understand his unnecessary self-control.
Declan liked to watch.
Daniel used to watch.
Daniel wouldn’t be satisfied with watching anymore.
Besides, Naya had managed to make Remy wait. Daniel wasn’t any less of a man.
From beyond the front door came the ding of the elevator as it opened onto the penthouse level. Naya’s keycard swiped the lock. She tumbled through the entryway, laughing, wearing one of the odd combinations of costume and street dress that often followed her return from a performance—jeans, ballet flats, a dark red silk blouse, and stage-worthy hair and makeup. Remy was, unsurprisingly, wearing another tank top and pair of jeans, as well as a battered old leather jacket. That could’ve been his stage costume, for all Daniel knew.
What he did know was that Remy was laughing too. The man didn’t seem the sort to indulge in laughter, not from their previous interactions. He’d teased and joked, but he hadn’t laughed . This was full and good and strong. Daniel liked that. It was what he did, what he thrived on—making an easier world for the people who deserved it. With Naya, he’d created a safe haven for the woman whose talent, generosity and humor made his chest unfurl with happiness and peace.
That Remy could affect him the same way— safety for him means contentment for me —was a shock. It was still true.
“So what is this? Y’all got a new house for every day of the week?”
“Sure, this is our Tuesday residence,” Naya said, grinning, bumping her shoulder against his. “You should see the Friday palace.”
“I knew it. Holdin’ out on me.”
“It’s gold-plated. The toilets are decorated with diamonds.”
Remy shook his head. “What is with the American dream these days? I demand my own diamond toilet.”
“Diva.”
Daniel’s lust and anticipation took a hasty backseat to amazement. They were talking like friends. His body relaxed another degree. He breathed out, unaware he’d gathered so much tension. But it made sense. If they couldn’t get along at Devant, if they had nothing in common other than a hellacious sexual spark, he would need to downgrade his expectations to “just a little fling.”
Daniel was quickly, recklessly, beginning to hope for more. No clue what that was or what more meant. He was addicted to the things he didn’t have. Naya’s grace and her spark were part of what fired him. He sucked up her excitement and eagerness for each new day. Remy gave him that same sort of hit, with the added pleasure of offering fine things to a man who didn’t seem to have lucked into many good breaks. Together, the three of them could give shape to his undefined hopes and ease his fiery tumult.
Daniel’s quiet bisexuality wasn’t the issue. Sometimes attraction knew no gender lines. Strength and grace and beauty spoke with powerful force. Some of his whispered secrets with Naya hadn’t been about her dance partners, but about one of Daniel’s visiting clients or an investor who wore his suit with casual arrogance. That he hadn’t acted on his impulses didn’t make them any less real.
He fully expected that he and Remy would cross some boundary if the man stuck around.
That was almost unbearably exciting, but it wasn’t what lurked with such vitality, deep in a place Daniel had never looked. Maybe it was half power rush—knowing he helped relieve two special people of their worries.
Maybe it was his relief that he sought.
“ Mira! Daniel!”
Naya dropped her giant dance duffel and sprinted across the penthouse’s wide, airy living space. He stood in time to catch her in a colossal hug. Jesus, he loved being strong for her. She was a petite, nimble rocket of a woman, and she trusted him to catch her every time.
She planted a kiss on his neck, right below his ear. “Missed you, mi cielo .”
“Missed you too,” he said. “Good show?”
“Almost.” She slid to her feet, hand still braced on Daniel’s chest. Her glance back toward Remy
Declan liked to watch.
Daniel used to watch.
Daniel wouldn’t be satisfied with watching anymore.
Besides, Naya had managed to make Remy wait. Daniel wasn’t any less of a man.
From beyond the front door came the ding of the elevator as it opened onto the penthouse level. Naya’s keycard swiped the lock. She tumbled through the entryway, laughing, wearing one of the odd combinations of costume and street dress that often followed her return from a performance—jeans, ballet flats, a dark red silk blouse, and stage-worthy hair and makeup. Remy was, unsurprisingly, wearing another tank top and pair of jeans, as well as a battered old leather jacket. That could’ve been his stage costume, for all Daniel knew.
What he did know was that Remy was laughing too. The man didn’t seem the sort to indulge in laughter, not from their previous interactions. He’d teased and joked, but he hadn’t laughed . This was full and good and strong. Daniel liked that. It was what he did, what he thrived on—making an easier world for the people who deserved it. With Naya, he’d created a safe haven for the woman whose talent, generosity and humor made his chest unfurl with happiness and peace.
That Remy could affect him the same way— safety for him means contentment for me —was a shock. It was still true.
“So what is this? Y’all got a new house for every day of the week?”
“Sure, this is our Tuesday residence,” Naya said, grinning, bumping her shoulder against his. “You should see the Friday palace.”
“I knew it. Holdin’ out on me.”
“It’s gold-plated. The toilets are decorated with diamonds.”
Remy shook his head. “What is with the American dream these days? I demand my own diamond toilet.”
“Diva.”
Daniel’s lust and anticipation took a hasty backseat to amazement. They were talking like friends. His body relaxed another degree. He breathed out, unaware he’d gathered so much tension. But it made sense. If they couldn’t get along at Devant, if they had nothing in common other than a hellacious sexual spark, he would need to downgrade his expectations to “just a little fling.”
Daniel was quickly, recklessly, beginning to hope for more. No clue what that was or what more meant. He was addicted to the things he didn’t have. Naya’s grace and her spark were part of what fired him. He sucked up her excitement and eagerness for each new day. Remy gave him that same sort of hit, with the added pleasure of offering fine things to a man who didn’t seem to have lucked into many good breaks. Together, the three of them could give shape to his undefined hopes and ease his fiery tumult.
Daniel’s quiet bisexuality wasn’t the issue. Sometimes attraction knew no gender lines. Strength and grace and beauty spoke with powerful force. Some of his whispered secrets with Naya hadn’t been about her dance partners, but about one of Daniel’s visiting clients or an investor who wore his suit with casual arrogance. That he hadn’t acted on his impulses didn’t make them any less real.
He fully expected that he and Remy would cross some boundary if the man stuck around.
That was almost unbearably exciting, but it wasn’t what lurked with such vitality, deep in a place Daniel had never looked. Maybe it was half power rush—knowing he helped relieve two special people of their worries.
Maybe it was his relief that he sought.
“ Mira! Daniel!”
Naya dropped her giant dance duffel and sprinted across the penthouse’s wide, airy living space. He stood in time to catch her in a colossal hug. Jesus, he loved being strong for her. She was a petite, nimble rocket of a woman, and she trusted him to catch her every time.
She planted a kiss on his neck, right below his ear. “Missed you, mi cielo .”
“Missed you too,” he said. “Good show?”
“Almost.” She slid to her feet, hand still braced on Daniel’s chest. Her glance back toward Remy
Similar Books
