Date: Mon, 7 Mar 2011 04:42:50 -0800 (PST)
From: Micheal Chukwu <mikeinstudio9344 (at) yahoo.com>
Subject: The Game Chapter 2

 This story is based on two homosexual men. You must be above the legal age
of 18 (or as stipulated by your country/state) to read this story. If this
story is illegal in your area, PLEASE DO NOT READ IT. This story is a work
of ficition. Any similarity of the characters to any person is clearly a
coincidence.  All other usual disclaimers apply.

 This is my first story so please send your feedback or critisim to
mikeinstudio9344(at)yahoo(dot)com.

The Game

  Chapter Two - Lies

  Brendan?

   It took every scrap of self-control not to cry out his name, he'd done
it. He'd waited in silence for Brendan to show a sign, to show him that he
knew him, for him to tell him why he was here and he'd received
nothing. Nothing but lies.

   McCall - he couldn't think of this big, dark half stranger as his
Brendan, not his Brendan - was lying through his teeth; but Jake nodded at
his tourist patter. Seeming to accept him at his face value was the only
way he could buy time to think - think about why he was really here, what
he wanted from him. It was obivious from his non-identification, that he
didn't have a positive ID on him, McCall wasn't going to recognise him.

   McCall should have known better. Jake had been on the alert since the
whispered phone call this morning, warning him that a man was casing all
the potters' studios, buying nothing but asking lots of questions.

   But he'd never expected this. Not McCall.

   Even after ten years he'd known him. Leaner, tougher with deep scars
hiding inside his forest green eyes, and his black hair long and grispy
wild instead of military-short - but it was still him, McCall. Jake's heart
hit his throat and hammered, making him quiver with one look at him. No
longer in immaculate dress whites in which he'd met him, or the
self-conscious suits he'd bought for their dates - no, he was dark as the
storms clouds gathering outside in jeans the shade of night, boots and
ankle length leather coat over a thick deep gray woolen sweater.

   McCall didn't say Jake's name. He didn't show any recognition, and he
didn't say a word to reassure him about why he was here. He'd treated him
like a stranger, asking strange questions, watching him, handing him his
damn credit card. A word kept floating around in Jake's head, keeping his
cool and in control under the words straining to fly from his lips.

  'Orders.'

   Jake'd stake his business on the fact that McCall was under orders to
keep him under survillance, to stay close and not spook him. But he
wouldn't risk his life - or that of his son.

 'Betrayal.'

   This wasn't his Brendan McCall, the young, intense, wonderful navy
poster-boy with whom he'd spent five magical months, stolen months of his
life. Escaping from the bodyguards Papa set on him when he could, paying
them off when they found him with McCall. Doing anything he could to be
with him, McCall.

   'Keep focused. One minute and Danny won't see his next birthday.' Jake
told himself.

   Right. Focus. Jake flicked a glance at McCall and he could see the honed
insticts of a professional beneath the veneer of intense male interest. The
tourist patter didn't fit the searing glance, the tense, unable-to-relax
stance of McCall's tall, super musclar frame, the way he was taking
everything in with mathematical precision, taking mental notes. If McCall
was a tourist, he was a native resident of Antarctica.

   So McCall had finally found him...but obiviously he hadn't come out of
love - and whether he was on the side of the angels or the devils didn't
matter. If he'd found him, Danny's father couldn't be far behind. Just by
showing up here, McCall could bring the force of eternal night down on his
little boy. Jake repressed a shudder. Danny's father wanted his son, and if
he knew who Jake really was...

   "He didn't want me, JayJay - he wants Jacob de Souza. Even after he got
Danny, he kept saying that I didn't match up to his expectations of
Jacob. I got so mad I told him I was Marcus - and I told him the real Jacob
is hiding in England. I din't know how obsessed he was with you, or that
he'd come after you. I thought he loved me, but as usual, it was you he
wants..."

   Jake jumped into speech. "That's what I love about New Zealand - you get
every weather and place, all in two islands. I love the beaches here, and I
head down to the ski fields in winter. It's always quiet here then, and I
can close up shop for a week. I can't ski but jumping on a toboggan is
fun." That's it, play the tour guide, the friendly businessman. Even if he
knows who I am, he can't get any confirmation unless I give it.

   And he wouldn't give him a thing, not even knowledge of the
magnet-to-polar effect Mccall was having on him. Although he was more
incredible than he was when they first met. In his dress white, he'd been
sexy in an immaculate, awe inspiring, bad-boy-in-hiding style. Now he was
strong and weathered, taut, hot and intensely masculine. Dark as night,
rugged and turbulent, like a living storm inside a cloud - a jagged-edged
force about to unleash. He was discordant poetry and unchained symphony. He
didn't have a go-to-hell face - more like come-to-hell. He was already
there beckoning him, irresistable, insatiable and the moth's wings were on
fire. 'And I'm a fool. He's not here for himself. Someone sent him.'

   Jake watched McCall smile and nod, but inside those deep forest eyes, he
was adding up every word he said, and breaking it down. "You don't ski? I
thought most New Zealanders would."

   Jacob de Souza had been an enthusisatic skier. There were hundreds of
photos of him as the unsmiling king. "No. Not after a knee surgery. I don't
have the flexibility for it anymore." Jake said. 'Not bad for a spur of the
moment story.'

   "Did you have an accident?" McCall asked.

   McCall was on a hunt, and if he were in Falcone's pay he was up that
wild Renegade River outside, without a paddle.

   'Don't think of him as Brendan... don't...' So he lied. "I was a mad
netballer as a kid. Dad and Mum -" Jake forced the New Zealand
pronunciation through an aching throat "- took me all over the
country. When I was fifteen I lost my cruciate ligament twisting to throw
the ball. I took up pottery while recuperated, and was hooked. I need my
leg in good working order for the pedal wheel. I won't risk another
operation just for the sake of skiing. Toboggans are great fun."

   Doubts. Shadows. A web of confusion spun at a moments notice, born of
fear and the scent of danger surrounding him. McCall made him hot and cold
at once, filling him with memories of tender starlit magic.

   As if he was remembering too, his eyes grew lush and hot. "Have dinner
with me tonight, Jacob Silver. A date."

   Well, that was a curve ball out of left field he should have expected,
yet Jake felt his cheeks heating and his breath freeze in his lungs. Just
as well, since he'd almost blurted, 'Your employer wouldn't appreciate
that, would he?' And damn it, McCall was already tempting him too much. Oh,
to to be a normal human again, free to be with this forbidden fruit of a
man...

'The man who sold his country's secrets to the highest bidder, and only got
of treason charges because he dissappeared from America and never went
back.' He reined in his thoughts.'

 'Control, control!' The mantra had been his best friend over the past six
years, and he grabbed it with all the fevered intensity of a man hit by
terror - and unwanted desire.

   "I prefer Jake." Jake said. 'Why did I say that? I'm talking too
much. "Sorry, but I'm busy." 'Much better.'

   McCall took a step closer. Jake could feel the heat inside him, the
wildness he kept under tight leash. The hidden lightning in his soul called
to his long-forgotten heart and spirit - the promise of a breaking storm on
a deep summer's night. And oh, the man in him screamed to run into the
uncontrolled tempest inside McCall, and get absolutely soaking wet...

   "Tomorrow night...Jake." McCall said.

   Jake managed to hold in the strange delicious quiver of carnal need and
met McCall's eyes, willing a veneer of calm to cover the tangled emotions
within. "You're not my type." Jake stated.

   McCall didn't even flinch, didn't even move. The only indication of his
feelings at his lie registered in the slight hardening of his fine-chiseled
mouth, the deep grooves of his dimples slashing downward.

 "Do you have a type, Jacob Silver?" McCall asked in his deep rough voice -
a creature of the night, a gypsy spirit hiding beneath the tourist's mask.

   "Teddy bears." Jake said blandly. "I like the boy next door. A guy who
takes his partner and kids to the movies and the games."

   McCall took a step closer. "I think you're lying." His voice, dark and
wild as the night, vibrated into Jake's soul, stripping it's layer of
defence. "I think you've got a weakness for bad boys."

   'Marcus. Not me! Marcus!' Marcus had been the one who liked bad boys,
and he had made it known internationally.

   Jake closed his eyes and dragged in a harsh breath, sucking air in till
his lungs felt ready to explode. The gentle jasmine scent in the burner,
meant to uplift his customers, felt obscene in his nostrils as he waited
for the words to come. So it had come back again, the reap-what-he'd-sown
consequence of one stupid desicion - the reason he'd left his life
behind. The foolish mistake he'd made when he was ninteen, yet it still
dragged behind him like a chain gang's weight. In tearing grief for his
parents' death, he'd allowed the cousin who'd been like a brother to him in
his shoes for a month. Poor little Marcus, with the near-identical face to
his, brought up by Jake's parents afte his died - but with such a different
life . So sheltered and cosseted and lonley, spending most of his childhood
and teen years in hospitals or in grueling physical therapy for a bent back
from severe scolisois. Finally, healed, he'd wanted to know how it felt to
be Jacob de Souza, supermodel, handsome and admired and wordly - just for a
little while, JayJay... a few weeks? It would be fun for me... and you'll
get to rest for once...

 He'd been paying the price for allowing the charade ever since. Years and
years of running, paying for Marcus' innocent, foolish mistakes - and his
penchant for dangerous men.

 What was he saying? Marcus was the one who'd paid. He (Jake) lived with
his mistakes - Marcus had died with his.

 "You're wrong," he said now, with the conviction of utter truth. "Bad boys
have bad hearts. I want a nice guy, the nice house, picket fence and all
that."

 "And based on ten minutes' acquaintance you know I don't fit the mold?"
Brendan lifted an eyebrow and a slow, knowing smile that emanated an aura,
a feeling of current too deep and strong, and he was flailing in waters too
uncharted for his swin in safety.

 Breathe, his mind whispered.

 Smiling with would-be blandness, he lifted a tourist guide from the
counter. "You quoted the guide verbatim. You 've really never been south of
this part of New Zealand, have you?"

 "No." His mouth twitched into a full-bodied grin. With the rumbling
chuckle, a lock of hair flopped over his forehead, as if to hide his
eyes. "So one lie - a white one at that meant to impress you with my wealth
and ability to stay idle for a long periods of time, excludes me from the
teddy bears' picnic?"

 It was so hard to keep a straight face with him moving closer, wearing
that lazy grin. He'd almost forgotten how his rumbling, self-mocking humor
always made him laugh. McCall had a bad boy written over him, yet he was
good - too good. A man who made him want to smile, tease and flirt just as
his life had exploded in his face was way too dangerous to play with. He
had niether the experience nor the ammunition for it.

 He moved back to gain perspective, which he couldn't do with Brendan's
taut, jaguarlike body leaning close to him, just close enough to be
screaming male interest. "Afraid so."

 McCall's eyebrows lifted. "You can tell I'm not a boy next door?"

 "I'm sure the mamas next door were warning their daughters to bolt rather
than trusting them to your care" Jake retorted.

 McCall burst out laughing, warm and musical and facinating as the sea on a
deep summer's night. "I'm sure you're right... as sure as I am about the
fact that teddy bears aren't really your thing. Some instincts tell me
you're a 'bad boy' kind of guy."

 No. Not anymore. He'd been cured of that boyish fantasy forever, thanks to
Marcus. "My instincts says that your instincts don't always work to your
good." He held out the bag containing his vase. "Have a nice stay in the
Bay, Mr. McCall."

 "What if I don't give up?" McCall muttered, low and urgent, moving closer
as he backed off, McCall's eyes shifting from calm forest to stormy
crystalline. "What if I come back here everyday until you change your
mind?"

 He'll keep coming anyway, if Danny's father sent him here. And that was
the only real option - it wasn't as if Interpol would send a man who'd
already betrayed his country for cash.

 The truth of it tore his wistful wish that McCall could have come here for
him, and ripped it in to shreds. "I'd say, don't annoy my customers."

 McCall rocked back on his feet, the deep intensity lightening as he
chuckled again. His smile lit his whole face, including the fascinating
cleft chin and left dimple, with male strength and beauty. "Man, you don't
give much away, do you?"

 Not when my son's life depends on it. He smiled, hoping to look bland,
uninterested, but his needs and fears were already submerged beneath the
long-dormant man, leaving him in hopeless, needing confusion. Within ten
minutes of meeting McCall again, his emotions were so skewed he barely knew
what he said or did. His heart had been iced over so long he'd thought it
in permafrost to anyone but Danny; now it melting so fast he felt as if
McCall had jet-streamed it to equator by one of the Hornet planes he'd once
loved so much. "What did you expect on ten minutes' acquaintance?" His
voice sounded husky, deeper and huskier than his practised gentle New
Zealand accent.

 He watched those amazing rain-forest eyes of McCall's register the sound
of his voice, and take the information in. Click. Lock. Another piece in
place. Another bullet in the barrel of the gun of exposure - and he was
facing it down in hopeless defiance.

 "Well, a guy can always hope." McCall shrugged and picked up his
bag. "I'll be back."

 He meant it. He'd be back. Jake closed his eyes for a moment; then he
fixed his gaze on him. "Why" Why me?"

 McCall's deep compelling eyes on his, McCall closed the gap between
them. With infinte gentleness, he tipped up his chin with a finger. "Why do
you think?" It was a whisper of heated sound, coffee-warm breath tiptoeing
over his face, his touch tender. His masterful strength leased...for now,
at least. McCall would never hand control to anyone else for long.

 Yet, no matter how he fought it, the slow blush filled his cheeks at his
touch - a wave of half-shy sensuality, a man-to-man acknowledgment of his
effect on him.

 No! no. Any act he put on now would be useless. He'd given it all away
with a moment of invoulntary need. His lashes fluttered down; he looked at
his trembling fingers in disgust. Yet, how many long, cold years had it
been since he'd known the sweet drowning, the yearning for a man's touch?

 Not since Brendan.

 "If I knew, I would need to ask," he whispered back.

 "Does there have to be a why?" McCall's fingers moved over his skin in a
slow, subtle caress. he felt the quiver touch his soul, the heat streak
straight from his heart to his most masculine core.

 Without knowing it, he nodded.

 Still holding his chin with a finger, McCall flicked his other hand toward
the large pewter mirror hanging over the counter, designed as much for
warning against strangers as it was for beauty and security. "Look in
that." He walked to the door, opened it. Then he turned to look in his eyes
- a moment's truth flickered in their hidden depths, lush and hot with
untold secrets. "Watch out for strangers, Jacob Silver."

 As the door swung back to close after McCall'd gone, Jake felt McCall
veiled warning touch his heart with icy, chilled fingers.