Encore Encore (25 page)

up around his waist, cum covering his hand and dripping out of his ass. David got up, turned away and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Kieran sat up. Tears stung his eyes and a lump clogged his throat. He blinked hard twice and swallowed. Fuck that. Just fuck that. He was not going to cry.

For the second time in twenty-four hours he used the sheet to clean himself up as best he could. He got to his feet on legs that trembled, yanked down his skirt and shoved a hand through his tangled hair. With one fi nal glance at the closed bathroom door, he fl ed the hotel room. Not until he was safely on the street did he allow the tears to come.

“Goal!” The beautiful young man threw his arms around David and treated him to a full-contact liplock, nearly upsetting the carton of moo shu pork balanced in his lap.

David laughed into the kiss and somehow managed to catch the Chinese food before it toppled and spilled all over both of them and the sheets.

“Hey, baby, I know you liked soccer, but unless you want to lick this stuff off me…”

“I could do that.” Emilio stuck out his tongue and wiggled it. His dark eyes sparkled as he fl opped back against the pillows.

“But, David, how you can stay so calm during a game, I don’t know. This is the playoffs, man. The difference between victory and complete humiliation.”

“I get that,” David said, not really getting it at all. But because Emilio was a total hottie who could suck his brains out through his dick, he smiled and did his best to join in his enthusiasm.

They were lounging in his bed, watching soccer and eating Chinese takeout right from the cardboard cartons. David had met the half-Cuban, half-Haitian dancer on the set of a music video three and a half weeks earlier, right after returning from L.A. So far they’d done little besides fuck and watch sports on David’s sixty-inch fl at screen TV. He supposed if they were going to keep seeing each other, he’d better learn something about at least one or two of the sports Emilio adored.

Soccer, basketball, baseball and, hell, even rugby, the exotically handsome dancer could talk endlessly about any one.

“You want any more of this?” David offered the carton of vegetable curry. When Emilio, eyes still glued to the screen, shook his head, he set it on the bedside table along with the moo shu pork and their forks.

192 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

Emilio counted down the fi nal seconds of the game then whooped and clapped his hands before treating David to another enthusiastic kiss. “We won, papi. Let’s celebrate.”

“Yeah? You want to go dancing?”

“I dance for my living, silly man.” He sent David a sultry look that went straight to his crotch. “Besides, the only dancing I want to do with you is the horizontal naked kind.”

“I could get behind that.” David rolled on top of Emilio, feeling the spark of his libido as that lithe body wriggled under him.

“Get behind this.” Emilio rolled them back over then winced.

“Ow. Shit. What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Oh, just the remote.” Emilio dragged it out from under him, accidentally hitting the channel button and fl icking away from the follow-up to the game.

A familiar face fi lled the screen along with a voice David still heard in his dreams. He froze, unable to move or look away, Emilio still mostly on top of him. On the screen, Kieran slinked across a luxurious bedroom and slid his arms around the neck of a stunningly handsome man. The two kissed, a lingering meeting of lips.

Emilio pressed the off button. Click. The screen went dark.

“Wait. Put that back for a minute.” David reached for the remote.

“Why?”

“Just do it, please?”

With a shrug Emilio pressed the on button again and the screen lit. But the scene had changed. It was an awards show, David realized. And there, approaching the podium, was Kieran.

He wore shimmering white satin that fl oated around him with every movement. His black hair fell in loose, wild curls over his shoulders and his face was lit with pride and pleasure as he ENCORE! ENCORE!
193

accepted the statuette from the presenter, a stunning blonde actress whose name David couldn’t remember.

“Is that really a guy?” Emilio rolled off him and pushed himself up higher on the mound of pillows.

“Yes, his name is Kieran Reilly. He’s the star of
What a Drag
.

Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it.” David had the fi rst season on DVD and was waiting for season two to release.

“Never even heard of it. But I don’t watch much besides sports.” Emilio laughed. “But, mmm, maybe I’ll start.” They watched in silence for a few seconds. “I never would have known that was a guy except that he has boy-hips and no tits.” He glanced at David. “I thought most of them wore falsies.”

“Most of who?”

“Drag queens. I thought they all stuffed to make it look like they had tits.”

“He’s not a drag queen. He’s a cross-dresser.” David heard the annoyance in his own voice. And what the hell was that about anyway?

“What’s the difference?”

David opened his mouth to answer, to explain the difference the way Kieran had explained it to him so long ago. But Emilio continued. “Whatever he’s called, that one’s quite a dish, eh papi?” he bumped David’s shoulder. “If there really is a cock under there, I sure wouldn’t mind a taste of that sometime. Or maybe more than a taste.”

“Shhh. I want to hear what he says.” David adjusted the volume as Kieran began to talk.

“God, this is such a surprise! I can’t believe it!” Kieran laughed and hugged the statuette to his chest. “I have so many people to thank, I know I’m going to forget someone, so let me just start with…”

He ran through the expected list of people who worked on
What a Drag
. Moving on, he listed various studio big-wigs as well as his agent. Then he paused. “And I also want to thank
194 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

someone very special who believed in me when I was nothing but a struggling stage actor and who…” Kieran’s eyes fi lled and his voice broke. “Who isn’t here tonight.” He swallowed and blinked. A single tear spilled down his cheek and he held up his award. “This one is for you. Thank you.” Kieran. God.

A knife twisted in David’s gut, the Chinese food turning to a leaden lump in his stomach. Every time he thought of what had happened that night with Kieran he felt physically ill. How could he have done those things, said those things to a man he still loved?

Okay, so maybe Kieran had cheated on him, and taunted him, and pushed him, but that was no excuse. He hadn’t deserved to be treated like less than a whore. At least a whore got paid when you were fi nished with him. When he’d fi nished with Kieran that night, David had simply pulled out, turned his back and locked himself in the bathroom.

He had stayed in there for a long time, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet with the water running in the sink so he couldn’t hear anything from outside the door. If Kieran had berated him for what he’d done, David hadn’t heard. Or, and this was far worse, if Kieran had wept, he hadn’t heard that either. And when he’d fi nally emerged from the bathroom, Kieran was gone. The next morning he’d found Kieran’s panties, or what was left of them, lying on the fl oor beside the bed. He still had them.

And now here was Kieran, as big as life and twice as beautiful on David’s TV screen, accepting his award and thanking some faceless, nameless man who had helped him achieve his dream.

Nameless? Hah. Who the hell was he kidding?

Kieran was talking about Will, that prick who had given him his big break and made him into the star he’d so recently become.

And David hated Will, loathed and despised him with every fi ber of his being, because he had Kieran’s gratitude and maybe even his heart.

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It should have been him, at that ceremony beside Kieran. It might have been him, if things had been different, very different indeed.

A light touch on David’s arm brought him back.

“Hey, papi, where did you go?”

Giving himself a hard mental shake, David smiled at Emilio.

After all, there was nothing like a beautiful face and willing body to help soothe a broken heart, and no one knew that better than he did. Or that was what he told himself anyway.

“I’m right here, baby.” He picked up the remote and switched off the set before turning to the man beside him. “I think that’s enough TV for one night, don’t you?”

Emilio smiled and pressed close. “Yeah, I do. Now how about that celebration you promised me?”

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

“C’mon, beautiful, send that car away and come home with me.” The dark-haired man—Devon? Derek? Delaney?—slid an arm around Kieran’s waist and tugged him in close. Lips brushed his ear. “I’ll suck you so good you’ll think you died and went to heaven.” The promise was punctuated by the fl ick of a tongue in his ear.

Kieran shivered with involuntary arousal and sent the brunet—Devlin? Dylan? Dennis? Yes, Dennis—a brilliant smile.

“Not tonight, Denny.” He rose on his toes and touched their lips together. “But you call me, hear? You’ve got my number.”

“Yeah, baby, I got it. But it’s Danny.” Oops.

Danny released him and Kieran staggered against the side of the limo. The uniformed driver put out a hand, but Kieran waved him away. Somehow he managed to pour himself into the back where yet more champagne and a dozen roses waited.

Cripes, the last thing he needed was more alcohol.

196 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

The door closed and Kieran was enveloped by quiet and the fragrance of roses. He gathered the fl owers into his lap and lowered his face into the bouquet, inhaling deeply. They would be from his agent, more than likely, or somebody at the studio.

Closing his eyes, he entertained a brief fantasy that the long-stemmed red roses were not some meaningless gesture, that David had sent them and that they actually meant something. An image of David’s face formed behind Kieran’s closed lids and was quickly banished.

And how pathetic was it that he was still mooning over David Sullivan?

His cell chimed for what seemed like the hundredth time. He had a new text message. But he was way too toasted to read, let alone answer any of the texts or voicemails he’d received. He’d just turn the damn thing off.

Kieran fumbled in his bag for his phone. He pulled it out, intending to do just that, but froze when the display showed a familiar name.

The text consisted of just three words.

Congratulations. Best, David.

Kieran’s throat went dry and he read the brief message again.

David had texted him, which meant he’d seen the awards show and knew Kieran had won. Not only knew it, but wished him well.

He’d signed it, best. Best wasn’t love, but it also wasn’t “hope you choke.” And it was more than he’d ever expected.

Settling back against the plush leather seat, Kieran closed his eyes. He pressed the phone to his cheek as if to do so would bring him nearer to David. And he wished more than ever that things had been different.

It was nearly fi ve in the morning when he fi nally fumbled his key into the lock and just about fell into his condo. He’d been to three—or was it four—different parties after accepting his award, each one more hedonistic than the one before it. His head swam giddily from too much champagne and he blessed the studio once again for the hired car that had brought him safely home.

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197

Collapsing onto his couch with a groan, Kieran slid his aching feet out of his shoes, a pair of glittery, come-and-fuck-me heels on loan from one of L.A.’s hottest young designers, a guy named Todd something-or-other who had put together his entire look for this evening. He’d have Sandy call Todd whoever—she’d remember his name—and get more of his designs sent over.

Kieran sighed. Yeah, some new sexy clothes would be just the ticket.

From the moment he’d stepped out of his car and started down that red carpet, the paparazzi had loved him. They’d photographed him from every angle, in every light, as he greeted friends, as he found his seat, as he’d laughed and fl irted with the guests seated around him. The entire evening had been a blur of pictures and proposals, dancing and drinking, compliments and come-ons. He had fended off four different men, each one more handsome and successful than the one before, who had all wanted to whisk him away and do wicked things with him in the dark.

He had reached the pinnacle of his career at the ripe old age of twenty-fi ve. Tonight was his night, his triumph.

So why the hell did he feel so empty?

It must be the alcohol. He shouldn’t have drunk so much.

Kieran pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried to ignore the headache already brewing in his temples. He needed to get up, get undressed, take off his makeup and crawl into bed. He’d sleep all day, wake up when it was getting dark.

Then, if the headache wasn’t too bad, he would take a stab at answering the dozens of calls and texts he’d received over the last few hours from friends and business associates, all wanting to congratulate and wish him well, and some doubtless wanting to ask a small favor or two.

Kieran covered his face with his forearm. In a minute he’d get up and go into the bedroom and—

“It’s about time you showed up, party boy.”
198 Gardner ~ His Leading Man

Suppressing a groan, Kieran lowered his arm and opened his eyes. On the other side of the coffeetable stood Will, hair mussed from sleep, clad only in a pair of black briefs, eyes sharp and assessing.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for my star baby, of course.” Will smiled with that soft sulky mouth that Kieran had once found so compelling. But his eyes remained cool as he slipped around the coffeetable and dropped onto the couch. His hand settled high on Kieran’s thigh and he leaned in for a kiss.

Kieran turned his head and Will’s lips bumped his ear.

“Hey.” Will caught his chin, held it. “You’re drunk.”