His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  Steve came up sputtering and clearheaded. “God, that’s colder than I thought.”

  Drew splashed him. “Wuss. Didn’t you say you grew up in Washington? That’s, like, year-round polar bear dips compared to this.”

  “I went native,” Steve said loftily. “Moved to LA, got into showbiz, seduced a movie star….”

  “Seduced, huh?” Drew’s eyes glinted in the dark. He backed up toward the side of the pool, drawing Steve with him with that magnetic gaze. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Maybe I can convince you,” Steve murmured, and cupped the back of his skull.

  The kiss was cool and tasted like chlorine and chocolate and Drew’s smile, wet and knowing against his lips. Steve kissed him like he’d just come back from the goblin market covered in something otherworldly, addictive and forbidden.

  Drew’s chest was slick against his, his sparse hair tickling Steve’s nipples. Even in the cool water, Steve could feel Drew hardening against his thigh. Drew put his hands on Steve’s back, then slid them down to his waist, making Steve’s skin tingle. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and goose bumps erupted on his arms and shoulders.

  He shivered in Drew’s arms.

  “Hey,” Drew said, his breath warm on Steve’s face. “I know we’re taking this slow and everything, but—”

  “Come to bed with me.” Steve traced his thumb over Drew’s eyebrow down to the curve of his cheekbone. “Please.”

  Drew nodded, his mouth swollen. “Yeah,” and he surged forward, crashing their mouths together again.

  When they stumbled up the pool steps, it was because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. The night air was chill, but Steve’s skin burned wherever they touched. Drew tugged him forward until Drew’s back fetched up against the back door, and Steve couldn’t resist taking advantage. He kissed him again, first his lush mouth and then his cheekbone, his jaw, the skin above his pulse.

  “Steve.” Drew gasped and threaded the fingers of his free hand into Steve’s hair. “God. I’ve wanted you all day.”

  Steve groaned into his neck. “You have. You sat in my backyard half-naked all day while I tried to work. You’re very distracting.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t be distracted,” Drew breathed through a shiver.

  Please. “I lied!”

  That earned him a pained laugh, and then Drew pushed him away so he could open the door.

  Their damp feet made the floor treacherous. Steve slipped and banged his shin on an end table, but it was worth it to get to his bedroom half a second sooner.

  He’d left the door closed on purpose to keep Rita off the sheets. Now he herded Drew through it, moving his hands down Drew’s obliques to settle on the cut of his hips. Drew’s briefs were drenched, and Steve brushed his thumbs over the waistband as Drew kissed his neck. Steve inhaled sharply. “Can I take these off?”

  “God, I hope so.” Drew braced himself on Steve’s shoulders and shimmied his hips. “They might be kind of glued on.”

  “I have scissors.”

  Two steps and Steve had backed Drew into the mattress. He sat when his thighs touched, then scooted backward, his eyes drawing Steve after him until he knelt between Drew’s legs. Steve curled his fingers under Drew’s waistband, caught between cool damp fabric and warm damp skin. The moment stretched out; Steve wanted to remember it perfectly.

  Unfortunately it turned out there wasn’t really a sexy way to pull off someone’s wet underwear.

  Damn it, Steve wasn’t going to laugh. He pulled a little harder, and Drew lifted his hips to help, but the fabric caught on his skin and folded over on itself and—

  “Seriously, how tight are these things?” Steve asked, giving up momentarily in sheer disbelief.

  “Shut up! I wanted to look nice!” For a second Steve worried Drew was actually upset, but then he started to giggle. “I knew we should’ve gone skinny-dipping.”

  “I thought you were just being modest.” Steve leaned forward and braced his weight on his arms on either side of Drew’s head.

  “Modesty’s not in my makeup,” Drew assured him, tilting his head back in blatant invitation.

  So Steve kissed him again, soaking up the taste of his smile. The coverlet under Drew grew damp from their bodies, but Steve was lost in the scent of his skin, the knowing tease of his tongue against Steve’s. When Drew arched up again, his erection rubbed against Steve’s, and Steve groan-sighed into his mouth. He thrust down and caught Drew’s whimper on his tongue.

  In unspoken agreement, they parted long enough to work off their own underwear. Steve’s caught too, bunching unpleasantly on his hips and thighs, but then he was free and Drew was naked, stretched out invitingly beside him.

  “Hey,” Drew said, turning his head to meet Steve’s gaze.

  What a dork, Steve thought with a fondness that suffused him. But instead of replying, he rolled until he was straddling Drew. He planted one quick—or not so quick; Drew pulled him in with a hint of teeth on Steve’s lower lip—kiss on Drew’s mouth, then moved down his body.

  He was beautiful.

  Steve trailed his fingers down the side of Drew’s neck, over his Adam’s apple, into the hollow of his clavicles. Then he followed with his lips and tongue, infusing every kiss with something he couldn’t name. He was hard, and every time his cock brushed Drew, sparks went up his spine.

  Drew’s smooth skin had tanned lightly, and his wet nipples pebbled in the air-conditioning. Steve kissed those too, first in passing, and then, when Drew gasped and arched beneath him, he opened his mouth and brushed his tongue over the firm peak.

  Drew curled his hands into the covers.

  By the time Steve had worked his way down Drew’s chest and abs, Drew’s erection was pressed tight to his stomach, fluid puddling under the head.

  Steve didn’t mean to stop, but he did, for a moment, stroking the skin of Drew’s hip, staring. For the hundredth time that night, he licked his lips. He knew what he wanted. But….

  Drew laced their fingers together again.

  Steve looked up.

  Drew cleared his throat. “You should get the lube.”

  Steve’s dick gave an affirmative throb. He kissed the top of Drew’s thigh before crawling up toward the nightstand and yanking the drawer open. He closed his hand around the bottle of lube and a strip of condoms—

  And almost dropped them when Drew slid his hands up the backs of Steve’s thighs.

  Steve looked down. He was straddling Drew’s chest, his cock hanging full and heavy over Drew’s sternum.

  Drew exhaled slow and deliberate, the air brushing the head of Steve’s dick.

  Steve must have made some kind of sound in the back of his throat, because Drew tilted his head back, a dark heat in his eyes.

  Steve’s mouth went dry.

  A knowing smile curled on Drew’s lips, full of promise. “Next time,” he said, sliding his hands higher, until his thumbs teased over Steve’s hip bones.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Steve rasped. Finally his fingers remembered how to hold things, and he pulled his hand from the drawer and dropped his bounty on the mattress. His palms were sweaty and his pulse was racing. “And tonight?”

  He couldn’t have said why it mattered so much. He didn’t think Drew would leave, whatever happened. But he needed this to be perfect.

  That sly smile softened. “You’re doing fine so far.”

  Okay, then.

  Steve crawled down again, until the very specific gravity of Drew’s mouth pulled him in. Drew welcomed his kiss with a soft sigh and the sweep of his tongue over Steve’s lips. Supporting himself on one hand, Steve grabbed the lube and popped the cap.

  Drew opened for him sweet and easy, parting his thighs and rolling his hips to meet Steve’s fingers. He took two with barely a hitch in his rhythm, but when Steve broke the kiss to add more lube and a third finger, he arched up with a cry. “Steve. Come on.” He shuddered when Steve nudged his prostat
e. “Quit stalling.”

  Steve inhaled sharply when Drew stroked him twice, root to tip. “Okay.”

  Somehow he got the condom on without Drew giving him any grief. He slicked his cock and pushed in.

  Drew bit his lip and closed his eyes, a tightness crossing his face. But then he inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, and his expression smoothed into something sweet and saucy. He hooked his ankle on the back of Steve’s thigh and reeled him in closer.

  Steve’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Drew surrounded him, held him fast with the heat in his eyes and in his body.

  Time seemed to slow.

  They moved together as the world stood still. Drew cupped the back of Steve’s neck, and his free hand found Steve’s on the bed. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, and then Steve broke away to lean his forehead against Drew’s.

  Drew’s ragged breath tickled his ear and neck. He smelled like chlorine and sex, and the hot clench of his body curled Steve’s toes. With every thrust Steve grew more desperate, biting back on his pleasure so he could concentrate on Drew’s.

  He’d expected Drew to be showier. More demonstrative. But maybe this was one place, one time, when he couldn’t put on an act.

  Steve shifted his knees, searching for a better angle, and pushed himself up a little higher. For a moment he missed the closeness, the insular privacy of Drew’s neck. But then he thrust again and Drew gasped, a flush tracking down his chest. He watched Steve watching him, his lips bitten red and swollen, his cock full and mostly untouched.

  Steve snapped his hips and Drew closed his eyes on a silent cry, bucking to meet him. He had to be close. And Steve didn’t know how much longer he could last.

  He reached one-handed for the lube and slicked his palm again.

  Drew’s mouth opened and his head fell back when Steve wrapped a hand around him. Color suffused his cheeks. Steve stroked in time with his thrusts, riding the edge of pleasure so close it threatened to consume him. He swiped his thumb over the head—

  Mewling, Drew dug his feet into the mattress and pushed up, his body contracting. Steve felt the clench around his dick before Drew pulled him down into a desperate, ravenous kiss. His cock pulsed between them, shooting over their stomachs and all the way up Steve’s chest.

  And finally Steve let himself fall, juddering into orgasm. Drew swallowed the sounds of his pleasure, gentling him with his mouth until Steve’s legs collapsed under him and he had to pull out and lie next to Drew on the mattress.

  The sound of their breathing filled the darkness. Then Steve remembered they were still holding hands. He squeezed Drew’s fingers once, kissed the backs of them, but didn’t let go. He didn’t want to speak or move lest the spell break. On the other hand, they should clean up and maybe change the sheets again. These were soaked with pool water.

  Drew turned onto his side. He didn’t say anything yet, but he watched Steve in the dark with a palpable fondness.

  Steve lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from Drew’s forehead, then examined his hand and decided against it. Drew saw him make the call and half grinned.

  “I guess we should clean up,” Steve said reluctantly. “And maybe remake the bed.”

  “Probably the first at least.” Drew shifted. “Okay, definitely the first. But the sheets in my room are fine.”

  They wiped each other down with warm washcloths, and then Steve pulled Drew outside to the hot tub, where they traded lazy kisses and wandering hands that led nowhere until Steve felt so languid and indolent he worried he wouldn’t be able to get out if they stayed any longer. They curled against each other in the guest bedroom. Even after only one night, the sheets smelled like Drew. Or maybe that was the real thing pressed reassuringly against Steve’s back.

  “You don’t care if I’m big spoon?” Drew murmured, clearly most of the way asleep.

  As long as you’re my big spoon, Steve thought. “No.”

  Drew snuggled closer to his shoulder. “’Kay,” he said, and Steve felt him drift off.

  He closed his eyes and followed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  DREW woke to a quiet whine and the sound of nails on hardwood. Next to him, Steve shifted and pressed a kiss to Drew’s hair.

  Drew drifted for a moment or two, but then Rita whined louder and Steve sat up. Cool air seeped under the covers, and Drew grumbled.

  “I’m gonna take Rita for a run,” Steve murmured. “You want to come with or sleep in?”

  After a meal like yesterday’s, Drew should go. After last night, though, the idea of running didn’t particularly appeal. Drew felt good—and Steve had been amazing—but he also ached.

  Maybe he could convince Steve some more hot-tub time was in order today. “Sleep.” His voice was rough with disuse.

  Steve chuckled. Drew soaked up the warmth of it and burrowed into the blankets.

  When he woke up next, the sheets beside him were cool and the room was bright. Drew stretched, winced, then stretched again, reveling in the protests of well-used muscles. Then he swung his legs out of bed and went to investigate coffee.

  The coffee maker itself was quiet and empty, but a blue Post-it on the front read Just push here. While the coffee brewed, Drew took another look around the house, thinking.

  Pictures of Steve’s family brightened every room. Here in the kitchen, tucked in the window frame, an old picture of the people who must be Steve’s parents held a place of honor.

  Looking at the faded photograph, Drew felt the pieces fall into place. The privacy. The house in the Hills. The way Steve seemed so at home on camera, or on set, or at a swanky Hollywood party. He probably wouldn’t even be fazed if Meryl Streep glided up to say hello.

  Steve had inherited his mother’s coloring and his father’s build and face shape. The nose, Drew thought, probably came from his dad too, but it was difficult to tell because Steve’s had obviously been broken and set a little funny.

  There were other reminders of a happy family life too, and Drew meandered out of the kitchen to examine them. Pictures of Steve at all ages, some with his parents, some without, adorned the hallway walls and the living room table. Age seven or so with a soccer ball, a toddler with a face full of spaghetti sauce, a teenager sitting with his mother on the deck of a boat. The nose incident obviously occurred after those were taken.

  And then there were the awards: stashed away in the room that had served as Steve’s father’s office stood a case of trophies and certificates. The National Book Award was his father’s, and Drew recognized Steve’s mother’s name on some of the bronzed statues. But there was a soccer trophy with Steve Sopol engraved on the plaque, dated the year Steve would’ve been fourteen or so; and a certificate of completion for a young writers’ workshop; and a framed newspaper clipping with an accompanying picture that showed college-age Steve onstage in character as Oberon.

  Being in this house, Drew almost felt like he’d been introduced to Steve’s family. Maybe Steve had invited him here in part so Drew would understand what they meant to him. Steve, being a writer, took show, don’t tell seriously.

  Drew didn’t miss the subtext either.

  The coffee maker beeped, and he padded out of the office back to the kitchen to pour himself a mug, thinking about his own family. He hadn’t been home in so long that he had no idea if his mother had framed pictures of him along with his sisters. Surely she had some from long-ago vacations, but did she display them? Did his dad keep a picture of Drew from his latest movie on his desk beside Brit and Sarah’s graduation pictures?

  What would they make of Steve?

  He hadn’t found any answers by the time he’d drunk halfway through the mug. But he did notice that something in the house was still beeping, and it wasn’t the coffee maker. Frowning, Drew set his mug down and went to investigate.

  A moment later he found the source: his cell phone, still in the pocket of his pants from the night before, had nearly run out of battery and was beeping forlornly. Drew fished it out
and glanced at the screen.

  13 new text messages. 5 new voicemail messages.

  Lately the high number wasn’t unusual. He was always getting texts about the movie, or prospective new parts, or updates from Leigh, or cat gifs and pupdates from his mom. But he’d had such a nice weekend that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  He refilled his coffee mug. Something told him he’d need caffeine and his phone charger to deal with this.

  His charger was still plugged into the socket in his bedroom, but Drew didn’t want to find out about whatever shitstorm had blown through his life in bed. He retrieved the charger and relocated to the living room.

  And then he settled down with his coffee and his phone and steeled himself for the worst.

  Leigh’s message popped up at the top of the list. It was as good a place to start as any, but her first message was just a URL—it didn’t tell him anything. And the next one hardly enlightened him. Is this legit?

  One way to find out. Drew clicked the link.

  Hollywood Hottie Off the Market?

  Well, that was a pretty good hint. The accompanying picture filled in any remaining blanks Drew might’ve had—a shot of him and Steve slow-dancing by the jellyfish exhibit. Drew’s face hid most of Steve’s, but between the lighting and the dreamy expression on Drew’s face, it wasn’t hard to peg this as a date, and one that was going well.

  Could Hollywood heartthrob Drew Beaumont be trading bachelorhood for domestic bliss? Though Beaumont is notorious for flying solo, sources say he and his date were rarely apart at last month’s benefit dinner. But who is the man with the charm to turn a party of one into a slow dance for two? We don’t know yet, but he must be one lucky guy. Whoever he is, the hearts of guys and girls all over the world are breaking. Looks like Drew Beaumont is officially off the market.

  Okay. That could be worse. It didn’t out Steve by name, make lewd insinuations, or contain any blatant misinformation, at least. Though Drew was annoyed the shot had leaked, since the event was supposed to have been professional photography only, he could hardly make a fuss considering what one could do with a cell phone camera these days.