by Zara Cox
I resist the urge to pat her back in a there there manner. That would be a wrong move. Keely’s been known to snarl and bite when presented with sympathy in any form other than alcoholic. And I need both hands for what I plan to do to Zach later.
Keeping a safe distance on my side of the kitchen island, I ask, “How long has it been?”
“Since this excruciating dry spell began? Four, maybe five.”
My eyebrows spike. “Five weeks? I’m sure you’ve gone longer—”
“Months, B. Five long hellishly fucked up months of no fucking.” The seriously distressed look on her face finally forces me to brave bodily harm. I breach the gap between us and pull her into a hug. When she sets her glass down and hugs me back tightly, my concern grows.
With the killer demands Zach makes on my work and home life, I haven’t been able to spend as much time with Keely as I’ve wanted to, and now I feel bad for neglecting my best friend.
“Remember how long my dry spell was just before I met Zach? Maybe this is your calm before the storm?” I venture.
Keely’s annoyed breath huffs against my neck, but she hugs me tighter. “You dealt with your calm like a fucking pro. Or should I say by fucking products?” She sniggers at her own joke, the dig at the sizeable collection of sex toys I owned pre-Zach clearly a source of momentary amusement, then groans mournfully. “I’m no good with battery operated cocks. They never truly satisfy me. I need the real thing.” Her head burrows further into my neck. “Seriously, B, I think I felt my clit shriveling last week. I’m too scared to check in case it’s disappeared.”
My teeth make a desperate search for the inside of my cheek again. I bite hard. Over my friend’s shoulder, I look into the living room and watch Zach’s head swivel toward us. His gaze drops to the tight hold Keely has on me, and his eyes narrow.
Crap.
When one of the guests, a tall, ruggedly lean guy with long wavy brown hair and the face of a fallen angel—God, are any of Zach’s friends not drop dead gorgeous?—accosts him, I breath a tiny sigh of relief. I force my gaze away from Zach’s probing look and continue with the patting. “Keely, I don’t think clits are designed to fall off that easily.”
Another huff. “How the hell would you know? You’re getting yours seen to night and day from your hot, gorgeously ripped, rich, hot, insanely sexy, hot fiancé. A guy who worships the ground you walk on and probably makes you come just by walking into a room and snapping his fingers.”
This time I can’t stop the laughter from bursting free. “He puts a little bit more effort into it than that.”
My gaze finds Zach’s again and his nostrils flare slightly, his grey eyes storming with curiosity.
I shake my head. He looks away and nods at something his friend says. I don’t think for a moment that he’s distracted from what’s happening here.
True to form, his head swings my way a second later. His jaw tightens briefly as he glances at the hand I’m patting Keely with. The look is so blatant he might as well yell MINE from across the room.
I’m not even a little bit surprised when he clasps his friend on the shoulder, nods again and starts a sexy prowl toward the kitchen. His friend—I recall his name as Mason something or the other—falls into step beside Zach. Since there’s no way I can stop them from coming closer, I concentrate on Keely.
“So what happened to Teddy?” I ask. He’s the guy Keely started dating after the guy she breathlessly hoped was a CIA analyst turned out to be a mere data entry clerk, thus leaving her nerd-whore soul deprived.
“He turned out to be a chronic liar. Can you believe he had no idea what the Higgs boson was? And he told me he could speak Pig Latin, but I knew he was spewing gibberish when I asked him to talk PL to me when we fucked.”
“So you dumped him because he couldn’t speak Pig Latin?” I eye Zach as he enters the kitchen, try to send him do-not-interrupt messages.
Keely pulls back slightly, her caramel blonde bangs half obscuring a stunning face pinched in irritation. “No, I dumped him after I called MENSA and found out he wasn’t a member as he’d claimed. I knew I shouldn’t have let him into my bed when I caught him practicing his Clark Kent impressions in the mirror. Plus he had a short penile erection span. I was lucky if he flicked my bean half a dozen times before he blew his load. And his eyes would roll back into his head in this weird way when he came.” She shudders. “It was kinda freaky, actually.”
Mason’s eyebrows almost hit hairline. Zach merely folds his arms and continues to stare daggers at the arm Keely has around my waist.
I clear my throat, knowing I should warn her about our audience. “Keely—”
“I don’t get it,” she wails a third time. “Is it too much to ask that they all not be fucking liars and no-hopers? I have a prime, first class vagina. It’s far from skanky, and more than one guy has told me he could happily die from experiencing how tight little Keely is.”
The choked sound from Mason has Keely’s head whipping around. In the terse silence that follows, I send a quick prayer that my friend will take the high road and let it go.
My prayers go unanswered.
“Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me, Savage? You can’t give me five minutes alone with my best friend before you barge in with your posse to reclaim her? She’s not your wife yet, you know.”
I suppress a sigh and watch the two alphas in my life square off. Zach’s gaze drops again to Keely’s hold around my waist. “I’m very much aware of that fact. As I am aware that if you keep touching her like that, no other guy will get the chance to get to know little Keely.”
Color surges into Keely’s cheeks, but although her eyes continue to blaze pure hell, she lets me go and rounds the island to face the other man in the room. “Eavesdrop much, asshole?”
Mason shrugs, and his gaze turns keener as it travels over Keely’s body. The silk Donna Karan dress she’s wearing hugs her in all the right places, her sizeable twins having attracted more than their fair share of attention all evening. “I like to think of it as being in the right place at the right time.”
“Wrong fucking answer. Eavesdropping on a private conversation is not cool, dude.”
“Pardon me. My social skills are rusty.” His smile is fleeting. And sad. And a little haunted. I frown and wonder what his deal is.
Keely looks as if she’s about to relent at the apology. Then her gaze returns to Zach, who’s still bristling with the ever-present dominant testosterone, and back to his friend. “Yeah well...fuck you, Mr. Rusty Social Skills. And don’t think I’ll forget this in a hurry, Savage.”
Grabbing a bottle of vintage Oenotheque Dom Perignon chilling in a nearby ice bucket, she stalks to the French doors leading to the large deck, steps outside, and slams the door behind her.
I start to go after her. Zach’s arms slide around my waist. “Let her go, baby.”
“No, I need to make sure she’s okay.”
His arms tighten, enclosing me in hard, delicious warmth. “No. Give her a chance to cool down,” he mutters in my ear. “Besides, I think she’s more embarrassed at the extra audience than anything else. She won’t want company right now.”
I shake my head, more than a little distressed at my friend’s distress. “It’s freezing outside. She doesn’t have a coat or a blanket. And she’s drinking champagne. Let me just—”
“I’ll go,” Mason says. His voice is deep and hushed, but it holds a commanding timbre that gives me pause.
Turning in Zach’s arms, I face the tall guy and study him properly.
Despite his hair looking as if it hasn’t seen a pair of clippers in months, his beard is tamed into an acceptable half-inch of rugged messiness. Beneath the weather-beaten leather jacket, he wears a thick, olive green sweater that does incredible things to his hazel eyes. The lean jean-clad hip that he’s got cocked against the counter announces a guy comfortable in his own skin. He really is breathtakingly gorgeous, the overall package guaranteed to ensure he gets laid o
n a regular basis.
But then I look into his eyes. And I get the feeling that chasing women and getting laid doesn’t fall into his immediate plans. Again, I wonder what’s happened to this man. Is it wise to set him loose on my friend?
“Baby, let him go.”
I look at Zach and back to Mason. “Are you sure?”
He gives a small, tight shrug. “I seem to be the greater cause of her embarrassment. It’s fair that I go, but thanks for the concern. I get the feeling she doesn’t pull her punches?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Zach muses. He pulls me closer into his warmth. “Which can be a good thing or a bad deal, depending on which side of the ring you stand.”
I punch his arm. He kisses my neck.
Mason gives a solemn nod. “Well, if I’m in for an evisceration, I’d rather it happen out of earshot of everyone else and in sub-zero temperatures. That way I’m guaranteed a quick, minimum-humiliation death.”
Zach looks down at me with a half-smile. “He has a point. I’ve heard worse from her and lived through it. But she’s not used to an audience during one of her rants. Besides, Mason is right. He needs schooling in some of his social skills,” he finishes with an unapologetic smirk at his friend.
I look from my fiancé to his friend, my curiosity growing.
Mason shrugs again. “Long story. Involves the Amazon jungle, roasted bugs and loin cloths. I’ll tell it to you some other time.” He looks at the door leading outside, his expression almost longing. I get the feeling he’s just as eager to escape the party as he is to shorten our conversation. “If I live through tonight, that is.”
Walking over to a stack of cashmere and wool blankets in a woven basket near the door, he grabs one and heads for the door. He glances over his shoulder one last time before he shuts the door behind him.
I tilt my head to Zach. “Is he okay? He looks...” I stop, unable to put my thoughts into words.
“Like I felt before I met you,” he mutters. “He’s been through some pretty rough stuff.”
“And you think unleashing Keely on him is a good idea?” I stare at the closed doors, anxiety beginning to churn in my gut.
“Hell, no. But it could be exactly what he needs. What they both need.”
With some difficulty, I swallow my worry and walk my fingers up his tight abs. His sharp inhalation is music to my ears. “Are you playing matchmaker by any chance, Zachary Savage?”
He leans closer and growls under his breath. “I’m doing whatever it takes to keep unwanted hands off your body. I don’t care that she’s your best friend. Or a chick. I see her holding you like that, and I go a little insane.”
Leaning up, I flick my tongue against his lower lip. “Then it’s a good thing the feeling’s mutual.”
He takes my hand and we rejoin our guests in the living room. We stop and chat to my parents, and my heart fills with gratitude at the easy banter between my fiancé and them. There was a time when they worried about my relationship with Zach, following tabloid revelations about his wife’s death. I’m glad to see it’s no longer the case.
A part of the large living room has been turned into a dance floor. Zach pulls me close and sways with me for a few songs before his friend, Mike Henson and his new girlfriend, Brigitte, turn up with Noah King and his wife, Leia. The Kings share a viscerally intense relationship that reminds me of Zach and I, and by the time we drift off to mingle some more, I feel a friendship with Leia.
Nothing as binding as what I share with Keely but a bond, nonetheless.
Speaking of which...I glance toward the kitchen door.
“Stop worrying. She’ll be fine. Besides, she’s monopolized enough of your attention tonight. I want you back,” Zach growls in my ear.
I stare up through my lashes. “You know how hot it makes me when you growl like that?”
“You better not be deliberately pushing my buttons to get me to growl, Peaches.”
I nip at his mouth, ignoring the guests surrounding us. “Or what?”
Before I can blink, he catches my hand in his. He nods at a few guests as he makes his way back into the kitchen and walks me into the large pantry. Sliding the door shut, he turns on the light. His face is taut with arousal, and his body thrums with suppressed energy when he pulls me against him.
My eager hands slide around to grip his ass, and we both groan at the sizzling contact. He walks me back until I’m wedged against the cooling meat locker. A slow roll of his hips imprints the thick erection against my belly. I whimper and try to pull him closer.
“God, baby. Will this craving ever go away?” he rasps.
“Do you want it to go away?”
“Hell no. It’s in my blood. My soul. I’d die without it.”
He spears a hand through my hair and is about to kiss me when loud voices enter the kitchen. I laugh as he frowns at the pantry door, which has no lock on the inside.
“Shit. I’m beginning to think you were right about having this party,” he whispers.
“When are you going to realize I’m always right?”
His laugh is deep and riveting. And it touches my heart. As always. “Do you think we can get away with telling everyone to fuck off?” His hands drift up to my breasts and cup them. “On second thought, I don’t think I care. I’ll get Philip to send them away. He’s large and intimidating enough to scare every last one of them.”
“And what will you be doing while our guests are being tossed out into the snow?”
“I’ll be right here, ripping your panties off and bending you over the cured ham so I can bury my cock inside you.”
My fingers spike into his hair and pull him closer. “Hmm, I think our condiment shelves do need a closer inventory.”
He passes his thumbs over my peaking nipples and groans. “Marry me.”
My giggle emerges a little strangled as decadent sensations claw through me. “You already asked. A million times. I said yes. A million and one times.”
When he raises his head, his face is mask of raw, naked hunger, but his gaze is serious. “Marry me tomorrow.”
I freeze. “Zach, we’ve set a date. In April.”
“I know. But for fuck’s sake, how long does it take for your mother to plan a wedding?” he growls.
I capture his jaw. “Don’t blame her. We made everyone wait eighteen months. It’s not fair to spring this on them.”
“You’re the best event planner in the fucking country. You have an unlimited budget. I’m frustrated that the two can’t form a beautiful union that births a wedding in forty-eight hours.”
“The IL Indulgence launch is in a few weeks. You put Keely in charge, and I can’t drag her away from that just to help me with my wedding. Then there’s your mother. You agreed for her to be part of the wedding, but you wanted to work on your relationship with her, make sure you two were in a good place before the wedding, remember? Besides, I also need to get to know her. You kept her away from me long enough.”
He captures my hand and kisses my palm. “But I eventually gave in because you pushed and prodded until I had no choice but to take you to New Orleans to see her. I still don’t know why I let that happen, but I thought it bought me serious brownie points.” His frown holds more than a touch of puzzlement.
“It did. And no matter what’s happened in the past, she’s your mother. And weddings should be a union in all senses.”
“Fuck that. You’re the only family I need. The only person who matters to me.”
My limbs grow weak from the power of his words. “Ditto. But we can’t do this without our family.” I slide my hand lower until I locate my target. His breathing turns ragged. “And I can’t rush this for two reasons.”
“What reasons?” he asks, then groans when my grip tightens.
“First off, if we elope, everyone we know will eat both of us alive and I won’t get to spend the next hundred years with you. And...”
“And...?”
I trace his thickness through the tailor
ed pants, my pussy clenching with desperate need. “And I won’t get to finish organizing the killer wedding night I have planned for us.”
SEVEN
The Calm Before The W.T.F. Just Happened
Bethany
The weeks fly by in a frenzy of gown fittings, food and beverage sourcing, managing a flood of RSVPs for the five hundred invitations we sent out, and tearing my hair out over seating arrangements. Zach insisted I hire two assistants after one too many times of me falling into an exhausted sleep at the end of the day and depriving him of his Peaches time.
My mother has also been assigned two assistants, and between us we’ve wrestled down the punishing to-do list into manageable chunks that keep the men in our lives from losing their minds. My professor father insists he’s paying for the entire wedding. Zach, my very primitive alpha turned twenty-first century man, disagrees. He argues that ninety per cent of the guests are recently renewed acquaintances and friends, and hence his responsibility. My father calls bullshit.
Zach’s open check book and insistence on its usage threatened to become a problem until I ordered him to sort things out with my father.
A solo trip by Zach up to my parents’ home in Scarsdale, Westchester County, one Sunday afternoon while I was at the spa, resolved the issue. I remain in the dark about the specifics of the resolution, save that it was conducted over a steak dinner lubricated with fine wine, but the men in my life are satisfied and that’s all that matters.
Another potentially serious wrinkle, which has recently been ironed out, brings another smile to my face as I answer the last of my emails and prepare to leave the office after a long, grueling week.
Much like how the circumstances surrounding my meeting with Zach proved to be a life-changer for me, Keely’s awkward moment of being overheard by Mason Sinclair in our beach house kitchen has had the same effect on her life.
My instincts about him proved true. Mason Sinclair came with tanker-sized baggage, which terrified me when Zach eventually divulged it. But like me, Keely fell hard for her nerd billionaire, and he fought equally as hard for her. The two are together now, and almost as crazy about each other as Zach and I, despite Keely unearthing a few harrowing secrets of her own in the course of their affair. Secrets, which made my heart ache to know she kept them buried, even from me.