The Eleventh Commandment

Darius Crenshaw sat watching the gargantuan screen in his theater room, praying that Bo would stay in the kitchen. He watched the movie intensely, not at all caring about the suspenseful story line about a spy who’d infiltrated the White House. The story line didn’t capture his interest, but the man who played the spy very much had his attention. Pascual Demopoulos, the half-Italian, half-Greek heartthrob known simply as Paz, who in less than two years had taken America and the big screen by storm. A seasoned actor who’d been a European celebrity for many years, he had broken into America’s homes and most females’ hearts with last year’s breakout role that starred him as a single father with a precocious, nine-year-old daughter. The movie, Nine Times Over, was a critical and popular smash, leading to an Oscar nomination and his being given the coveted crown of Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine. They got that right, Darius mused as he watched the actor, looking dashingly bad-ass in a tailored black suit as he accompanied the “president” as part of the Secret Service detail. His stunningly blue eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, but Darius knew exactly how they looked. He’d committed those orbs to memory when they’d met face to face six months ago.

“I hear you, man.” Darius barely looked up in answer, so busy was he texting his legal partner, Bo. This trip had come up unexpectedly, but when royalty called, you answered, and Darius’s presence had been requested at the wedding of a princess. It was a rare trip where Bo hadn’t accompanied him, staying behind to attend meetings for a Fourth of July concert happening in Central Park and a New Year’s Eve Celebration he was headlining at Kingdom Citizens Christian Center. Even though the latter gala was still several months away, it was the first major event Darius had held for them since resigning his minister of music position the year before, a move that had been necessitated by both his demanding schedule and the time he spent in Phoenix to be near his son. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the only person he trusted absolutely to make that happen was Bo. “It’s only seventy-two hours,” Darius had pointed out when Bo complained of not going with him, as he always did. “I’ll be back before my side of the bed gets cold.”

Because he’d barely acknowledged the stranger, who’d spoken as he placed his carry-on in the bin above him, the first thing Darius had truly noticed about Paz was his scent: a combination of something earthy and sexy and mysterious and wild. The second thing was his eyes.

“I thought you looked familiar. I love your music, man!” Paz immediately pulled out his smartphone and showed Darius how the music catalog was loaded with songs by D & C, Darius and Company. “That new album is flawless. I know that ‘Power’ is the song climbing up the charts, but ‘Subtle Sexy’ is my personal fave. ‘Subtle sexy, you vex me, arrest me with your charm while on my arm . . .’ ” Paz sang the lines with a surprisingly smooth voice, showing that he was not only a great actor and model, but could possibly hold his own behind a mike.

After learning that they’d both been summoned to the same party, the two men had conversed comfortably on their trip to Dubai. Darius had only been mildly surprised to learn that Paz swung both ways. More unexpected had been the A-list actor’s not-so-subtle interest in a fling with him, something that Darius had found flattering, but had flatly turned down. “I’m married,” he’d explained, when Paz had pushed the issue. “I’m determined,” Paz had softly replied. Nothing had happened in Dubai. But Darius was all too aware that if Paz had his way . . . something would happen stateside. And soon.

“You’re watching that piece of crap movie again?” Bo entered the theater carrying a tray from which a decadent aroma wafted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to have a crush on someone other than your wife.” He reached the coffee table and sat down what would be a light yet fulfilling lunchtime treat: Portobello mushroom burgers with roasted red peppers on focaccia bread, and a warm, wilted green salad. He reached for a cloth napkin that had been thrown over his shoulder, placed it on Darius’s lap, and placed his own plate on the table beside his mate.

Darius reached for the remote and wisely changed the channel along with the subject. At the time he’d thought it best to tell Bo about meeting Paz on the trip to Dubai. Now, given how jealous Bo acted whenever the man’s face or name came up, he wasn’t so sure. “This smells good, baby. But where’s the meat?”

“Honey, I love me some Toussaint Livingston. But his ass is as straight as the highway to heaven.” The Food Network’s latest darling, Toussaint Livingston, was one of the heirs to a large barbecue dynasty in Atlanta, Georgia, whose riches had been garnered largely through their grandfather’s secret sauce recipe, a restaurant chain called Taste of Soul, and the tremendous entrepreneurial success of the third generation.

“Word is their food will be featured at this year’s Music Muse Awards. So watch it with the compliments or I’ll take someone else with me.” Darius leaned over and kissed Bo’s pouting lips. “Stop it. You know nobody looks as good next to me as you do.”

Even after all this time, when a man as fine as Darius made a big deal over him, Bo couldn’t help but preen. Not that Bo had any lack of confidence. Though his frame was slight, a mere five foot nine to Darius’s bulkier six feet, Bo had a pretty boy face, flawless butterscotch skin, baby fine hair, and bow-shaped lips most women would envy.

The two men finished their meal and, contrary to Stacy’s assumption, Darius then left the house alone to pick up his son. A good thing, since his text indicator vibrated shortly after he got into his SUV for the short drive from the home he’d purchased for the sole purpose of being near his son to the abode that Stacy shared with her ex-NFL football player husband, Tony Johnson. When Darius reached a stop light, he pulled out his phone.

Darius sighed as he punched the voice-activated responder on his cell. “Not a good idea,” he said, enunciating slowly so that the device would type in the correct words. Lord knew he was interested in Paz, who hadn’t been far from his thoughts since returning from Dubai. But when it came to Darius and anyone wanting to get next to him, Bo seemed to have a bloodhound’s nose, a sixth sense if you will, a gift that could be part of the reason for Darius’s faithfulness. Bo’s love for Darius was almost legendary, his devotion unparalleled. Bo was already suspicious. If he knew how actively Paz had been pursuing him, there would be hell to pay.