Page 4 of Party of Three (Sapphire Cove Suite Secrets)

Dressed in their desert cammies, they looked like they were posing for a Marine Corps recruiting poster.

With close-shorn salt-and-pepper hair and a proud jaw, the older man looked tall and imposing, his stare turned laser-like thanks to big crystal-blue eyes, arm looped protectively—maybe even possessively—around Mateo’s broad shoulders.

He looked so solid, so immovable, Buckley had trouble imagining what he must have looked like when he’d used all of his brute strength to drag an unconscious Mateo to the ocean’s surface as the massive death trap that had almost drowned them both plunged to the dark ocean depths below.

And he’d always told himself the fantasies he nurtured about the guy were harmless, porny fun, a natural outgrowth of the fact that Jeff Braxton had saved Mateo’s life.

Besides, Buckley, like so many gay men he knew, had a low, throbbing appetite for handsome, unattainable straight men, an appetite he knew better than to feed thanks to some gnarly early experiences with high school classmates that had left everyone involved more creeped out than satisfied.

Some queer men got off on hooking up with straight guys, but Buckley had always felt he could tell a guy was straight the minute he touched them.

The deadness of their response could be bone chilling, a reminder they’d probably closed their eyes so they could imagine he was a girl.

Buckley had no interest in closing his eyes and imagining a straight guy was queer, so the pairing never worked out.

Weird thing was, most of Buckley’s fantasies didn’t involve Jeff touching him, or vice versa.

They involved Mateo and the man who’d been his Marine Corps mentor in a sweaty, passionate tangle, Jeff capping off his watery rescue of the younger man by giving Mateo a Hollywood-sized kiss, Mateo looking both innocent and worshipful in his arms.

But what did it matter? They were daydreams, that’s all. Occasional horny flights from reality that whisked him up off the sofa when his eyes snagged on the photo during a boring moment in a TV show.

When Mateo caught Buckley staring across their apartment at the photo now, Buckley awkwardly sputtered, “So what kind of girls is he into?”

Buckley had plenty of female friends of all ages. Maybe setting one of them up with Jeff would be a good way to bring the guy back into Mateo’s life.

At first, Buckley thought his boyfriend’s tense expression was the result of having sensed the strange, heart-racy feeling Buckley got whenever he looked at Jeff’s photo.

But when he went back to chopping zucchini, Mateo had the furrowed brow and tense lips that Buckley had come to recognize as signs his boyfriend was holding back a difficult truth.

“It’s probably better he doesn’t come,” Mateo finally said. “Our history’s kinda…complicated, I guess.”

Buckley’s hands prickled. A question about Jeff Braxton’s taste in women had resulted in the word complicated , and now his boyfriend looked ashamed. “Wait… You guys…”

Mateo stopped chopping, giving Buckley a wide-eyed, puppy dog look that twisted something in Buckley’s chest.

“You want me to take the picture down?” he asked softly.

“I don’t understand.”

But he did understand. Jeff and Mateo had been more than friends. What he didn’t understand was that in a moment when his rational brain told him he should be experiencing sharp pangs of jealousy, flames of arousal were heating up his spine and thighs instead.

“It was once or twice and it was…messy. I mean, we were never boyfriends really. But yeah, Jeff’s not into women, papi .

Like at all.” Once he’d closed the distance between them, Mateo curved his arms around Buckley’s back, pulling his head into his chest. “Seriously, though, I can take the picture down if it weirds you out now. I just, it never felt like I was putting a photo of an ex up on the wall or anything because…”

“No, don’t.”

He’d answered too quickly—maybe because he was thinking of that time months ago when Mateo had been in a late class and Buckley had settled down onto the sofa with one of their favorite dildos and worked it into himself, his eyes landing on the photo in question while he imagined what it would be like to take both men inside of him at the same time.

He’d come so hard and loud he’d been afraid the neighbors might knock angrily on the wall.

And even though he’d still been a little raw from his self-love session, when Mateo had come home later that night, he’d been on him like a second set of clothes as soon as he walked through the front door, riding him hard and fast on the same sofa where he’d just done himself in.

Now, he returned his boyfriend’s embrace, trying to let him know he was okay, that they were okay. But he didn’t want to say anything to betray the strange torrent of desire unleashed in him by the news that Jeff Braxton, handsome phantom from Mateo’s Marine Corps days, was as gay as they were.

And that included keeping quiet about the surprise he’d tried to put together for Mateo’s party.

When the envelope had come back with a bright yellow label attached, he’d known how bad it would hurt the man he loved, and after what Mateo’s parents had done a few months before, Buckley wasn’t about to let someone else darken his boyfriend’s birthday.

Some internet sleuthing had turned up a new address for Jeff a little ways north of San Diego along with evidence he’d been reassigned from Pendleton to Miramar, which was probably why his Oceanside address had bounced.

Thinking the whole thing might have the makings of an excellent birthday gift, he’d driven an hour and a half south to Jeff’s apartment in La Mesa.

When no one had answered the bell at his townhouse, he’d stood for a while in the sun-drenched courtyard before slipping a handwritten note through the mail slot, a note letting him know how much Mateo missed him, how much he wanted to be back in touch, and—most importantly—inviting him to attend the party at Sapphire Cove in a week.

He’d added his own cell phone number at the end and requested an RSVP.

That part was fine, he guessed. But he’d also added some embellishments along the way.

For one, he told Jeff the party started at six thirty, not seven, mainly so he could give the guy a piece of his mind before Mateo got there—let him know point-blank how much Mateo was hurt by his radio silence.

A forgivable fib, he figured. Namely because his intentions were pure, and Jeff deserved a talking-to in that regard.

The second lie was a whopper, however.

He’d told Jeff the birthday party was also a good-bye party, that he’d gotten a job in Japan and they’d be moving there in a week, and this would be the last time Jeff could see the man whose life he’d saved before Buckley whisked him off to the other side of the planet.

Maybe not his best moment.

But it had been over a week ago now, and so far Jeff had made no effort to call, so he figured the repercussions would be slim to none.

Would he have jumped through several secret hoops to get the guy to the party if he’d known he and Mateo had a sexual history?

“So what happened?” Buckley finally asked. “I mean you said it was once or twice and it was messy but…”

“We weren’t a match in that area.”

Buckley lifted his head from Mateo’s chest and gave him a smile meant to defuse the tension. “So he wanted your sweet ass and you told him it was off limits?”

Mateo’s huff of laughter carried a hint of relief. “Basically, yeah.”

“So what did you guys do? If not, you know, the full nasty.”

Mateo’s eyes met his, smile fading. “You sure you want to hear about this?”

“Very.”

The word, and Buckley’s jarringly confident tone, lit up Mateo’s eyes. He looked suddenly alert but also intrigued. Buckley could hear it himself; he hadn’t sounded like a boyfriend trying to clear the air after an uncomfortable disclosure. He’d sounded hungry.

There was something else Mateo seemed to notice, and the next thing he knew Buckley felt his boyfriend’s hand caressing him where he was once more spilling out of the part in the front of his boxers.

“ Papi …” he whispered, seemingly dumbfounded that an uncomfortable disclosure had somehow left Buckley rock hard and throbbing in his hand.

Brow furrowed, Mateo studied him. “How’s that going to make you less jealous?”

“Jealous was your word, baby. Not mine.” It slipped out before he could stop it.

Something seemed to catch fire behind Mateo’s gaze. The hungry look of a dog scenting a bone. Or maybe the relief of a man realizing he was being spared a fight with his boyfriend by a sudden, shocking display of that boyfriend’s previously hidden fantasy.

Mateo’s eyes glazed over. He reached up and smoothed Buckley’s blond curly bangs, still damp from the shower, off his forehead.

“Looks like we’re finally doing one of your fantasies,” he whispered, but there was seriousness in his tone.

The role-play they’d done so far had involved archetypes and stock porn scenarios.

Not someone real. Not someone whose last name they knew, anyway.

Someone one of them shared history with. Complicated history.

“Details, please.” Buckley was determined not to be swayed from his goal by the fact that Mateo was gently sliding his boxers down over his ass and caressing his ample cheeks.

He always felt a little flicker of insecurity when Mateo undressed him.

For most of his life, he’d been a husky boy.

But apparently Mateo loved it. Thick and juicy and soft in all the right places , he’d often say in a hungry whisper as he revealed every inch of Buckley’s skin, as if it were a naughty, hypnotic lullaby that made his mouth water.