by Tara Lain
“So? Did you decide it was not okay for your family to be gay? For you to be?”
He threw himself back into the cushy chair and flopped his legs over the arm. Yeah, his father didn’t mind gay men, as long as they weren’t in his family. Deep down, Mac knew that his father had run Paavo off to keep him away from his son. But he hadn’t wanted to have sex with the guy. Just admired him. Hadn’t he? “Crap, this is too deep for me. And for the record, I didn’t have sex with Medveyev, so the point is moot.”
“So what did you do that’s got you so damned worked up?”
He threw his legs back on the floor. “Crap, I jerked him off, and he did the same to me, and it was just because I tried to massage his sore damned leg, and he got this hard-on, and he’s beautiful and… Shit.”
She got up and knelt in front of him. He tried to avoid her eyes but felt her hand on his cheek. “Yeah, sweetie. Like I said.”
Chapter Five
He needed a drink. Trelain stepped out of the backstage door and walked down a short stretch of hall to the reception area. It was packed with people in formal dress, laughing and sipping from champagne glasses. Yes, bubbly. He would need a good bit of that if he was going to survive yet another donors’ reception.
A waiter walked by with a tray, and Trelain snagged a glass. He glanced at the guy’s cute butt. Hmm, might enjoy the boy more than the champagne, but he would be good, at least for a little while. He slicked a hand down his satin lapel. Although he knew his hosts would have preferred he remain in costume and makeup, he’d changed into a tuxedo and cleaned his face. Prancing around in costume made him feel like a commodity.
“Mr. Medveyev, uh, Trelain…”
He turned to find Allison Archer, done up to the nines in green satin. While not her best color, he gave her kudos for diverging from black. He smiled.
“Do you mind? I have so many people I want you to meet.”
He gave a small bow. “I’m at your service.” Another swig of champagne provided the fortitude.
While she clearly thought about it first, she reached out and took his arm. What did she think? That he was contagious, or his gayness might rub off? Probably just being respectful, but c’mon, he was twenty-four. She was old enough to be his mother.
She beamed. “Let me introduce you to some of our favorite people.” He took a deep breath as she led him to the first group of well-dressed patrons.
Nearly an hour later, his face hurt from smiling, and he’d run out of champagne. He glanced around for the waiter. One of the men in his group would not be quiet on the subject of the arts elevating the community. Bollocks. His head hurt. At least the man had warmed to his subject and no comment seemed to be required to keep him going.
Where the hell was that waiter when he needed him? Trying not to look bored, Trelain glanced over Allison’s shoulder. Fucking hell. A man was staring at him. And what a man. Very tall, with a full head of silver hair that contrasted with a young face. A great face, actually—long nose, very straight, angular jaw, and full lips. Delicious. But it was the eyes that stood out; they seemed to glow as they stared at him. The man radiated energy and vitality and more charisma standing still than most people would have performing on center stage. Though he was across the room, Trelain could tell he used up more than his share of air space.
“Trelain…?”
He looked back to discover all eyes in his little group on him. Shit, what had he missed? “So sorry. Just thought I saw someone I know.”
Allison smiled and took his arm again. She certainly seemed to have gotten over her compunction about touching him. “Mr. Anson was just asking how long you will be staying in our fair city.”
“Oh.” He smiled and tried to keep from looking back toward the man with the silver hair. “We will be here all week, but I’ll have some days off, so I hope to sightsee a bit. I’ve been to Los Angeles twice before, so what would you suggest as a good tourist attraction for a third-timer?”
Mr. Anson’s wife laughed. “Well, you must see the La Brea tar pits, of course, and certainly you don’t want to miss the contemporary art museum…”
The deep voice came from behind him. “Actually, Patrice, I think he should go south and see Laguna Beach.”
Trelain saw the woman look up, and several emotions flickered across her face. Something between horror and delight. “Oh, well, you would know, Daniel.”
Trelain turned slowly, knowing exactly who he would find. His gaze rested for a moment in the middle of the man’s ruffled shirt, and then he looked up into eyes so dark, it was easier to think of them as black than blue. “Hello.”
The man called Daniel didn’t smile. “Hello.”
Allison rushed into the awkward tension. “Oh, Daniel, I was just going to bring Trelain to meet you. Cavalier, may I present Daniel Terrebone. He is a great supporter of the arts throughout California. Daniel, this is…”
“Of course, Allison, I know who this is.” His eyes had never wavered from Trelain’s.
Her hands fluttered. “Yes, of course.”
The man looked up finally and smiled. A wolf face indeed. And such a pretty wolf. “Andy, Patrice, you have had sole custody of our star for long enough. I’m going to claim my prize and get him some champagne, which he appears to be woefully missing.” He clasped Trelain’s arm and gave a gentle tug. “May I steal you away?”
Trelain wanted to grab this yummy human and make a run for the door, but manners were required. He smiled what he hoped was regretfully at the Ansons. “Thank you both so much for sharing your perspectives with me. Very inspiring.” He noticed Andy Anson preen a bit at the comment. Good. His work was done here. “It was delightful to meet you.” He bowed slightly from the waist in lieu of a handshake and turned toward the man who still lightly held his arm. Daniel. What was the last name again?
The big man led him through the crowd with a strong hand. Trelain glanced back to see Allison’s face looking both confused and concerned. She clearly didn’t want to lose control of her donor-bait, but lose control she had. Daniel seemed to be quite certain where he was leading them.
When they reached the other end of the big open space, Trelain pulled back. The guy was much bigger, but Trelain was strong. “Hold up. Where do you think we’re going?”
The man turned and gave Trelain that wolfish grin again. Close up, he really was lovely with those deep, dark eyes, and dark curving brows contrasted with the shock of silver hair. “I thought I’d rescue you.”
Trelain smiled. “And I thought I was getting champagne.”
The man stared at him for a moment then looked up and waggled a finger seemingly into space. Moments later, a waiter appeared out of the crowd carrying a tray packed with bubbly. The man grinned. “Would you like it all?”
Trelain smiled back. Daniel seemed a man who got what he wanted. But then, so was Trelain. He selected a full glass from the tray. “One should be sufficient.”
The man took another one, though he didn’t seem to drink it. “But more is better.”
The waiter left, and Trelain took a sip. “Your philosophy of life, I presume?”
“Totally.”
“So who are you, Daniel?” Trelain noticed that people milled all around them, but no one interfered.
“A child of the universe. A lover of art in its myriad forms. A surfer and diver. Oh, yes, and I dabble in computer software sometimes.”
Trelain glanced at him sideways. “Dabble? Like Bill Gates?”
The guy gave a huge smile. “Yes, precisely like that.”
No doubt richer than Croesus, based on the deference everyone seemed to show him. “So, what exactly does ‘rescuing me’ look like?”
“If you’ll let me, I’ll take you to my home in Laguna Beach. Sun, surf, relaxation.”
“Mr. uh…”
“Terrebone. Daniel.”
“Are you propositioning me?”
The man leaned down so his lips were close to Trelain’s ear. His breath smelled like
peppermint. “I am propositioning you at every level, cavalier. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on two feet, and I want you near me. Preferably under me for hours at a time.”
Bloody hell. Trelain smoothed a hand down his arm to try and control the goose bumps. The man chuckled. “I think that sounds good to you.”
A little distance was required. Trelain stepped back. “You are more than persuasive, uh, Daniel, but you also impress me as a man who is used to getting what he wants. Perhaps I don’t enjoy being one of a multitude.” Yes, he was being flirtatious, but it was also true. Maybe part of the appeal of the reporter had been that he wasn’t usually attracted to men. Trelain liked being special. Hell, who didn’t?
Daniel very discreetly ran his fingers up Trelain’s arm. Good. He wasn’t trying to make a show of possession. “It’s true, my friend, that I have had many brief encounters in my past. I don’t think you know anything about me; why would you? But others will delight in telling you of my peccadilloes, so I might as well come clean. That was the past, however. I have not been in a relationship of any kind for many months. I am weary of the game. I want someone special in my life, and you, my friend, are very special.”
Trelain smiled. His thoughts had been answered. He opened his mouth to speak, but Terrebone put up a hand. “One more thing. I won’t rush you or crowd you. I would love to have you come to my home as a guest with no strings attached.”
Trelain cleared his throat. “I am dancing three nights this week, and I believe Laguna Beach is some distance from here.”
“About an hour. But you are free on Thursday, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you pack your bathing suit”—he gave that charming, lecherous grin—“or not, and I’ll send a car for you after your performance. I’ll have a massage therapist standing by, my chef will prepare all your favorite foods, and you can have a quiet vacation for a few days.”
Suddenly, Trelain was too tired for banter. A vacation sounded like heaven, and if it was with this beautiful man, all the better. He might have a thing for that silly reporter, but it was a stupid, fruitless crush. This man was handsome, rich, and seemed sincere. And he knew he was gay. A huge improvement. “I would love to come.”
Daniel looked surprised, then delighted. “You are a world of surprises, cavalier. I like that in a man.”
Trelain sipped the last of his champagne and glanced at the still-milling crowd of patrons. He sighed. “And now I must continue my role as money-grubber-in-chief.” He bowed slightly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh, one more thing. Please give this to Allison.” Terrebone handed him a scrap of paper. It said IOU $1,000,000.
“Fucking hell.”
“Not enough? I just wanted Allison to know I hadn’t been wasting your precious time.”
Trelain carefully folded the paper. He laughed all the way back to the group of donors surrounding the anxious program director.
* * *
Mac dropped his backpack on the chair at his office desk and grabbed for his ringing cell phone. He so didn’t want to be in the newsroom today, but Woo needed him for the damned meeting. He hit the green button. “MacAllister.”
“Yeah, hi. Couldn’t get you on your other line.”
He knew that soft voice. Shit, he was distracted if he’d forgotten his encrypted cell. “Hi, John. Sorry. What d’ya got?”
“Some. According to my sources, there’s a couple people who could have done the security hack. That guy I’ve told you about once or twice might have pulled it off, but some say he was on another job at the time.”
“Okay. Who else?”
“I keep getting a newer name. Stefan Saltz.”
“German, I assume.”
“Yeah. Calls himself SS, which is creepily egotistical. I hear he’s got skills, but nothing more specific about your job. Not yet anyway.”
“Thanks, John.”
There was a pause. Mac knew what was coming. “You got something for me?”
He sighed inwardly, but didn’t let John hear. “Yeah. When you want it?”
“I’m gonna be at my place tonight. Too soon?”
“I’ll try. If you don’t hear back, expect your gift to arrive.”
“Yeah. I’ll call you. By the way, copy down this number.”
Mac grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. “Shoot.”
John repeated a number. “It’s a special back line. Only a few clients have it.”
“Thanks, John. I’m honored.”
“Yeah, well, thanks again.”
Mac hit End and looked at the number. Son of a bitch, here he’d thought he was inner circle with John, but there was an even tighter ring. Couldn’t hurt being in that. He slipped the number into his backpack and collapsed into the desk chair.
He looked around at the cramped, makeshift offices of the Daily Window. Kind of reminded him of an old-fashioned newsroom, not that he’d ever seen one except in movies. People hurried around, pounded on computer keys with two fingers, and yelled friendly insults over the partitions. Crap, he could have used less activity today, but it was always crowded on meeting days. Working from home for a week had suited his need to hide out, but he couldn’t escape the editorial meeting. He’d also neglected to pick out a boy for John. Looking at beautiful men had been a little too close to home.
He looked around over his shoulders and quickly typed in a few keys. A screen full of beautiful boys, many of whom looked younger than their eighteen or nineteen years, popped up. John loved the boy they called Valentine, but the kid was popular and not usually available on short notice. Fortunately, John also liked variety. Mac kept looking as he pulled his alternate cell from the desk and dialed.
“Ambrosia.” Mac knew that husky female voice well.
He adopted his alternate persona. “Hi, Mickey, this is—”
“Hi, Oscar.”
He smiled. He’d chosen the name Oscar on the spur of the moment the first time he’d called the high-class online escort service. Never had known why he chose it. “I’m looking for tonight. Valentine booked?”
“Of course, darling. But I’ve got something new and tasty.”
“Spill.”
“A gorgeous Asian boy. He looks about fifteen, but of course, he’s really twenty.”
“You sure?”
A soft chuckle. “Of course, darling. You know my reputation is too important for me to break that big law.”
“Okay, usual time and place.”
“For you, darling?”
“You know better.”
“Do I? One of these days, you should have a little taste for yourself, don’t you think?”
Shit. He felt his dick hardening in his pants. He didn’t want this right now. Or ever. He gave a forced laugh. “Can’t afford you, Mickey.”
“Oh, I’d give you a big discount, Oscar. Wouldn’t you like one of those beautiful tight asses for yourself?”
“Gotta go. Just have him there.” He hung up and took a deep breath. She always teased him, since he told her the boys were for clients, but he wasn’t in the fucking mood. He wiped the sweat off his upper lip. Yeah, right. He was afraid that’s exactly what he was in—a fucking mood.
He chucked the phone into the hidden compartment, wiped his palms on his cargo pants, and went into the conference room. Most of the senior editorial staff were gathered already.
“Hi, Mac Mac.” Woo waved from the far end of the table.
Debbie shoved a chair out beside her, and he took it. She leaned over. “How are you, buddy?”
Crap, she’d been looking at him like he was damaged goods, and he was sick of it. He was going to tell her to cut it out. Okay, so he’d done a dumb thing. Not the fucking first time. As for the “did he like guys, or one guy specifically” issue? The further he got from the experience, the less it seemed likely or important. He’d lived this long as a straight man, and he was perfectly happy. Well, not perfectly happy. Probably not even very ha
ppy, but he liked his work and his friends. That was more than most people had.
“Okay, troops, listen up.” Woo called the rowdy group of staffers to order. Kind of. “So what we got for this month?” Everything moved so fast at the Window, they had to plan a month in advance and then adjust content day-by-day as news broke and issues changed.
Hands rose, and topics got shouted out when the hand-raising produced no results. The school problem in Los Angeles, the plight of women in Afghanistan when the US pulled out, who would be nominated for the big music awards, could cats smell diseases, recipes for summer barbecues, and on and on.
“We got a big entertainment story?” Woo looked at Hirschfield. The man shrugged his elegant shoulders. He was the only one among them that wore a suit. “I will be attending the new chamber orchestra performance later this week. They have a new clarinetist who’s supposed to be quite good.”
Woo rolled her eyes. “Clarinetist fine, but don’t get new subscribers.” Her darting black eyes landed on Mac. “So, Mac Mac, you got that dancer story for me? Med…whatever?”
Hirschfield’s eyes widened. “Medveyev? You have a story on Medveyev? He doesn’t do interviews except regarding performances.”
Woo waved a hand. “But Mac is big ballet guy. He tells me he can get a profile on this super Russian. I even have the big dinner receipt to prove it. So, Mac, you got my story? They say he’s real pretty. Pretty sells.”
Debbie looked at him, her look of compassion all over her face. He wanted to smack her, even if he did love her. “No, Hirschfield’s right. The guy weaseled out, after telling me he’d give me a story. Sorry, Woo.”
She crossed her arms. “After eating some real expensive food, he weaseled out. So, you got to first base with this guy?”
Mac cringed at the reference.
“If he like you enough to eat big dinner, maybe you can talk him into giving us just a little story.” She held her fingers a half inch apart. Then she smiled. “And some really big pictures, okay?”
“I think he’s already gone.”
Hirschfield looked at him with proverbial daggers. “No, he goes back to New York next week. That’s after he’s completed his little idyll with his new lover.”
