28
Back to Malibu
Several hundred miles from Phoenix, in the tony California beach community of Malibu, someone else was working on a relationship. When not on set, Paz normally paid little attention to his appearance. But he checked his image while passing his den’s mirror-covered wall, giving his hair a quick tousle on the way to the front door.
“Dee!” He stepped back so that Darius could enter the large foyer.
“Hey, man.” The men hugged. Darius looked around, nodding his approval. “This place is nice. I forgot how nice the drive is up from Los Angeles.”
“I know, right? It’s why we put up with all of the inconveniences: traffic, isolation, wildfires. For what’s out back.” Paz placed his hand on Darius’s shoulder, his turquoise blue eyes boring deeply into chocolate brown ones. “I’m really glad you came.” He placed a kiss on Darius’s cheek. A woodsy smell with a hint of citrus wafted from his body. His hand left Darius’s shoulder and traveled down his back, offering a casual tap on the R & B crooner’s taut rump before stepping away. “You look good.”
“Where is everybody?” Darius took in the man who was slightly taller than he, equally well built, his body being showed off to perfection covered in swim trunks alone. The smooth olive skin was even darker than when he’d last seen him weeks ago, during the Fourth of July concert in Central Park. The concert. A perfect image of Bo’s scowling face flashed across Darius’s mind. But it was quickly replaced by the image of the model-perfect man in front of him. Paz was good people, an A-list star, and someone who made Darius feel good. Not only that, but the chemistry was undeniable. Darius tried hard not to think of this right now. He was here to meet an award-winning producer about possibly scoring the movie in which Paz had already agreed to star. The world mainly knew Darius as a singer, but those close to him knew that he also loved composing music. Writing movie scores would be a wonderful next level for his career and with Quincy Jones being one of his idols, it would bring him one step closer to mirroring a career he admired from afar.
They walked through a large, open-concept space that was bright and airy. The view was stunning: a large deck framing an infinity pool with a stretch of private beach between it and the vast Pacific Ocean. A dozen or so people milled around the deck while two couples—the guys in swim trunks, the women in thong bikinis—played volleyball on the strip of beach below. Stepping out on the deck, Darius immediately recognized one of the guests as the man who’d costarred with Paz in his latest movie, a reality-TV star, and behind the grill, a face he recognized from Bo’s marathon watching of the Food Channel. Paz introduced him to a couple people on the way to the infinity pool, where a white-haired man lounged on a large tube.
“Gary, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Gary slowly spun around, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up. A slow smile of recognition spread across his face. “Darius Crenshaw!”
“Darius,” Paz began, “this is Gary Weiss. Gary, this is the music producer for our next movie.”
Gary climbed out of the infinity pool and soon the two men were seated and Darius was getting schooled on the operation of the Hollywood machine. Gary was cocky and irreverent, with an encyclopedic knowledge of the industry. Darius liked him right away.
“Paz says you have some instrumentals?”
Darius nodded. “I put together a couple pieces with this project in mind.”
“I’d like to take a listen and ...” Gary’s words died as he became distracted by a sight beyond Darius’s shoulder. “That Paz is a Greek god. I’m as straight as an arrow, but I swear I’d do him in a heartbeat.”
Darius looked over his shoulder. Heart stopped. Dick jumped. Paz and the couples who’d been playing beach volleyball were now cavorting naked on the private strip of beach, rushing into the ocean and riding the waves back to shore. Even from a distance, Darius could see that Paz’s flaccid member was swinging down by his well-sculpted thighs. He turned to dive into the water and his ass was just as taut and round as Darius had imagined. Get it together, man, he admonished himself. You’ll be drooling in a minute. He abruptly turned back to Gary to find a curious pair of gray eyes looking at him. Taking a moment to recollect himself, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “You were saying that you wanted to hear some of my music?”
Gary smiled, a knowing “I can keep a secret” sort of smile. “I do,” he said around the grin. “When it comes to this movie, you might be a perfect fit.”
“Here’re a few cuts. You’ve got my number. After you take a listen, I’d love for us to talk again.” Darius stood and extended his hand.
Gary stood as he shook it. “You leaving?”
“Yeah, my flight leaves in a couple hours.”
“I thought you were local.”
“I’ve got a place here but lately have been spending most of my time in Phoenix.”
“Well, I’m glad I met you, Darius. I’ll take a listen and be in touch.”
“Cool.” Darius spoke to a couple of the guests on his way out, trying very hard not to appear to be doing exactly what he was trying to do: beat a hasty retreat. He couldn’t imagine how he ever thought he could have a casual visit with the man whose torrid texts exchanged on the prepaid phone he’d purchased had kept him so sizzling hot. He’d done what he came here to do. In the future, he’d make sure that he and Paz met in a place where the demigod couldn’t run around naked. That body . . . damn! Picking up his pace, Darius had reached the front door when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Darius would know that scent anywhere. He turned around.
Paz’s blue eyes bore into his. “Leaving without so much as a good-bye to the host?”
“I was going to call you.” Darius knew his reply was lame, but it was the best he could do.
“Talking on the phone is one thing,” Paz replied, licking his lips as he lessened the distance between the two men. “Interacting in person is another.”
“Paz, I—”
His excuse was cut short by the feel of a set of firm, smooth lips on his soft, cushy ones; the scent of fresh air and warm sun emanating from a hard body; the fact that the tongue gently pressing its way into Darius’s mouth didn’t belong to his husband; the fact that he didn’t want the kiss to end. He felt his hand on Paz’s back, pressing him closer, and wondered how it got there. He felt Paz’s response, a low, soft moan as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, a hand sliding down from Darius’s back to his backside, pushing them closer together. Darius’s physical response—a hardening, an involuntary grinding, and a wave of heat rising from his core and causing his heart to constrict. His heart. Remember, man? The one that belongs to Bo?
Darius stepped back, placing a defensive hand up as he did so. “I can’t do this,” he panted, noting the hurt and intense desire in Paz’s eyes before turning quickly away. “I’m married.”
“I know.” Paz ran a hand through tousled black hair. “I also know that I love you.” Silence enveloped the two men as the sounds of the party, the ones that had faded into silence during their brief romantic exchange, returned. Paz noted that someone was calling his name. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” he said, his voice low and hurried, his accent pronounced. “But I won’t apologize for loving you, Darius.” He stepped forward for another quick peck on Darius’s lips. “Call before you leave town,” he whispered, and then walked back to his guests.
Darius watched Paz’s sculpted body as he walked away: broad shoulders, narrow waist, hard buns, and long legs. His lips still buzzing from the kiss, he turned and walked outside to the SUV he’d rented. During the scenic, winding drive down Pacific Coast Highway, Paz occupied every corner of his thoughts. Determined to divert this focus, Darius phoned his minister and good friend Derrick Montgomery. When Derrick’s wife, Vivian, informed Darius that her husband was out of town, Darius called a couple members of his band. His drummer’s wife had just lost a family member, counting him out for Friday night drinks. His horn player’s phone went to voice mail. Twice. Deciding against hitting the clubs, Darius finally headed back to his hotel room, planning to try and catch an earlier flight out.
He did all of those things: arrived at the Four Seasons, checked flights, packed his bags, and left the hotel.
And then he went back to Malibu.