Encore Encore (17 page)

“You would as well, wouldn’t you? Tommy fucking pragmatic Ferguson.” They shared another kiss, not so innocent this time, Francis’s tongue eager to be exploring his friend’s mouth.

Tommy let it, making sure he did plenty exploration of his own. They hadn’t long come up for air when he started talking again. Tommy bloody blethering Ferguson. Tommy bloody gorgeous Ferguson. “As you’re so fond of saying, I am what I am.” He picked at the topmost of Francis’s shirt buttons. “And I’m not so thick as to look a gift horse in the mouth. I like you too much to stick to that fucking stupid demand.”
122 Cochrane ~ All That Jazz

“Yeah. I think you do like me.” Enough to have undone all the shirt buttons and be playing with the chest underneath. “Like you, too.” Francis returned the compliment, fl icking open the buttons on Tommy’s shirt until the full glory of his cheese grater six pack was out in the open. “Like you a lot.” He peppered Tommy’s chest with kisses, the fi rst time he’d managed to get his mouth onto anything but the man’s face. Tommy even tasted classy, too, just as Francis had imagined in furtive daydreams. He ran his bottom lip up from navel to nipple, enjoying the little moans his friend made at every nudge of tongue on skin.

“You can like me as much as you want if you’re going to do that.” Tommy waited until the lip had made it all the way over his collar bones, up his neck and to his own mouth before he set about Francis’s shirt. “Come on, I’ve only seen this chest under a dress. What’s it like without the padding?” It must have been acceptable, given the rate at which he set about getting his hands and mouth on it, licking the cleft of the sternum, teasing the delicate skin over each breast.

“Less sweaty.” Francis had never made fun of it before. The cross dressing had been hallowed ground, but with Tommy everything seemed different. More down to earth, as if he’d been brought to ground in a tackle. “I’ve forgotten what this was like.”

“Forgotten what?” Tommy’s mouth was working over Francis’s shoulders, down his arm, onto the sensitive skin just below his armpit.

He thought he might just die if Tommy didn’t let him
do it
tonight. “I’d forgotten what it was like getting in the sack with somebody I’ve got a real fondness for, rather than just an available body. Not been there for a long time.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. No one’s said anything about getting into my bed.” They may not have said it but Tommy’s eyes spoke volumes. Darker now, full of some heady mixture of affection, lust and what might just be fear of saying the wrong thing. Of screwing up tonight like he’d screwed up the last time.

ENCORE! ENCORE!
123

“I’d settle for getting inside your pants.” Francis ran his hand along Tommy’s chest, down to the waistband of his chinos. He tugged at the waist button, which didn’t seem to want to come undone. “Play it any way you want it, Tommy boy, so long as we get to play fast and loose.”

“Silly tart.” Tommy’s hands were making a beeline for Francis’s fl ies, fl ipping open the button expertly while his lover still struggled with the recalcitrant buttonhole. “Seem to remember that right down here is where you store the juice.” It was. And the juice was ready.

“Cut out the
Chicago
jokes. I’m off duty tonight. Off duty until Monday. Oh, bloody hell, I give up.” Francis let Tommy undo his own button, the sodding annoying thing slipping through the hole as soon as Tommy laid a hand on it. He fl icked Tommy’s hand out of the way once he’d done, though—only he was going to be allowed the pleasure of tackling the zip. “Oh. Mmm.” How could he even manage a simple bloody zip, with Tommy doing that? There? “Slow down.”

“Sorry.” Tommy moved his hand back up to Francis’s chest, let him breath again, regain his composure.

“No, I’m sorry. Need to take it easier, Tommy boy.” Francis felt like some teenage boy, incapable of control, ready to spill at the slightest touch. That had been all right the fi rst time round, but not now. They’d both learned a lot since then.

“Bed’s better for that, then. Cooler there, anyway—it doesn’t get the evening sun. Come on.”

They both hitched up their pants, carefully. Last thing anyone wanted was getting stuck in a zip at this point. Better just to hold them up, no matter how stupid it looked. “I’ve got to say, Tommy boy, you don’t get this trouble if you’re wearing a skirt.”

“For the fi rst time I can see the appeal.” Tommy opened the bedroom door; this room was much less muggy, a gentle breeze coming in from the partially open sash window. “Make yourself comfy or something.” He shut the curtains, turning on a bedside light which gave a gentle glow.

124 Cochrane ~ All That Jazz

“The only place I’ll be comfy is with you here beside me.” Francis stretched on the bed, letting go of the scrunched up waistband of his pants and relieving the growing pressure. “Unless you’d let me be inside you, which would be comfi er still.”

“Hey, I keep telling you. Got to know you better. Then, yeah…then.” Tommy slid his trousers off completely, boxers with them, and crawled onto the bed. They lay awhile together, kissing sometimes, touching, whispering about nothing in particular, watching the light make strange shadows on bodies and discarded clothes. The heat of a muggy night and the desire to see each other naked had been too much to resist, even if they’d managed to resist coming just yet.

“Long time since it’s been as slow as this.” Francis had forgotten the strange allure of complete self control, the denial of pleasure until it simply couldn’t be resisted anymore. “Long time since it’s been as good.”

“You didn’t know me, before, that’s why. That’s one area we rugby players could teach your lot a thing or two—do the basics well, and you’ll be a success.”

“You’re a bloody marvel at the basics, Tommy.” Francis turned into his friend’s embrace, let himself be kissed, stroked, whatever was on offer. “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but it’s great.” Clever, well aimed little caresses down his pelvis and between his legs were having the desired effect.

“I could give you the anatomical explanation although that would take the fun away. It’s like a hand job but better.” Tommy murmured into his lover’s ear, hot breath on Francis’s neck proving almost as heady as the hands were.

“Stuff the anatomy.” Francis turned his lover over, started a few basics of his own, tongue and fi ngers working their own brand of showbiz magic.

“You’ll get to do it one day.” Tommy’s voice was hoarse, harsher than his usual lilting tones. It wouldn’t be long now, before he came. “If you’re a good boy.” ENCORE! ENCORE!
125

“I think I’m being an exemplary boy.” Francis carried on the good work, enjoying the moans which Tommy had been reduced to, the blethering brought down to its lowest level. “Get to do what?” Of course he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it.

“Get to stuff my anatomy.”

“Counting the days to opening night, Tommy boy…”

“Did you really think I was better than Catherine Zeta-Jones or was that just a handy line to get me into your bed?” Francis watched the moonlight play over Tommy’s neat six pack. Both spent, both happy, both teetering on the brink of falling into deep affection if not quite love, yet.

“If it was just a line it was working on delayed action. Of course I meant it. I don’t lie, you should know that by now.” Tommy sniffed. “Can’t lie, at any rate. Always give myself away, have done since I was a boy. I’d have been rubbish at football, I could never have fooled the ref.” He traced a line down his lover’s arm. “Can’t fool you, either. I can’t offer you the stars, Francis, or even the moon. But you’ll always know where you are with me.”

“You can say that again. Most of the time I’ll adore you, and ten per cent of it I’ll want to murder you.” Francis lay back, desperately tired and ridiculously happy. “The sort of life I could like living.”

HIS

LEADING MAN

KIMBERLY GARDNER

David Sullivan liked parties. He really did. And as L.A. Parties went, this was a damn fi ne one. Beautiful house on the beach, beautiful night with warm fragrant breezes, dozens of networking opportunities almost literally within touching distance and, oh yeah, some of the fi nest man-fl esh he’d seen since his arrival in southern California three days ago, all combined to make this evening’s gathering a pretty sweet deal for an all around nobody and newcomer to the movie business like himself.

“Hey, Sully, look over there. Isn’t that what’s-his-name?” Gavin Collier nudged his arm.

Vodka sloshed over the back of David’s hand, narrowly missing his jacket sleeve. He followed the direction of his friend’s gaze toward a knot of extremely attractive men all laughing and talking. “Which one?”

“The gorgeous one. God, do I have to point? Right there.” Everyone at this party was gorgeous, but David didn’t bother to say so. For that matter, everyone he’d seen in L.A. was gorgeous.

It must be an unwritten rule or something that you had to be a hottie to reside within the city limits.

“I still don’t know who you mean, Gav.” David sipped his vodka tonic.

“He was in Quentin Tarantino’s last fi lm. I can’t remember his name, but I know you know who I mean.”

“Sure, Quentin Tarantino. Whatever.” David scanned the crowded terrace. Mmm, the eye-candy was out in force tonight.

He followed the movements of a petite young man in skin-tight jeans and midriff-baring t-shirt as he broke away from one group of partiers and drifted toward another.

David had had his eye on the little cutie since he and Gavin had stepped out onto the terrace. That was thirty minutes ago and so far he hadn’t stuck with any particular man or woman
130 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

for more than a few minutes at a stretch. No, David decided, taking another sip, the little hottie was most defi nitely on his own. Thank you God.

Tossing back the remainder of his drink, David set down his empty glass and touched Gavin’s elbow. “See that guy over there?”

Gavin nodded. “Mmm, I certainly do. He looks delicious.

Think I’d like to peel him out of those jeans and lick him all over.”

“Sorry, man, I saw him fi rst, so that means the licking rights are all mine.” He grinned. “I’m going over to talk to him. And hopefully leave with him, so if I don’t see you later, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Going to ask if he wants to audition for you?” The question was accompanied by a salacious wink.

David laughed. “Perv. I never use my career credentials to get laid.”

Gavin grinned. “Yeah well, that’s because your credentials and fi ve bucks might get you a latte at Starbucks, but that’s about it.”

“Fuck off,” David said good-naturedly.

“Gavin, there you are. And David, it’s great to see you.” Christine Ferrar, Gavin’s sister and the party’s hostess, appeared seemingly from nowhere. Rising on her toes, she kissed David’s cheek then thumbed lipstick from the corner of his mouth. “I’m so glad you could make it, sweetie.” She turned to her brother.

“How’s the seminar going? McKee is fabulous, isn’t he? I’m telling you, once you’ve taken his seminar, you will never watch movies the same way again.”

“We aren’t taking McKee’s seminar, Sissy. I told you that.” Gavin rattled the ice in his glass.

“Did you?” She blinked wide blue eyes. “Oh. Well, I would have sworn that’s what you said. Well, you should. You both should. He really is fabulous.”

ENCORE! ENCORE!
131

“You’ve taken his seminar?” With one eye on Christine, David watched as his little brunet hottie leaned in and laughed up at a tall, gray-haired man in a cream-colored jacket.

Damn. That was so not good.

“Me? No, I don’t go in for that sort of thing.” She laughed, a lovely musical sound like the tinkle of fi ne crystal. “But that’s what everyone says, so there must be some truth in it, right?” Gray-hair slid his arm around Hottie’s trim waist and tugged him in close.

Crap.

“Gavin, sweetie, you don’t mind if I steal David for a minute, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, Christine slid her arm through David’s. “I have someone I’m dying to introduce you to.

I just know he would be perfect for yours and Gavin’s fi lm.”

“Actually, Chris,” Gavin said, “David was just about to—” But if his sister heard him, no one would have guessed it.

As Christine turned on her stiletto, Gavin shrugged as if to say, “sorry, man, I tried.” David gave a small shake of his head that said no big deal as she towed him across the terrace and in through the sliding glass door.

He found himself in a massive grown-up playroom replete with sixty-inch plasma TV, antique jukebox, pinball machine, pool table, and fully-stocked wet-bar.

The playroom was even more crowded than the terrace and the roar of dozens of conversations competed with blaring music, something techno with a driving bass that David didn’t recognize, raising the indoor decibel level to near ear-splitting.

He bid a silent goodbye to his chances with the brunet hottie and allowed himself to be led, or dragged, through the crowd by Gavin’s sister.

“This guy is gorgeous,” Christine yelled above the din. “I mean literally to die for. And he’s a real sweetie too. I just know you two are going to hit it off.”

132 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

Uh-oh. Inside David’s head alarm bells began to shriek.

Beware of scary fi x-up attempt at ten o’clock.

He tried to gently extract his arm from her clutches. “Chris, as much as I appreciate the intro, I really have to—” But just as she’d done to her brother, Christine ignored him.

Big surprise there. Gavin’s sister was nothing if not determined, which probably had a lot to do with how she’d gotten to be a major player in the entertainment press with a nationally syndicated column and a blog that logged a ton of hits every week.

With no choice short of physical force, he followed docilely along until she pulled him to a stop. Her hand remained fi rmly attached to his arm, as if she was sure he might bolt if she let go.

“Kieran, sweetie, here’s the guy I was telling you about.” Kieran?