“Weapons?” Marco’s man asked brusquely.
“No.” Colin wasn’t a fool. And as a sign of good faith he set down his bags and stretched his arms out at his side. The man patted him down. Colin had him in height, but the brute was broader. Still, in a fight Colin was quick and confident. When the man stood and looked in his eyes he saw that Colin was a man who wouldn’t take any shite or back down.
“Follow me.”
When they got to the stone steps a smaller man rushed out of a hidden entrance and smiled at Colin, giving him a small bow.
“Por favor, Se?or. I take?” He pointed to Colin’s bags. Though Colin hated to have this older man doing something he was perfectly capable of doing himself, he knew it was the kind of luxury Marco’s guests were expected to take advantage of. He also knew they’d go through his things, searching for anything suspicious, but they’d find nothing. Holding back a sigh, he handed over everything except the easel, which was heavy, and the canvases, which were large and awkward.
“I’ll keep these. Thank you.”
The man bowed again, disappearing through a side entrance that looked like a dark hall. The door quickly closed and Colin followed Marco’s big man up the steps. The higher they ascended, the more breathtaking the view became. After nearly a year and a half of seeking entrance into this place, a jolt of anticipation shot through Colin’s system.
At the top of the steps they came to an open air garden, and a fragrant breeze hit him. A middle-aged man in slacks and a black button up shirt met them at the top. He had a graying mustache and dark eyes that seemed to pierce Colin, searching him thoroughly, and filling him with a sour loathing.
“Se?or Douglas? Soy Marco Ruiz.”
“Sí,” Colin answered, holding out his hand, which the man shook solidly. He decided to speak to Marco in English, since his Spanish left a lot to be desired. “Se?or Acosta had only amazing things to say about your home, and I can see he didn’t exaggerate one bit. I thank you for allowing me to come, especially at such a short notice.”
The bodyguard hung back, never taking his eyes off Colin.
Marco picked up on his English cue seamlessly, and Colin recognized the man was extending a courtesy. “Mm. Our mutual friend is quite keen about his art.”
Colin chuckled. “That he is.”
Marco eyed him one last time, as if memorizing him. Cops weren’t the only ones who took in details. Seasoned criminals were especially good at it, as well. Marco may have stood there appearing to be a gentleman, but Colin knew better. He wished this mission was about more than simply retrieving the girl. He wished he could take this man down, but that could only be done by Spanish officials, and they wouldn’t allow it.
Marco led him to a table on the veranda set with brunch foods: tropical fruit salad, Spanish omelets, and coffee. Colin sat, knowing this would be a “get to know you” session. He’d had one of these, in some form, with every stage of vagrant who’d ever considered letting him into their confidences. This, however, would be his first brunch. His childhood manners came out as he placed the napkin across his lap.
Marco sipped his coffee and his head cocked to the side, as if trying to figure Colin out. He knew he didn’t look like your typical artist, whatever “typical” meant. His face was chiseled and often scruffy. His dark hair shaved. Eyes as blue-gray as the Mediterranean sky before a storm. His physique was strong. And he didn’t give much of a shite about fashion, though he dressed to impress when he had to. It was all about looking the part.
“I believe for the first time ever my slaves might actually fight over a patron,” Marco muttered.
Ah, that thought did nothing positive for him, but Colin chuckled and set down his water. “You flatter me, Sir.”
“Tell me, Mr. Douglas. What are you looking to get out of your week here?”
“Peace and quiet. Beauty. I can see you have that in abundance.”
“Mr. Acosta mentioned a muse?”
The side of Colin’s mouth went up. “That would be helpful.”
“And how do you envision this muse? A dominant woman? Submissive? Or perhaps a handsome man? I do have one.”
Now Colin grinned in full. He knew Marco was baiting him for the old all-artists-are-gay-stereotype. “A submissive woman.”
Marco seemed pleased by this. Both men took a bite of their meals, thinking, savoring.
“If I may be so bold, Mr. Douglas…what are your fantasies?”
Shite. That was a personal question he’d never been asked before.
Colin felt himself warming as the sun crept high over the cliff and bathed the veranda. His fantasies? Well, fuck. He had a hunch Marco Ruiz could smell bullshit from miles away. It was unlike Colin to open up and expose himself in any way. The thought of talking about sex, in detail, with this stranger, was off putting. But it would be the fastest way to gain his trust. So, he’d be honest.