Question Mark (32 page)

It wasn’t some chick with her tits out or some celebrity’s cellulite-ridden ass that grabbed his attention, it was a prominent picture of two dudes kissing with a bold caption that shouted:
Whitlow Odd Man Out?

One of the men on the cover apparently had something going with Zane Whitlow. Kevin’s eyes shot from the gossip mag to the
Men’s Health
and back again in confusion. He didn’t know who this Mark Newland guy was; he’d never seen him before in his life, but he’d know the other man
anywhere
. The tattoos were new and a surprise—even with the realization of who the man was pounding around his brain—but the rest was the same.

Suddenly Kevin wasn’t stuck in some dusty old hut in Afghanistan, he was in the tropical heat of Cabo San Lucas surrounded by pulsing music, dancing women, and hot bodies, seeing
him
for the first time.

Christian Blakely.

Kevin remembered every single second of that night, even five years later, and the sting of never hearing from Christian was still bitter. It would take a lot longer to forget that face, the body, the feel of Christian so close, the sweat, and the heat. Kevin could’ve found him again, but he wasn’t about to be rejected twice by a dude looking for a good time and moving on. He’d thought there was really something there, though. A rookie mistake, he supposed.

This was so stunning.
Christian Blakely.

God, he couldn’t get enough air in. Kevin dropped the magazine to the floor and sank onto his rack, staring off into space. He didn’t realize how much time had passed until there was a loud thump on the wall outside his room and Martinez announced himself.

“Yo, Gunny, we hitting the gym now?”

Kevin was trying to force an answer, but his tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He really didn’t want to be thinking about this right now. It definitely wasn’t the right time and place.

Pushing to his feet, he grabbed the magazine from the floor and shoved it in his locker before pulling back the blanket door and telling Martinez he’d meet him at the gym. Kevin’s mind was swimming and he moved in a fog across the outpost to the lean-to covered in cam netting that served as workout central. He went through his sets silently with Martinez stealing questioning glances every now and then. With each rep, Kevin saw the picture of Christian kissing that Newland guy, followed by a mental snapshot of him five years ago in Cabo.

Miles away and years apart, it was still those eyes looking up through a fall of blond hair that swallowed Kevin whole.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Zane pulled on a pair of jeans and took a glance out the doors to the balcony. It wasn’t raining, but there was a fair amount of fog; Loren would like that for the morning shots. The roads were wet and the few cars that drove past reflected in all the puddles. It’s like the world outside mimicked his world within the walls of this hotel room, eerie and fogged up.

Gross. Zane was getting poetic.

He was up before his wakeup call and no big surprise, but he’d never really fallen asleep. How could he when all he wanted was to tug Mark into his chest and hold him close; really make love to him? Instead, he stared at the ceiling, out the French doors, at the clock, and mostly at Mark. Twenty minutes earlier, he’d given up, texted his bodyguards and drivers and got up.

The phone on the bedside table warbled and Zane snatched it up before the ring completed. A smart, British voice informed him of the hour and then the call was promptly ended. Efficient. Mark didn’t stir so Zane tiptoed to the bathroom trying to be silent. He shut the door quietly behind him and only then did he turn on the light, blinking against the glare.

He looked like hell. Like leftovers forgotten on the counter for, like, a week. Sway was going to have his balls. Zane shaved and brushed his teeth, not bothering to do anything more with his hair than run a hand through it—it would be plastered to his skull with grease in a couple hours. Damn, if his fans could only see him now. That “Sexiest Man Alive” title would be yanked right out of his hands.

Zane flipped the light switch and continued his stealth maneuvers across the room to grab his socks and boots. He was hopping around in the dark, yanking on the black leather and trying not to topple over an arm chair and the coffee table when Mark rose up in bed like the undead—moaning and everything.

“Shit!” Zane hissed, super jumpy.

Mark said something that might have been “What’s going on?” but Zane wasn’t sure because it was gibberish.

“I’ve got to go in. Early call, remember?” Zane slammed his other foot inside his boot and stood up straight with an exhausted sigh.

Mark pulled back the covers and twisted to put his feet on the floor. He was adorably groggy and the sight made Zane feel weak, reminding him of that morning he had to leave Bora Bora. Mark wasn’t a morning person.

What was Mark’s plan? He wanted to offer up another set visit, but didn’t know if these were the right  circumstances. Maybe now that Mark had said his piece and grabbed a little shuteye he’d want to bail.

Mark rubbed at his face and then shook his head like a dog. “Need me to do anything for you today? Pick anything up? I’ve never been in another country before, but I can figure it out. English, you know.”

Zane knew he was staring but he couldn’t make himself stop. Here was a glimpse of the Mark from that first dinner together and the day with his family. Underneath all the insecurity and protective walls, there was kindness and a sweet heart. Mark kept that warmth hidden from most people because if they knew it existed, he’d be too exposed; Zane saw that so clearly now.

“You’re just going to hang around here and run errands for me with paparazzi stalking your every move?”

Mark blinked blearily. “I’ve been hiding from them too long. I’ve still got a life to lead. That stuff that went down with Christian—” He saw Zane stiffen and he nodded, as if once more accepting his guilt. “—It made it clear to me that I want this with you no matter what. I came here for you and only you. If that means you send me out with your laundry or to buy your toothpaste, so be it.”

“What?—as some sort of penance?”

“No. As another way to show that I care about you. I’ll take care of things you need or want me to do.”

Hmm. Zane couldn’t really snarl about that. Dammit. “And if I want you to leave?”

Mark bit down on his bottom lip and took a deep breath like he was steadying himself. “I know I can’t force you to believe me, Zane. I know it. If you want me to go, I guess I’ll have to do that.”

Zane sensed his weakness for Mark gaining momentum, but his brain was dragging its feet, remembering the awful week since the pictures came out and the slash and stab of pain at his first sight of Mark in his trailer. He childishly waited a beat just to make Mark nervous.

“You want to come back to the set with me? We’re doing some location scenes today—no sound stage.”

Mark’s face brightened with hope and Zane nearly kicked a lamp across the room in frustration. Man, he wanted to give in so badly, but he was learning that one of the things Zane could trust the most about Mark was his eagerness to please, even to his own detriment. If the man was simply trying to ingratiate himself to get out of trouble, then shit like this could easily happen again because the root problem wasn’t dealt with. Zane didn’t want an up and down relationship. He’d never wanted to fall under that stigma of Hollywood romances, and a month into their relationship they already had magazines churning out gossip. Zane’s whole relationship plan had derailed.

Maybe it proved he was more of a skeptic than he previously thought, or twice as controlling, which was an unpleasant realization. Zane had read an article the other day about the fight in support of gay marriage and how few people seemed to be paying attention to the fact that with marriage came divorce and lots of it. He wanted to be able to marry anyone he chose, but Zane didn’t want to do it more than once. Especially not with the way he was under the microscope. He
had
to keep his eyes open and keep his crotch from leading him into a pit.

Mark pulled his shirt off and Zane forgot what he was supposed to be doing as the other man crossed the suite with rapid strides so he could dig through his bag. He pulled out clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Gimme one minute,” he called through the closed door.

Zane moved in a daze around the room, a tangle of emotions adding to his lack of focus. He tossed a couple waters from the mini-bar into his bag where he’d dropped it the night before. The couch was impossible to avoid seeing. It sat there like a judgment, reminding him of the night before.

He pictured Mark rocking against him, felt his mouth and tongue. Zane’s vision glazed over and the sound of the bathroom door opening had him jumping. Mark didn’t notice as he slid past in a cloud of minty-freshness to tug on his shoes and coat.

He gave Zane a quick up and down look and paused. “Will you be cold? Here—take my coat.” Zane didn’t get a chance to stop him because Mark was already throwing the blue wool over his shoulders and taking Zane’s bag so he could put his arms through the sleeves. “There… Sleeves are a tiny bit short, but no one will notice.” Zane took his bag back with a blank expression.

Mark bent to dig through his stuff and Zane watched the muscles of his back and shoulders bunch beneath the black fabric of his undershirt. When he stood, he had a smoky gray sweater in his hands and pulled it on without a word.

Gulp
.

Zane stared. Hard. He was tucked away in a coat that was warm and smelled of Mark. It made his eyes sting and he coughed out a thank you and turned away before he embarrassed himself.

As they left the room, Zane sped up to put a little space between them, fighting to hold on to his dignity. Mark caught up and a half second later, he was taking Zane’s bag from him and throwing it over his own shoulder. Neither of them said a word.

***

The paparazzi waiting in the early morning—too early in Mark’s opinion—were no less psyched about getting shots of the two of them than they were the night before. He didn’t know if they were the same group or not. It’s not like he was making eye contact and posing.

The photographers screamed and hollered his name, Zane’s name,
Christian’s
fucking name, and all sorts of questions that made Mark’s cheeks so hot he felt like someone lit his hair on fire. Zane remained stoic and unreadable and Mark tried to mimic that expression. He wasn’t anywhere near as good at it. In fact, Mark was certain he was coming across frantic and scared. Exactly the wrong way to act in front of the media. Might as well go swimming in shark-infested waters with a bloody steak wrapped around a thigh. They smelled his weakness.

The professional wrestlers disguised as bodyguards were back and they hadn’t warmed up to Mark at all. He’d sort of hoped that knowing he’d stayed the night with Zane would defrost the air. Alas, it was not meant to be. Mark was sure they could kill him with a twinkle of their eyelashes and it was best for him to keep his mouth shut and stick close to Zane.

The bodyguards had them tucked away in the car with military precision and Zane was once again focusing on the scenery passing by the window. Mark was determined to not let this day go by without using every opportunity to prove he meant what he said.

Mark had to hand it to Christian. What an effective way to kick his ass into gear, and he wasn’t fooling himself or Zane by saying he hadn’t wanted any of it to happen. Mark definitely
hadn’t
wanted to cheat on Zane, but he’d enjoyed the feeling of being pursued too much to ignore Christian. His complacency and vanity led him into one of the stupidest moments of his life.

Had he really thought that Christian was going to walk him to his car and salute him, then let him go home? Mark was tempted because his boyfriend wasn’t in town and it pissed him off. It was such a manipulative, low thing to do and Zane was right to tell him so.

He was so ashamed by all of it. So totally ashamed.

With each kiss from Zane the night before, Mark sensed his heart tearing open wider until he was utterly wrecked by what he’d done. Zane was rough. He was harsh and angry and so terribly hurt and that had to be fixed before they could get anywhere.

Mark cleared his throat and the sound echoed through the car. He looked at Zane and plunged in. “I read
Sacrifice
.”

Zane’s blue eyes shifted away from the window and pierced his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It was a really amazing story—almost like I couldn’t believe it was based on an actual person. I mean, some of the stuff that guy did sounds so Hollywood.”

Zane cocked his head and considered him for a minute. “I felt the same way the first time I read it. It’s a great biography.”

“You didn’t tell me that Richtfeld dies…”

“No?”

Mark, finding that it didn’t take as much effort to pretend it was only him and Zane in the car, shook his head and kept talking. “I guess I didn’t expect it, you know.”