Question Mark (2 page)

A commotion at the far end of the dock had Mark’s head turning and he squinted to see what was causing all the noise. Three men were headed towards the shuttle boat and the combination of their laughter and the clacking wheels on their luggage practically vibrated Mark off of his seat. He began to turn away when something about the guy bringing up the rear caught his attention.

God, he looks really familiar, Mark thought.

The man was wearing loose linen pants that fluttered around his legs, but failed to hide the strong muscles beneath, and his button up shirt was open low enough to reveal a tanned expanse of chest that had Mark’s brows shooting toward his hairline. It was actually the way the man carried himself that was bouncing around in Mark’s brain though.
Where? Who? How did he know this guy?

He turned back around in his seat and waited for the men to trundle alongside. They each had a polished, California-type air with their summery clothes and sun-lightened hair, white teeth flashing as they laughed and ribbed one another. Each of them tipped the scales on handsome, even though the one leading the way was sporting a conversation piece black eye.

When the first two finally hopped aboard, tossing a casual hello his way, Mark got his first close look at the man he thought he recognized and he almost snorted. Of all the shuttle boats in all the world…

Zane-effing-Whitlow.
The
Zane Whitlow of
Fractured Dawn
,
The Mercenary
, and his latest multi-bazillion dollar box office smash:
Innuendos
. He was also gay, which hadn’t seemed to impact his success in the least. Sort of like with Neil Patrick Harris’s career, but in the action, hot-as-a-pepper market. Mark wasn’t entirely sure, but this guy might’ve only played straight dudes, too—almost impossible to get away with in the film industry when you’re out. He could name five or six starlets alone that he’d seen Whitlow make out with on the big screen. On the gay stereotypes list, Zane didn’t match up.

And how in the hell was Mark remembering this stuff? He wasn’t the type to follow a famous person’s life simply because they shared the same sexual orientation. Mark didn’t really need an icon to function in his day-to-day, though admittedly, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been self-absorbed and busy with his own shit lately. Icons were sort of on the back burner.

He couldn’t help that bit of breathlessness that seeing the actor caused.

Whitlow was a heartthrob. A corny description, yes, but it was the one word that honestly fit. He was a six-three, brown-haired, blue-eyed member of the Washboard Abs Club. He probably did crunches and plank pose in his sleep. And there he was, climbing aboard a shuttle boat just feet away; the kind of perfect that made him look like he was followed by an air brushing crew.

Hot. Damn.

Mark actually just read an article about him in a magazine he bought at the airport in L.A. and thank the powers that be it was crammed full of editorial photos. Drool worthy didn’t even begin to describe it. The article had focused on Whitlow’s performance in
Innuendos
, which was apparently garnering a lot of attention. He played a skeevy dude who spent all of his free time stalking a woman he worked with. Mark hadn’t seen it yet, but the previews gave him the creeps in a good way.

If Mark were a star hound, he would have peed his shorts. Seeing as how he wasn’t—and that he was reminding himself of that every seven seconds—he decided to simply soak in the view and welcome the luck that got him an up-close snapshot of a guy that people would pay to be near. Besides, there was no guarantee he’d see him again, so Mark might as well look his fill.

Whitlow stepped easily into the boat, grinning at something his buddy mumbled over his shoulder and threw a quick glance at Mark. That’s when the white-wall smile hit with full force.

“How’s it going?” Whitlow asked and Mark barely refrained from chortling over the fact that he was hearing in person the same voice he’d heard say those famous lines from
The Mercenary
at least a hundred times.

Mark nodded a hello and went back to his ocean gazing. Only an idiot would roll around giddily on a shuttle boat when looked at by a dude like Whitlow, and Mark was no idiot.

The cool breeze ruffled Mark’s shirt and shorts and he stretched his legs out in front of him, loving the feel of it. He was glad for his sunglasses all over again because he was able to shoot discreet little looks at Whitlow and his friends without them knowing. And weren’t they the fascinating little bunch?

Mark would bet good money that the first two were straight. Granted, his radar had been off lately, what with the gigantic miscalculation concerning the cop that was now living with his ex-boyfriend…
C’est la vie
. The verdict came in for straight when Mark noticed the guy with the black eye miming the figure of a woman, paying extra attention to her…assets.

Whitlow was shaking his head and smiling and Mark blinked. The man was
so
pretty. It almost hurt to look at him and the magazine photos didn’t do him justice. He wasn’t one of those famous people you see somewhere and realize is about a foot shorter than you thought, either. No, he was the genuine article; sitting five feet away.

Yowza
. Mark never believed this kind of thing really happened—seeing a movie star, having him smile back. Though, he once saw Christy Brinkley outside of a Mexican restaurant in L.A., but that was so different.

The twin resort workers shucked the baggage in the back and undid the lines connecting the boat to the pier. A little frisson of excitement went through Mark as one of them started the dual engines and bumped up the throttle. Mark thought Bora Bora would suit him just fine.

***

Zane Whitlow swore he was doing some of his best acting work ever sitting back in the little shuttle boat and pretending to listen to his buddy, Mikey, talk about one of the Tahitian women in the airport. He chuckled and smiled in all the right spots and even threw in a couple of teasing barbs, while in reality, he was completely distracted by the stranger on the bench across from them.

Where in the hell did
this guy
come from? Zane hadn’t seen him on the small shuttle flight from the big island and he wondered how that was possible.

He wished like hell that he had the balls to start chatting the other man up, but that wasn’t going to happen. People always figured he was naturally comfortable with attention and confident in situations like this when that was far from the truth. Zane’s alter ego was actually a giant, awkward nerd who wasn’t at all comfortable trolling for men. The last time he tried to hit on a guy, he accidentally spilled his drink down his chest in some kind of nervous seizure and it went downhill from there. He’d smelled like rum all night.

This guy, though…
Hello!

He was the clean cut type with his dark hair cut close and his shorts and button up shirt in artful disarray. Zane could tell he was taller than the other man, but the guy had a tight, athletic build that was making Zane’s synapses fire about half a minute late.
Don’t stare. Don’t stare.

He wanted to know what color the guy’s eyes were behind those dark sunglasses—the possibilities were driving him mad. The second Zane saw him, he was kind of
ensnared
, if he wanted to be a homo about it—which he did. Zane was a recognizable person, thanks to Lady Luck, yet there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition or interest on the other man’s face; just a half smile and a nod before he looked away. What a sad let down.

Mikey and Greg noticed the man first and when Mikey mumbled over his shoulder, “Are you locked on target?” as they boarded the boat, making fun of one of his old movie lines, Zane forced a laugh. Of course he was. He just wasn’t sure why since he’d first seen the stranger only minutes ago and didn’t even know if he was gay.

Sure, the man was a prepped out ten stars in Zane’s book, but that wasn’t it alone. There was some kind of aloof thing he had going that made Zane want to sit up and wag like a puppy until he got some attention or a lot of heavy petting.

 He rolled his eyes inwardly at that thought. He couldn’t allow himself to fall for another asshole or star chaser, though this guy wasn’t acting interested anyway. Zane didn’t have the time for dating, either, and he had to hold on to his self-respect. At times he felt like that was all he really had left.

Granted, he’d been single since…when was it? Oh yeah, the Paleolithic Era or thereabouts, but being careful who he trusted with his heart and in his bed was a foregone conclusion in his line of work. He never knew if a guy wanted him because he was Zane “The Mercenary” Whitlow, or because he honestly wanted something real. It made dating a big, sticky mess that he usually chose to avoid. Instead, he filled his time with making movies, promoting them, and at the moment, taking the first vacation he’d had in a while.

The man across from him suddenly leaned his head back and smiled like he was the happiest guy on earth and Zane felt his brain dribble out of his ears. Shit, he wanted to talk to him. But what the hell would he say? His internal nerd lurched over in a panic attack, offering no help whatsoever. And then, Mikey spoke up and made Zane’s day.

“So you must be staying at Diamond Water, too?” Mikey asked, leaning toward the stranger, his black-eye from a brawl outside of a pub standing out like…well…a black eye. Of course it was no biggie to chat with a dude when you’re
straight
, Zane thought, nearly applauding his buddy for the show of initiative.

The dark-haired man smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here for a week. It’ll be my first vacation like this in two years, I think.”

Zane was mentally begging Mikey to ask another question.
Where’s he from! Where’s he from! Ask that!

Mikey made a face. “That’s a long time to go without a getaway,” he answered. “Where are you coming from?”

Yes
!

The guy’s arms dropped casually from the seat back to his lap and Zane envied the way he came across so relaxed.

“Um, New Mexico actually. Albuquerque. I’m a senior dispatcher for the police department there.”

Zane blinked. No kidding? He was one of those calm guys who dealt with the
real
crazy shit day in and day out? No wonder he came across the way he did.

“That’s really impressive,” Zane blurted before he could think about how stupid he might sound.

The man’s attention flickered to him and even with the sunglasses, Zane sensed the weight of his gaze. He fought off a little shiver in the warm air.

“Thanks. I like what I do.” He bestowed a real smile on the three of them for the first time and said, “How long will you guys be here?”

Zane’s friend, James, spoke up and told him they were staying for just the week as well. “I’m James, by the way.” He pointed at Mikey and Zane and introduced them.

Mikey gestured at his eye and grinned. “I’m on the run from the cops,” he joked.

The man offered his hand to James first and shook, saying, “Mark Newland. Nice to meet you guys.” He hitched his chin toward Mikey. “If anyone asks, I never saw you, man.”

Mark Newland
. It had a nice ring to it. Mikey and James exchanged a few more random comments with him about the possible fishing expeditions and manta ray extravaganzas they were interested in checking out, but Zane could only keep staring. He wished he could pull himself together and stop acting like a lock-jawed mute, yet sadly, he seemed doomed to silence.

Mark looked at him again and that half smile made another appearance before he slouched back down on his seat and started taking in the scenery.

So…no go on the gay, Zane thought. That blew.

James and Mikey managed to pull Zane back into conversation and he might’ve blabbed on about the resort’s dining and bars, but he wouldn’t swear to it. He was ever aware of Mark Newland across from him, oblivious to his presence. It was, in a small way, a relief from the norm of fawning people, yet there was a healthy part of him wishing that Mark would talk with him a little.

Abruptly, he shook himself out of the stupor that was descending upon him. This was a
vacation
. He wasn’t going to spend it pining for a guy who didn’t chat him up on a friggin’ shuttle boat. Relaxation and good times was his new mantra for the week.

The shuttle rocked to a stop at a dock that was covered in a hut-like canopy. Vines with white flowers grew up the pillars and wound through the thatch work. The smell was amazing… Sea and sunshine. Standing by to direct them to check in were a couple of super tan dudes with luggage carts and iridescent smiles. 

Zane stood and watched as Mikey and James raced off like they’d seen naked women at the resort entrance, which left him to fend for himself with Mark. He gestured for the other man to go ahead of him, grimacing at the way he practically pantomimed the action of climbing out—his inner nerd cackling maniacally—and followed after Mark.