Golden Dancer (14 page)

Crap, if he watched another second, he’d come. He grabbed lube, stroked it on his painful erection, stilled Trelain with one hand, getting a yelp of protest from Daniel, then positioned his dick against Trelain’s ass and pushed into the only place he wanted to be. Heaven. Oh, God. His whole life he’d waited to feel this wonderful. The whole scene surrounded him. He pushed into Trelain as the dancer pulled out of Daniel and then pulled out as Trelain pushed in. At first, he was awkward, but the timing oozed into his pores, and it became the world’s sexiest ballet. In and out, Trelain pushing into Daniel and off Mac until he thought he’d scream from the loss, then he’d push back onto Mac’s throbbing cock. All three of them were making deep, thrumming, guttural noises. Man noises. No woman ever sounded quite this way. And Mac simply loved it, got off on it. Oh yeah, getting off. It was time. Trelain reached around and pumped Daniel’s cock once, twice. “Oh shiiiit, yes, baby, yes!” Daniel was pumping a quart of cum onto the bedspread. The golden head flew back flinging hair into Mac’s face. “Oh brilliant, my darlings, I’m coming. Oh God, I’ve never come like… Oh God…”

It was too much. Light exploded in Mac’s head. Only feeling remained. The cum pumped from his cock, and his heart expanded to twice its normal size. No maybe that was three times. Yes, three times.

Chapter Sixteen

Gone. Gone.

Mac stared at his bunched fists on the steering wheel. He had to get the hell out of this car, walk into that building, and get his ass to work. But right now Daniel was putting Trelain on a plane to fly back to New York, and Mac couldn’t lie, he wanted to be with them. Would be with them if Woo hadn’t left him a message last night saying he needed to be in the LA office this morning for an important appointment.

Jesus, he had to snap out of it. He’d had his fun. Done his big self-discovery thing. Shit, if he was in fact gay, and the evidence was pretty incontrovertible, he could find plenty of action right in his hometown. Even after the exodus to Palm Springs, Laguna still had a way-higher-than-average gay population. He knew where the bars were. He could find partners, guys who liked to be fucked. Jesus, that made him sick to his stomach.

He took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t gay, he was just gay for that damned dancer. Except there was also that double-damned billionaire. Mac hadn’t exactly kicked him out of bed. Shit! No. Space. He needed space. This weekend he’d drowned in sex, and for a guy without a swimming lesson, he’d been sucked under. He’d feel differently now that they were gone. Gone.

He forced himself out of the car, slammed the door, and propelled himself all the way up to the seventeenth floor on self-disgust. The familiar detritus on his desk welcomed him. Reference books, stacks of old business cards, a couple carryout menus. He added his backpack to the stack. He’d get back to work and feel better.

A quick glance around showed none of the usual hysteria of a big meeting day. Where was everybody? It looked like a plain old workday, with at least half the staff filing stories from home or the field. No diving for coffee, no quick notes on possible stories. He looked for Woo and saw her at her desk in the far corner. As close to private as their fishbowl got. It was five minutes before she’d told him he had to be at a meeting. What the fuck?

Mac started toward her desk, and as if on cue, the front door of the office opened to one of the more unusual duos Mac could remember seeing. The door holder stood about six feet six with a short blond crew cut and massive chest. He only needed a Nazi uniform to look completely in character. Sweeping into the open door was a tiny, bald man with glasses and a briefcase. He paused inside the door. Woo saw him and came forward in greeting. Fascinating. They shook hands, and then she looked up and saw Mac staring. She gestured to him to come. So this was his meeting?

Mac slipped between the desks and miscellaneous papers people kept on the floor around them and headed to the conference room where Woo had taken the visitors. His heart beat fast. An unexpected encounter. He lived for this shit.

In the conference room, Woo gestured to the small man. “Mac, this is Mr. Ernst. He’s been crazy nuts to see you.”

No formality for Woo. Mac extended his hand. “Mr. Ernst, I’m Mac MacAllister.” They shook hands, but Mac noticed everyone seemed to be ignoring the two-hundred-fifty-pound blond elephant in the room. He extended his hand to the behemoth. “Hi, I’m Mac.”

The man didn’t respond or move a muscle. Ernst put a hand on Mac’s extended arm. “Please, do not distract Rutger.”

Mac pulled his hand back. “Distract him? From what?”

“His job.”

“Which is…?” He knew the answer but wanted to hear it.

The little man smiled tightly. “Protecting me.”

“From all us ravening reporters wielding uncontrolled mouses, uh, meece?”

The man didn’t smile. “Shall we proceed?” He glanced at Woo pointedly. “With privacy?”

Mac shrugged. “Hey, this is her business. I’m not telling her to leave her own conference room.”

Woo backed elaborately toward the door. “Oh, I’m going and leaving you to talk while I assemble another ravening hoard of crazy nuts reporters.” She laughed and left the room. No one could ever accuse her of having gotten ahead on her diplomacy.

The big man—Rutger, for crap’s sake—stepped in front of the door, and Ernst sat in the chair at the head of the table.
Okay, play power games
. Mac perched on the edge of the table. “Okay, Mr. Ernst, shoot.”

The man looked uncomfortable at Mac’s casual position, but he leaned back. “I represent a man, a very powerful man, who believes you and he may have common interests. If this is true, he would like to, shall we say, make an offer of mutual support which he believes will be in your best interests.”

“And his own?”

“Well, of course.”

“Are you going to tell me who the man is?”

“Yes, but first tell me; is it true that you are investigating Daniel Terrebone for his involvement in a theft of a priceless statue?”

Mac paused, trying not to show his surprise. Okay, he hadn’t been intensely secretive about his investigation. Woo knew, as well as Debbie, his parents, and John Kizwalski, but no one else that he was aware of. None of those people had any reason to share the information. He decided to balls it out. “I’ve considered the issue. It’s no big secret.”

The man regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps. But are you serious about the investigation, or is it just dabbling?”

“I could be serious if I thought there was a good story in it.”

“Well, Mr. MacAllister, my client believes the story is as serious as… What do you Americans say? A heart attack?”

Funny, the guy didn’t have an accent. Hmm. “And your client is…?”

“Horst Von Berg.”

Well, shit! “I see. Mr. Von Berg hasn’t publicly declared any belief in Terrebone’s complicity.”

“That would be unwise without proof. The collector’s resources are even vaster than Herr Von Berg’s. A battle of the titans would be costly and probably inconclusive. However, Herr Von Berg believes that with your help, he can force Terrebone’s hand, and, shall we say, persuade him to return what he has stolen.”

“Really? Do you really think Terrebone will give it back if he has it? And who’s going to find it? The cops? Not likely.”

The man’s smile was disturbing. “Leave that problem to Herr Von Berg. He is certain he can get the statue back.”

Mac slipped off the table edge and went over to the window that looked out over smoggy downtown LA. He looked out without seeing. Chills ran up his neck. Jesus, what a story. But it was Daniel. And Von Berg was known to be ruthless. That old German didn’t give a shit if Mac got what he wanted as long as Von Berg prevailed. But shit, what a story. “So what does Von Berg want me to do?”

Mac turned in time to see the man give a little satisfied smile. “Nothing you are not already doing. Investigate. Help find clues that will prove Terrebone’s guilt.”

“To write a story, all I have to do is prove that a story is true based on facts and reason, not beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Yes, but now you will have Herr Von Berg’s resources behind you.”

Mac held up a hand. “No. I can’t accept any kind of material help. That would be tampering with my objectivity.”

The man stood, as if this was all fait accompli. “Of course. I meant to say, Herr Von Berg will be conducting his own investigations and sharing the results with you. That, I am sure, is entirely ethical. We shall become a source, yes?” Again, the tight smile.

Crap, why did he feel like Faust making his deal with the devil? “Let’s say I’ll do my investigation. I’ll accept your input as you choose to give it. I will share with Mister Von Berg any data I believe to be incontrovertible evidence for a criminal trial, but I make no guarantees that I will ultimately be convinced of the truth of the story, and therefore, write the article. Fair enough?”

Ernst hardly looked like a happy camper. “That seems a bit one-sided.”

“No, you share what you want. If it helps convince me of Dan…uh, Terrebone’s guilt, then you’re contributing to the story and, hopefully, to Von Berg getting his statue back. Best I can do.”

Ernst paused, then stuck out his small hand. “Very well, Mr. MacAllister. We’ll do it your way. You’ll be hearing from us.” With scarcely a nod from Ernst, the behemoth stepped aside, opened the door of the conference room, and ushered the little man through the front of the office and out the main door.

Mac stared after them. What had he just done? Deep breath. Okay, he’d agreed to accept information from a fantastic, if biased, source on a story that could get him the kind of international reputation he longed for. Theft, money, art, Germans. What had Ernst called it? The battle of the titans, and Mac would be the ringside reporter. But there was no getting past the fact that one of those titans was the man who had spent last night sucking Mac’s cock. His much-heralded objectivity was shit. Plus, Trelain cared for Daniel. Yeah, Trelain probably cared for Mac too, but not enough to forgive him if he hurt Daniel. And Mac liked the billionaire. Crap, a job sanding surfboards sounded just about right for him at this moment.

“Everything okay, Mac Mac?”

He looked down at his hands clenched on the chair back. He tried to release them one finger at a time. “Yeah.”

“Who’s that crazy nuts guy? He’s scary.”

“Yeah. Close the door.”

She did, and he proceeded to tell her about this great opportunity that had just fallen into his lap. He forgot to mention how it was going to ruin his life.

* * *

Daniel wandered into his office, throwing the sport coat he’d worn to the airport over the arm of a chair. Jesus, he felt—alone. He never felt alone, but this was it. That fucking dancer was so deep under his skin, the loss of him felt like a missing organ. Jesus, this was bad. But he smiled as he collapsed into his desk chair and played out the wonderful scenes from last night’s—hell, all night’s—going-away party in bed. Trelain had fucked him, he’d fucked Trelain, Mac had fucked Trelain, they’d all sucked one another, and Mac… Hmm, Mac.

Watching the man blossom into his sexuality was delicious. The guy was edgy about touching Daniel, though he’d managed to suck him off pretty damned convincingly last night, but he hadn’t had his cock anywhere near Daniel’s ass, and he definitely hadn’t bottomed for anyone. But hell, he’d come a long way in one weekend for a twenty-seven-year-old gay virgin. The guy clearly adored Trelain. Shit, who didn’t? But did he like Daniel at all? And what about vice versa?

Daniel picked up a glass globe and worried it in his hands. Yeah, he liked the big guy more than a lot of other men. Hell, more than most, except Trelain, of course. Trelain was a given. Just the thought of letting that man go wrenched Daniel’s heart so thoroughly, he knew he had to give this, whatever it was, a chance. But Mac? Could there be something for them too?

He tipped forward, replacing the globe on his desk, and spied the scrap of paper he’d left there when he’d copied it from Mac’s backpack. Speaking of Mac. The number looked so damned familiar.

He opened a desk drawer, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed the number.

It rang once, twice. A tentative voice answered. “Kizwalski. Who is this?”

Son of a bitch. Daniel cocked his head. “Hi, John. This is Daniel Terrebone.”

* * *

“Sir, do you know that this reporter, MacAllister, is just another of the girly men? He was photographed by our informants prancing about that perverted city with the billionaire and the”—he licked his lips unpleasantly, which gave Horst a shiver—“dancer person.”

Von Berg regarded the big man, again standing in front of his desk, having returned from his trip to California with Ernst. “Yes, Rutger, I was aware. Those same informants
informed me
while you were gone. It is my conviction that MacAllister is using this to get inside Terrebone’s defenses, which makes the reporter all the more valuable to us.”

“But he is a pervert like the rest of them.”

“Yes, perhaps so. But at the moment, he is a pervert on our side. And even if he’s not, it matters little, as I do not intend to give the man anything particularly important. Instead, I’m hoping that he will reveal something valuable. We know that Terrebone stole the statue, but anything MacAllister can dig up to prove it will make us look better in the eyes of the world, should we be discovered. After that, I don’t really care what happens to him. To any of them, for that matter.”

He watched the slow smile spread across Rutger’s face at his statement and hoped that this pervert also remained on his side.

Chapter Seventeen

Three fucking days, and he still felt stuck. Mac stared through the window above his computer into the canyon beyond.
Come on soothing view, kick in
. He sighed. No use. He knew exactly what he should be doing—powering ahead on the Terrebone-is-a-big-fat-art-thief story like there was no tomorrow. He finally had Woo’s total confidence. The appearance of the Von Berg minion had been pretty damned convincing. Plus, he’d already gotten an information feed from Von Berg. Stuff he already knew—the Stefan Saltz connection—but still interesting that Von Berg got the same intel. And since he had seen the “Stefan” name on Daniel’s phone, that, by itself, made Mac believe even more that Daniel was guilty. But what would he do if he could uncover the truth? Shit, he was a reporter. Damn it to hell and back—