by Lee Brazil
“What if I pay the tuition for you as part of your salary?” He had to make the offer. Mischa deserved the freedom to choose.
“Umm, I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like supporting myself.”
“Well, think about it. If you want to go to school, you should.” Funny, he’d have loved to have the interference and guidance of older siblings growing up, but if they had been as domineering as Mischa’s older brothers appeared to be, he probably would have decked them.
Satisfied that the past few days as he’d lived them were real, and not some foolish rich-boy prank, Donovan braced himself for the hard part of the conversation. He flipped open the briefcase and extracted the magazine. “You know I love you, right?”
“I do. I love you, too. What’s that?” Mischa seemed confused again and reached for the magazine. As he took in the cover picture his eyes widened and his face paled. “Oh, fuck. Oh my God. This is terrible!”
“Baby, don’t be upset. My secretary gave me this when I got to the office this morning. It’s not a nice article, but there’s no naked picture or anything too terrible in it either.”
“No, no, I’m used to this crap. Every few months one of those trashy reporters gets a burr up his ass to follow me around for a few days and try to catch me in some kind of illicit activity. You don’t understand. This—” He thumped the picture on the cover, “shows the license plate of your car, and the phone number of the dry cleaner is on that sign.”
“Yeah? So?” That was it? He wasn’t upset about the innuendos about their relationship, but he was upset about Donovan’s car in the picture? That made no fucking sense.
“So… we probably have about half an hour before my brothers descend on this place en masse to rip you a new one. Someone will have shown this to Brandon as soon as he hit the office this morning, give him ten minutes to read it and an hour to gather the others, and he’ll have had your address and a detailed report from an investigator on his desk before ten o’clock coffee break.”
Squealing tires and slamming car doors punctuated Mischa’s matter of fact statement. Fuck. Either half an hour was an overly generous estimate, or the brothers were more pissed that Mischa realized.
“How many brothers?” Donovan asked. This was beyond awkward.
“Three. All older, all bigger,” Mischa responded. He wrapped his arms around Donovan’s waist and leaned into him. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
Somehow, what had previously seemed a lovely dulcet doorbell tone just screamed testosterone when it rung repeatedly in conjunction with a heavy fist or two pounding furiously at the front door of Donovan’s dream home.
Chapter Ten
Standing Together
At his front door, Donovan turned and bent to press another kiss on Mischa’s lips. “You’re sure we shouldn’t just run and hide upstairs and wait for them to go away?”
Mischa chuckled. “That’s not my way, or yours. Let them in and let’s cut through the bullshit for the last time.”
Donovan straightened his shoulders and girded his loins to stare directly into the eyes of the brothers of the man he’d made love to just hours ago. Fuck. Could anything be more difficult? What did he say? “Hi, I’m Donovan, the owner of the hippie car your brother is driving in the photo you probably saw. Not to worry, I’m not a pot head, though I do fancy your brother’s ass, as the article indicates.”
Before he’d clarified what exactly he was going to say, Mischa reached past him and tugged the door open. Donovan found himself face to face with three big, green-eyed, blond mountain gorillas masquerading as men. Blond? He peeked at Mischa out the corner of his eye. If that hair was dyed he’d had his brows done, too.
He held out his hand in the general vicinity of the brother in the middle of the group and forced himself to make eye contact. The heat rose across his cheekbones, but he held his ground. The gorilla battalion would cross the threshold of his home only after he ascertained their abilities to control themselves around their younger brother.
“Hi, I’m Donovan Holloway,” he swallowed, “Mischa’s employer and partner.” Okay, maybe that assumed too much, but it sounded better than lover, and God knew it was the closest description he could come to what he wanted to be to Mischa.
Mischa’s grip on his hand tightened and he tore his gaze from the piercing fury of green they’d been locked into to the more welcoming sparkly depths he loved. Same eyes, different emotion entirely. His heart skipped a beat at the pleasure on Mischa’s face, and he added, “If that’s okay with you, baby.”
“You know it is,” Mischa responded, smiling broadly. “Okay, you guys can come in if you’re going to be good, but if you’re going to be your usual asshole selves, we’ll have this conversation on the doorstep where any trashy reporters who followed you over here can get a better story.”
“What the fuck is going on here, Mischa?” That came from the brother who’d just tried to outstare him. “This guy is old enough to be your father!”
“The doorstep it is, then.” Mischa sighed, and Donovan wrapped his arm around the young man’s waist and pulled him in tight against his side. He scowled at the man who’d spoken.
“And you are?” He made his voice as chilly as he could, but the fury pumping through him at the guy’s belligerent tone and patronizing glare at Mischa made remaining calm a difficult prospect. No longer reluctant, he met this asshole’s eyes. Who the fuck did he think he was?
“I’m Brandon Blake, the oldest brother of the boy you’ve apparently been sodomizing. What the fuck is your problem? Can’t you see he’s just a mixed up kid? Or is that what this is all about, huh? You figure out he’s an easy meal ticket?” Brandon pushed forward, but one of the other gorillas grabbed his arm and shoved him back, stepping forward into his place.
“I’m Terry Blake, Mischa’s older brother. We saw the article in the magazine, and I’m sure you can understand we’re naturally concerned about Mischa.” This one was reasonable at least.
Donovan met his gaze, pleased that his nerves had settled in the face of the older brothers’ belligerence. “I’m glad to hear that, because to tell you the truth I was beginning to think you all had rushed over here at the drop of a hat to browbeat your brother into doing something he doesn’t want to do.”
The third brother spoke up, “Now, there’s no call to get nasty. Let’s take this inside and discuss it like reasonable adults.”
“As long as your pit bull is leashed, and you agree that Mischa qualifies as a reasonable adult, that suits me fine.” He met each brother’s gaze in turn before focusing directly on the belligerent one. He turned and led the way to the cozy sitting area Mischa had made by arranging his furniture in a neat horseshoe. He and Mischa dropped together into the wide leather armchair, leaving the brother’s to choose between a rocker, the sofa, and a beanbag.
Not surprisingly, they all crowded shoulder to shoulder onto the sofa. Donovan decided to steal their thunder and get the ball rolling. He really wanted to just boot the domineering assholes out of the house, but figured that if Mischa still insisted on playing poker with them every Wednesday night after all they’d put him through, they must mean a lot to him.
“So, I’m thinking you all came rushing over here to rescue Mischa from my evil clutches because you think I’m only interested in his money.” He had their attention now.
“And you’re saying that’s not the way it is?” This from the third brother, what the hell was his name again? Daniel.
“Yeah, I am. I didn’t know till that article came out this morning that Mischa had any money to speak of. Why would I? How many trust fund babies get jobs as housekeepers?”
“So, now you know he has money you plan to keep him around, hmm? Well, did Mischa tell you that he doesn’t actually have access to that money without our approval until he’s thirty-five?” That was Terry, Mischa’s dickhead. Appropriate nickname now that he knew the guy a little better.
“No, as a matter of fact, he
didn’t tell me. Because it doesn’t matter. I love your brother, with or without money, so you can take his trust fund and shove it up your tight ass.” Cringing, Donovan instantly regretted the animosity of his response, but Mischa murmured in approval next to him.
The guy turned to Mischa and tried a different tack. “Come on, Mischa. I drove your Porsche over here today. You can have it back, and we’ll forget about the dare if you come home today.”
Mischa stiffened and pulled away from Donovan’s side. Donovan’s heart lurched. Porsche? No way could he afford to buy Mischa a Porsche. Maybe he could replace the hippie car, but not with a Porsche.
“You are such an asshole, Terry. I love my Porsche, yes, but I love Donovan more. You can keep it. I’ve got everything I need right here.” Mischa settled back and snuggled against Donovan again.
Amazed, Donovan pressed a kiss to his forehead before rising, “I think you all have outstayed your welcome. You can see that Mischa is where he wants to be, doing what he wants to do, and that we really aren’t concerned about the trust fund, or the Porsche.” He glared at Terry.
“But…” the third brother tried to speak, but Donovan had listened to enough bullshit.
“But nothing. You all need to figure out that Mischa is an adult capable of making his own choices and seeking his own path in life. He has strength of character and intelligence. Quit trying to force him into a mold you’ve made for him, and stop trying to manipulate him into doing what you want him to when he has the balls to tell you to go to hell.” Breathing heavily, he came to a stop as he realized he’d been shouting at the thunderstruck brothers.
The eldest snarled at him. “We’ve heard a lot from you about letting Mischa make his own choices and letting him live his own life, but we haven’t heard it from him. Do you really think an intelligent, strong character is best served by cooking your meals and scrubbing your toilets?”
Mischa leapt from the chair. “You have heard it from me! You just didn’t fucking listen! I told you at the poker game yesterday, and I’ve told you here, I am where I want to be!”
“It’s his choice. Freely made, and before we ever slept together at that. I didn’t manipulate him into working for me, and I didn’t manipulate him into sex. Your stupid dare put him in my path, and I’m not dumb enough to turn away from such a wonderful gift when karma brings it to my door.”
The brothers ignored him and eyed each other. Kind of freaky, that. Looked like they were engaged in some kind of Borg collective mind-meld or something. They rose and three hands were thrust in his direction.
He backed away and nearly stumbled over Mischa behind him.
“Aww,” Mischa cooed sarcastically. “Isn’t that cute? They want to make friends.”
What the fuck? A little dizzy, Donovan reached out and shook each hand briefly. “What the hell is up with you guys?”
Dan, the writer, spoke soothingly. “Just checking. We could tell at the game yesterday that something was up with Mischa. He even smelled different for Christ’s sake. What were we supposed to do? Wait around for an invitation to the wedding?”
“Yeah,” Terry interjected. “Clearly working for you was beneficial to Mischa, but he wasn’t sharing the information, so we grabbed the opportunity to track you down.”
“You mean you grabbed the opportunity to stick your noses in my business and check up on me!” Mischa dropped back down into the armchair and tugged Donovan down with him.
The brothers relaxed somewhat, though Donovan could swear he caught the eldest giving him the stink eye a few times. They scattered about the room, Terry opting for the rocker and Dan dropping onto the beanbag. Brandon plopped on the sofa and stretched his arm across the back.
“Okay, so we were wrong to manipulate you into finding a job. Since it worked out so well for you though, we figure you owe us now. Spill the story, bro. Damn, I love these things.” Dan spoke from the beanbag.
“No. No manipulating inside the walls of my home!” Donovan voiced the command before allowing Mischa to answer, and then realized what he’d done. “If that’s okay with you, baby?”
Mischa shrugged. “Your house, your rules.”
Donovan started to nod, then shook his head. “No, our house, our rules. You get as much say here as I do.”
That had apparently been the perfect thing to say, because Mischa pulled his head down and licked his way into Donovan’s mouth, pressing the shiny metal ball into the seam of his lips until they parted to allow his tongue inside. Donovan responded with a groan and pressed his tongue against Mischa’s. He only realized they’d gotten carried away with the kiss when the brothers’ catcalls and hissed comments broke through the haze of passion.
“Jesus, get a room.”
“Oh, my God! Hello! Innocent bystanders here!”
“Wow! That’s hot as shit!”
“You know Dan’s taking notes for his next script?” Mischa whispered into his ear. Donovan groaned again.
“How long are they staying?” he whispered back before leaning back in the chair and tugging Mischa into his lap to cover his obvious erection.
Epilogue
Mischa surveyed the completed garden of his and Donovan’s dream home. They’d spent weekends the last two months working on the yard, and finally it was ready. The entertainment area boasted an outdoor kitchen, barbeque and several conversation areas.
Friends and family had gathered in the backyard to christen the new space, and it amused Mischa to see his friends in their Goth garb mingling reluctantly with his family and Donovan’s friends and coworkers. Bella hid in a lounge chair off in the shade, definitely intimidated by the testosterone in the yard. Now what had happened to—there they were. Dex and Trick, up to their old tricks, stood in the shade of a leafy palm tree, leaning together, absently petting and sharing casual kisses as they observed the gathering.
Other friends gathered in small groups, conversing and eating. Brandon stood with Donovan by the glass doors to the house, apparently trying once again to talk him into coming to work as the publicity director for Blake Studios. Donovan shook his head and responded calmly, but he’d apparently had enough of Brandon’s rhetoric, because he abruptly cut off the conversation by turning and stalking over to the grill to needlessly turn the steaks and burgers cooking there.
Grinning, Mischa sought his other brothers in the small crowd. Daniel stretched out, chest bared to the sunlight on a lounger, surrounded by cooing women from Donovan’s workplace and a few co-ed’s from Mischa’s history classes. He’d wait till the crowd dispersed before he spoke to Dan. The idea he’d had for a historical mini-series based on the founding of New Orleans could wait a few more hours.
His gaze caught on Terry, who lay back on a padded chaise lounge staring off into the distance. His face looked dazed and flushed. What the hell? He strode across to Terry and dropped to his heels next to him. “Terry? Are you all right? Do you need a drink or something?”
“I’m fine. Fine. It’s a little hot here, that’s all.” Terry spoke, but he didn’t look at Mischa. Instead he whipped his head around to look at the outdoor kitchen. “Think there’s any burgers ready yet?”
Mischa turned in the direction Terry had been looking when he approached him. That bit of misdirection on Terry’s part was a dead giveaway. Oh, now that was interesting. Very, very interesting. From this perspective he had a clear view of two black clad figures entwined in an embrace that grew steamier by the second.
Pretending to buy Terry’s dodge, he rose, “I’ll check with Donovan for you.” Humming, he strolled past Dan on his way to the outdoor kitchen and signaled his desire to speak to his brother with a rapid eye movement. A few whispered words in Dan’s ear and his eagle-eyed brother took the bait and ran with it. Let the payback begin!
As the afternoon passed, Mischa observed Dan studying Terry whose gaze seemed to be locked on the twins whenever he thought no one could see him.
At last, all the food had been served, and the time had c
ome for him and Donovan to make their announcement.
Wrapping their arms around each other, they stepped in front of the grill and faced their guests.
Donovan spoke for both of them. “Friends, family members, we invited you here today to christen our new entertainment area, and we appreciate your celebrating it with us. But while we’ve all been here having a good time, we just got a call. Mischa and I are going to be parents. Our request to adopt has been approved, and we’re going to have to ask you to leave now, because we need to get on the road and pick up our baby in Oregon.”
Whoops, cheers and Dan’s familiar catcall resounded in the back yard as Donovan bent to kiss Mischa before ushering him off, leaving the capable Blakes to bring the party to a close.
Biography
I wish I had some dramatic tale of daring do and adventure to share, but at the same time, I can promise you that I write about love because it’s been the greatest adventure of my life. That’s what you’ll find in the fiction I write, real people who lead real lives and find real love. I spent a lot of time writing during my college years, and fourteen years teaching grammar and composition to junior high school students exposed me to more forms of writing, editing, and proofreading than I thought possible. I have taught creative writing, served as faculty editor of the school newspaper, even took a turn or three at being yearbook advisor, and had the privilege of guiding some truly gifted children into the writing world. Somehow, though, I found myself writing more for the classroom, and not writing the romantic poetry and stories that inspired me to major in English in the first place. With my retirement from the teaching profession, I have rediscovered the joy of storytelling, and the essential urge to put the stories on paper.
Relocating from the crazy pace of life in Southern California’s Orange County to the beautiful and leisurely atmosphere of the Illinois countryside has given me the time to indulge my desire to write. Readers can find out more about me and my writing by visiting me at my blog, or finding me on Face Book at or feel free to drop me a line at .