Change

by Willow, Jevenna

  Sara could only nod. Of course, it was working. They’re alive, are they not?

  She would have to be dead for it not to be working on every atom of her being.

  Chapter Eight

  Sara was lounging poolside with a perfectly made margarita in hand and a contented smile on her face, while Tepper was doing laps in the pool. He looked so fit and trimmed slicing his body through the water; Sara could not help the audible moan coming out of her mouth.

  Her eyes followed the path of muscled male, the exquisite rhythm of a swimmer’s form, the parting of water and its return to natural state. He looked so at ease and content, there wasn’t a single inch of her not turned on by what she saw of the man.

  Sara was content. They’d had their burgers—world famously made burgers, and all. He’d mixed the margaritas to appease the fact she chose burgers instead of Mexican food. Now he was swimming laps to work off the fattening meat.

  Christ! There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on the man. Sara knew this as fact. She’d been watching him for the better part of a half hour; daydreaming about what the rest of her evening would entail with a man so fit and muscular that only good things came to mind.

  They’d mutually agreed to leave the massage table and its goodies alone until more comfortable with each other. Sara did not mind the wait. The longer it took the man, the more satisfying his comfort would be for her. Some guys were all talk and no action. Not this guy. His talk to a minimum, it was his actions doing the most damage to her psyche.

  He swam to the far end of the pool, turned, dove down, and made his way back. As his smooth strokes brought him to her end of the pool, the muscular arms slowed. Tep changed his determined stroke into the front crawl. He’d been doing the back crawl with an almost devil grin on his face. It would seem cold water had no effect on a devilish Frenchman.

  Once he got to her end of the pool, he quit swimming altogether.

  Tepper climbed out of the pool and gave Sara a street level view of incredible masculinity, that it truly astounded her he was mere mortal. This view contained all of his masculinity.

  Another devilish, heart-stopping grin had her blushing as he walked up to her and grabbed the towel she held out for him.

  “Thanks,” he offered, drying only his hair, then wrapping the towel around his nudity. Water droplets slid down his bared torso and got sucked into the cotton fibers.

  Sara nearly growled at his actions. She’d been thoroughly enjoying the splendid view of primal male and wished the towel to just disappear—pronto. She could easily lick off that moisture, if only he let her.

  “No problem,” she muttered awkwardly, still willing the fluffy material to fall.

  He must have seen the want in her eyes because he moved closer to her chaise, bent down and brushed a gentle kiss over her mouth—so unexpected, yet more than potent, he’d pulled back only to check her reaction.

  “Happy so far?”

  The virility she found so alluring caused her to answer this as truthfully as possible. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Good. Then you will not mind too terribly that I forgot I’d invited a few friends over tonight for drinks and the usual poker game that ensues, and they will be here within the hour.” He made it come out as a statement, more than a question. Yet the look in his eyes said he was sorry he could not get out of it—sorrier than she could ever imagine.

  “This is your home, Tep. You can invite anyone you like to come and play with you. It’s not my call.”

  Actually, she was miffed such a lovely evening was about to be cut short, especially when she was just getting to the good part of it, her gaze lowering. With any hope, she hid this fact well enough. A jealous woman usually ended up as figuratively dead in the water when trying to get her boss into bed.

  “But you could make it so,” he ruled, watching the tug of emotions she tried desperately to hold at bay.

  Her voice tight, nearly calm, she said, “Like I said…it’s not my call.”

  Tepper nodded, flared his nostrils, then sat down on the chaise next to hers, as Sara handed him the glass at her side. A second made margarita awaited the man.

  He took the drink, but before he had any of the margarita he spoke. “I mean it, Deb. I can cancel Thursday poker night. It won’t be the end of the world.”

  Sara shook her head. “No. I will not be responsible for any poker night cancelled. I meant it, too. I’m fine with any change of plans. You don’t need to coddle me, or make excuses…”

  “It wasn’t coddling. Nor is it an excuse. What it is…is total forgetfulness and at the worst possible time. I tried to call the guys while inside making our drinks, just to cancel, but not one of them would pick up their lines. They must’ve been too busy—four voicemails, not much else.”

  “Tep, its fine, really. I will be fine. You and I had a wonderful dinner, a delicious margarita, and now it’s time I go home. I have a thousand things to do before tomorrow.” She tried to rise from her chaise, but a firm hand stopped her. That hand clamped onto her upper thigh, searing through her skin.

  “Like hell you’re going to leave! You will stay, meet the guys. They know all about you and are quite interested in the woman who can control me, as well as an art gallery. Stay. Please? For me?” His dangerously raised brow was to provoke the decision he wanted out of her. “I promised you a massage and moonlight swim, and a few hours spent with the guys will only benefit us in the long run.”

  “You already swam your laps,” she gently reminded him.

  “Perhaps, but they were done alone. And not my first choice, as I recall.”

  He’d asked her to join him, but Sara was more the chaise lounge type of girl than a swimmer. Truth told, no one had ever taught her how to swim and the fear of drowning preceded all else.

  “What am I to do while the guys play poker? Snoop through your mansion, looking for evidence of a mistress?” she teased.

  “You can look wherever you like, Debra. I have nothing to hide—from anyone. There are nine bedrooms, six bathrooms, and at least five hundred nooks and crannies worthy of investigation. And not in any one of them will there be a hidden mistress. I say ‘have at it’.” His tone had turned serious, even though he’d made a quick glance at his lower half.

  Nevertheless, Sara made light of the offer. “I do not snoop through houses. A good book, another margarita, and the memory of the past half hour watching you swim laps…I should be fine on my own until your friends leave and I have you all to myself—with that pair of handcuffs.” Her head jerked toward the cabana table where the gleaming pair of handcuffs laid, emphasis on pair.

  She did not want to vacate such an exquisite poolside or the company of this man, but with Tepper’s friends coming over for a weekly poker game, fairly soon it would seem, it would probably be best if she went inside and put her clothes back on. She’d been on the chaise, soaking up the waning warmth of the afternoon sun—stark naked.

  Tepper’s friends might want to meet her, but they wouldn’t expect her to be in the buff during this first meeting.

  And, sweet man that he was, he’d been more than fine with Sara taking her clothes off. She’d been a little hesitant to ask at first. That hesitance dissipated when he’d stripped out of his own clothing poolside just to do laps.

  Once she’d witnessed the man unclothed, she figured what normal red-blooded male, who quite obviously enjoyed the sight of the female body, purely judged by all the nudes hung on his gallery walls, wouldn’t be fine with a naturist lounging poolside. If he could be naked, why shouldn’t she? More at ease unclothed, she nearly forgot she was supposed to be prim and proper around her boss; as well, that her boss had stated he was interested in her in a physical way beyond a working relationship.

  Sara took another sip of her margarita, swallowed it, and gave Tepper a reassuring grin.

  He accepted her smile at face value. After having taken the intuitive to get her to his place by open promises, plans might have alter
ed a bit on the account of forgetfulness, but this did not mean she had to leave, or he had to give her up before satisfied with his efforts.

  “Can you play poker?” he questioned, swallowing his own mouthful of margarita.

  Her brow rose. “I can play. Why, are you asking me too?”

  A crocked grin slid across his lips. “I asked you to swim with me, and you denied me the pleasure. Should I really hold my breath for you joining our weekly poker game?”

  Sara’s eyes glued to his. “I wouldn’t want you to hold your breath, Tep. I can play, unless the stakes too high…” She left this open for confirmation.

  “Oh, the stakes couldn’t be any higher, sweetheart,” he warned with a throaty growl.

  When Sara raised her other brow, causing her forehead to furrow, Tepper added, “But any payment to your winnings will be after the game, my dear, not before. Some things aren’t meant to be shared. Then again, some winnings will have to be earned.”

  The peeling sound of the doorbell pulled both their heads toward the mansion. Seconds later, there was a loud raucous of male voices bellowed throughout the rooms in search of Tepper.

  Sara bolted off her chaise lounge as Tepper rose from his. She had no towel or wrap to cover up with, and she was about to be discovered poolside in the buff by his poker friends.

  “Fun’s over,” he reckoned, hovering on the verge of laughter to her shocked face.

  “A warning would have been appreciated, Tep,” she snarled.

  Her hand reached out to grab for his towel. She had about two more seconds to get it around her body before five individuals came waltzing through the patio doors, looking for their host.

  Tepper now stood in the nude in front of his friends…and seemed unfazed by this fact. This was more than could be said for Sara. She barely got the towel tucked into place when she raised her gaze to so many intruders. That gaze locked onto only one. As it hit his face, the color drained from hers.

  He’d been about to take a swig of beer out of the bottle in his hand, the last man to come through the doors, when his eyes found her.

  The bottle hovered closely to his lips, while Sara and Casey Griffen tried to analyze the situation.

  At first, confusion narrowed his sky blue eyes into thin slits. That confusion was replaced swiftly with acute awareness to what stood in front of his view. A naked man and a nearly naked woman stood side by side—poolside. It couldn’t be made any clearer than that.

  “Mecenna?” Casey asked. He’d punctuated the one word with the slow start of a smile, before adding, “Or is it back to Sara now?”

  While the other men jumped into Tepper’s pool, fully clothed, obviously having partied well before arrival for poker night, Casey Griffen stood nearer the patio doors, beer in hand, and looked as though he could barely make his feet move forward even if his life depended on it.

  Sara was too stunned to blink.

  ****

  Tepper Le D`oun had known Casey Griffen for years. He never visited the man’s risqué place of business due to his incredibly high standing in the art world, and Griffen never bought artwork from Tep’s gallery because Griffen had no need.

  But that did not mean they couldn’t be intellectual friends.

  Tep, however, had never seen such a strange look on his friend’s face in all the years he’d known the man; or so much obvious discomfort in the man.

  And never before had a single question made Tep uncomfortable himself. He turned his head to the woman at his side. She had her eyes glued onto Casey. Those eyes were filled with fear.

  “Debra?” he asked, causing the woman to snap out of her trance and glance his way. “Might I ask who the hell Mecenna is?”

  In one brief millisecond, he could see clear as rainwater what she tried to hide from the world for six long months. She was Mecenna. Moreover, as Mecenna, Casey knew her. This fact did not sit well with Tepper, at all.

  The only time Casey Griffen—playboy entrepreneur—ever knew a woman, was intimately; alternatively, as an employee of his.

  Debra could not have been one of Griffen’s strippers…could she? She would’ve shown the signs: the unhidden sexuality, the shadows from too many late nights, total burnout from going at it too much, too long.

  The Debra he knew came into work every day, chipper, smiling, ready for a brand new day, and sold million dollar paintings and near priceless sculptures with little, if any effort. The Debra he knew would not be a stripper. She never wore flashy or alluring clothing in the gallery. She never stayed up late. If so, she told him all about it the next day, the reason as to why she hated it happening, or why it couldn’t be helped.

  Debra was very free-forward in sharing aspects of her life. Had she lied to him all this time?

  This particular question became more than unpalatable.

  Had she lied to him about wanting him?

  Tepper couldn’t hide his anger. It was somewhat hard to be angry when fucking naked in front of five drunken men, and one hot woman he’d wanted to screw…but he was fucking angry!

  Ice water was cold, but Debra’s answer became far colder than mere ice water thrown at him. She said softly, “I am”, leaving little room for doubt.

  By this time, Casey found his leg muscles could move and he strode toward them. He did not look at Tepper. He kept his eyes glued onto Debra.

  “The infamous Debra, I presume? Did she also tell you she goes by the name Sara?” Casey asked.

  Tepper knew the man’s words were meant only for him.

  Her sharp intake of breath felt like a slap to his face. Tepper flared his nostrils.

  Griffen then added more, likely to make it sting. “And that she ran away, nearly six months ago, from my bed?” he gloated.

  The hard slap hit its mark. But it did not touch Tepper’s face. Debra’s slender hand made violent contact with Casey’s cheek. A half-second later, she practically flew into his mansion, leaving both friends on the patio stunned speechless.

  Tep gave Casey a hard look, then followed Debra into his mansion. He wasn’t about to let her get out of his sight until she explained herself. He would more than deal with Casey later on, if need be. For the moment, he only wanted answers from Ms. Batton—or whoever the hell she was.

  He found her trying to redress as fast as humanly possible inside his bedroom. She’d left her clothing on his bed when undressing for a poolside respite. Already with jeans and bra on, she was about to button her shirt when he stormed into the room and grabbed both her wrists to stall her movements.

  The tears she could not hold back spilled unchecked.

  She did not wait for him to ask, before blurting out everything needing to be said. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry for lying to you? That it won’t happen again? Or what I’d felt about you for six long months doesn’t matter? Because, it does. For one brief instant I actually believed I had a real life, with a real man, who could love me back…eventually.”

  He waited, but no more of her excuses came, as her tears fell harder still.

  “I didn’t want you to say a goddamn thing to me right now. Damnit, Debra! I’m trying to process this as best I can.”

  “What is there to process?” she prodded, trying to coax out sane reasoning from the shadows.

  “Well, for starters, why you hadn’t told me the truth?” Very quickly, he saw the flaws in this question by the raising of her brow, so he tried an alternate approach. “Okay. Better yet, why couldn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

  Her other brow rose, mocking his pathetic attempts at wishing he could understand.

  “Could you please put some pants on?” she questioned.

  “Why?”

  “Because it is truly difficult to look at you right now, and you’re only making it harder for the both of us.”

  “Babe, if anything about tonight is the truth…it is, without question, that I am not hard,” he said bitterly. “I might have been—Damnit! I was certainly hard enough to ma
ke you happy a little while ago, and I could be again, given more time—had not a fucking bomb landed in my lap out on my fucking patio to make me a little soft in the manhood department!”

  “Damnit, Tepper. I didn’t mean your pecker!”

  His hands clamped harder onto her wrists to make it hurt. He was nearly crushing her wrists until he caught the flinch of pain on her face and dropped her arms like hot potatoes.

  “Damn you Debra. Or whoever the hell you are!” His words edged with razor sharp bitterness he could no longer hide. “Do you even have a clue as to how I feel at this moment?”

  She tried to turn her face from his, but Tepper grabbed her chin and held firm, forcing the woman to look him in the eyes.

  Another flare of the nostrils made, he ordered, “What the bloody hell gives you the right to play games with people? I was more than interested in us becoming something beyond mere co-workers. Fuck, Debra! I was willing to let you in to my heart. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  ****

  This hurt more than anything said thus far, but Sara held firm.

  She’d been hurt before. She knew how to react to pain, and what she had to do about it.

  “What gave you the right to care?” she asked crisply.

  Tepper physically tossed her face out of his hand. “Fuck you, Sweetheart! I bloody hell care because I had thought you worth it. Now I know better.”

  “Know better?” she yelped. “Just because Casey came here tonight and ruined everything…you no longer think I’m worthy of your care?”

  “You’re not!” he yelled out.

  Sara stepped back from this. She tried to leave. Tepper wouldn’t let her—apparently, not until she understood the ramifications of her lies. He grabbed her upper arm to prevent escape, and would not let go until he said his peace.

  “You can’t play games with men like us. We eat little girls like you for breakfast. We brush our teeth with little girls like you. We fuck as many little girls like you as we want, because we can and no one is ever going to stop us. You’re no better or different than any other little girl wanting a man’s approval or his huge dick shoved into your wetted cunt.”