Ted joined the others at the breakfast table, arriving before Peter or Darcy. He found a seat across from Kirsten, gave her and the other ladies a smile and a hello, then poured a cup of coffee.
“Mmm. Good brew.” He nodded. “So how does this work?”
“What? Breakfast?”
“Yes. It’s included, I know that, but do we order or…”
At that moment, Marie backed into the dining room with trays of food. “Just help yourselves to everything. Breakfast is buffet-style.”
He laughed, and Kirsten joined in. She had a lovely laugh. Honestly, she seemed perfect, perhaps too perfect. Was it all a front? Could anyone be this…spotless?
Ted remained seated, letting the ladies serve themselves first, and took a biscuit from one of the baskets on the table. He spread butter on it and took a bite. Fluffy and light. Real butter. His estimation of Marie and Maurice rose a little higher.
Darcy strolled in. “Good morning, all.” He slipped past Ted’s seat and leaned over. “Morning, Ted.”
“Morning, Darcy.” Ted chewed as Darcy went right for the food.
“I’m famished.” Darcy sat a few seats down from Ted. For someone claiming he was hungry, he had very little on his plate. A scoop of scrambled egg, one slice of bacon, and a mound of fruit salad.
Ted stood, went to the end of the line, and as he filled the plate, he hoped the rest of the food was as good as the melt-in-your-mouth biscuits.
When everyone had a plate in front of them, Darcy took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat.
“Today I’ll set up my easel outside, block out a painting, and talk my way through it. Then we’ll break for lunch, getting it on the way to this afternoon’s spot.”
“Are you going to tell us where?” one of the ladies asked.
“Yes. I’ve secured permission for us to paint on the grounds of the Bon Rive plantation.” He sat back.
Squeals of excitement erupted around the table. Ted had heard of the place. It was famous and in all the sightseeing books. One of the oldest and most stately homes, the foundation that owned it gave elaborate period costume galas there each Christmas Eve. Guided tours by appointment only.
“That is a coup.” Ted raised his coffee cup at him.
Darcy grinned at him. “Can’t take the credit. My assistant set it up. Here’s the thing, though. We had to agree to let them take some publicity shots of us, for use in their brochure.”
“Oh!” The ladies, like birds on a wire, tittered about it to each other.
Ted’s stomach sank. The last thing he wanted was his face splashed all over some brochure.
“What if we’re not interested in that,” a voice behind him asked.
Ted turned. Peter stood right behind his chair, his hands resting on the back of it. If Ted leaned back, he’d surely trap the young man’s hands between his body and the hard wood.
“Well, I expected that. Anyone who wants to be in the photos must sign a release. If you don’t, no pics. Simple as that.” Darcy smiled, his gaze glued to Peter’s. “And you are?” Darcy’s eyebrow cocked upward.
Ted looked back and forth at them.
He didn’t have to be gay to see a connection clicking. He’d expected it. Not seeing it would have surprised him more.
“Darcy, this is Peter Graham.” Ted made the necessary introduction.
“Hello, Darcy.” Peter gave him a shy smile. He lingered, as if reluctant to leave Ted’s side. “Is that seat taken?” he asked.
Ted shook his head. Why would a gorgeous guy like Peter not want to be in a photo shoot? Not being paid for it? Maybe he had an agent? Wouldn’t surprise Ted at all. The kid was everyone’s wet dream, man or woman.
Peter got a plate of food and returned, pulling out the chair with his foot. He sat, tucked one leg up to his chin, and nibbled on a slice of bacon.
Damn, he was sweet. Bed-tussled blond hair, low-slung jeans, faded T-shirt. A rust-colored tribal band tattoo wrapped his upper arm. He played everything for looks, real Abercrombie and Fitch material.
Darcy ate it up. He practically drooled over the kid. Ted would have laughed if he didn’t know he’d have been drooling too just a few days ago.
Before he’s seen the sheriff.
Shit.
He didn’t even know the man’s name. Hell, he was a PI; a name should be easy enough to find out.
If he wanted to, that is. But he didn’t. So that was the end of it. If he knew what was good for him, he’d stay far away from the sexy lawman.
Besides, he had a job to do, and it wasn’t getting laid. Not by Darcy, Peter, or the damned sheriff.
He took another sip of coffee, trying to wash the image of the man and the cruiser out of his mind.
Since when did cop cars figure into his fantasies?
Since when did a straight man? Oh, yeah. Three years ago, when all he’d thought about had been Douglas.
As they finished their breakfast, Ted watched Kirsten and Peter interact. Just a few words spoken between them; most of Kirsten’s conversation had been with a few of the other women.
Maybe she swung that way?
Maybe he was barking up the wrong tree?
He’d never felt so out of sorts, so off balance. It just wasn’t like him. He was usually so clear about his work and keeping his personal feelings out of it.
He turned his attention to the women’s conversation, picking it up and trying to follow along. He’d become so involved, he didn’t notice Peter had spoken until the kid nudged him.
“Are you working in oils or acrylics?” Peter waited, eyebrow raised, for an answer.
“Oh, sorry. Oils.”
“I can’t stand the smell of linseed oil. It gives me a migraine.” Peter frowned.
“So, I guess you better not put your easel too close to mine.” Ted grinned and winked.
Darcy watched them, and for a second, his eyes narrowed. Unbecomingly, Ted thought.
“You’re right. I’m going to have to make sure I’m far enough away from everyone using oils.” He sighed and turned to the others. “Is anyone else using acrylics?”
A few of the ladies raised their hands.
“Oh good. I’d hate to be out there by myself.” He smiled at them, a look of genuine relief passing over his face.
“You can ride with us if you like,” one of the ladies offered, patting his hand. “We’re carpooling to be ‘green.’”
“Thanks.”
“Or you could ride with me,” Darcy drawled. Peter’s gaze snapped to their teacher.
“Sounds cool.” Peter shrugged acting like it didn’t matter who he rode with.
Ted couldn’t resist. “But won’t the linseed oil on Darcy make you sick? After all, he’ll be painting all morning.”
Darcy frowned at Ted. “Well, it’s not like I’m bathing in the stuff, you know.” He turned to Peter. “If it bothers you, I’m sure you can either drive yourself or go with the ladies.” He gave Ted a nod, proving he could be reasonable and not so grabby.
Ted didn’t blame Darcy a bit for being grabby.
It all seemed settled, and Darcy stood. “Give me a few minutes to get set up outside, and we’ll get started.”
Everyone broke up, some going upstairs, some outside. Ted, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, followed the others out the door.
Some of the ladies were pulling folding chairs out of their vehicles. Ted wandered over, popped open the back of the SUV, and pulled out his Saints folding chair. Tucking it under his arm, he closed up the car and then wandered around to the back of the house where the crowd had gathered.
Kirsten had already found a seat, almost directly behind Darcy’s easel. Everyone else formed a tight semicircle, placed so they could see the master work his magic.
Ted plopped down his chair off to the side and sat where he had a good view of Darcy, Kirsten, and the woods. The scene was picturesque, Spanish moss-draped oaks, the morning sun’s glint off the dark waters of the bayou, and the tree line, dark and green.
He didn’t even smile when Peter unfolded his chair next to him. The kid gave him a quick grin, then focused on the scenery.
“It’s lovely here.”
Ted nodded and took another sip of coffee.
Darcy arrived, set up a blank canvas, and began the lecture.
Ted listened, keeping one eye on Kirsten, but after a while, he fell into Darcy’s teaching. He had an easy way of speaking, explaining why he’d chosen a particular color or why one brush over another, sometimes serious, sometimes humorous. He entranced all of them, men and women.
He’d make an interesting lover, no doubt about it. As the sun rose higher, Darcy rolled up his sleeves, and golden hair shimmered in the sunlight.
To Ted’s left, a young, golden-haired god sat, a casual leg bent over his knee, his plaid loafer dangled off one foot, and his unshaved chin resting on his fist.
Darcy talked and painted, and on the canvas, the bayou behind the little B and B came to life. He really was amazing. Talented, good-looking, the whole package.
Anyone would be lucky to have him as a lover, even if only once.
And yet, no matter how Ted tried, he couldn’t drum up interest in the man. Or in the godlet sitting next to him. So close, in fact, he could smell the kid’s shampoo, feel the heat from his body, the rustle of his clothing.
Nothing.
Shit. Whatever was going on sucked.
Ted didn’t like it, not one fucking bit.