The Dark Horse

«I got a copy of the Charioteer script. I was pla

I rolled over, the Naturlatex mattress molding to the contours of my body. The duvet felt damp beneath my back. I stared into Dan's blue eyes.

He smoothed the towel over my chest, sliding down to my groin. My dwindling erection made a pup tent of white towel.

I closed my eyes and expelled a shaky breath as Dan's fingers wrapped around my dick once more. «Er … great.» And it was great. I'd been hounding Steve to get me a look at the script for weeks. You wouldn't think that the screen adaptation of a minor gay classic would require security clearances worthy of the Pentagon – especially given the typical indie film production budget.

Dan's hand slid up the length of my cock. Slowly slid down. I gritted my teeth to keep from moaning.

From a long, long way away Steve said, «Yeah. But there's a problem. Le

I glanced across at the reflection of myself in the mirror hanging over the bureau dresser: tall, lanky, brown eyes, brown hair. «I'm not that good looking,» I protested.

«I agree. I don't think you're so good looking. In fact, I think you're butt ugly. This is his opinion.»

I gnawed my lip, ignoring these witticisms. «That's it? He doesn't want me because of my looks?»

Steve said, a little more serious now, «That, and he thinks you're not gay enough.» «What? What the hell does that mean?» «Hey, I'm just telling you what was said.»

«But what does that even mean? I'm gay. I'm out. What more does he want?» Dan's hand closed around the nape of my neck, his fingers knowledgeably prodding the muscles knotting up. I felt a spark of a

«It's not like we had an in-depth discussion. I think it's a political thing with him. He feels like you're walking a line with straight audiences, that you're not openly gay. 'You play it too straight,' that's what he said.»

«Well, so does Laurie! So does Ralph. I mean, it's historical drama. It's World War Two. Nobody was out. What's this idiot pla

«Chill, dude. Don't kill the messenger. I'm just letting you know what you're up against. He went ahead and FedExed me a copy of the script, so you're not totally out of the ru

I was silent. Dan scraped the back of my neck with his fingernails and I shivered. Never mind the P-Spot. Apparently I had an N-Spot. I made myself focus. «Do they have someone else in mind?» «For Laurie, no. For Ralph I think they're looking at Peter Grady.»

I swore. The last film I'd done with Peter Grady had earned us the title of «The Gay Tracy and Hepburn» in the queer press. I loved working with the guy; we had major league screen chemistry – one more reason I so wanted to do this project.

Steve soothed, «You haven't read it yet. Maybe you won't like the adaptation. Maybe you won't want to do the film. Let's not worry about it anymore 'til you've seen the script. Okay?» «Okay.» «I'll see you around two.» «See you.» I hung up and flung myself back against the mountain of pillows.

«So who's the bastard with the bad taste not to want you?» Dan inquired. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, putting his watch on, so apparently we had lost our window of opportunity.

«Oh.» I grimaced. «Le

It barely registered. «It's that goddamned People magazine article. «People's 50 Most Beautiful People.» I was number 49 or something.» I brooded over this for a moment. «And he thinks I'm not gay enough.» Dan's brows rose. «You seemed gay enough to me five minutes ago.» I gri

He got off the bed, the squeak of floorboards giving voice to my i

I shot him a quick look. He sounded regretful, not a

I had the uncomfortable feeling that he did. Well, hell. I was out of practice at having relationships. Actually, who was I kidding? I'd never had a real relationship. Not like this. Not living together 24/7 with a for-richer, for-poorer, in-sickness, and in-health option. The closest I'd come was when Steve and I roomed together for about a year after college. That was when Steve had still been trying to make it as a comic. Before he'd decided that managing my career would be easier and more lucrative than having his own.

I watched Dan move around the room dressing. Casual wear: khakis and a black T-shirt. Not the beautifully tailored suits and expensive ties he wore on duty. You couldn't

afford suits like that on a cop's salary, but Dan supplemented his salary by working as a consultant for the film industry – which was the other reason he had snagged the bodyguard gig with me.

I tried to think what I would do all day. Now that I didn't have to worry about being taken out by a potentially homicidal fan I'd have to find a new hobby.

Maybe I'd go for another swim after I worked out in the weight room. No problem going by myself now. Just like a big boy. Maybe I'd see if I had a copy of Renault's The Charioteer here at the beach house and reread it. Or no, maybe that would interfere with my reading the script. Maybe I'd just put on some music and catch some rays. Sunshine was supposed to be good for depression – not that I was depressed. Exactly. «What time will you be back?»

«About five.» Dan slid the leather badge-wallet in to his pocket, double-checked the fit of his khakis in the bureau mirror. «You want me to bring something home for di

Home. That was kind of nice. I gave his question the careful deliberation it deserved. «I'll cook. Could you pick up some scallops?»

«I'll do that, chief.» He bent down over the bed and gave me a quick, hard kiss. «Have a good day. And don't worry about anything.» I answered with one of Steve's favorite lines. «What, me worry?» «You're right,» said Dan. «That's my job.»

Chapter Two

As usual Steve was late.

He showed up at a quarter to three, trudging around the back of the house to the deck where I sat su

«Dude, you changed the lock on your front door,» he a

«Sort of.» The truth was I'd changed the locks after the first time Paul Hammond showed up uninvited in my living room. Steve had to be thinking of the old days – back when I'd believed I was the only crazy person to worry about.

He went into the house and reappeared a few moments later with a Corona. Pulling out one of the wooden chairs, he sat down. «Where is he?» I didn't need to ask who. «He went into town to pick a few things up.»

He nodded noncommittally, took a long swig from his beer. «So how are you doing?» «Good.» «Yeah?»

I gri