The Case of the Sexy Shakespearean

by Tara Lain

  Ten minutes later, he’d about given up, but he took a couple of steps back and tried to look casual behind the pillar when he heard the click of heels on the granite floor.

  A quick peek revealed the back of what appeared to be a truly stunning man—very tall, reed thin, shiny dark hair that fell over his shoulders and around his ears. He moved like a dancer on his way to a tour de force performance. Oddly, he wore a sweat suit. But he moved with confidence toward the building next door. Oh, that made sense. He was headed to the spa—the notoriously gay-friendly spa.

  Blaise smiled. Some lucky guy over there was in for a fun evening.

  Blaise turned back toward the entry and peered into the lobby. No one. Glancing around, he quietly entered the hotel, but there was no sign of Llewellyn. Hey, Llewellyn was carrying a bag. Maybe he checked in. Or maybe he went to the spa too. Wouldn’t it be wild if he was hooking up with the looker in the sweat suit? Blaise snorted. Not likely. From what Blaise had seen, Llewellyn Lewis would never think he deserved a guy with as much charisma as that dark-haired man. So brilliant. So shy. Jesus, his mother had to be nuts.

  He gazed across the parking lot. How bad could a night at the gay spa be?

  He left the hotel and trotted across the crowded lot. In the lobby of the spa, a cute guy looked up with a smile—that escalated as soon as his eyes met Blaise’s. “Hi there. Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m a first timer. Uh, at this spa, I mean. What services do you offer?”

  “We have a complete menu of massages, facials, and wraps. We also have two nice whirlpools. One is inside and coed. The other is outside and”—he grinned—“gentlemen only. That designation also applies to the large steam room. It’s very steamy.”

  “I think I’ll just use the whirlpool and steam room to start. If I decide on a massage…?” Blaise made a waving gesture with his hand.

  “Just let the head attendant know in the locker room. He’ll check with me.” The attendant took Blaise’s credit card and supplied him with a robe, flip-flops, and a towel. “I’ll leave your account open in case you decide on more services. Enjoy yourself—” He gave Blaise a slow, significant once-over. “—immensely.”

  Blaise flashed him a wink and took a step toward the entrance to the locker room, then turned back. “Uh, did a tall, slim guy with brown hair and a kind of a studious look come in during the last few minutes? He, uh, stutters sometimes.”

  “No, sadly. I’d remember. I love those shy, silent types.”

  Me too. “Thanks.” Well, damn.

  “I hope that won’t be too disappointing for you.” The guy grinned. “I get off in a couple hours.” He raised his brows significantly.

  “Kind, but I may not last that long.”

  “Oooh, I hope that’s not true.”

  Blaise just laughed and stepped into the locker room—carefully. If Llewellyn was in there, he’d need a good story for how he happened to be at the same off-the-beaten-track spa. Of course, there weren’t that many gay hangouts on the central coast, so….

  No professor types in the lockers at all. The dark-haired guy wasn’t in there either.

  Blaise undressed and pulled on the cushy robe and flip-flops, then ventured into the wet areas of the massive men’s lounge. Guys wandered through, some giving Blaise the eye and signaling they’d be happy to follow with additional body parts, but no one was pushy. A big sign above one of the doors said IR Sauna. Still draped in his robe, Blaise stuck his head into the wood-lined interior. Nobody there. He pulled back out and closed the door. Obviously, sauna wasn’t the happening event in this spa.

  A number of men walked in and out of a glass door, creating billowing gusts of fog. Target. Discarding his robe in favor of a towel around his waist and another over his shoulders, he followed two guys inside and immediately saw the attraction—steam so thick you couldn’t see your own body parts, much less what others were doing with theirs. The hissing of the jets covered a lot of noises, but a certain number of moans and grunts emerged from the mist. Still, it was likely the flow of steam wouldn’t stay this high.

  He felt in front of him with both a foot and a hand. Whoops. Contact with bare skin made him snatch back his arm. “Sorry.”

  “Anytime.” That comment was accompanied by a low chuckle.

  He kept feeling the air. The chances of sitting on someone’s lap unintentionally were high. That might be part of the plan. If you tumbled into a stranger’s embrace, they got to keep you. Blaise had certainly played such silly games in his life, but right then he had another priority. Find Llewellyn, if he was there.

  His foot contacted a smooth surface, and a couple of steps revealed it to be a low, tiled bench. He slid closer and sat, occupying enough space to keep bare bodies away from him. As he’d guessed, after a couple of minutes, the flow of steam lessened and the density cleared enough so he could make out a very large room with two tiers of seating occupied by a number of men, some draped in towels and some bare-assed. None of the guys he saw appeared to be in couples, so all the action must have been coming from the back of the room farthest from the door, where the fog stayed thick.

  Blaise wiped a hand over his face and peered between his fingers at the steamers. Damn, no Llewellyn. Blaise wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he would have said—or done, for that matter—if Llewellyn had been there, but he might wish it involved a trip to the back of the room. Funny that Llewellyn had no confidence in his attractiveness, but he turned Blaise on like a light switch—all that shy brilliance, to say nothing of the beautiful ass he tried to hide.

  Whoa. That woke up his dick.

  He inhaled some of the eucalyptus-scented steam to get it under control. Towels didn’t cover much. His attraction to Llewellyn was a weirdly disturbing side effect of his assignment. Not one he’d considered when he drove south. Still, he couldn’t seem to resist that sexy brain—and the possibility of mendacious mystery.

  The flow of steam started hissing again, and Blaise dropped his head into his hands, stretching his neck side to side. On his turn to the left, he opened his eyes and connected with a glimpse of piercing blue, soft, gently turned pink lips, and a shock of dark hair. Blaise heard his own indrawn breath, and then the steam closed in. Maybe what he needed was to take his mind off his Llewellyn obsession and turn it to more low-hanging fruit. He chuckled at his own analogy.

  LLEWELLYN’S HEART slammed against his ribs as he backed away from Blaise into the thick blanket of vapor collected at the back of the steam room. What the bloody hell is he doing here? Damn the man. With a slap he bumped into a bare body, veered to the side, stumbled over someone’s feet, and slammed his hip into the hard tile of the bench. “Ow.”

  A hand emerged from the cloud and touched his arm. “You okay?”

  “F-fine. I mean, yes, thank you.”

  The hand vanished, and he took a deep, wet breath. He didn’t recognize me. He couldn’t. Calm down. I was just another potential screw in the steam room to him.

  A moan close to him on the upper bench made him jump. Some hot lover you are. Come here to get laid and run from every contact. He sighed. Obviously Blaise had no such compunctions. That felt weirdly disappointing—which felt weirdly weird. He’s gay. This is a gay meetup. Just because I’m a hopeless social dud doesn’t mean he is. Hell, he’s not cheating on me. Maybe he’s cheating on Stanley. That made him smile a little.

  His demanding brain screamed at him. What are the chances Blaise Arthur would show up here on the exact night and the exact time I do? Well, not me exactly, but still.

  And there it was. He wasn’t him, so Blaise hadn’t shown up on the same night as Llewellyn Lewis. He’d shown up on a Friday, after school, otherwise known as date night.

  Need to get out of here. But there was a lot of scary real estate between him and the door. Jesus, he could picture himself shriveling into a prune while waiting for the imaginary coast to clear. You’re not you. Just do it.

  The steam stopped hissing. Okay, wait for it
to start again.

  One of the men near him on the bench got up and moved away in the slightly improved line of sight. Then two more walked past him only inches away, holding hands, one of the guys’ dick stretching out the front of his towel.

  Llewellyn swallowed. Just what he needed, to be hornier.

  The steam started again. Give it a second.

  Someone passed him and seemed to sit somewhere near him on the bench. Llewellyn scooted a couple of inches over to his right, but a body suddenly sat there. Okay, leave.

  Something touched his leg, and he jumped and slid away. Before he could figure out the way to the door, a leg pressed against his.

  “What? Sorry.” He scooted in the opposite direction and slammed into another expanse of nude flesh. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Sweet Jesus, he’d know that voice anywhere.

  A voice so near his ear the person could have kissed him said, “Are you looking for company?”

  He froze. Company with Blaise Arthur? His brain burst in a flying fit of imagination—lips, tongue, body, hands. He wanted all of them. At that moment, desperately.

  He’d hesitated so long, Blaise must have taken it as assent. From the mist, a hand caressed Llewellyn’s bare back and slowly slid to far more vulnerable parts.

  Llewellyn felt his own chest rise in a deep sigh. All he wanted was more.

  Blaise caressed his face and slid his fingers up to tangle in Llewellyn’s long hair.

  Wait. Not Llewellyn’s. Shit!

  Fortunately Blaise wasn’t ready for resistance. Llewellyn pushed hard against Blaise’s chest, throwing him off balance so he fell backward against the tiled bench. Llewellyn leaped up and ran toward the door, running into several people but elbowing his way through. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

  He threw open the steam room, ran to the locker room, shoved in the key, and opened the locker. It took seconds to pull on his sweatpants, grab his bag, and tear out to the lobby of the spa. Fortunately, he’d paid coming in. He waved at the receptionist. “Sorry. Emergency.” He ran out the door, across the parking lot, and was in his hotel room before he stopped to take a deep breath.

  Leaning against the inside of his door, he slowly banged his head back against it. Oh my God. Blaise Arthur. He pressed a hand on his abdomen and felt it rise and fall with his panting breaths. Blaise Arthur came on to me. Keep breathing or I’ll die of amazement.

  Seconds ticked by as his heartbeat returned to normal. Uh, wait. Breath. He didn’t come on to me. Breath. He caressed Ramon Rondell. Breath. Not even that. He came on to an anonymous stranger in a steam-filled room full of lust and debauchery.

  Llewellyn walked across the room to the bed and sat on its edge. He’d asked for a faceless, nameless night of sexual adventure, and that’s what he’d gotten.

  BLAISE STOOD outside the spa, staring into the dark parking lot and over to the hotel. Damnation. He’d left that fucking account open, and it took forever to pay and get out of there. Gone. He’d lost them both—Llewellyn and the dark-haired man. No, asshole, you lost Llewellyn because of the dark-haired man. When you saw Llewellyn wasn’t in the steam room, you should have left. Mother will kill me.

  He started trudging over to the parking lot of the hotel, his too-tight jeans reminding him of his explosive response to the guy in the steam room. In fact, it wasn’t really his style. He was no sex-starved adolescent, unable to control his libido. But the dark-haired man had suddenly been in front of him, and Blaise just reacted. He let out a single laugh. Memorable.

  He crawled in his Prius, pulled out his cell phone, and settled down to get his ass chewed.

  Chapter Six

  “MERWAOWR.”

  “I’m awake.”

  “Mew.”

  “Mewwwr.”

  Llewellyn opened his eyes and stared into large green ones. “Good morning, Marie.” Interesting how he stammered less when he talked to the cats. As agreed in his feline contract, he scooted up against the headboard and let the furries snuggle and rub against him. Julius did most of the rubbing, Marie took his lap, and Emily purred against his side. He’d only get a few minutes of snuggle time because Julius wanted his breakfast, thank you very much.

  He closed his eyes and petted all the fur he could reach. Pretty tired. He hadn’t planned to come home last night since he’d paid for the handy hotel room, but somehow staying there made him antsy. What if he saw Blaise? Would Blaise put coincidence together and figure out who he’d groped? That was one step from realizing Llewellyn had been wearing a wig and makeup—although most of it had washed off by that time. Damn, that’d be hard to explain. Plus it still weirded him out that Blaise had turned up in the same unlikely place as him. Even making big allowances for gay men on weekends, it still stretched the bounds of probability.

  A little smile crept over his mouth. But just because Blaise Arthur represented a potential threat didn’t mean he wasn’t epic. Hell, he’d happily lie there and let Blaise grope him all day. His dick gave a little hop.

  “Merwaooowr.”

  He opened his eyes; Julius was practically stomping his feet. A not-so-subtle reminder from the universe to get off his ass and stop mooning over a guy he not only couldn’t have—but shouldn’t. “Okay, g-guy. Breakfast time. Then I’m settling in to a weekend of w-work.”

  He sat up and the cats all got the cue, leaping to the floor and meowing. Although he usually kept his drapes drawn, last night he’d been so tired and upset, he’d forgotten. In the interests of his neighbors’ modesty, he threw on some jeans and padded out to the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot.

  Eyeing the tea maker with longing, he veered to the cat food cabinet for his first stop to keep the beasts from attacking. Whoops. No cans of Julius’s favorite and not even any of Marie’s food. “Hang on.” He checked the refrigerator. Very bad news. It wasn’t like him to be so disorganized, but the last few days had been pretty intense.

  If he only gave the cats dry food, they’d pout for a week. Okay, so a trip out for cat food and a giant tea latte; then he’d lock the doors, close the curtains, and forget the outside world with its expectations and demands until Monday. Right, Monday, when he had to make a life-altering commitment that could threaten his professional standing—or get him fired from his cushy position that let him do whatever research he wanted with few intrusions. “Sorry, guys.” He grabbed the bag of dry food. “This will hold you until I get back, okay?”

  As he crossed the big living room toward the stairs, he caught a glimpse of movement outside the window. Dark hair. Female. Probably Maria. She didn’t usually bother him at home unless it was important.

  Walking into the entry, he pulled open the door—and stopped. “Uh, M-Mrs. Echev-varria.”

  “Please, call me Carmen.” She smiled, giving her mane of black hair a toss.

  “H-how c-can I h-help you? I w-was just going out.”

  She looked at his bare chest meaningfully.

  “After I-I ch-change.” He forced a smile.

  “Don’t do that on my account.” She smiled. “May I come in? I’ll only take a moment of your time.”

  “Uh, v-very well.” He stepped back and she swept in, getting an immediate audience from three cats. She cringed back. “Oh dear. I’m quite allergic, I’m afraid.”

  “W-we can s-sit outside.” He pointed to the two chairs on his big Craftsman-style front porch.

  She eyed the felines. “Well, I was hoping for more privacy, but it would be best, I suppose.”

  “I-I’ll dress.”

  She walked out again, and he let the door close behind her, then ran down the hall, threw on a shirt and some Birkenstocks, and stopped in the bathroom to pee. Breathing out, he gathered his brain. Why the hell was this woman at his home, and how had she learned where he lived? Van Pelt’s face floated across his mind. Right, anything for the money.

  Sighing, he walked back to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea, then exited his front door with three fuz
zies yowling they wanted better food. Cats in hell want cold milk too.

  He took the other seat on the porch, separated from Carmen Echevarria by a table. “I-I p-put on some t-tea.”

  She leaned forward, displaying an acre of cleavage. “Oh, I won’t be staying long. Let me tell you why I’m here. You recall that my husband and I are considering a donation to the university in a considerable amount.”

  “I-I don’t know any de-details.”

  “Yes, well, we were—are. Unfortunately, our intentions rather conflict with those of Anne de Vere, and we hoped that you might, uh, see our side of the issue.”

  “Wh-why con-conflict?”

  “We wish to have our own name on the history building. It’s my husband’s field of study, and he wants our children to have this legacy. We think it’s more appropriate if Ms. de Vere names the English building after that historical imposter. Why subject the history building to such an indignity?”

  “I—I’m s-sorry. I c-can’t make that decision.”

  She reached over and patted his arm. “Of course, but if you refused to do the research, there’d be no reason for the de Vere person to even be considered. I know you don’t want to do it anyway. All you have to say is no.” She smiled so big her back teeth showed.

  “B-but—” He stared at her shark grin. She’d just offered him a way out of his mess. A perfect way. “I-I’d have to discuss it with D-Dr. Van P-Pelt. Are y-you making the s-same donation?”

  “Uh, no. We were planning a gift of a half million. We might be persuaded to increase to three-quarters.”

  “I see. I’ll t-talk to Van P-Pelt.” As if he’d give up four million dollars.

  She frowned. “It would be a lot neater if you just refused and let Van Pelt realize that we’re the solution to his dilemma.”

  “N-no.”

  She looked up startled.

  “S-sorry. I c-can’t decide it my-myself.”

  “Even if we put in some money for you? You wouldn’t actually have to do any research to earn it.”