Golden Dancer (8 page)

“Shall we go see?”

They turned to walk down the hall to the living room when a man stepped out. Tall, very casually dressed, with a shock of wildly curly dark brown hair.

Trelain stopped. “Mac. What in the fucking hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Eight

Yes. What in hell was he doing there? Mac felt himself blushing, but he couldn’t stop staring. The Russian was, well, gorgeous, dressed only in a skimpy pair of swim trunks, his marble-statue body slightly blushed by the sun. Shit, his cock was half-hard. Mac could see it, clearly outlined against the latex. What had he been doing? Or planning to do? Behind him stood the damned billionaire thief. Terrebone was even more imposing in person than in photos. Taller even than Mac’s six feet two, beautifully hard-bodied, with a powerful chest and arms and long, lean legs. The famous silver hair looked like he somehow raked his fingers through it and it fell in perfect disarray, too long to be businesslike. Yeah. And those blue-black eyes were staring daggers at Mac right this minute. Mac wanted to vanish, but he’d come here for a reason.

He looked at the dancer. “Hello, Trelain.”

The superstar might be substantially shorter than his two companions, but he filled the space with pure charisma. “I repeat, Mac-Kenzie. What are you doing here?”

Mac glanced at the art collector. This was pretty damned uncomfortable. “Uh, could we talk alone?”

Trelain looked over his shoulder at Terrebone and then back at Mac. “You have already imposed upon my host, Mr. MacAllister. I will not further burden him by asking him to leave his own living room.”

Okay, he probably deserved that.

The bastard billionaire chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss this for a box full of chocolates. Let’s all sit down, shall we?” The man gestured back toward the beautiful ice blue room full of strict, ultramodern leather couches and grand paintings with flashes of wild, abstract color. Crap, Mac had already worn a hole in the polished hardwood during his forty-five minute wait. He did not want to go sit and chat amiably with the thieving SOB.

What an idiot! Somehow he’d persuaded himself that Trelain was in trouble, that the dancer had been lured here under false pretenses, or he just didn’t know what he was getting into. That last part was likely true. But the man sure as fuck didn’t seem happy to see him. Of course, they hadn’t parted under the best of circumstances. He’d managed to forget all that in his haste to play Sir Galahad. He hadn’t thought this through enough to know how he’d balls this out now that he knew Trelain was pissed.

Mac sat on one of the leather and wood Eames chairs, while Trelain posed quite beautifully on the couch opposite him. Terrebone stayed standing and leaned against the wall by the arched entry. Mac glanced at him. Wasn’t there some way to get rid of the bastard?

Trelain leaned back against the couch as if waiting for a naughty child to explain himself. “So, why are you here?”

Okay, move over, angels, I’m rushing in
. “I heard you were here, and I live in Laguna too, and I thought I could pick you up and give you a ride back to LA, and maybe get some more information for the profile, and…”

Trelain held up a graceful hand. “Mac-Kenzie. You Americans have an expression. There are lies, and there are damned lies, and I believe that is one of the latter. Would you care to try again?” Terrebone, the bastard, laughed.

Mac felt trapped. He looked down at his hands. “I thought you might be in trouble?”

“What?”

He looked up straight into those beautiful eyes that were wide with amazement. He nodded his head toward Terrebone. “I heard you had gone off with him, and he’s got quite a reputation with men, and I just thought you might want to leave or something.” He inspected his hands again. “The part about me living in Laguna is true.”

The eyes got wider. “You were protecting my honor?”

“Not exactly. It’s just, he collects things, beautiful things, and I didn’t think you’d want to be collected.”

Silence. Trelain stared at him. Terrebone never moved from his spot, his expression unreadable.

Suddenly Trelain launched himself off the couch. In one second, Mac was juggling a squirming mass of ballet dancer. “Mac-Kenzie, that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. My knight in shining cargo pants. You are a wonder.”

Crap. Was that the response he’d wanted somewhere deep in his heart? Trelain was sitting on the edge of his chair hugging him tightly. Oh, Jesus. Very lightly, he touched the dancer’s bare back. Just as silky as his leg had been. And his cock. Shit, not going there. He patted that back firmly. Terrebone pushed off from the wall and watched the tableau with what looked like a slightly amused expression. How much did he know?

The billionaire walked into the room. “I must say, Mister…Mac, is it?… this is a most extraordinary arrival.” Trelain pulled back from the hug, but stayed sitting beside Mac on the chair. The billionaire gestured toward the dancer. “I think you will find that Trelain is only as, shall we say, scathed as he wants to be. He is not being held in chains, nor have I given him false impressions of my intentions, which are, amazingly, somewhat honorable. So, why don’t you stay to dinner?”

* * *

After excusing himself from his cozy gathering, Daniel hid out in the office and stared at the computer. He’d done a quick search on the man now sitting in
his
family room with
his
lover, drinking
his
wine. Quite a history. The guy was only twenty-seven. Looked older, but Daniel figured a bunch of trips to Afghanistan, Iraq, and Somalia could have that effect on a man. Really eclectic reporting. Everything seemed to interest him. Government scandals, murders, and theft—hmm. He’d even written a really good review of the ballet’s current performance of
Spectre of the Rose.

Maybe that was how he’d met Trelain. Or maybe that was why he got the interview to begin with. Hell, he had figured they had to be lovers. Who else would come racing to the rescue but someone deeply attached? Daniel fought back a wave of jealousy so intense, it blinded him for a second. Startled him too. That kind of emotion never got you anywhere, and he seldom felt it. Obviously, Trelain was different. Strangely, his investigation so far showed no evidence that this man, Mac, was gay. No male partners at all. Not even any rumors. Odd.

He could understand what Trelain saw in the reporter. Under that scruffy styling, or lack thereof, the man was good-looking and wildly magnetic. Compelling, really. But if he wasn’t gay, why the hell was he here?

A soft
bong
announced an e-mail. Daniel clicked. So Von Berg said publicly he saw no connection between Daniel and the missing
Golden Dancer
, but he was trying like hell to find evidence. Daniel smiled. The old bastard believed Daniel had the statue. Well, if that was the case, let him prove it.

* * *

When he got back to the living room from his office, Trelain had returned to his seat on the couch. The two men were conducting an interview for this much-heralded profile they were doing for MacAllister’s news site. Much-heralded fairy tale, in Daniel’s opinion. Literally. If ever a man needed an excuse to be with another man, it was MacKenzie MacAllister. The man was as straight as a dog’s hind leg and clearly had a passion for Trelain.

Now, Daniel sipped his cappuccino and watched the interesting dynamic between the two of them being played out at his dinner table. How did Daniel feel about them? Mixed feelings, actually. He wanted Trelain—badly. But the other man had a powerful appeal too. As long as Mac clung to his image of himself as het, he was no threat to Daniel. But who knew where this little drama could lead? Trelain was powerful bait.

“So, Mac, did you get all the information you need for your profile?” Daniel had learned quite a lot himself listening to the questions. Mac had asked Trelain about his mother, who had literally rescued the child from Russia. He’d gotten a bit more data on the reporter too. Ballet dancer parents. There was the connection.

Mac sipped coffee. “Keep feeding me like this, and I’ll never finish the profile just so I can enjoy more dinners.” He smiled. “Actually, the most important part of the profile is the photos. My boss is crazy for those. I’ve set up a photo shoot for tomorrow and wondered if there was a chance we could do it here? I know it would be an imposition, but…”

“Of course. I’d love to see the shoot. And with the beach and the pool, I’m sure you can get a lot of wonderful shots.”

Mac looked into his coffee cup, probably for forgiveness, the bastard. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for assuming you were, uh…had poor intentions toward Trelain.”

Daniel grinned. “I’m hardly a saintly protector, Mac.”

The guy squirmed a little. “I know. I just mean…” The chocolate eyes finally met his own. “He explained how wonderful you’ve been to him and what a relaxing time he’s having here. I’m really sorry for jumping to the conclusion that you were just using him. I guess I feel protective toward him, uh, because my parents are such huge fans of his.”

The guy was really self-deluded. Daniel smiled. “No apology necessary. I know my reputation isn’t stellar in the romance department, and I’m sure I’d feel just as protective of Trelain as you do, uh, if my parents were dancers.” He saw Mac glance up, startled. Good. Keep him thinking. “Since you’ll be here tomorrow anyway, why don’t you stay tonight?”

Trelain smiled with an expression Daniel really wished wasn’t so hopeful. “Yes, Mac, stay.”

Mac looked a little flustered. “Oh, no, thanks. I just live out in the canyon. I’ll be here early in the morning to set up.”

Damn, he didn’t want to be jealous of this man, but he was. Shit. “Great. Before you leave, why don’t we have some brandy on the terrace?” He ushered the two men, one so tall and gangly, the other grace personified, out through the great room to the open doors of the terrace. The late May weather hadn’t turned to southern California’s famous June gloom, and the space heaters kept the outdoor seating comfortable. He looked up at the stars. This had to be one of the oddest little dramas in a highly entertaining life. How would it play out?

Chapter Nine

Mac drove back up the PCH toward Broadway, which would take him out to the canyon. He had to settle down and think. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this confused, if you didn’t count the whole fucking last week. The Russian messed him up. There was no way to escape that simple fact. And now the introduction of his nemesis into the mix really got him going.

The fact was, being at Terrebone’s place tomorrow gave him an amazing opportunity to dig a little into the theft of the
Golden Dancer
. He’d considered it tonight, of course, but the wildness of his thoughts and the satisfaction of his stomach made him tongue-tied on the subject. Some fucking reporter he was. When had he ever shied from doing his job? These men were scrambling his priorities.

Maybe in the confusion tomorrow, he could even nose around a little, see if there was any evidence of the sculpture. Not that he expected it to be displayed on a pedestal somewhere.

Interesting. Terrebone wasn’t what he’d thought. Sure, he was arrogant and entitled and all the other shit you’d expect from a guy who’d made his own way to a billion bucks, but there was something more. Maybe a hint of a soft center to that rock candy that he hadn’t expected. Mac saw it mostly when Terrebone looked at Trelain. More than lust, though there was plenty of that, he saw…what? Caring? Admiration? Love?

And how did Mac feel about that? Crap. He sounded like some New Age psychologist. Or like Debbie. He remembered every word she’d spoken to him last week before he went into hiding. He did have crappy romantic relationships with women. His father had really hated having people think he was gay. When Mac heard about Trelain being at Terrebone’s estate, he’d fucking freaked. He’d rushed in like some knight in shining cargo pants, as Trelain had said. Why? What did he want? Did he just feel protective of his parents’ idol? While the dancer seemed sophisticated, he was very young, after all. Or did he…? Crap, he shied from the thought.

He glanced in the rearview mirror
. C’mon, MacAllister, you don’t ever kid yourself if you can help it. Do I want more of those silky, long-fingered hands wrapped around my cock? Maybe more? Lips? Ass
? There. He’d thought it, and the world hadn’t exploded.

He reached up and swiped at his hair angrily. Shit, how could he have lived so long and never known this was an issue in his life? How could he have kidded himself at the most fundamental level? Maybe the world
had
exploded.

* * *

Trelain sat at the dressing table in his teal and gold silk robe, waiting for the knock he knew would come. He wanted it to come, didn’t he? When he heard the rap, he took a deep breath. “Come in, Daniel.”

The big man entered, also dressed in a robe, but his was a deep blue, the color of his eyes. “Do you want me here?” That penetrating stare pulled the truth from Trelain’s heart and his lips. “Very much. I want you very much.”

But Daniel didn’t take advantage of the open invitation. He crossed and sat on the bed. “Your friend is very interesting.”

“He is, isn’t he? Though I’m not sure he’s my friend.”

“Lover, then?”

What was he thinking? “You know we’re not lovers. He considers himself straight.”

Daniel leaned back on one elbow, his robe gapping over his muscled chest, showing the light smattering of brown hair that matched his eyebrows. “I subscribe to the Jimmy Carter view that when two men have sinned in their minds, they are as good as lovers.”

Trelain burst out laughing. “I’m quite sure your former president was not thinking of two men, and I’m quite sure that you, sir, do not believe in sin.”

“Both true, but you get the idea.”

Trelain rose and walked over to sit beside Daniel. “Have I ever sinned in my mind, as you call it, with Mac? Oh, bloody fucking hell, yes. Has he ever returned the compliment? I doubt he’s been brave enough to fantasize about being with a man, though I know he finds me attractive.” He flipped the golden hair over his shoulder. “It’s probably just my androgyny confusing him.”