can’t imagine I’d be a brilliant choice as a husband.” He gave Daniel that shy, sexy sideways glance that seemed to be a favorite of his. “Of course, I’ve been known to change my mind.”
They got close to Daniel’s property. No one could own the beach in California, since it belonged to all the people, but Daniel loved that his estate came down to the sand. One wing of the house was built close to the water, while the main body of the house was set back on the other side of the lawn and swimming pool. He had several houses, but this was his favorite. This was where he felt truly at home.
They clasped hands tighter. Daniel laughed. “I believe we need a shower. Think you can get your cock in me in the shower, pretty baby?”
Those blue-green eyes lit up. “Brilliant idea. Bloody hell, I can’t wait.”
Trelain practically dragged him to the beach-room entrance where the polished concrete floors were up to the assault of fresh sand. God, this guy was hot, and hot for it. Daniel loved that. They sat on the maple wood benches and wiped the sand from their feet, then rushed through the door laughing.
Daniel’s butler, Carlos, was waiting. “Mr. Terrebone, Mr. Medveyev has a visitor. I put him in the formal living room.”
Shit. He really wanted to fuck. “Were you expecting someone?”
Trelain looked mystified. “No. I shouldn’t think the few people who know I’m here would disturb me, certainly not by arriving unannounced.”
Daniel got to see that flash of entitlement that accompanied nearly all great artists, no matter how shy or humble they might be.
“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
They got close to Daniel’s property. No one could own the beach in California, since it belonged to all the people, but Daniel loved that his estate came down to the sand. One wing of the house was built close to the water, while the main body of the house was set back on the other side of the lawn and swimming pool. He had several houses, but this was his favorite. This was where he felt truly at home.
They clasped hands tighter. Daniel laughed. “I believe we need a shower. Think you can get your cock in me in the shower, pretty baby?”
Those blue-green eyes lit up. “Brilliant idea. Bloody hell, I can’t wait.”
Trelain practically dragged him to the beach-room entrance where the polished concrete floors were up to the assault of fresh sand. God, this guy was hot, and hot for it. Daniel loved that. They sat on the maple wood benches and wiped the sand from their feet, then rushed through the door laughing.
Daniel’s butler, Carlos, was waiting. “Mr. Terrebone, Mr. Medveyev has a visitor. I put him in the formal living room.”
Shit. He really wanted to fuck. “Were you expecting someone?”
Trelain looked mystified. “No. I shouldn’t think the few people who know I’m here would disturb me, certainly not by arriving unannounced.”
Daniel got to see that flash of entitlement that accompanied nearly all great artists, no matter how shy or humble they might be.
“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
Similar Books
