“When Byron fell ill, I couldn’t comprehend why Alex never once came to visit him, even though he called several times each week. At first his lack of concern hurt me, and I believed him callous. I’d even planned a trip to Houston to give the boy a piece of my mind. Byron explained that, after watching his mother die horribly of the same disease, Alex simply couldn’t bear to witness another loved one suffering, something I’d not taken into account. Alex adored his mother, and Byron, too, so I’m inclined to agree.
“There’s also an advantage to footing my nephew’s bills,” Alfred said with a sly sidelong glance.
“And that is….”
“On several occasions he bought airline tickets from Houston to Los Angeles and later canceled, which I believe proved Byron’s theory. Despite his avoidance, Alex truly loved Byron, of that I’m certain.”
He took the picture from the butler and returned it to the table, bringing the other one close enough to see with his failing eyesight. This man had dark, straight hair, laughing eyes, and a slight build, as unlike the man in the first photo as day from night, in more ways than appearance.
“Take a look at this one,” Alfred said, handing the frame to Bernard.
The butler smiled at the photo’s subject. “Paul’s such a likeable fellow,” he said. “It’s a pity he didn’t have red hair like his father and uncles. He’s very much like his mother, I believe.”
“Yes, Paul is a nice young man, if a bit too trusting sometimes. I wish I had his energy! Hiking, running, bicycling—he always seems to be in motion.” Alfred remembered a time when he and Byron had enjoyed such activities. The weekend house in Bishop, California stood empty through the long months of his lover’s illness, their outdoor toys gathering dust, never to be used again—at least not by him.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he leaned in, as if confiding a huge secret. “You know, I find it ironic that the only nephews of two gay men are gay as well.”
Though hardly news to any of the household staff, his longtime butler gave him a questioning gaze. “What’re you getting at, Alfred?”
Smiling like the fellow conspirator he hoped to be, he explained, “I promised Byron I’d do everything in my power to get those two together.”
“Heaven help us!” Bernard exclaimed. “Alex and Paul? I’m sorry to say this, Alfred, I know you mean well, but do you honestly think you should? Alex Martin eats men like Paul Sinclair for breakfast and goes out hunting another for lunch! Those two are as different as can be. How do you propose to unite someone so worldly and, excuse my saying so, spoiled, with someone completely humble and guileless?”
“Well, I’m going to need your help. Here’s the basic plan….”
2
ALEXturned the classic Mercedes-Benz 280SL Roadster into the parking lot of Club Inferno and accelerated up to the entrance, bypassing the other drivers dutifully waiting their turn. His pride and joy didn’t deserve to wait in line with Hondas, Fords, and the occasional BMW. He climbed from his vehicle and tossed the keys to the waiting attendant, trusting his baby to be meticulously cared for. The tip he’d hand over later, a standard arrangement, guaranteed it. Those who afforded the price didn’t have to wait in lines, and Alexander Martin could well afford it.
“Hey, Leo,” he greeted the doorman, again bypassing the long line of people huddled in the unusual chill of the Houston evening, waiting to be admitted into the city’s hottest new club. This time, the price of privilege wasn’t paid in cash, but by toying with the club’s owner. Alex was smart enough to realize that once Rico got what Rico wanted, the thrill would be gone, because he himself played similar games. After finding someone exciting enough to pursue, he promptly lost interest the moment he’d made the conquest. Without fail, he’d conquered all who’d caught his eye sooner or later. No one ever resisted Alex’s model good looks, ample charms, and bottomless wallet, courtesy of an extraordinarily wealthy family of which he was the last, and destined to inherit the mother lode.
Leo nodded and waved him inside amid a chorus of complaints from those standing nearby. Alex smiled and winked, knowing his ass would be ogled as he sauntered into what he considered his own personal shopping mall of sex. From the corner of his eye, he watched Leo key a lapel mike, and knew from past experience the bouncer was telling Rico of his arrival.
As if on cue, the rather plain, very wealthy club owner appeared the moment Alex checked his jacket and started making his way to the bar, playing up his entrance for the crowd to see. They were seeing, all right. He sensed their eyes on him even with his back turned.
“Alex, how good to see you again,” the portly entrepreneur gushed, rushing forward to kiss the object of his thwarted advances. At the last moment, Alex turned his head and thin, chapped lips connected with his stylishly unshaven cheek instead of their original target. Undeterred, Rico beamed, ordering the bartender, “Vince, get Alex his usual.” He smiled coyly, running appreciative eyes up and down Alex’s body, adding, as if it were a grand gesture, “On me.”
Well, of course Rico sprang for the drink. If asked to pay for it himself, Alex wouldn’t be allowing the garrulous man to fawn over him like some lovesick schoolboy. Rico was an annoyance Alex endured for the perks, such as his choice of the lovelies who frequented the club and never having to wait in line. Rico also wouldn’t be too angry about being brushed aside for another. No, instead the opportunistic club owner would indulge his inner voyeur via the security cameras installed throughout the building, perpetuating the game of cat and mouse he’d played with Alex for the past few months.
Alex accepted his martini, gracing his host with a smile in lieu of thanks, and then brushed the barest tips of his fingers across Rico’s lips, gratified at the shudder they inspired. “I know you’re busy, baby, so I won’t keep you,” he said by way of dismissal, making his way to the crowded dance floor to pick out the lucky man, or woman, who’d share his bed tonight, or a corner of the back room. He actually preferred men, but he didn’t want to discourage the holders of his purse strings, who hoped he’d provide a son to carry on the family name.
Artfully arranging himself against a shadowed wall, he watched with a predator’s eyes the beautiful bodies writhing in time to the hard beat of a techno tune, provocatively dressed and parading themselves, waiting to be noticed.
He silently assessed the hopefuls, dismissing one after another for some flaw: too fat, too thin, hideous clothes, too much makeup, thinning hair, etcetera, until he selected a promising prospect and settled in to wait. Two young men, barely of legal age to be in such a club, were staring into each other’s eyes, oblivious to all else around them. Alex’s lips twitched into a devious smile. This was going to be fun.
He watched the couple kiss and caress each other to the point where he had to reach down and adjust the prominent bulge in his slacks. When they were nearly making love on the dance floor, he made his move.
Draining his martini, he discarded the empty glass on a nearby table, ignoring the indignant “Hey!” from its occupants. With precise timing, he eased onto the dance floor, neatly inserting himself between the two dancers. He turned his back to the attractive brunet, his true target, facing the less desirable member of the couple instead. Putting on his best predatory smile, Alex wrapped his arms around the man’s slender shoulders, locking their mouths together, his tongue demanding entrance. After a moment’s hesitation, access was granted. Alex winced at the taste of cigarettes and beer, which only proved him right in not pursuing this particular offering.
The man pulled back and exclaimed, with a fervor normally reserved for fans meeting their rock-star idols, “I know you! You’re that rich guy, Alex Martin. Gawd, you’re hot!”
Alex inwardly cringed at his entire existence being boiled down to “rich guy.” Outwardly, he poured on the charm, enduring the blatant flirtation of his admirer. More than likely the guy thought he’d hit the pickup jackpot. The blond leaned in to resume the kiss, as Alex predicted he would, disregarding the incensed brunet, who loudly protested the turn of events.
Before either of the pair could react further, Alex pushed the guy away and trained his heated gaze on the bewildered eyes of the other dancer. Jilted lovers made such easy prey. He grabbed his intended target by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace, and then reached down to clasp a gloriously tempting ass. “Why should I settle for him when I can have you?” Alex purred, nibbling a sensitive earlobe and eliciting a gasp.
Upset at being brushed carelessly aside by his partner, the brunet didn’t even put up a token protest when Alex claimed his lips in a bruising kiss.
Yes, definitely the wiser choice. Apparently, this half of the couple liked rum and Coke and, thankfully, seemed to be a nonsmoker. Alex hated the inevitable whining when he refused a sex toy a postcoital cigarette, for he loathed the things and didn’t allow smoking in his condo. He smiled, noticing that, judging from the hard length pressed against his thigh, the man boasted a cock to be proud of. Pulling back from the kiss and making his choice between bed or back room, he leaned in to be heard above the music. “What do you say to getting out of here?”
