Question Mark

by Culpepper, S. E.

  “I have zero interest in screwing around, here.”

  Mark blinked, surprised at the harshness of what he heard. He guessed he knew where he stood and it was a shocker after thinking their date went so well last night. Before he could say something equally cutting back, Zane started in again.

  “My work makes it hard to trust a lot of people, so I don’t. Dating is more risky than it’s worth most of the time, as my last few relationships have proven, and I refuse to get caught up in a game of my making or anyone else’s.”

  Mark smirked and turned to head back into the living area of his bungalow, fighting a surge of bile. He didn’t do anything yesterday that was remotely in the realm of game playing—and if anyone knew how to play games it was old Mark, the one who specialized in fucking with people simply because he could. Zane could go screw himself if he thought Mark would stand around and listen to a bullshit lecture he didn’t deserve.

  He made it less than two steps into the room before a warm hand grasped his wrist and swung him back with enough force to nearly slam his chest against Zane’s.

  “Listen to me,” Zane ground out, his face piercing in its intensity. I’m listening, Mark thought, dazed.

  “Last night was…amazing. If I had the luxury of staying with you the rest of the time you’re here, I would do it in a second—as long as you’d let me. I want to see you again. I want to talk to you while I’m gone. And I want you to want the same things. No games.”

  Somewhere in the middle of that little speech, Mark’s heart commenced to pounding and his breathing pumped up until his chest managed to close the remaining distance between him and Zane with each inhale.

  That was so not what I thought was going to happen…

  “We’re both adults and like I said, I’m not interested in screwing around. I’m choosing to trust you, Mark. If you don’t want anything more, I’ll leave right now and you won’t have to worry about me bothering you ever again.”

  Was he insane?

  Mark looked back and forth between Zane’s eyes, seeing the subtle flecks of color in the blue. If he thought that just being on a date with the man was surreal, then hearing these words pouring out of him, and being this close to him was nearly impossible to soak in. Funny, he always thought it would be awesome to have a man say exactly what he was thinking and just be honest about whether or not he wanted to pursue a relationship—not only sex, but a relationship. Having Zane do it swept Mark’s legs out from under him. He hadn’t thought there was a man out there capable of it.

  Wrong again.

  His brain was in negotiations with his tongue about the possibility of speaking, so when the flare in Zane’s eyes began to die the longer Mark was silent, he forced the jumbled words out.

  “No games,” Mark blurted. “I want more.”

  The fierceness of Zane’s gaze sucked the breath from Mark’s chest and it reminded him of those gut-clenching moments he’d seen in the man’s films. Except he knew this was no act. That toughness mingled with sincerity and Mark was experiencing it first hand.

  “Good fucking answer,” Zane hissed, and lowered his mouth in a rush.

  With his brain ceasing all normal thought, Mark could do nothing more than clench his hands around Zane’s tight biceps and let himself get good and kissed. Zane was thorough, demanding, and…brief. Before Mark was able to really kiss him back, the other man was releasing him and dropping his sunglasses back over his eyes. A delicate flush rode high on his cheeks as those perfect lips closed in a line.

  It was so hot that Mark thought he could orgasm with little to no effort, except that the moment was over and Zane appeared to be on his way out.

  “Wait—”

  Zane knelt down next to his bags outside and glanced briefly at him over his shoulder, his lips twitching like he wanted to smile. Mark watched as he unzipped a pocket and dug around until he found what he wanted. It was a heavy-weight business card with the letters ZAW inscribed on the front along with a single number.

  “This has my personal cell number on it. I also wrote my private home number, my manager’s number, and my publicist’s number on the back in case you need to get a hold of me and can’t.”

  Mark stared, bemused, but accepted the card. Zane Whitlow’s phone number. He had Z-dub’s digits! He fought the urge to dance.

  “My flight gets in tonight around seven or so and then I have to go to this cocktail party for the suits at the production company. I’m hoping that will be all I have to do before I can get back here, but I’ll let you know either way.”

  Mark looked up from the card and frowned. “How will you let me know?”

  Zane’s brows rose above his glasses and he smiled. “See, I was hoping you’d return the favor and give me your number too.”

  “Hmm.” Mark tried to look unsure. “My agent and publicist are really busy. They’ll be pissed if they knew I gave out their number to some actor. I mean, police dispatching is a crazy profession; you never know what kind of weirdos you’re going to run into…”

  Zane’s pursed his lips. “Smart ass. Do you want me to call the hotel instead and have them put me through to your room?”

  Mark chuckled and walked back inside to an end table that was sporting a notepad and pen. He scrawled a quick message on the page and wrote his cell and home numbers. Folding it up, he crossed back to Zane and held it out.

  “I’ll keep my phone with me unless I’m underwater. I’m not all that good at talking around a snorkel.”

  Mark stepped onto the walkway that lead to their bungalows and looked both ways. “It’ll be a quiet ride for you on the shuttle.”

  Zane hefted his bags and got up close to Rafe, throwing him off balance with his nearness. Mark’s lips were practically on fire for another kiss.

  “No distractions that keep me from thinking about the next time I get to see you,” the taller man murmured. He looked at his watch and growled. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get going.

  “Safe travels?”

  Zane gave a nod after a lingering look at Mark’s lips and began walking away toward the main resort buildings. “See you soon, Mark Newland,” he called out over his shoulder.

  “Soon,” Mark answered, his voice a whisper.

  ***

  Zane’s hands and body were shaking so badly by the time he made it to the shuttle launch that he practically fell into a seat.

  That kiss! Holy hell.

  He’d taken Jenny’s advice to heart. If Mark didn’t remember that while they were apart, he didn’t know what else he could have done…well…what else he could’ve done without missing his flight. Zane knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his own mind any time soon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the time his plane landed, Zane was ready to crawl over the other folks in first class to get to some fresh air. The lady next to him was swimming in the scent of patchouli and his beleaguered sinuses were crying for relief. Too many smells in one tin can.

  He rolled up the newspaper he’d been trying unsuccessfully to read and flicked a glance out the small plane window. It was raining hard and the lights from the terminal and baggage trucks reflected in the puddles dotting across the tarmac.

  God, he didn’t want to be back in L.A. with the rain and the effing people. At least with the way his schedule was so liquid the paparazzi weren’t likely to be waiting outside the terminal to flash shots of him dragging his luggage off the turnstile with their telephoto lenses. And bless Jenny for setting up a driver.

  His mood was south of cranky and making a home in crappy. He’d have to swallow all of it because this cocktail party was huge if he really wanted this movie. Which he did. The producers wanted to hear his interest? They’d hear it. Then he hoped he could skip town again and get back to Mark.

  Man, that kiss. His lips still burned from the pressure of the contact and the heat in it. For such an abbreviated meeting of mouth and tongue, he was truly thrown. Zane couldn’t get Mark
out of his mind—an incredibly frustrating fact—and he was uncomfortable with how exposed it made him feel. Being blunt with what he wanted was actually quite difficult, and he’d never been so forthright with guys he’d dated in the past. It was probably a big part of why those relationships hadn’t worked. Zane had been right not to trust those men. If only he’d realized that before he let them emotionally wreck him.

  Now, with his wants out on the table, he wasn’t anywhere near Mark to take action. He had to rely on phone calls and wishes that they’d see one another again soon. The image of that guy, Christian, popped into his mind and he hissed under his breath. That little cocksucker. He had Mark all to himself. The thought had Zane practically levitating out of his seat.

  The flight attendants chatted back and forth on the intercom system about crosscheck and doors and whatever the hell while his mind went wild.

  Just get me off the damn plane!

  When the door was finally opened, Zane could smell the rain in the air. He sucked in a big breath and reminded himself that Mark had agreed to no games. And that was a good deal as long as he didn’t decide rocker boy was a better option and call Zane up to break the news.

  Sheeeeee-iiiiiiit, his mind sing-songed.

  Patchouli Patty tugged her carry-on bag from beneath the seat and dragged it against Zane’s knee on the way out. Two layers of skin…gone. He gritted his teeth and made like a monk looking for serenity. Once she was in the aisle and bombing the air with her fumes, he unbent himself from his seat and pulled his bag down from the overhead bin. Freedom.

  He made quick work of the walk through the terminal, which was still thick with travelers who glanced his way in recognition. Bypassing the escalators for the stairs, he scanned through the group of drivers standing with name cards and caught a glimpse of one of the fake names he used when he didn’t want people knowing what he was up to.

  “How’s it going,” he asked the uniformed driver. “I’m Mr. Baskin.” This name always made him want to laugh. Jenny made it up after she’d gorged herself on a pint of mint chocolate chip.

  “Yes, sir. I’m Robert. Are you picking up any bags?” Zane nodded his head and followed the older gentleman to the baggage carousel for his flight, steering clear of perfume lady.

  Fifteen minutes more here, half an hour or so to get to his place, and likely another twenty before he could get to Jenny’s for the mother-fribbling cocktail party suckfest. Then, Mark. Or maybe he could call him on the way home? Or on the way to the party? Zane really wanted to talk to him. There was a three hour time difference between L.A. and Bora Bora, so that made it a little after four there. Mark could be doing anything and Zane couldn’t expect him to be available on his vacation all the time…but…

  He bit down on his lip, his impatience surprising him. It was like he’d regressed to middle school again. All he needed to add to his worried, pathetic act was a jean jacket and Air Jordans. Beautiful image.

  The carousel began moving just in time as a cluster of girls who’d met their friend at the baggage claim were eyeing him speculatively. Yep—crap—they were giggling. Bad sign. He frowned, tugged his hat low, and tried to put on his “I’m unapproachable.” face.

  Come on bags. Please. Bags. Bags. Bags. Let’s go. Come on.

  There was one of them.

  He stepped around a gaggle of people eyeing the luggage and tugged the case off the carousel, passing it off to Robert. The next bag came soon after and he scooted out of there before the seagulls attacked.

  The car was waiting at the curb and Zane slid into it like home base, his lower back letting out a protest at being forced to sit down again. With his heart racing, he tugged his phone from his pocket and turned it on. A couple text messages from Jenny popped up, both of them about the cocktail party, a few “WTF!” texts from Mikey and James, and a voicemail from Jake Hillenbrand, a close friend from one of his early films. He was going to be in town and wondered if he could crash at Zane’s place later that month.

  “I’m sorry, Robert,” he said to his driver who glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got to make some calls.”

  Robert waved the apology away with a nod as he raised the privacy glass and Zane reminded himself to tip well because he was about to become one of those oblivious phone talkers while he was chauffeured around. His mom would be pissed if she saw how rude he was being.

  Rushing through messaging everybody back, he was finally able to pull the slip of paper with Mark’s number on it from his back pocket. Unfolding it, his lips drew into a bright smile. Mark had scrawled out his number and in neat block letters beneath it, he’d written:

  No games, Mercenary. Waiting for your call.

  Zane chuckled and blood rose from his chest to his face and he had to turn a vent toward him so the AC was blowing directly on him. Whispering a prayer, he fumbled through entering the number and sat back to wait. Please, oh please answer.

  Four rings in and he was about to give up when the phone clicked and Mark’s breathless voice sounded in his ear.

  “Zane? You there? Can you hear me?”

  It was a very good thing that Zane had bones in his body because otherwise he would’ve melted into the carpet of the sedan.

  “How’d you know it was me?” The smile in his words was clear and Mark’s embarrassed chuckle made him want to roll down the window and howl for a minute or two. Sheeze, Zane was turning into one lusty son of a bitch.

  “I entered it into my phone this morning. It’d be just like me to lose the card you gave me—especially since I’m at a resort and housekeeping is in and out of this bungalow like sixty times a day—so I wanted a backup in my phone.”

  “Well, thank God,” he teased, the color still high in his cheeks. “How’d the snorkeling go? Near death experiences?”

  “I saw a lot of fish…and sand…and more fish. But once I was there looking at them, I sort of wondered what was next. Am I s’posed to chase them? Stir them up? It was gorgeous out there, for sure, but I don’t know. Mostly I spent the time defogging my damned goggles while the guide waited for me to catch up. Even the little kids were doing better than I was.”

  Zane’s face hurt already from grinning. There wasn’t anything fake about Mark Newland. Most of the people he knew would go on and on about the beauty of nature and being one with the tropical fish, but not this guy.

  “So you’re a real sportsman?” Zane chuckled.

  “Absolutely. The water is my second home.”

  They both laughed together until a charged silence settled on them. Mark cleared his throat and Zane waited for what he was going to say.

  “It would’ve been nice if you could’ve been here, too. I thought of you. Almost constantly. Though I tried to focus when those miniature sharks showed up.”

  Zane’s head fell back against the leather seat and he exhaled hard enough to make his throat tickle. “I really wish I could’ve stayed. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

  “Hey,” Mark said kindly, “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. This no games thing is new to me, but that was me being open, I guess.”

  “Well, I thought of you, too. Couldn’t stop, really.” Zane watched out the window as the car joined the traffic on the freeway. Rain pounded on the windows and he found himself hoping the cocktail party would be cancelled so he could talk to Mark as long as he wanted. “I’m on my way back to my place where I have to clean up for this ridiculous party.”

  “What’s this part you want to play? Would you normally do all this schmoozing for it?”

  “It’s the story of a World War II pilot, Garrett Richtfeld. I read his bio a few years ago and it’s an awesome story. I’ve wanted to play this guy since I first found out about him and I didn’t think I’d have to sit up and beg for the part after some of the behind the scenes meetings I’ve had with the production company, but the table’s turned. Jenny, my agent, says they’re antsy that I don’t want the role because I’m on vacation while they want to talk.
There’s also a rumor that they shopped it out to Pershall.”

  Mark coughed lightly. “Pershall—as in Brad Pershall? That guy who did those college horror movies?”

  Zane bit back a snarl. Jealous much?

  “Yeah, the same.”

  Mark surprised him with a crack of laughter. “Those movies were terrible! That scene in the boat house where he attacks that killer with an oar—” Mark couldn’t even finish he was laughing so hard and Zane wished he could grab him and kiss him.

  “I was sick with the flu when I saw it and I gotta say, if I weren’t already puking my guts up, that movie would’ve been all the reason I needed to start.”

  “The gore was awful,” Mark agreed. “Not that it didn’t scare the piss out of me here and there, but I give it a C- at best.”

  “You’re more generous than I am then.”

  Mark snickered a little. “This clenches it, Zane. There’s no way that guy can get that part. Go to that party and schmooze your ass off. I’d pay the ten bucks to watch you in a silent movie much less one where I got to see you in a pilot’s uniform. And you can actually act, which is a nice bonus.”

  Zane rubbed a hand over his face as warmth radiated through him. “Good grief—where the hell have you been hiding my whole life? I should have my publicist hire you.”

  A snort sounded on the line. “No, thanks. I’m all set. But if she needs some tips on what to say…”

  “I’ll have her call you.”

  The call settled into a comfortable silence and Zane pictured Mark sitting on the deck of his bungalow, the crystal water reflecting off his dark hair and light skin. It made him ache in an odd way.

  “What’re you up to the rest of the evening?” he asked, clearly wistful.

  “Not sure, but it will involve food.” Mark made an indecisive sound. “I was thinking about a walk and room service. Might as well splurge, know what I mean? The sun really took it out of me today, I think…” He trailed off and Zane wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t wonder long. “This is a really romantic place to visit. I keep seeing all this stuff that I wish I could share with someone, you know?”