Prologue
THE naked light bulb illuminating the dingy men’s room was a far cry from the black lights I’d envisioned as the background for my first sexual encounter. Likewise the asshole who’d crowded me into the miniscule stall. He was a crappy substitute for the beautiful man I’d been dreaming about for months.
When his booted foot made contact with my ribcage, I jerked, curling into a ball instinctively, like one of the chiggy-wigs that plagued Mom’s garden. The defensive stance didn’t save me from the succeeding kick, which was lower this time, closer to the targeted area he’d been trying to breech with invasive fingers. I grunted as the pain blossomed and spread throughout my lower extremities. The sound of the jeering voice I’d found so alluring earlier in the evening intruded, and I cringed, waiting for the next hit.
“Here’s a little something you can take away from this experiment,” my hookup snarled. The pungent odor of fresh urine invaded my nostrils as the warm liquid splashed over my face and neck in a steady stream. I wanted to scream in protest and lash out at the bastard, but I cowered instead, completely intimidated by his rage. Impatiently, he patted me down, and I whimpered rather than fighting back, adding to my humiliation. The guy lifted my phone and wallet from their usual spots in my back pockets and whooped in triumph when he found the two hundred dollars I’d brought along for the evening.
“Consider this payback for the money I wasted on you tonight,” he said dispassionately, tossing the wallet away. It landed in the puddle of piss near my head. “I’m keeping your phone so you can’t call for help. By the time they find you, I’ll be long gone. See you around, sunshine.”
The clicking of horseshoe taps echoed loudly as he exited the washroom, followed by a loud bang when the door swung shut. The abrupt silence was broken by a leaky faucet and my thumping heartbeats. The main door swung open again, slamming against the wall and making me jump. Sweat broke out on my forehead and dripped down my face, mixing with the blood, snot, and piss. I began to hyperventilate, terrified that he’d had second thoughts and was back to finish what he started. I hauled myself up to a sitting position and scooted into the tight space between the wall and the toilet, hunching over to protect my groin. He’d have to work harder if he intended to get in my pants tonight. A toilet flushed and a stall door opened. I could see feet through the gap, and I reached out to grab someone’s ankle.
“Dude,” the stranger yelped, startled by my clawing hand. He stuck his head through the narrow space and cursed when he saw me. “What the fuck happened, man?”
“Help me,” I begged. I wanted to get up and find my way back to the car before security discovered me, but I was in too much pain. My nose was throbbing and so was my asshole. I put my head down on my raised knees and drifted off.
Chapter One
CONRAD FAWKES reclined on one of the leather sofas in his father’s study, pressing a cool drink to his forehead while trying to talk himself out of the rotten mood that was weighing him down like a chorus girl’s headdress. The sounds of a party in full swing filtered in from the outside terrace, past the double pane windows and the droning of the old-fashioned air conditioning wall unit, which was providing some relief on this hot summer day. He’d been braced for temperatures in the nineties, having grown up on this ranch, but living on the East Coast for the last four years had altered his memories somewhat. He’d forgotten how god-awful it was in San Antonio in mid-August.
The door opened suddenly and his new cousin walked in and headed straight for the air conditioner. András, or Bandi as he was affectionately called by almost everyone, was three years older than Conrad and ruggedly handsome. He put down the longneck he’d been guzzling and unfastened the buttons of his shirt, which was plastered to his torso. Conrad could appreciate the loud sigh of relief, having experienced the same remission from a sweat-drenched shirt about an hour ago. The cooler air would provide a momentary reprieve. The Hungarian thought he was alone, and Conrad remained silent, seizing the opportunity to observe this recent addition to his small family. Bandi stood over six feet tall on a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever. From this angle, Conrad soaked up the sight of the broad shoulders and narrow waist and could only imagine that his cousin would be just as magnificent when viewed up front. Conrad coughed to announce his presence.
Bandi spun around and then exclaimed in surprise. “Hey! I didn’t know you were in here.”
The creamy white shirt hung open and Conrad caught a glimpse of dark chest hairs before Bandi hastily buttoned up. Olive skin and a richly shadowed jaw offset the feminine beauty of the heavily lashed blue eyes, a dominant Schnell trait they both shared. Unlike Conrad, and the rest of his father’s relatives, Bandi was a brunet. His cocoa-tinted hair curled in soft wisps around his forehead and neckline.
Conrad tore his eyes away from Bandi’s open collar and replied, “It’s the coolest spot in the house.”
“You don’t like the heat?”
“Not so much.”
“I do,” Bandi said, “but I needed a break.”
“Didn’t it get hot back where you came from?”
“Sure, but it’s way more humid over here.”
They continued to study each other blatantly. Conrad hadn’t quite come to terms with this new relative, and he assumed Bandi was just as confused by the sudden change in his status. The resurrection of his long-lost uncle Konrad, whom he’d been named after, had been a shock of epic proportions. The man had been presumed dead until he had emerged on Ned Temple’s estate almost two years ago, a scarred replica of the fresh-faced young boy who’d enlisted in the Air Force in 1983. Monica Schnell-Fawkes, Conrad’s mother, almost had a nervous breakdown after being informed that her only brother was very much alive. The fallout had escalated when his uncle admitted that he and his best friend, who also happened to be Conrad’s father, had been lovers before he’d disappeared without a trace.
Everyone knew that Preston Fawkes was bisexual?he had two children to prove it?but Konrad had kept his orientation a secret from everyone. Fortunately, Conrad’s maternal grandparents were no longer around, or they would have checked into the loony bin alongside their daughter after discovering that the son they’d held up on a pedestal was, in fact, a homosexual. It would have killed them if they hadn’t already been dead. The upshot of the upheaval had been the acquisition of a new cousin, along with an uncle who’d eventually become his stepfather. A legal and emotional clusterfuck no one had anticipated.
Conrad didn’t begrudge his father’s newfound happiness, but he did question the rightness of the pairing. His uncle was close-mouthed, even sullen at times, and he only seemed to come alive in Preston’s company. His dad had given him a condensed, and most likely edited, version of their long history, but Conrad had yet to be convinced it was a good match. Watching his father interact with Uncle Konrad had been quite a revelation. Granted, he’d never seen his father in love, so all of this was new. Preston Fawkes had been a man whore for years, and never showed any signs of slowing down until now. The naked love that radiated out of him whenever he was around Konrad was completely incongruous with the father Conrad knew and adored. He’d become as foreign to him as Bandi and his heavily accented English. Every time they were together he asked himself the same question?who were these people and why had they invaded his life?
In the last year, all he’d heard was Konrad this or Bandi that. The spotlight that had shone brightly on his golden head for almost twenty years had been yanked away by virtual strangers. Even the barbeque going on outside was a celebration of Bandi’s latest triumph on the polo circuit and had nothing to do with him, or the bit part he’d earned in Newsies, one of Broadway’s latest hits. Conversations underneath the canvas awning on the manicured lawn centered on polo ponies, goals, and screwing the Argentineans out of another win, topics he’d never cared for. Theater was Conrad’s chosen career, and in years past, his father had extolled his virtues to anyone who cared to listen. Lately, his appearances on stage had been trumped by his new cousin’s prowess on the polo field, and he couldn’t help the feelings of jealousy that flooded through him whenever he heard of Bandi’s latest win.
“Why are you here?” Bandi asked. He took a long pull off his beer and waited for an answer.
Although Conrad was mesmerized by the bobbing Adam’s apple, he felt a mild flash of annoyance at the question. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you were a rising star on Broadway.”
“The operative word is ‘rising,’” Conrad pointed out. “Not quite a star.”
“I’m sure it’ll happen soon enough.”
The words were polite, and spoken with a smile, but they rubbed him the wrong way. “You know nothing about me or theater,” Conrad said tersely. “Acting isn’t like polo, you know? You don’t become a success on stage because of your daddy or, in your case, daddies.”
Bandi went pale and the soft expression on his face turned hard as he tried to process the words. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t get your jodhpurs into a twist, cousin.”
“What does that mean?” he snapped. “English isn’t my primary language and I have trouble with idioms and sarcasm.”
“Here’s what I mean in plain American,” Conrad said, speaking slowly as if Bandi were mentally challenged. “I don’t get to walk into the inner sanctum of Broadway because my old man is a legend in the field. I have to work my way up, or more likely, fuck my way to the top. Something I’m sure you know nothing about,” he added, shedding the last vestige of civility.
Bandi stepped forward and put his beer bottle on the table between them. “What are you implying?”
“Do you really think you got on Dad’s polo team because of your skills? If you hadn’t been boning Uncle Ned, which is gross, I might add, and our dads weren’t shacked up, you’d still be a groom mucking out his stables.”
Bandi was around the coffee table in a second. He lifted Conrad off the sofa by his collar and squeezed his face, probably hoping to stop the flow of words, or pop out a few teeth, but Conrad twisted left and right. His shirt ripped seconds before he fell down and smacked the side of his head on the glass tabletop. Bandi didn’t bother to help. He glowered instead, hovering over his fallen cousin like King Kong.
“Take it back,” Bandi snarled, looking like a wild man.
Meeting his rage head-on, Conrad shouted, “Why should I when it’s the damned truth?”
“Kurafi,” Bandi hissed malevolently.
Conrad was pretty sure he’d been called something awful in Hungarian. The brunet struggled for control, and would have probably decked him if they weren’t related.
“You don’t know shit about my relationship with Ned, and if I ever hear you say anything stupid again, I’ll rip your head off.”
“Don’t hang out in the kitchen if you can’t stand the heat,” Conrad shot back, choosing his words carefully. “A guy your age has no business being with a forty-eight-year-old. It’s disgusting, and people will assume the worst.”
Just then the door opened and the object of their discussion stood on the threshold holding a highball in his right hand. “What’s going on?” Ned asked, glancing down at Conrad’s twisted face.
“Nothing,” Bandi replied quickly. “We were having a friendly discussion.”
Raising an eyebrow, Ned observed, “Friendly?”
“Don’t mind us,” Conrad seconded, shoving Bandi’s arm away. His cousin had finally extended a helping hand but he was having none of it. Scrambling up from his spot on the floor, he made an attempt to straighten out his torn shirt while his Uncle Ned’s eyes darted from him to Bandi as he tried to figure out what just happened. Age notwithstanding, Ned looked like a man in his early forties. His jeans were fashionably tight, and his polo shirt clung to a well-defined torso ending in a tight V. There wasn’t a love handle in sight. Guiltily, Conrad acknowledged that his father’s closest friend was attractive, in a muted but elegant fashion, and he felt sick with guilt as he recalled his insinuation. Uncle Ned was more than capable of attracting a young lover. He sincerely hoped that Bandi would prove a gentleman and keep his mouth shut.
Clearing his throat, Ned asked again, “Is there a problem between you two?”
Conrad was horrified to feel the sudden prickle of tears, and he would have preferred to have his tongue ripped out than admit his damn cousin was disturbing his equilibrium. He’d always known who he was, and his place in his father’s world had been so secure. Suddenly he knew nothing at all. He was an outsider looking into some secret circle that had formed around Uncle Konrad and Bandi.
“I’m fine, Uncle Ned,” Conrad said reassuringly. “A little too much sun made me woozy. I tripped and fell.”
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to make it on Broadway,” Ned rebuked softly. “Now, out with it,” he asked again. When no answers were forthcoming, he headed toward the small refrigerator underneath the miniature bar, pulled out a tray of ice cubes, and twisted the plastic until all the ice fell onto the dishrag he’d laid out on the counter. Wrapping the bundle into a tight wad, he came back and shoved it into Conrad’s hand. “Stay here and apply some ice on your face or you’ll end up playing twenty questions with your mother and father.”
“Do you need help holding the bag?” Bandi asked in a condescending tone.
Conrad felt the rage building again, and he would have hurled the ice at the cocky grin if Ned hadn’t been present. His only other option was rudeness. “Not from you,” he snapped.
Exasperated, Ned asked, “Shall I get Preston?”
Conrad shoved past them and barricaded himself in the bathroom. The mirror over the sink revealed the angry red splotches on his face, easily discerned fingerprints which would fade by the time he got back home. If not, stage makeup, also known as spackle, rice powder, and fairy dust, would do the trick. Who knew that his gorgeous new relative, damn him for being so hot, had such a mean streak? Admittedly, he shouldn’t have insulted him, or his lover, but seriously, did Bandi think he was such a superior polo player that he could jump from being nobody to somebody within a span of eight months? Conrad knew it was impossible.
He rinsed his face and ran shaky fingers through the blond tangles, hoping to restore some semblance of his old self. By the time he opened the door, Preston was standing by the bar looking more worried than angry. Bandi and Ned were nowhere in sight, but they’d obviously ratted him out, which pissed him off even more.
“What happened?” Pres asked.
Conrad cupped his cheek, trying to hide the damage, but his father was by his side in a few strides, shaking his head and thumbing the red skin tenderly. The familiar features blurred as Conrad blinked away the tears. “It’s nothing, Dad.”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing when I’m looking at fingerprints.”
Conrad laughed despite his discomfort. “I suppose I deserved it.”
“What was the argument about?”
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Thanks, Dad, but I’d prefer to deal with this on my own.”
“I’ll stay out of it for now, but I’d like some resolution before you go back home. Do you think you can promise me that much?”
“Why is it such a big deal?”
“Your uncle will be upset when he finds out you guys have had a fight. I hate to see him conflicted about anything.”
“What about my conflict?”
“I thought you said this was nothing important.”
Conrad shrugged. He didn’t feel like rehashing the entire incident with Bandi so he took the offensive instead. “You’ve been cloistered in England with your new family for the last two years, and now, here you are telling me how I should respond to these people. I don’t think that’s fair, Dad. You may have known Uncle Konrad for years, but he’s a stranger to me, and so is his son. Why should I care how they feel? Are their feelings more important than mine?”
Preston seemed taken aback by his accusation, but didn’t deny it. Conrad tried to wrap his head around this man he barely recognized. “Who are you and what have you done to my dad?” The surprising blush made Conrad exclaim, “My God! Do you love him that much?”
Preston laughed out loud and threw an arm around his son’s shoulder, nudging him toward the sofa. “I know I’m behaving like an adolescent.”
Conrad was blindsided by this confession. “Dad, I’ve never seen you this hung up on anyone in my entire life.”
“I know,” Preston replied. “It’s a side of me that’s been buried for years.”
“You look happy, though.”
“I am, but it was hard won. One of these days, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story so you’ll understand why I’m acting like a love-sick cow.”
Conrad nodded in agreement. “Make it sooner rather than later.”
“Come on, son,” Preston said, pulling him down on the sofa beside him. “Tell me about Newsies.”
“Are you sure? It’s not as exciting as a polo match.”
“Bullshit. You know I’ve always been interested in your career.”
“Then why didn’t you show up for opening night like we’d planned?”
“Is that what this is all about? Jealousy?”
“Maybe jealous isn’t the right word,” Con mumbled, looking down at his lap so Preston wouldn’t see his eyes filling up again. “More like hurt.”
Preston muttered an expletive under his breath. “I’m sorry, son,” he said, clutching Conrad’s hand and squeezing it gently. “I never thought about this from your point of view.”
“Other than Paloma, who really doesn’t count, it’s been just you and me, Dad. I’m not used to sharing,” Con said inanely. “I know it’s childish but it’s true.”
“I’m not good at sharing either so I understand.”
“Do you?”
Pres nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to your show like I promised. There were a lot of legalities involved in transitioning your Uncle Kon from his status as MIA to the very present here and now. I offered to help so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed and I lost track of everything else.”
“So you’ve really retired from polo?”
“My last injury took a lot out of me. When Kon came back into my life there was no doubt in my mind that it was time to quit. I didn’t want to risk another fall, and we sure as hell didn’t want to be separated for long periods. Kon and I will devote most of our energy to the stud farm and mentoring Bandi.”
“Is Bandi really good or is it wishful thinking on your part?”
“He’s an excellent horseman, but he’s starting late. I have to make sure he gets into the right circle so people take notice.”
“Which goes back to traveling and following the circuit,” Con said petulantly.
“Only for another six months.”
“Do you think you guys can fit me into your tight schedule?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d like that.”
“Let me discuss it with Kon, but I think we can be in New York in a few weeks.”
“Okay.”
“Conrad?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“This thing between you and Bandi….”
“Is nothing major,” Conrad assured him.
“You’ll fix it?”
“Yes.”
“Keep icing your face, okay baby? I don’t want you going back to New York looking the worse for wear.”