by Eden Rivers
His confession tumbled out in a rush, as if he were afraid of her reaction and wanted to get it over with. Val ran her finger along the edge of the bowl she’d used to mix the brownies and licked off the chocolate, considering her reply. Despite his brash announcement, his eyes were dark with concern, and as he nibbled the brownie, he never looked away from her.
Late at night on the Fourth of July, Ian had shared his account of the infamous third. As they lay naked together on the sand, she’d been surprised at the molten heat aroused by his report. Here, in the light of day, it was more than a little unsettling to recall some of the intimate details he’d shared about Jeremy.
“Yes, he mentioned it. I’m the one who insisted he stick around and participate in the festivities that night, remember?” As liquid heat spread from the pit of her stomach and radiated out to her limbs, she knew the rush had nothing to do with the chocolate.
Brushing his hair away from his eyes, Jeremy licked his lips to catch a few brownie crumbs, offered a tentative smile, and touched her arm. “I brought you something.”
“You what?” Off balance with the sudden shift of topic, she tried to catch up. Had he been so worried about having sex with Ian on the third that he brought a peace offering?
Jeremy grabbed her hand and led her into the living room. “If you’re not interested, I’ll talk one of the veterinary assistants into taking her.”
Reaching into a cardboard box, he pulled out a tiny ball of fur and handed it to Val. “This isn’t some sappy kitten-gifting thing. She’s the runt, and I figure you’ve got a soft spot for underdogs.”
Touched, she cupped the kitten in her palms, brushing its silky blue-gray fur against her chin. When she stroked her thumb over its hard little forehead, the kitten rewarded her with a rumbling purr. Her parents had insisted pets were too much trouble, and Dean had been allergic, so she’d never had one.
“She’s beautiful.” Although she knew she should break eye contact, she couldn’t seem to look away. His ability to gall her one minute and do something thoughtful the next kept her off balance, to say the least. “Thank you.”
After the disappointment of the interview and the giddy delight of having Little Miss Fur Ball waltz into her life, she felt oddly vulnerable. If Jeremy made a pass right now, she didn’t know if she’d have the energy to fend him off. With that in mind, she shifted to lean against the arm of the couch, putting a few extra inches between them.
“Want to go for a ride?” He smiled, transforming the chiseled lines of his face from handsome to charismatically irresistible. “Since Ian’s not due back from Boston for a while yet, I figure I’ll be better behaved if I’m restrained by a seat belt. Come on ‑‑ settle the kitten back into her bed. I’ll even let you drive the Mustang.”
Hell, it beat hanging around making awkward small talk for a couple hours while they waited for Ian. And she might as well enjoy her time off from the store, instead of obsessing about the damn job search. She gave him a smile. “Sure, why not.”
* * * * *
They were halfway down Swallowtail Road
, the top down and the salty breeze tearing through their hair, before she realized she was having a normal conversation with Jeremy. If she managed a lasting truce with him, hanging out at Ian’s place would be a lot more peaceful.
“No, no strong musical aversions, and even if I did, I’d be curious to hear what you listen to.” She raised her voice enough to be heard over the wind, since she’d insisted on putting the top down on his convertible.
Jeremy leaned forward to pop a disk into the CD player. “Always trying to analyze people ‑‑ a professional hazard, I assume?”
Laughing, she nodded. “Guilty. Though your musical tastes aren’t likely to reveal any deep, dark secrets.” As she guided the car around a tight turn, she recognized the first few notes of Eric Clapton’s “Layla.”
As bluesy guitar surrounded her, she accelerated down a stretch of deserted rural highway, pushing the Mustang well past the speed limit. Unlike her to throw caution to the wind, but she was having more fun than she’d had in a long time. Out with the old Val, in with the new. Hell, she’d bid farewell to the remnants of her nice-girl image around the time Ian pulled out the handcuffs. It’s not as if driving too fast and hanging out with Jeremy would sully her reputation.
“Why doesn’t Ian keep the Corvette at the beach house?”
“Public image. This is a small town, and the Winters used to vacation here when Ian was growing up. His parents tended to throw their weight around ‑‑ ruffle some feathers. Ian loves it here, but he’s careful to come across as ‘Ian, the nice guy who drives that beat-up old Jeep,’ rather than ‘That rich Winters SOB with the silver ’vette.’”
She hadn’t thought of that. His parents hadn’t exactly warmed her heart when she’d met them, and she could see where it might be tough living in a town where everyone associated the name Winters with arrogance and wealth.
“Besides, Ian’s got a thing for that old Jeep.” Jeremy shrugged. “Me? I’d choose the ’vette.” He let his hand stray to her knee. “So, what do you like?”
“I’d take the Corvette too.”
Jeremy laughed, but his hand stayed on her knee. “I meant music. You like to figure everyone else out, but dragging personal information out of you is next to impossible.”
Was she really so aloof? “No big mystery. I like jazz, classical, and pretty much any kind of rock.” Debating whether she’d ruin their tentative truce if she shoved his hand off her knee, she decided to tolerate the contact.
“Has Ian pulled his violin out for you yet?”
“What?” She couldn’t have put more stunned incomprehension into that word if he’d asked her if Ian had flown her to the moon.
“You said you like classical music, so it seemed natural to ask whether Ian’s played for you yet.” He spoke slowly, as if explaining the thread of conversation to a small child.
Val shook her head. “I didn’t even know he played.” Trying to picture it, she decided she was more surprised by the image of him playing classical violin than she’d been when he’d introduced the handcuffs into their bedroom games a few weeks ago.
As Jeremy took advantage of her discomfiture and inched his hand from her knee to her thigh, she wondered if she’d ever be able to hold her own with this bunch. Her face flushed, not so much at the warmth of Jeremy’s fingers on her bare skin ‑‑ though she wished she’d worn long pants despite the heat ‑‑ but because he’d probably always know more about Ian than she did.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be smug. He’s shy about playing, but I thought you’d have tripped over his violin case at some point or other.” Shifting the pressure of his fingertips against her thigh, Jeremy shook his head. “Ian’s not easy to get to know, and it means a lot more that he trusted you enough to tell you about Kevin and his mother. He’ll pull the violin out, if you ask him.”
Val swallowed, forcing down a wave of bile. Ian’s mom should be in prison for what she did to Kevin, not presiding over New England garden parties. Taking advantage of a dead end to turn the car toward home, she wondered if Jeremy could answer some of her questions about Kevin’s death. Edgy and no longer willing to tolerate the warmth of his palm on her skin, she grabbed his wrist and moved his hand back to his own side of the car.
“Sorry.” His grin said otherwise. “The thing with the violin ‑‑ Benjamin wanted Ian to get on a football team, like Kevin, rather than taking music lessons. But Deidre insisted, probably to piss off her husband. Ian was afraid if his mom figured out how much music meant to him, she’d cancel lessons out of spite. Between the two of them, they trained him to hide his enthusiasm. He’s really good, though.”
Val glanced over at Jeremy in amazement, wondering how he’d managed to drag that much information out of Ian.
“Pillow talk” ‑‑ with a look that dared her to protest, he rested his hand back on her knee ‑‑ “best time to get him to talk is ri
ght after sex.”
That she’d have to remember. “Do you know why Ian won’t tell his parents he wasn’t the one driving when Kevin died? Or how someone could even suppress that information? Wouldn’t it have been in all the papers?”
“I can answer the second part. The Winters’ lawyers pulled strings to keep details about the accident out of the papers. And the last thing the grieving parents wanted to do was look at the autopsy report or the police report. The only articles printed after Kev died announced the tragic death of a former high school quarterback and Boston College graduate, and the time and location of the memorial service.”
“You’re kidding. I mean, this is America, freedom of the press, and all that?”
“Oh, sweet, naive Valerie. You have no idea what money and power can do. The thing with Kevin and Deidre? That’s not the only reason Ian has issues with his parents. ‘Ethics’ isn’t even an entry in the Winter-Corp dictionary. Sometimes ‘legal’ isn’t, either.”
This drive was proving a lot more useful than she’d expected. No wonder honesty was so important to Ian. And no wonder he wanted nothing to do with his dad’s company.
“But that doesn’t explain why Ian didn’t tell his parents himself. Deidre treats him like he’s not much better than a murderer. Why would anyone choose to put up with that?”
“Sorry, Val, if you really need to understand this, then you should talk to Abby sometime. She has some theories, though Ian’s never explained it to us, and we all tried to convince him to tell his parents the truth from the start.”
Though she suspected Jeremy knew more, and his loyalty to Ian kept him from discussing the subject further, she let it go. Maybe Abby would be more forthcoming.
* * * * *
Everything seemed normal enough, right up until she checked to see if the kitten was still asleep. As she straightened up from peering at the sleeping animal, she collided with Jeremy, who’d leaned over her shoulder to check on the kitten himself. As he wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from falling, pulling her around to face him, all rules ceased to apply. Weeks of tension, verbal sparring, sexual innuendo, and a counternote of blossoming friendship, exploded in a rush of heat.
Her flesh burned where Jeremy’s hands rested on her arms. With a muttered curse, he shifted his palm to the small of her back, sliding his fingers underneath her tank top. Before she could recover any sense of composure, he lifted his other hand to cradle her chin.
His eyes were dark and stormy as he lowered his face to kiss her. Answering with a fury of her own ‑‑ a mess of indecision, frustration, and turmoil ‑‑ she met the kiss with bruising force. Oh, shit, what have I done now? Trembling, she pulled back and gulped air into her lungs, and Jeremy whispered something unintelligible as he stroked her cheek.
“Are you still jealous of me and Ian?” She needed to understand the motivation behind his kiss. Maybe then she could understand her own.
“Always.” He cupped his hand at the nape of her neck, soothing away tension with his fingers. “But it’s okay.”
Before she could respond to his admission, he kissed her again, but this time, his mouth felt warm and teasing. As he darted his tongue between her lips, she felt some of her own angst drain away. Incapable of clear thought, she responded to the slow, sensual probing of his tongue. As his mood shifted again and the kiss became tender, she pulled away and rested her forehead against his chest.
She stepped back, took a deep breath, and ran her fingers through her tangled curls. “In my line of work, that’s what’s known as a cathartic moment.” There, she’d achieved the tone of cheeky nonchalance she’d been aiming for.
But when she looked up at his face, the mix of affection and vulnerability reflected in his eyes almost undid her. Shit, how am I going to deal with this?
Shifting restlessly, she cleared her throat. “So, what now?”
“I think” ‑‑ Val jumped at the sound of Ian’s voice ‑‑ “maybe you should see this through.”
As she turned to face Ian, she reasoned it through that Jeremy faced the door and would have seen when Ian entered the room.
“It’s okay. I walked in around the time you and Jer collided after peeking at whatever’s in the box.” Ian’s voice held a note of amusement. “You’re cute when you turn that shade of pink, but I know you weren’t trying to seduce Jeremy behind my back.”
He crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Guinevere. I’m not upset that you kissed Lancelot. He’s been in my bed too, remember?”
Val wanted to remind him that it was a rather large leap from a simple kiss to any discussion of beds, his or otherwise, but she couldn’t seem to form the words. On some level, she knew it had been anything but a simple kiss.
“Hi, honey. Welcome home.” Jeremy moved behind Ian and kissed the back of his neck.
“Where’s Nathan? Isn’t he supposed to be keeping you out of trouble?” After discarding his tie, Ian started in on his shirt buttons and stripped down to his white undershirt.
“He’s off helping people like you manage their vast financial resources.” Jeremy grinned. “Wednesday’s my early day at the clinic, remember? I get to wander around unsupervised for a while.”
Her uneasiness must have shown in her expression, because Ian wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her into the den. “Sit. You want me to get you something to drink?”
As Ian and Jeremy sat down, one on each side of her on the leather sofa, she shook her head.
“By the way, what’s in that box?”
That she could answer. “Jeremy brought me a kitten.”
Ian nodded, apparently unconcerned that his house had picked up a feline visitor in his absence. Or that he’d returned to find his girlfriend making out with one of his closest friends, for that matter.
“Val, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Jeremy touched her wrist, but at her cautionary glance he pulled his hand back without attempting further contact.
As she tried to accept the fact that “repentant” and Jeremy could exist in the same universe, Ian slid his arm around her shoulders.
“If it diffused a bit of tension ‑‑ as in, the two of you won’t be at each other like cats and dogs ‑‑ then I’d have to disagree. I think it’s a very good idea you did that.” As Ian leaned over to rest his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, the warmth of their chests pressed against her shoulders.
If she could manage to stop analyzing this and let the new Val surface, she had a hunch this didn’t have to be an awkward situation. No one seemed upset but her. As late afternoon light flooded the den, she felt a hint of some new emotion, as airy as the dust motes floating in front of the window.
“Free.”
“What?” Nuzzling his chin into her tousled nest of curls, Ian looked to Jeremy for an explanation, but Jer only shrugged.
“What I’m feeling. It started when Jeremy and I went for a ride, with the top down and the wind tearing through my hair. And sitting here with both of you, watching the patterns of sunlight on the floor, I feel free.”
“That’s not a bad thing to feel, Miss Vee.”
Embracing the giddy lightness, she waited for her inner psychologist to step in and scold her, but her conscience remained silent.
And when Jeremy slid his hands under her tank top and glided them along her spine, she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to break into a fit of giggles.
“So you’re not mad?” Jer leaned close to her ear, close enough that she shivered at the warmth of his breath on her skin.
“No.” Despite her initial discomfort, the kiss unlocked something inside her, chasing away uncertainty and doubt.
“What do you want, Val?” Ian’s question opened up a world of possibilities.
She knew this game. Whenever he introduced a new element into their bedroom play, he gave her ample opportunity to back out, careful not to spook her.
“I want…” Surprised by her response, she rested he
r hands, palms up, on Ian’s knees. “I want this.”
Conscious of Jeremy’s sharp intake of breath and the warmth of Ian’s hands as he covered her upturned palms, she decided maybe she’d always belonged here. If the tight little circle of friends formed a tiny country unto themselves, then maybe this was her country, her culture, after all. And if she had to leave in the end, at least they’d let her share the giddy closeness for a while.
As Jeremy peeled off her shirt, and Ian captured her face between his hands, she abandoned any attempt to think. She lost track of when she was kissing one or the other, or when they were kissing each other, and let her body ride the current of sensations.
The brush of skin against her cheek. The tickle of fingers along the curve of her breast. The musky scent of sweat and soap and naked skin. The sound of Ian’s laughter, and Jeremy’s murmured endearments. Nothing ever felt so wonderful, or so right.
When Jeremy eased her onto her back, the buttery texture of the leather sofa warm against her skin, Ian leaned over and raided a drawer in the end table for a box of condoms.
“Do you keep some of those in every room?”
“Mmm.” Ian leaned down to nibble her ear. “I think this sofa’s seen as much action as the bed over the years.”
As he shifted his mouth to her nipple, her laughter ended in a gasp. If she was surprised when both Ian and Jeremy donned condoms, she forgot about it as soon as Jeremy buried his head between her legs. Within seconds, she rode a hot crest of pleasure to her first climax.
Having both of them here, four hands stroking her breasts and belly, two mouths exploring the taste of her skin, proved almost more than she could bear. She shuddered under their caresses, arched to meet their fingers and mouths, twisted free when they tried to steady her with their hands.
Ian disappeared for a moment, and when he returned, he handed a tube of lubricant to Jeremy, then lifted Val to spread a velvety bath towel across the sofa cushions. When Jeremy squirted lube onto his hand, she tried to tell him she was so wet she didn’t need any, but Ian covered her mouth with a kiss.