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"He's gay, right?" Lila said dryly.
"It won't matter. Believe me."
"Did I hear gay? Did I hear gay? Oh yay!" Billie combined the cheerleader singsong with a little spin.
"Calm down, baby," Julie advised. "Also married and insanely monogamous. He's married to the one coming in with him, who's a pacemaker advisory of his own."
"You are a cruel woman to dash my fantasies before I can even have them," Billie complained. "I would hate you if I didn't also love you."
With a wicked grin, Julie started to trot up the center aisle, but the two men had circled around and were entering from the stage wings. They'd likely received the direction from one of the contractors working on painting and renovating the front foyer.
Julie wasn't underselling Thomas, who was ruggedly handsome in his own right. His interestingly rough-hewn face, brown hair and eyes reminded her of a young, intense Colin Farrell. When the two men were together, the energy that bound them to one another was downright overwhelming to the senses. But Marcus...
One of the paintings Thomas had recently completed for his gallery showings showed a virile, black haired angel against a night sky. One arm was clasped around the shoulders of a naked man coiled against his lower torso as they spun through the sky together. The angel's wings were silver, his one visible eye through a thick fall of hair a vivid green. It was somehow the bull's eye point, the radiant sun center of the painting, around which everything else revolved. He was an avenger, he was Lucifer, he was the promise of punishment and salvation both.
The male twined around him was an Atlas of his race, layered in muscle. The tattoo of the world on his back enhanced the symbolism. He had his face pressed to the angel's upper abdomen, his parted lips suggesting he was on the verge of tasting divine flesh.
The original painting had auctioned for nearly fifty thousand dollars, and the dozen limited edition prints sold out at eight thousand apiece. A lot of people in the art world knew that. But most didn't know that angel had been inspired by the man Thomas loved, coming out of the wings with him now.
Marcus's dark hair fell to his shoulders, his green eyes vivid. Like Desmond, he had a graceful, panther-like way of moving, but he had more mass and muscle. Not as much as Thomas, who was muscular North Carolina farm boy through and through, but enough to give Marcus a dangerous look that wasn't entirely because of his physical fitness and regular visits to the boxing gym. He wore his usual tailored and designer clothing, which only enhanced that all-there sharpness he had.
His charisma was a ten foot field around him, and Thomas's aura intertwined with it, increasing the wattage. The easy-going handsome male artist wore faded jeans and a crisp blue fitted button down shirt that had to be a gift from Marcus, because it was upper scale designer wear. Thomas dressed neatly, a good Southern boy, but he could care less what the tag inside the shirt said, as long as it was comfortable and drew Marcus's attention.
He didn't have to worry about that. He'd been the center of Marcus's attention from the very first. Even now, Thomas was charmingly oblivious to his own appeal, though Julie was glad he'd finally realized just how much Marcus needed and loved him.
That silly line, one person completing another, was never as obvious as when she looked at the two of them. Marcus's dangerous sharpness had had an empty painfulness to it until he'd married Thomas. Whereas Thomas had nearly driven himself into an early grave when he couldn't find balance between his love for his family and his love of Marcus and his art. They'd helped one another overcome the obstacles and accept the bond that was inevitable between them.
Ironically, it was also part of why she'd finally had to escape from New York, because looking at what she wanted so much for herself every day and nearing forty without it had been too much.
That decision had brought her here, to Des. It was too convenient, too rom-com, so when she looked at it that way, it was petrifying. And that was what scared her about Thomas and Marcus's visit, wasn't it? They were the truth-finders. They would know. They could confirm she was the recipient
of a miracle, or prove it a lie, and she'd be back to where she'd been before, vowing she'd never go down this road again.
Look how well that resolve had worked.
"It's so wonderful to see you two idiots." She ran up the side steps onto the stage and flung herself into their open arms, a three-way hug so welcoming, unexpected tears choked her. Their tight hold suggested the feeling was mutual. She slid back before she completely made an ass of herself, and dashed at the tears.
"Hey." Thomas caught her face, his thumb passing over her cheek. She thought he was gently admonishing her for her tears, but when he inadvertently pressed on her sore cheekbone, she flinched, and remembered.
"I told you on the phone I had a mishap on the stage. I'm always getting bumps and bruises."
"You ran face first into a wall on purpose?" Marcus asked, turning her face to study it. "Even for you, that's a little extreme."
"Okay, I didn't lie." Or rather, it was almost impossible to lie to Marcus when he pinned someone with that don't-bullshit-me look. "It was a mishap. A guy broke in and attacked me, some lowlife jerk who thought BDSM was an excuse to attack women. Des was here and took care of him."
"Not soon enough," Thomas said darkly.
"Well, he wasn't here when it started, but he was here before it went anywhere. That was the important thing."
She held onto both of them. It said something about how well Des had helped her get over it that she hadn't even thought about the lingering bruises on her face, but in the face of their concern and barely veiled desire to murder someone, she realized she needed to cover some ground, fast. "Seriously, guys, I'm all good. I'll tell you the whole story, but it's thanks to Des I didn't even think to mention it. Haven't even had one nightmare."
They exchanged a look. She caught the light brush of Thomas's hand over Marcus's forearm. Thomas would tear apart anyone that hurt her, but he was the one most likely to rein it back first and hear what she was saying. His touch brought Marcus down a couple notches. Still, she made a mental note to make sure no one told them about the Pablo incident. As scathing and scary as Des had been about it, she expected they'd be equal storm centers about that. And Marcus...forget it. Pablo would need a protection detail for the rest of his life.
"We have so much catching up to do," she said. "About things way better than that. Let me introduce you to some of my other lifesavers."
She drew them over to Harris and to Lila, who came up the stairs on the other side of the stage to join them. She explained the woman's new play to them so that Lila was blushing and fluttering, her already elevated pulse rate around Marcus and Thomas probably skyrocketing. Julie knew she shouldn't take such pleasure in seeing women so unbalanced by the two, but it was one of her small joys in life.
She was aware Billie had moved up onto the stage, too, only he'd pulled a chair into the center of it. He had his impressive legs in tight jeans crossed as he cooled himself with a white cardboard fan. It was printed with large purple letters: Baptist Mothers for Family Sanctity, Tent Revival, March 10-13, 2000. It had to be one of his own props, though she had no idea what orifice he'd pulled it out of. Regardless, Billie hadn't wasted a good stage opportunity. Julie smothered a laugh at his bright-eyed gaze on Marcus and Thomas. "Told you," she said to the drag queen.
