Loving Edits Page 2

  HE FINISHED his shower and stepped onto the lush cotton mat, sidestepping the lines of come that glistened against the black marble floor. He grabbed a hand towel and cleaned up the evidence of his desire, thus avoiding any more flak from Baxter. He’d had no idea that his torch was so obvious, but then again, no one knew him quite as well as his assistant, so he supposed it was okay. God forbid people took pity on him―he could have any man he wanted. While he hadn’t found anyone as perfect as Mick, it didn’t mean he never would. And maybe this argument was a moot point. Mick was probably thirty pounds overweight and balding. The thought made Paul chuckle.

  He walked back into his bedroom stark naked, unperturbed by Baxter’s presence. His inscrutable assistant held out black silk boxers, and Paul slipped them on wordlessly.

  “Where’s that phone number?”

  Baxter passed him the Post-it. “Give me a minute,” Paul said. “I’ll buzz you when I’m dressed. Oh, Baxter?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Have them bring the car around in approximately forty minutes.”

  “Are you driving or will you need a chauffeur?”

  “I’m not driving.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Paul looked at the number on the Post-it. It was a Manhattan number, which meant that Mick had moved back to the States, or had a local SIM card. Whatever the reason, Paul couldn’t resist calling. Curiosity was getting the best of him, and he hoped that he wouldn’t live to regret this move.

  Mick answered on the second ring. “Paul. How are you, old friend?”

  Paul felt his stomach drop to his knees when he heard Mick’s voice. It was that same sexy, slightly gravelly timbre that always made him feel like they were the only ones in the room. It was Mick’s secret weapon; Paul succumbed to it immediately.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t the hottest writer this side of the universe,” Paul said softly. He shut his eyes and clutched the phone so hard his hand hurt; the strength of his reaction shocked him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the man until this moment. His entire body seemed to come alive after being asleep for seven years, a self-imposed state of suspended emotion that had encased him like a protective shield. He felt it falling away from him in large chunks, crashing to the floor and awakening him as he listened to the voice of the only man he’d ever loved. He’d tried not to think about Mick for years, and he’d almost succeeded, or so he thought. The earlier conversation with Baxter made it very clear that he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself. Whatever bad feelings he may have had disappeared in the wake of Mick’s phone call.

  “Paul?” Mick interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’m… here,” Paul stumbled over the words, feeling blindsided.

  “How’s it going, sweetheart?”

  Mick’s easy use of the familiar endearment just about did him in. He made every effort to get himself under control, struggling to keep his voice devoid of emotion. “Everything’s great, Mick. Are you in town for long?”

  “I’ve moved back.”

  “Really? I thought you loved Spain?”

  “I adore Spain and San Sebastian in particular,” Mick said quickly, “but I have some things that require my attention over here. I did keep my apartment though.”

  “I see. So you’ll be going back eventually?”

  “God willing.”

  Paul found that statement rather odd. Mick had never been a practicing Catholic, so the easy reference to God seemed out of character. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d love to see you.”

  “Say when.”

  “How about today?”

  “Today?” Paul voiced his surprise. “I’m not sure if I can. I do have a schedule, Mick, not that you know the meaning of the word.”

  “Don’t be a priss, Paul. It’s Sunday, and I’m sure that even the great Paul Alcott has one day of rest.”

  Paul wondered what was going on. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “How about right here?” Mick offered. “I’ve rented an apartment in Chelsea.”

  “All right. Give me the address.”

  Paul scribbled on the back of the note and was getting ready to hang up when Mick said, “We can’t wait to see you.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Tono and I.”

  “Who the fuck is Tono?”

  “My partner.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll see you around five, okay? Don’t have a big lunch because we’re making paella on the Weber. Save your appetite.”

  “I’ll bring the wine,” Paul answered in a daze. He had no idea why Mick would want to see him, especially now that he had learned his lover was in tow. So much for the great make-up scene, he thought disappointedly. Pictures of Mick at different stages of undress flashed through his head like a slide show. His body reacted swiftly, but he pushed back his desire, along with whatever hope he may have had that this might just be more than a casual meeting between two old friends. Paul adjusted himself into place before pulling up the zipper on the pair of blue jeans that lay snug on his ass. The fitted gray shirt came next, followed by a liberal spray of Drakkar Noir. His navy blue cotton sweater was an afterthought, but he draped it over his shoulders on the off chance that it would get cool later on that night. He could have passed for a fashion model; his natural blond hair, always a source of pride, was cut and styled to perfection, and the accompanying blue eyes were the classic combination that turned heads. Paul’s look was enhanced by color choices that were meticulously chosen for maximum effect. He slipped sock-less feet into his Gucci loafers and grabbed his wallet and keys. One last glance in the mirror satisfied him: if nothing else, Mick would be pleased to see that Paul had only improved over time.

  Chapter 2

  THE apartment was typical Chelsea, small and pricy, but the amenities were up and running within forty-eight hours of the lease signing. It would have taken a good week for the phone system to work in San Sebastian, let alone the cable, Internet, and other services, but this was America, where everything was readily available as long as one could pay. Mick put the phone down, relieved that the conversation with Paul had gone much better than he’d anticipated. He ran a shaky hand through his dark curls and looked up to see that Tono had been watching the whole time. He gave him a weak grin and shrugged. Tono dropped the box cutter and abandoned the packing debris; he enclosed Mick in his arms and felt the brunet lean into him.

  “¿Qué pasa?”

  Mick mumbled against Tono’s chest. “He’ll be here around five.”

  “And?”

  “I guess I was a bit affected by hearing his voice. It’s been a long time.”

  Tono frowned, “You know, I’m still not convinced that this plan will work.”

  “I know, majo, you’ll just have to trust me on this.”

  “I can manage without him.”

  “Paul is the best in the business, and he can help you.”

  “Not if it will hurt you.”

  “Nothing can hurt me anymore.”

  “Shh,” Tono whispered. “Bésame, cariño.”

  Mick raised his face and opened his lips, accepting the familiar mouth that possessed him lovingly. He reached up and encircled Tono’s neck, drawing him even closer.

  Tono’s need to secure his position became urgent when faced with the prospect of finally meeting Mick’s former lover. He carried Mick to their bedroom, which had already been set up, and laid him on the mattress. Tono embraced his lover’s pliant body, murmuring endearments which were as natural to him as breathing.

  Mick closed his eyes and attempted to push the memories aside. It was impossible. Paul Alcott had been a part of his life for so long; he was connected to him through years of shared experiences. There’d been a time when their thoughts were one, seamless and unclouded by confusion or bitterness. He’d met Paul when he was seventeen and had fallen in love instantly. It had taken Paul a little longer to warm up to the idea of being gay, but it had been a no-brainer
after their first kiss. The passion between them had escalated quickly, coming to a peak the night of the senior prom after they’d dropped off their respective dates. The girls were having a sleepover, and Mick spent the night at Paul’s, making love until the sun rose. It was a slow exploration on both sides, an introduction into man-on-man sex that obliterated any ideas of ever going back to the straight world. Paul came out to his father a week later, and Mick announced his sexual orientation to his stunned parents as soon as he graduated and left for college.

  They were as close as any two people could ever get―lovers, brothers, and partners in crime, hardly separating for holidays and almost never disagreeing about anything. They’d shared the same love for the written word and the dream of being published some day. Mick’s interests were science fiction and mystery, while Paul’s writing was filled with angst, leaving Mick exhausted and frustrated. He kept telling Paul to lighten up, to think romance, not Macbeth, but Paul had a clear vision of what he wanted to say, and tragedy was his thing. Surprising, considering Paul’s life. The only tragic thing about him was his mother’s death at childbirth, but even that was a moot point since he had a father, and he had Baxter, who doted on him.

  It took Mick almost five years to finish his book and another year of editing, subjecting himself to Paul’s scathing tongue and ridicule, but when they were finished, he had the bestseller he’d dreamed about. What he didn’t count on was the chain of events that would destroy the most important relationship in his life, and to this day, he wasn’t sure what had happened.

  He’d left to go on a European tour shortly after their breakup, ending up in Spain. His destination had been Pamplona, the need to see and smell the running of the bulls his primary goal. Hemingway had been a huge literary influence, and the author’s love of everything Spanish was a factor in Mick’s decision. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find his book in the translated version in many of the stores, and he’d been flattered that so many people recognized him. They’d treated Mick like a celebrity, accepting him with open arms. The hospitality had lasted throughout the mad week of the Pamplona festival, and by the time he’d arrived in San Sebastian, the seaside port on the Bay of Biscay, he was hung over and ready for some downtime.

  He was sampling pintxos at the bar, Vergara, when Antonio Garat, current darling of the Jai alai world, walked in with a small group of friends. Tono, as he was fondly known to all his fans, had just returned from Ocala, Florida, where he’d been under contract for five years. He was number one in the world of professional Jai alai, but once his stint was over, he’d opted to go back to San Sebastian where he had been trained. He missed his friends and family, the food, the bars, and the general ambiance of his adopted hometown. He did come back with a small fortune, a huge following, and a pretty good knowledge of the English language―a big accomplishment, since he had only been able to say please and thank you when he’d arrived in Florida years ago.

  Mick had fallen hard when he’d met Tono. He was the first man he’d allowed into his life since the breakup with Paul, and they’d been together ever since that first passionate month of lust and heady romance. Aside from Tono’s physical attributes, which were the embodiment of everything male, there was an artistic side to the Spaniard that Mick found very appealing. Tono wrote poetry, astonishing Mick with his first sonnet, which was well crafted and reduced him to tears. The sincerity and pureness of Tono’s words leaped off the page, and his fierce brown eyes burned their way into Mick’s heart. He was impossible to resist after that.

  Yet, despite the love they shared, Mick couldn’t help his feelings for Paul. He’d known it the minute he heard Paul’s voice. He would always love Paul, but he would do his best to keep it together when he finally laid eyes on the man. Tono wouldn’t be able to handle the jealousy on top of everything else. He had to make sure this wouldn’t affect their relationship, or his plans would fall by the wayside.

  “Cariño.” Tono’s voice pulled him back to the present, and the feel and weight of his lover as he slipped into him made him forget Paul for now, focusing on the words that poured out of Tono effortlessly. He was hopelessly romantic and tender, never lacking in ways to express his love. What he couldn’t say in English, he more than made up for in Spanish. “Te quiero,” he breathed against Mick’s ear, thrusting in and out, goading his partner to catch up with his passion.

  Mick clutched at Tono, crying out with pleasure as they shuddered their way to the orgasms that left every nerve ending tingling. They held each other for the longest time, reluctant to part. Mick rubbed Tono’s broad back, easing the corded muscles around his neck and shoulders with a light touch. He loved the weight on him, the smell of Tono’s body, and the fullness of his cock still half-hard and buried inside him. They tangled legs and snuggled in closer, winding around each other like vines. The contented sighs coming from deep within Tono’s chest reassured Mick that all was right for now.

  PAUL stood outside the door, debating his decision to show up. He had a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bunch of colorful wildflowers in the other. He’d given in to a moment of sentimental weakness, and now he wondered what the hell he was doing. He turned to leave when the door was yanked open by a fractious brunet with a scowl on his face. “¿Sí?”

  “Um, I’m Paul Alcott.”

  Tono glared and scrutinized him from the top of his shinning head down his designer-clad body.

  Paul was unfazed. He was just as curious about the man who’d replaced him in Mick’s life. He inspected him like he would any rival, noting the chestnut colored hair that curled around his neckline. His upper body was hidden behind a loose T-shirt, but the finely formed muscles of his arms were a clear indication of what was underneath. Paul sized up the man who had stolen Mick’s heart. He was striking, no doubt about it. The fiery eyes were bad enough, but it was the mouth made for sucking that sent Paul’s mind straight to the gutter. He was shocked by his body’s quick response to this stranger, despite the obvious antagonism. He brought his hand down, casually covering the evidence of his growing interest with the flowers.

  Finally, the Spaniard blinked and rewarded Paul with a tentative smile. “I’m Tono Garat,” he announced in a heavily accented voice.

  “Nice to meet you.” Paul nodded. “Is Mick around?”

  “Yes, of course. Come in, please.”

  Tono turned, and Paul zeroed in on the rounded ass covered in tight white shorts. The lack of any telltale garter lines was a clear indication that Tono was naked under those shorts, and Paul couldn’t help but notice.

  “Paul!” Mick called out, moving forward swiftly and hugging Paul to his chest. “God, it’s been too long.”

  “I know,” Paul smiled, falling under Mick’s spell easily. It had always been so good between them, and despite the years and the distance, the sentiment remained the same. “You’re still as gorgeous as ever,” he teased.

  “Oh, stop. You always were good for my ego.”

  “The years have been good to you, my friend,” Paul continued, taking in every part of Mick. He did look great, trim and fit, clean-shaven. His hair was a little longer than Paul remembered, but the dark curls framed Mick’s tanned face, making the unforgettable eyes practically leap out at him.

  “You don’t look half-bad either.” Mick’s voice shifted, and the words came out like a soft caress. He toyed with a lock of Paul’s silky hair, curling it around his finger. “When did you let your hair grow?”

  “After my father died; no more memos about looking professional.” Paul grinned as he recalled Paul Senior’s edicts.

  “Shall I take the wine?” Tono interrupted, clearly uncomfortable. He knew all about Paul and Mick’s history, but seeing the chemistry was a different matter entirely. He felt the first twinge of jealousy but pushed it down quickly.

  “Sure,” Paul replied, handing Tono the bottle.

  “Would you like a glass of sangria? I made a pitcher,” Tono asked, never taking his eyes off Paul’s
face.

  “That sounds good. I’m assuming it’s authentic.”

  “I made it from scratch,” Tono said indignantly.

  “Come,” Mick stepped in, diffusing the situation. He took Paul by the arm and led him out to the tiny patio that had a wrought iron table for four and several wooden planters filled with assorted vegetables growing abundantly. The tomatoes were ripe and hanging from branches held up with green sticks. The Weber grill was off to one side―a tribute to summer and warm evenings.

  “This is really nice, Mick. I had no idea this was out here.”

  “Not too many people do. I guess the owners built this area to try and simulate a garden, so I benefit. It’s what attracted me to this unit in the first place.”

  Paul sat down and stretched out, loving the sight of Mick after so long. “So what have you been up to?”

  “Living La Vida Loca,” Mick smiled. “Doing some writing, Paul, but mostly enjoying my life.”

  “Sounds great. Are you still working on your sequel?”

  “That, as well as something new.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m helping Tono with his book.”

  “You’re a writer?” Paul was surprised for some reason.