Golden Dancer

by Tara Lain

  He stepped up on the toilet seat and then onto the back of the tank. The windowsill was likely wide enough to hold him, and he could just barely reach the crank on the window. Shit, could use Daniel’s height right now, or Mac’s. Oh Jesus, couldn’t think of them. Not getting back to them. Never seeing them again. That would be the worst part of dying. He cranked and said several prayers of thanks quite unfamiliar to him when the window opened. Bloody hell, it could so easily have been painted shut. The thought made him shake.

  Grabbing the lower rim of the tiny window, he pulled himself up the wall. Not hard. Fortunately, his captors didn’t seem to be ballet aficionados, or they might have been less willing to let him in this bathroom.

  He switched one hand to the upper rim of the window and pulled himself up, balancing on the sill, scrunched over below the ceiling like a little cat. Okay, he had to look out. This was it. What was down there?

  He glanced. Bloody hell. Two stories was far. He took a deep breath and analyzed the situation. Below him, by some amazing trick of fate or grace, were grass and some bushes. Whoever heard of grass and bushes in a warehouse district? But this seemed to be some effort to make this building more desirable. An effort that had failed apparently, but hell, Trelain would take all favors.

  He froze at the sound of the outside door, then the nerd’s voice, high, stressed, distraught.

  “Unnnnnhhhhh.” Bloody crap, now or never. One more second and Rutger would be through that bloody door. One second and, as the Yanks said, his ass would be grass—one way or another.

  He looked again. Could he recover from a broken leg? Hip? And still dance? No, no, that wasn’t going to happen. He could do this. He could.

  Somewhere in his brain, von Weber’s music for Spectre of the Rose began to play. Just like in the ballet, there was a window—he had to escape, he had to jump, he had to be free. Perhaps any ballet dancer could have made it up to this window. Any small ballet dancer could get through it.

  He leaped. Air screamed in his ears, his stomach lurched into his throat, and the sides of the building loomed.

  Others could make it to the window. But only one ballet dancer in all the world could jump out of it and live…

  …And his name was Trelain Medveyev.

  A block away, Mac screamed like someone had ripped his heart from his chest. “Trelaiiiiiin!” Daniel caught the reporter as he fell forward, and they both watched the man they loved hurtle to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Mrs. Graystill, I assure you, your son will be fine. It’s a very mild concussion. And not even a hairline fracture. I’ve seen Trelain sustain worse injuries in rehearsal. Though from what you tell me, I have no idea how he managed to do it. Two stories—imagine.”

  The voices faded off as Trelain’s mom led the doctor down the stairs of her townhome. Mac sighed and scooted forward in the chair, resting his elbows on the bed. He’d heard what he wanted to hear. Trelain was really okay. The man he loved.

  The dancer had been awake when the doctor came, but a mild sedative had done the job. Doc had said he just needed to rest. Trelain would recover fast. Wish he could say the same. In the name of some kind of inflated ego, he’d taken information from that bastard Von Berg. Practically helped the Nazi. Why had he done it? Was he flattered Von Berg thought he was some fucking great journalist? So much so that he’d partner with someone that evil? Someone who could drive the man Mac loved to jump from a two-story window?

  That horrifying scene replayed in his head. Trelain’s body leaping from the window two stories in the air. He remembered screaming. He’d been sure he was watching the death of the man he loved. And equally sure Daniel would never forgive him. Maybe he still shouldn’t.

  What kind of horror would have forced Trelain out that window? Mac knew when he’d seen that huge German he’d sort of met in his office run from the building after his escaped captive. Crazy. Maybe crazier than Von Berg. Sweet Jesus, they’d let that maniac guard Trelain. What had he done? To this moment, he wasn’t sure what Trelain had endured at that pervert’s hands, though Daniel had quietly asked the doctor to examine Trelain for rape, and he’d found no evidence of it.

  The huge German had looked like he would take on both of them to get Trelain back, but then Daniel’s men had arrived. Even the Nazi bastard wouldn’t take on that many guns. He’d wisely ducked backed inside the building, and Mac had seen his hulking form staring from a ground-floor window until they drove out of sight with Trelain.

  The dancer had been awake for a few moments after they got to him. He had literally soared through the air, hit the ground for an instant in some low bushes, curled into a ball, and rolled for several feet before lying in a heap. Mac had gathered Trelain into his arms gently, trying to pick him up without doing more injury. The turquoise eyes gazed up at them. “I knew I could do it.” He’d smiled at Mac. “Put that in my bloody biography.” And then he’d passed out. Mac’s heart had stopped. For an instant, he’d thought Trelain was dead. He’d never recover.

  Mac rested his forehead on the bed. He felt a soft kiss against his ear. “You’re thinking awfully hard.”

  He looked up into the midnight eyes and whispered, “Crap, I can’t stand to think of what I’ve done…to both of you.”

  Daniel’s finger touched his cheekbone. “Hey, why you? You didn’t steal that damned statue. That’s what the bastard wants.”

  “But I helped him, and I spied on you when you were only ever good to me. God, I’m not someone who can be trusted with love.”

  He got a rough shake that pulled him to attention. “Don’t you ever say that, MacKenzie. That devalues not only you, but me and Trelain for loving you.”

  Mac stared at his powerful lover. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Well, start. You and I both made a shitload of mistakes in this relationship, and we’ll make a lot more. The love is what’s true. That’s what will get us through.”

  Mac cocked his head. Trying to keep from crying, he gave Daniel a sassy smile. “Want me to engrave that on a greeting card?”

  “No, I want you to kiss me.”

  Mac pressed his lips tenderly to Daniel’s, then tucked his head against that shoulder.

  * * *

  Daniel moved Mac forward so his head rested on the bed beside Trelain, and slipped out away from him. He reached down and gently caressed Trelain’s hand, lying relaxed on the bedcover. Could he hold all the love? Mac’s back couldn’t be comfortable like that. Maybe he could get him rearranged. He whispered in Mac’s ear. “Hey, sweetheart, let me put you back in the chair, okay?” No response. He slipped an arm under Mac’s shoulder and pulled.

  The curly brown head shook like a big buffalo. “Mmmm-ummm.” He crawled onto the bed and curled up next to Trelain.

  For a second Daniel worried that it might hurt Trelain or disturb him. Then the lithe body, still under the covers, curled toward Mac, and one arm fell across the big man’s lean chest. Trelain sighed in his sleep. Yeah. Happiness. Daniel leaned over and kissed each of them on the cheek.

  “Ahem.”

  He glanced up to find the formidable Mrs. Graystill standing in the doorway.

  He placed his hand lovingly on Mac’s cheek, then straightened and walked toward the handsome woman. Late-afternoon sun from the hall windows shone off her still-golden hair. He got to the doorway and crowded her with his bulk until she stepped back, and he quietly closed the door.

  “In my home, Mr. Terrebone, I do not approve of two men sleeping together in this way.”

  He cocked a head at her. “First, call me Daniel. And you can’t possibly have missed the peace Trelain feels from being with Mac. I’m sure nothing will help him heal faster than being with the man…men he loves.”

  She mustered a good expression of shock.

  “Mrs. Graystill, why don’t we go have a cocktail and talk?”

  She regarded him sternly for a moment, then turned and led the way to a lovely sitting room. A hou
sekeeper came in, and she ordered champagne cocktails. “Will that suffice, Mister…Daniel?”

  He sat in a richly upholstered love seat. “Fine, thanks.”

  She stared at him intently. “First, tell me if my son is in any more danger.”

  “No. I have every reason to believe that the kidnappers now have too many people who know their identity, and they will not try again. I will tell you, ma’am, that Trelain was in this danger because of me, and I will do everything in my power to see that he is kept safe…I hope for the rest of his life.”

  He got a raised eyebrow. “I have plans for my son’s future—”

  “No, Elinor. You don’t, really, and you know it. You are fully aware that your son is never going to marry any of the silly heiresses you parade in front of him. What you are not aware of is that your little charade is actually damaging both to him and to your relationship.”

  “How dare you—”

  “I dare because I love him, and I know how much he loves you.” That backed her down. “Trelain is homosexual. Not bisexual or bicurious. I’ll wager he’s never had a sexual thought about a woman, much less kissed one or considered sex with one. Your refusal to accept him as he is makes him less accepting of himself and less respectful of his own nature. So instead of forming lasting, meaningful relationships that he would have to bring to you for approval, he’s lived a promiscuous life of risky short-term romances and one-night stands.”

  She rose and walked to the mantel over the fireplace that displayed a gallery of photos of the glorious dancer. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her eyes.

  “You did realize that, after all?”

  She nodded.

  “And he stays away from you far more than he wants to. He loves you fiercely, Mrs. Graystill. I’m sure most mothers wish their sons loved them as much. But if you love him, you must accept, no…embrace who he is.”

  She turned. “His sexuality does not define him.”

  “Precisely. He is a great dancer, he is a loving son, he is a funny friend, and he has sex with men. But that is a part of him, and denying it doesn’t make it go away. It just makes him go away.”

  Again, the handkerchief patted the corners of her eyes. “And you fit into this how? You and MacKenzie?”

  Daniel sipped his cocktail. “I think I’m the heiress for Trelain.” He laughed. Okay, time to get serious. “As soon as the doctor says it’s okay for Trelain to fly, the three of us will go home to California. California doesn’t recognize gay marriage, and even if it did, only small clandestine centers in Utah would recognize the union of three people, but certainly not three men. If Trelain and Mac will have me, however, I will arrange a promise ceremony for the three of us, and you will be invited.”

  “But Trelain’s life is in New York! You can’t—”

  He held up a hand. “Elinor, I have a home here in Manhattan, and the market is great for buying right now, so I might purchase something bigger. Mac’s profession and mine are very flexible, so we can both work from anywhere. I want to arrange it so that at least one of us is with Trelain whenever he wants us to be.” He grinned. “You’ll get sick of seeing all of us.”

  She sat down on the other love seat a bit heavily.

  He smiled. “I’m sorry that Mac and I are the closest you’ll get to daughters-in-law. I’ll bet Trelain would love it if you picked out his outfit for the wedding.”

  “And children?”

  Ah, there was the heart of the matter. “Well, we haven’t discussed it. Too busy being kidnapped and such. But personally, I’d love kids.”

  A voice came from the doorway to the sitting room. “Me too.”

  Daniel looked up. Mac stood in the archway. Trelain snuggled under his arm, wearing pajamas far too masculine for him and with his golden hair flowing around his shoulders.

  Elinor flew out of her chair “My baby!” She hugged her son, then pulled back, in true motherly fashion. “Why are you up? You should still be sleeping.”

  “Because I’m not an invalid, and I’m far too interested in your conversation with Daniel.”

  Mac helped him over to the love seat, where his small groan as he sat suggested he wasn’t quite as chipper as he pretended. He leaned back carefully. “Bloody hell, I’m glad those bushes were there, but they sure did stick.” His mother handed him a glass of water. “Water? No bubbly?”

  His mother frowned. “You had a sedative.”

  “It’s worn off. Plus I believe there are children I need to be toasting, is that right?”

  Daniel laughed, went to the small cocktail cart, and poured two glasses of champagne over sugar cubes and bitters.

  Elinor looked at him archly. “Making yourself at home already, Daniel?”

  He walked over and handed a glass each to Mac and Trelain, then moved behind the love seat where Elinor sat, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “I figure I might as well…Mother.”

  Trelain’s hand flew to his mouth.

  Daniel crossed around and sat beside Elinor, looking at his lovers, the men of his heart, sitting across from him on the other love seat. “I was thinking that, if you’ll have me, that is, the three of us could plan a nice ceremony about loving and honoring and such that’s a good excuse for a party, and your mom would come, and other friends, and…”

  Trelain hurled himself from the seat, barely wincing at the pain, and threw himself into Daniel’s lap. “Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh God, I love you so much. Yes, yes.” He leaned back so his head was on his mother’s lap. “And you’ll really come? Will you?”

  She looked at the young god with such love, it made Daniel’s heart swell. Petting his hair, she smiled. “I’ve lived for the day I’d see you happy. I had just about given up. Do you want me to come to your ceremony?”

  “Oh, yes, Mum.”

  “Then you couldn’t keep me away.” She smoothed his hair.

  Daniel looked at Mac sitting alone on the other couch. “And you, Mac? Do you want to make Trelain happy and say you’ll spend the rest of your life with him?”

  Trelain turned on his side, his lower body still on Daniel’s lap and his head on his mother’s. “Yes, Mac, please. Since the first time I ever saw you in that rehearsal hall, I knew I was a goner, as you Yanks say.”

  Mac’s big brown eyes gazed for a moment on Trelain, then flicked to Daniel. “And you, Daniel? Will it make you happy?”

  “It’s all that will. It’s about the three of us; you know that. Andre joked that it took two men to hold Trelain. That’s true for all of us. Something about our threesome makes us complete.”

  Elinor piped in. “Well, I see it, if you don’t. All three of you are very daring, but in different ways, so you can admire one another without getting redundant. Daniel, I see you as a man who has eaten life with both hands and now wants to savor its meaning. Mac is all about intellectual curiosity and the search for truth. And Trelain is the sun in your universe, giving heat and light to your world.”

  Trelain wiped a tear from his cheek. “Mum, that was bloody brilliant.”

  Daniel smiled. “We love you, Mac. The way you are, for who you are. Do you love us?”

  Mac sighed. “A truly ridiculous amount. These last couple days, I’ve realized that if something happened to one of you, I don’t think I could survive.”

  Elinor pushed at Daniel’s shoulder. “Well, don’t leave the man sitting there all alone.”

  Daniel pulled himself out from under Trelain’s legs and crossed to Mac. He sat down beside him and took the man in his arms. In the interest of Mrs. Graystill’s sensibilities, he didn’t kiss him.

  Mac looked up at Daniel. “So what is this about a baby?”

  Daniel grinned. “Elinor is wondering if we plan to have any.”

  Trelain stretched. “Truly, Mum, I may look like a girl, but I doubt I stretch the anatomy quite that far.”

  She swatted his butt. “Don’t be cheeky. Do you want children?”

  “Actually, I’m still kind of enjo
ying being the baby myself.”

  “Nonetheless, I gather you are all open to it long-term.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “I think it wouldn’t be too early to start considering birth mothers. After all, you’ll want at least three children, one from each father, and…”

  Daniel looked at Mac, and they both turned to Trelain and started to laugh.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Mac stepped out of the luxurious shower after washing about six layers and two weeks of Middle Eastern grime from his body. He dried himself with one of the enormous fluffy towels and then put on the medium blue, terry-cloth robe Daniel had bought for him. He stared in the mirror at his fatigue-bruised eyes. He couldn’t believe it.

  A few hours before, he’d dragged himself out of customs and passport control from a two-week news-gathering trip to Yemen, Bahrain, and Afghanistan, thanking his stars that Daniel had said he’d send the limo for him. Man, he had not felt up to the shuttle service. When he didn’t see George anywhere around, he remembered sighing. Daniel had probably needed the car. As he looked around for the shuttle sign, a flying golden missile at least as powerful as the ones he’d been dodging the last weeks had hit him broadside. Arms had surrounded him as Trelain kissed his cheeks. “I missed you, I missed you.”

  Jesus, Trelain was usually so reserved. He’d been delighted, but he’d blushed. Then he’d felt a big hand on his shoulder and a quiet whisper in his ear. “We missed you like crazy, baby.”

  Most embarrassing, he’d fought tears standing right there in the middle of the ratty LAX luggage area as he realized that this was what it meant to have special people in your life. What it felt like to be in a relationship. He’d never expected this to happen. His constant failure with women his whole life had left him resigned to a solitary existence—and now that resignation was gone. Gone, but still weirdly lurking in the background.