Staying Power Book 14 in the Action! Series (16 page)

"Alex?"

"Hmm?" Alex glanced up.

"I love you."

Smiling shyly, Alex said, "I love you, too,
ya dump cop."

Billy leaned over and kissed Alex's forehead,
smiling at him.

~

Mark exited his home and briskly walked to a
black stretch limousine. A chauffeur in a black suit and cap,
opened the door for him, bowing. Mark climbed into the luxury
automobile and relaxed in the interior, opening one button of his
light leather jacket.

"There is a full bar, sir, for your
convenience."

"Thank you." Mark didn't touch it. He felt
the car move and looked out of the back window, having no idea
where he was being taken. He had shut off his phone, but had it
with him, in his coat pocket. He had no intention of turning it on,
but always knew having it was essential…in case.

As Mark rode in the luxurious car, he
recalled his youth, his parents using this kind of extravagance on
a constant basis. To Mark it was ostentatious and over the top. He
was perfectly capable of driving himself. And if he was drunk, he
could always call a cab or a driver then. Although Mark's family
believed in making sure the world knew just how wealthy Richfield
International had made them…them…Mark's mother and father…Mark
tried to lead a normal life. He and Steve had a four bedroom home
in Bel Air. Not a sprawling estate like his parents did, teaming
with maids, man servants, pool boys, stable hands, landscapers…

His mother never so much as touched a diaper
or a spoon of baby food. Servants attended their every need. And
the women his father hired fucked him as well as cleaned his
house.

Mark detested flaunting wealth in public. Not
in an economy when families working two jobs were losing their
homes. No.

He worked three jobs; selling advertising at
Parsons and Company, and modeling for both Dangereux cologne and a
luxury car manufacturer. He'd never retire unless Steve begged him.
Even if his mother had not cut him out of the will, Mark would
still work. What was he to do? Become a fat feline? Eat bon-bons by
the pool?

Mark was familiar with the direction they
were taking. Malibu. It's where Jack and Adam lived. He had driven
this route so often he could do it in his sleep. Was he nervous?
No. This was a job. Like flaunting his sexuality on camera, this
was something he had to do.

For Alexander? Mark would slit his
wrists.

Had overdosed. But not by slicing his wrists,
by taking pills. But the end result was the same.

Mark forced his thoughts away from that
nightmare and kept his gaze on the window. The car finally pulled
into a driveway with an automated gate. The gate opened slowly, and
the car drove right up to a home, beachfront, with the palm trees
bending from the ocean breeze. November seventeenth. How ironic. My
birthday. Happy Birthday to me.

The door was opened and the handsome driver
bowed as Mark exited the car. The wind whipped Mark's hair around
his face, strong gusts from the ocean's power. He could see the
rough surf in-between the houses. Mark stood tall and approached
the door. The driver preceded him, tapping it, then opening it and
bowing once more.

Mark nodded gracefully and entered the
home.

He stood at the foyer, the door closing
behind him, and waited for his host.

A man, who was not Randy, bowed to Mark and
approached him. "Mr Dawson will be with you shortly. May I take
your coat?"

Mark removed his leather jacket and handed it
to the servant, looking at a table set with a silver carafe, a
tiered tray which was nothing short of a British tea time service,
complete with petit sandwiches cut in triangles and scones and jam.
A pitcher of citrus water was sweating and two glasses were
filled.

The table was in front of the view of the
ocean and a large deck with potted plants, waving in the strong
gusts.

Candles were lit, scented, vanilla or
cinnamon, or both. The man bowed and left the room with Mark's
jacket.

Mark stood at the sliding glass door and
watched the rough sea, white caps churning up angrily and no one on
the beach but a few brave strollers, wearing hoods and long
pants.

"Mark Antonious."

Mark turned around slowly.

Randy was wearing dress slacks as well, a
cream colored button-down shirt, opened at the collar, perfectly
groomed and strikingly handsome.

Randy crossed the room towards Mark, his
shoes highly shined and a ring on his pinky finger. He stood before
Mark, just slightly shorter than Mark's six foot height, and held
Mark's upper arms, giving him a kiss on either cheek, as if they
were in Europe.

Randy stared into Mark's eyes. "My, oh, my.
They don't airbrush those photos, do they? You are stunning."

"Thank you." Mark studied Randy's blue eyes.
They were deeper blue than either Jack's or Steve's, more
aquamarine.

"Sit." Randy grandly gestured to the
table.

Mark sat down, opposite his host. The server
immediately asked, "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please." Mark waited as it was
poured into a porcelain and gold trimmed cup.

"Coffee," Randy said, staring at Mark, his
elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced. Once the servant had
poured, Randy said, "That's it for today. You can leave us now.
Thank you."

The man bowed and promptly left the
house.

Mark listened. They were most certainly alone
now.

"Help yourself. I hope you don't mind I had a
British theme in mind." Randy took a scone to his plate and sliced
it down the middle to add jam.

Mark poured milk into his coffee and wondered
if he had an appetite.

"Please," Randy moved the tiered tray closer.
"Don't be shy."

Mark took a small triangle of bread, one
spread with something pink. Most likely salmon. "I want to again
apologize—"

Randy held up his hand and shook his head.
"No need."

"Alex very much is anticipating his first
chance to star in a feature film." Mark nibbled the sandwich,
taking the white cloth napkin to his lap.

"As he should be. Getting to star in a George
Ford film as your first foray into movies, well…" Randy smiled,
showing dimples on each cheek.

"Yes. I was floored, actually. I think this
offer has us all slightly overwhelmed."

"Mark, Alex is lovely. He's a wonderful actor
and word behind the scenes is he is no prima donna." Randy brushed
the crumbs off his hands. "And I see he gets his modesty from his
father."

Mark lowered his eyelashes shyly. "I tried to
teach him to not be conceited."

"He isn't. He's gorgeous and humble." Randy
sipped the coffee. "Like you."

Mark met Randy's gaze. "I'm afraid my son is
much more confident in his skills than I am. If anything, he has
and will outshine me."

Randy appeared slightly surprised. "And? Does
that bother you?"

"No. I couldn't be more proud. I hope he
achieves all his goals."

"Despite his overprotective pit-bull husband
and yours?"

Mark felt his cheeks heat up. "Again. I have
to apologize."

"Mark. I can see why they did. Alex is very
young. Very beautiful. I get it."

"I'm so glad." Mark felt some of his stress
leave. "Though they are quite brutish, they mean well. Billy has
always acted as Alex's guard more than his husband." Mark ate
another bite of the food, which was wonderful. It reminded him of
his youth and the meals his mother had prepared by their cook on
special days.

"Well, LAPD," Randy said, making a silly face
as if to mock them. "We know they have quite the reputation."

"I assure you, neither man is that way when
you get to know them."

"I don't know. Sharpe? Killed two men
already? Gets promoted?"

Mark didn't take the bait. He shut up and
sipped his coffee, then looked at the view.

"Mark."

Mark gave Randy his attention again.

"I don't mean to insult you."

"No. You haven't." Mark knew Billy did what
he had to do, but was not going to debate it with Randy, or
anyone.

"Do you not like the food?"

"No. It's lovely." Mark tried to smile. The
first smile he gave Randy.

"Just not a big eater. A model." Randy
grinned knowingly. "I hear ya. Believe me. I have to keep fighting
fit or those rags find me at my worst and photograph me."

Mark chuckled. "They are horrid, aren't
they?"

"Horrid." Randy laughed as he repeated Mark's
word. Then his smile faded. "Mark."

"Yes, love?"

"I…I'm not interested in young men."

Relief flooded through Mark. "Of course
not."

"And though Alex is pretty. He isn't my
type."

Mark nodded but became confused. Just as he
assumed Randy was straight, he fought to understand the
undercurrent that had begun to pervade the conversation.

"Mark…"

Mark opened his lips to reply but the look of
lust he was receiving took the breath out of his lungs.

"Mark, you are my type."

A wave of heat like an oven door opening
engulfed Mark. "You…you aren't straight?"

"I can't come out like you did. I would lose
all my leading roles. Mark, you know how brutal it is."

"But, you don't know that. You—"

"Mark." Randy's expression was dead serious.
"I can't come out."

"I understand. Truly."

"I envy you. And Alex. You did it. You both
managed to step out of the closet and survive."

"I am a model, not an actor. And Alex, well,
this is his first starring role, and how ironic he is cast as your
gay lover, coming from a gay vampire cable TV series. I'm afraid my
boy is type-casted." Mark folded his napkin and placed it on the
table. "And how bold of you to accept the role of a gay man."

"Many actors play gay men in films, and are
straight. Or profess to be."

"How do you do it? How do you live the lie? I
would be miserable."

Randy shrugged. "By day I am seen with women.
I have a PR man who sets me up with runway models and actresses to
dine with, and I am very choosy whom I bring home." Randy gave Mark
a look of fiery passion. "Ones who cannot blackmail me or that I
can trust."

"I…" Mark touched his wedding ring. "I am
married."

"I know."

Mark swallowed nervously and sipped ice water
that had been poured previous to his arrival.

"And I know that you love your son, and want
him to star in this film…very much."

"Yes." Mark dabbed his lip. He expected this.
Knew this was going to happen.

Randy stood up from the table and slowly
walked towards Mark.

Mark stared into his blue eyes, trying not to
shake from the intimidation.

Randy ran his hand into Mark's hair and let
out a low moan. "Mark Antonious…"

Mark closed his eyes and shivered. He was not
revolted. This was not a repulsive old man. But it was not one of
his lovers either.

Randy ran his fingertips down Mark's shoulder
to his arm, then his hand, holding it. Mark was urged to stand. He
did, nudging the chair back and was led out of the living/dining
area down a hall. A door was opened and Randy entered first,
releasing Mark's hand and walking closer to a bed.

Candles were lit here too, as if it were a
set designed to seduce. The bed was covered in pale blue satin and
pillows, the shades pulled to make the room dark. On the walls were
framed matinee movie posters of Randy's blockbuster hits, awards on
the shelves, and plaques on the walls. Randy sat on the side of the
bed and reached out. "Come here, you fantastic man."

It was work. Mark had been stripped for car
ads, had to push dildos into his tight trousers to show he was
erect in the front seat of automobiles…this wasn't sex. It was
work. Tit-for-tat. Alex keeps his job.

Randy ran his hands down Mark's waist to his
hips. "You know how often I have jerked off to your photo?" Randy
opened Mark's belt. "That spread you did in the UK magazine? With
the mask?"

Mark shivered as Randy opened the buckle,
going for the button of his fly.

"How was I ever going to get near you? Hmm?
Between the paparazzi and your entourage of three men…I never
thought I'd have you here." He leaned closer to kiss Mark's zipper
flap.

Mark wondered if he was supposed to be an
active participant, or a play toy. He chose the play toy, simply
because this was not what he wanted.

Randy looked up at Mark. "I have secretly
idolized you… forever. Since your first nude pictures in that book,
Male Men."

Mark was stunned. He was twenty-one at the
time Janis Campbell did that coffee table book and certainly not
famous. "No."

"Yes." Randy tugged Mark's sweater up to get
a peek at his low abdomen. "I've collected every magazine you
modeled for, every ad. I've been in love with you since I was
sixteen."

"I am flattered." Mark had to smile.

"You were my wet dream. Every woman I fucked,
I thought of you to get it up."

"Randy," Mark tried not to laugh. "You don't
have to lay it on that thick."

Randy looked up at Mark. He moved Mark to one
side and walked to a closet. Mark waited, curious. Out of a box,
Randy removed a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Mark.

Mark took it, watching Randy's expression as
he did. He unfolded it and was stunned. It was the first ad he had
ever done for Dangereux, completely dog-eared and yellowed from
time. "Bloody hell."

Randy sat on the bed, hands folded on his
lap. "Look." He cleared his throat. "I know what I want to do to
you."

Mark kept looking at the ad, then up at Randy
in amazement.

"But, I don't want this to be…" Randy rubbed
his face and appeared uncomfortable. "…non-consensual."

Mark folded the ad and set it on the
dresser.

"But, Mark…twenty-two years I have dreamed of
you, idolized you, never imagining ever even meeting you other than
perhaps at some gala affair." Randy dabbed his eyes and controlled
himself.