under the table. “Well. I'm sorry, anyway. I hope you're not too hungry.”

  “I'm ravenous,” said Isaac. Marcus couldn't tell if this, too, was supposed to be a joke – or, indeed, a euphemism. “No trouble, though. Here.” He pulled Marcus's glass closer to himself briefly, filling it up with a splash of red wine.

  “Thank you.”

  Of course, the main thing Marcus wanted to do was discuss specifics now. He just didn't know how to introduce the topic without seeming pushy or presumptuous. Clearly Isaac was a very hospitable and generous person, and – oh. Right.

  “Thank you for the suit, too,” he blurted out, tacked on to the end of his 'thanks' for the wine. “And the room. Everything is kind of amazing.”

  “You're welcome. It's a little loose around the collar,” Isaac pointed out, nodding towards Marcus with his eyes on the offending spare half-inch, “but I'll know better for next time.”

  “That's a pretty incredible talent,” Marcus pointed out, pretending to enjoy the wine. He was naturally more of a beer-and-pizza kind of guy. “Guessing measurements.”

  Isaac shrugged. “I could lie and agree, but… actually, I had an expert guess based on footage of you from the lobby's security camera. You know – we knew the dimensions of the lobby around you, so we could extrapolate from that. I'm quite impressed; her estimates were quite accurate.”

  It blew Marcus's mind that anybody would spend time – and money – doing something like that. Did it really matter so much that Marcus had a suit to wear tonight?

  “You look quite distressed,” Isaac pointed out, and Marcus realized he'd been staring into space.

  “No,” he blurted. “No, sorry. I'm just thinking. This is a lot for me to take in. It's just… it's crazy. People don't do things like that where I come from.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “Indiana,” he said. “You were right when we first met. A small town.”

  “I thought as much,” Isaac admitted, topping up his own wine glass. He glanced over as Benson came through with a trolley of food, covered up with silver cloches. Presumably, they were real silver. When the cloches were lifted, an incredible smell poured out, good enough that Marcus had to force himself not to moan. Apparently, steak was on the menu tonight. What else would a man like Isaac Wills eat? “Thank you, Benson.”

  “Sir.”

  “I had to guess,” Isaac pointed out, “how you'd take it. We opted for medium rare.” Benson served Isaac first. Isaac's own steak looked bloody rare, and Marcus couldn't help but feel grateful they hadn't cooked them both the same. He was practically expecting Isaac's food to get up off the plate and start walking. “Bon appetit.”

  “Yes,” said Marcus, awkward. How were you supposed to respond to that? “You too.”

  A few bites later, conversation resumed. “No; I knew it would be a small town,” Isaac continued. “You've got that uncertainty about you. I've seen a handful of people come through for this position – all native New Yorkers. They've got a certain… I don't know. They occupy the space they stand in very confidently.”

  “Whereas I'm ashamed to exist,” said Marcus, intending it as a joke.

  “Well – in a way,” said Isaac, which surprised Marcus enough to look up at him, brows raised. “Yes. I know you don't mean that, but you seemed… apologetic, in a way. As if you were embarrassed to be standing in front of me.”

  “It's not exactly my usual environment,” he admitted.

  “No; I guessed that,” said Isaac. “But I like that, you know. Respect for the unfamiliar. Cautiousness. I think we'll work well together, based on that. I like a person who takes care with things he doesn't understand rather than charging in headlong – or bluffing, even. It seems more honest.”

  “Oh.” Was this why Marcus had been selected? That seemed so arbitrary, almost like choosing someone based on their star sign or hair color. Isaac hadn't actually asked him any questions to confirm that he was the right kind of cautious – but perhaps he had a more specific idea of what he was looking for than he was willing to let on. “Well… yeah, I guess I did come across that way.”

  “I'm sure you're very adaptable,” said Isaac. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not calling you a coward. I just require somebody who's able to recognize the gravity of a situation. Somebody who will listen to what I ask for very carefully.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  They shared eye contact for a moment, and Marcus suddenly realized he hadn't started eating yet. Isaac had such a hypnotic quality about him that it was difficult to focus on both him and something else that the same time. Hopefully that would wear off before long. Marcus didn't know what this position would entail yet, but presumably he would need to be able to focus – and not on the plump, handsome shape of Isaac's lips.

  Really, he was getting more and more curious. Isaac seemed very flirtatious with the way he spoke, and he was desperately handsome, but none of the things he said seemed to suggest he wanted sex. The flutter of quiet disappointment that Marcus felt in the small of his stomach surprised him. Sure, Isaac was attractive, but… it wouldn't really be what he wanted to sleep with him for his rent, would it?

  “How's your dinner?”

  “Fantastic,” Marcus said, seeing no reason to play it down or act cool. Whoever Isaac had hired to cook this stuff, he had made the correct choice. The meat was tender and tasty, and the accompanying vegetables were flavorsome and rich. He didn't recognize everything on his plate, and he wasn't sure whether that was because they were rare, expensive ingredients or simply because he didn't understand high-class food. Either way, it didn't matter. It was delicious. “Really, really good. Your chef is amazing.”

  “She's pretty great, yes,” agreed Isaac. “I'm sure you'll meet her at some point. You can thank
her yourself.”

  “I will,” he said. “Does she live here too?”

  Isaac shook his head. “That's something you need to know – we can start there. Other than you, there will be nobody else in the suite after 9:30pm. Everybody's shift ends then. They'll arrive again in the morning at 7am. If you need anything in-between… well. You're on your own, I'm afraid.”

  “I'm sure I'll manage,” said Marcus, bashful at the thought of having to ask staff to help him with anything at all. The idea of people having staff in this day and age was still quite surreal to him. Of course he knew it happened, but… well. He had never imagined he'd live in an environment with hired help himself.

  “Quite,” Isaac agreed, with a faint smile. “Benson used to stay overnight sometimes when I required his help, but recently his health has deteriorated, and we've agreed it would be best for him to scale back his working hours. Hence – here you are.”

  “I'll be a butler?”

  “No,” Isaac corrected. “These duties fall outside the scope of an ordinary butler. It was very kind of Benson to help me with them. We're old friends, by now.”

  “I have to confess I'm curious,” Marcus admitted, finishing off the rest of his steak. “The more you tell me, the less I understand.”

  Isaac checked his watch. “Well – yes, alright. I suppose it's nearly time.” This, needless to say, didn't clarify anything at all. “Let me finish my dinner and I'll take you down.”

  As non-sexual as the rest of the information that Isaac gave tonight had sounded, this was straight back up in 'prostitute' territory again. A thrill of nerves shot up Marcus's spine, and he nodded. “Okay. I mean – yes, sir.”

  “Charming though it is,” said Isaac, voice warm, “there's really no need to call me that.”

  Marcus felt the heat of a blush creep over his face. “Yes. Sorry.” He had absolutely no idea how to conduct himself around this man; he was worlds apart from anybody that Marcus had met before, and not just because of the amount of money resting in his bank account. There really was something about him – something that had Marcus fighting off mental images of the smooth skin under that blue shirt, and that rich brown hair tousled beyond recognition; something had him imagining the sheen of sweat on the surface of his skin, no longer poised to perfection.