by RG Alexander
It did?
Why had she agreed to this? Both men in her living room, in her life again after all these years, was a masochistic decision and a recipe for trouble. She should have remained a distant spectator, forcing herself to be thankful she hadn’t stayed with them—especially when Bill and Chaz came over to gossip with her about the city’s notorious homegrown billionaires. The orgies, and sex in public fountains, and hotel lobbies being overrun by young screaming female fans willing to do whatever it took to sleep with a member of the band.
Chaz was the only other person who knew about her youthful affair. The threesome, not the participants. He’d still thankfully kept it from Bill, who was the hairstylist city dwellers with money went to for salacious rumors as well as exquisite dye jobs. She couldn’t let either of them know about her visitors. What if they were looking out their window right now? God, she should have thought this through.
Why did you write Henry back at all? Why did you berate him for not telling Peter about you, practically demanding that he send that text? Why are you dying to open the door and let him in?
All good questions she refused to answer on the grounds that they might incriminate her.
But the truth refused to be ignored. It hit her in the chest and stole her breath the instant she opened the door and looked into the beautiful, glowering face of Peter Faraday.
She still wanted them. More in this moment than she ever had. She’d gone to see Henry yesterday, invited him over and asked about Peter today because she wanted them. It wasn’t to talk, or catch up, or even apologize and explain why she’d disappeared, changing schools rather than facing them again. It should have been, but it wasn’t.
Her real reasons were simple and shameless. She wanted the chance to experience what they’d shared back then as a grown woman with no romantic illusions. Sex with Henry and Peter. They were here and she knew enough about herself to know she’d always regret it if she didn’t get a chance to compare her memory with the real thing one more time.
He was staring at her and she realized she’d been ogling him for a good two minutes without saying a word. “Peter.”
“Holly.” Peter looked down at her, his piercing blue eyes like a physical caress as they slid down her body, taking all of her in. Holly suddenly wished she hadn’t thrown her hair into a simple ponytail. That she’d worn heels and a dress for her afternoon meeting instead of the casual striped jersey that fell off one shoulder and her black mini-skort. Skorts didn’t exactly scream sexy and irresistible.
She sighed, trying to curb her reaction to him long enough to say something other than his name.
“Are you going to let me in?” He stepped forward, towering over her and causing Holly to instinctively walk backwards until he’d closed the door behind them without releasing her from his mesmerizing stare.
“Of course. I’m sorry I…” Her words trailed off and she was fairly certain they weren’t coming back any time soon. Peter packed a pheromone punch that would knock a nun to her knees.
If Henry was sex, Peter was sin disguised as an angel. Long lashes. Sensual lips. Eyes that impossible shade of blue she’d only seen in the waters off the Belize Barrier Reef, where she’d worked for a summer as a scuba instructor. Blond hair that would curl around her fingers if she touched it. He still had a heart-stopping face and a body that made her want things too dirty to even think about in public. The only thing saving him from Photoshopped perfection was the sexy scratch of stubble on his face, the smudge of grease on his white linen shirt and the flash of anger in his eyes.
The hardness in his expression was new. His social persona was that of a laid-back playboy and her memories of him were too soft around the edges to be entirely reliable, but the man she was looking at now was more dangerous than her Peter Faraday. Exciting…which was a thought that only reinforced her masochism theory.
Shit, she was still staring at him like a lovesick teenager. She needed to think of something witty to say. Something normal so he wouldn’t know what he was doing to her.
She took a grateful breath when Henry spoke into the lengthening silence.
“So…this is awkward and uncomfortable. Aren’t you going to say hello, Peter? Greet our old friend with a warm smile instead of that icy stare?”
She saw Peter’s lips tighten at the sound of Henry’s voice. He smiled, but it wasn’t warm or relaxed. He leaned down until his lips were a breath away from hers.
“Hello, Peter,” he mimicked obediently. “Has he kissed you yet?”
He used to ask her the same question every time he came back from class to find her at the house with Henry.
“On the cheek,” she whispered, licking her lips in anticipation. She knew what came next. What always came next.
Peter’s blue eyes darkened. “Shame on him. Do you remember, Holly? Shall we show him how it’s done?”
Damn. She wasn’t even aware she’d started nodding until his mouth was on hers. Holly moaned softly, forgetting how long it had been since they’d seen each other or how things had ended between them. His lips on hers sent her traveling through time. It was as if she’d been kissing him her whole life. As if they’d never stopped. Just this. His lips, the tug of his teeth and the skilled stroke of his tongue against hers were making her ache.
He hadn’t even touched her yet.
Before she could wrap her arms around him, he was gone, his dark expression tinged with arousal. He turned to Henry, leaving her to recover in stunned silence. “Comfortable now? That is how you say hello to an old friend, your Highness.”
Henry shook his head when he noticed her glazed expression. “I’ll be damned. Wish I’d thought of it first. Consider me schooled, Dick.” Peter growled and Henry held up his hands. “It slipped out. I know, I know, I’m lucky to be alive and you’re surprised and I owe you an explanation, but you have to admit—it’s a good surprise.”
“I’ll admit you’re lucky.”
Holly would smile if she could stop trembling. Dick. She seemed to remember the cowboy business major starting that particular running gag. Peter hated it, which only made all his friends pile on. Some things never changed.
“I’m glad you’re here, Peter. It’s great to see you again.” And kiss you again. She took a deep breath. “Sit down, please. Can I get you something to drink?”
It was hard to appear sophisticated and composed when he’d nearly melted her damn skort off with that lip lock. She should be grateful she still remembered how to form a sentence that didn’t start with “Please” and end with “Fuck me.”
He was staring at her lips, only making things worse. “Thank you for letting me crash your party. You look good, Holly.”
“I’ve got his drink, Betty.” Henry grinned at the new nickname, sitting back down on the couch and reaching for the bottle on the coffee table. “You should come and finish yours so I have an excuse to pour you another. It feels like the start of one of those nights and we have a lot of catching up to do, now that the gang’s all here.”
Peter’s expression changed and he moved into the living room, taking one of her armless chairs and twirling it around to straddle it. “I see you and your beard have made yourselves at home. I also noticed Dean’s car parked down the street. Any reason you decided to play your own version of Grand Theft Auto to visit our old friend, Betty?”
Holly took the free chair and sat down, her arms crossed as she watched them eye-wrestle. This hadn’t changed either. They loved their verbal sparring, no matter the topic, and while she didn’t miss the jealous edge it could sometimes take on, she’d missed the exchanges.
Not as much as she’d missed the kissing. She was really ready for more of that.
Henry lifted one shoulder. “It’s not stealing if you have a key and fill up the gas tank. I only borrowed it because I did some research and discovered Holly lives in a very anti-Hummer neighborhood. I didn’t want to leave Roy alone and at the mercy of all these limo-hating, organic tomato-throwing hi
Holly couldn’t hold back a soft sound of amusement. Her neighborhood was definitely a haven for hipsters and artisans. She liked it, but Henry was right—this was not limo country. “I have a feeling Roy would be fine.”
Peter turned his attention to her and her throat closed. “Know him well, do you, Holly? Spend a lot of time with Roy? I have it on good authority that our boy Henry never goes out with the same girl twice, so you’ll understand why I’m surprised to hear that. And I didn’t think anything he did could surprise me anymore.”
Henry swore. “Jesus, man, take a beat. Polite conversation usually precedes an inquisition.” Peter didn’t respond and Henry ran a hand through his hair and set his drink down. “She’s met Roy twice. Once when she came to see the band perform and yesterday, when I took her out to lunch in a public place filled with witnesses who’ll swear under oath that she wasn’t under duress or under the table. Not that I have any obligation to spell it out for you, but this is the first time I’ve been here. And I had to text you to let you know. Because I care and I’m a moron.”
Peter’s hands clenched into tight fists on his thighs, and Holly swallowed. Now that she knew what she wanted, she was having a hard time thinking about anything else. The last thing she needed Peter and Henry to do was ruin the mood by fighting over her as if she were a hunk of meat.
“I think I’m ready for the pissing contest to end. I really like this carpet, and I wouldn’t want to have it replaced. I know there are more interesting things I’d like to talk about, so let’s get all our firsts out of the way.”
Both men’s attentions were now firmly fixed on her. God help her. “Peter? Henry emailed me a year ago, but before you get on his case about it, you should tell him you’ve known where I lived since the week I moved in.” She pointed at him with one thankfully steady finger. “True or false?”
“True.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “But how would you know that?”
She waved off the question as if it were obvious. “I trained with a private detective for a story and you always drive your canary yellow convertible when you’re in town. It’s not a subtle color, Peter. It’s kind of a neon sign for criminals, if you want to know the truth, but that’s not important.”
“Sounds important,” Henry muttered. “At least I waited until you gave me your address and didn’t circle your block like a stalker.”
Holly raised one eyebrow and continued, “You saw me first, Henry, talked to me on the phone first and had lunch with me first, but Peter was the first to kiss me, so as far as I’m concerned you’re even.” Peter looked like he was going to argue and Holly sent him a warning expression. “Can we pretend we’re all grown up now or do I need to take your drinks away and send you home?”
Peter glanced at Henry, whose shoulders had started to shake with mirth. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“The Dominatrix Detective. I can see it on the New York Times bestseller list already.”
“Ha ha,” Holly responded dryly. “So can I. Her first case will be the murder of the royal rocker, who so thoroughly put his foot in it that everyone he knew would have an understandable motive to commit the crime.”
Peter sent her a surprised smile. “You’re still writing? That professor called it, didn’t he? You’ve given him a student to brag about at last.”
He remembered what her professor said? Of course he did. He remembered everything. “Ghostwriting isn’t what he imagined when he made his prediction, I’m sure. But if he ever picks up a celebrity autobiography or a work of women’s fiction written by a reality show sensation? He’ll most likely be reading me.”
Peter’s fascinated expression made her feel strangely relieved. As if she cared what he thought about the career she’d accidentally tripped into six years ago. Or careers, plural, if you counted all the side jobs this one had spawned.
“We’re both writers,” Henry sighed playfully. “Small world, right?”
“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you that dirty limericks set to music does not an author make?” Peter shook his head. “I might want to hire you to write Henry’s life story, Holly. Ever authored a tragedy?”
She laughed and winked at Henry before responding to Peter. “I wouldn’t take that on at any price. Besides, and don’t take this the wrong way, but neither one of you would have as big a seller as you’d imagine. Everyone already knows all your dirty secrets.”
Most of them. They didn’t know about her.
Peter gripped the top of the chair and rested his chin on his hands. The casual pose belied his tension. Something primal below the surface was tensed and ready to strike. Her body heated in reaction and she crossed her legs.
He noticed. “We can talk about our secrets another time. Right now I’m more intrigued by yours. I’m beginning to think our meeting wasn’t entirely Henry’s plan after all.”
“Of course it was,” Henry scoffed. “Just because you’re a genius doesn’t mean other people can’t come up with devious plans.”
“Oh, I’m certain you had a plan, Henry,” Peter assured him. “And I’m sure it was almost done baking under all that facial hair before she came up with hers. Why did you agree to invite this royal pain over in the first place, Holly? Why are we here? And what more interesting topic would you like to discuss?”
Years apart and he knew in five minutes what it had taken her several days to figure out. What had been in the back of her mind since Henry invited her to lunch and told her he and Peter would be in town for at least a month.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk about what you two are doing still in town after the annual Warren bash? The hot weather we’re having? I could always give you the inside scoop on a certain basketball player’s upcoming tell-all.” They didn’t respond and her mind raced as she searched for a way to broach the subject gracefully. When that didn’t work, she lied. “Since you asked, something did just cross my mind. I’ve hit a research snag for a chapter in one of my current projects. Henry can tell you how seriously I take my research. Most of the time if I can’t experience it, I don’t feel like I can do it justice on the page. I was thinking the two of you might be able to help me out with the subject.”
“Sounds like fun,” Henry offered cautiously. “What’s the subject?”
Holly blew her bangs away from her heated face and threw caution on the floor, stomped on it then tossed it out the window. “I’ll give you a hint. The chapter’s title is My Memorable Ménage.”
“Fuck me.”
Exactly, she nodded at Henry’s response, holding her breath while she waited for Peter’s.
“I might need that second drink after all.”
Chapter Three
Holly didn’t know it, but she’d just opened up a Pandora’s Box that there was no way he was going to let her shut again.
Peter watched Henry fill her glass and bring it over to her, taking that time to process what was happening. They’d fallen back into their old rhythm without missing a beat, as if no time had passed and nothing had changed. He couldn’t resist kissing her, Henry couldn’t resist pushing their buttons, and Holly…she was exactly as he remembered. More than he remembered.
Peter hadn’t wanted to stop kissing her. Everything in him was telling him to grab her and press her against the wall, remind her what they were like together. How much she loved it when he took charge. His ire at Henry and the surrealistic experience of being with her again had been the only thing that kept him in check.
It was clear he and his friend needed to have a talk. A year’s worth of emails. How much had they shared that Peter had been excluded from? How many private jokes and intimate secrets and bad days had he missed because Henry hadn’t had the balls to let him know he was back in touch with their old flame? He knew how upset Peter would be to find out after the fact, so why had he waited?
It left Peter feeling off balance. Unprepared. He’d just caught his breath when she pulled the rug out from under him again by asking for help with her “research.”
She still wants you. Both of you. She wants a repeat performance.
And he wanted to give it to her more than she would ever know. If he were to calculate the percentage of time he’d spent in the last two years alone imagining a scenario almost identical to this one—including the Henry factor? He frowned. That equation he would take to his grave because the answer was too uncomfortable for him to admit to.
So why was he hesitating? Because of the slight sting of her subtle rejection? It was clear she’d developed a new bond with Henry. By the look on his face, he hadn’t expected her request any more than Peter had. Hadn’t expected the topic to turn to sex as soon as Peter walked through the door.
It wasn’t a reaction he minded, as a rule, but with Holly it was different. Did she see him the same way everyone else did now? As the playboy?
He didn’t care. There was no way he was leaving to prove he was more than a convenient research assistant. The will or pride or whatever the hell it was that he would need to walk out of the door after that kind of request? He didn’t fucking have it.
Time had given him a certain amount of perspective and more experience, but it hadn’t made him immune to Holly’s charms. She crossed her bare legs again and he bit back a hungry moan. His pinup fantasy had only come into focus with age. Her breasts were still full and firm, her waist even smaller and her legs still endless. The shoulder revealed by her loose-fitting top was decorated with elegantly feminine flower tattoos that he wanted to lick. It made him curious, impatient to strip her down to discover what other additions she’d made to the body that he’d long ago memorized.
Her hair was different too. Shorter. She had sassy black bangs now that brought attention to the delicate silver studs piercing her left eyebrow, as well as her big doe eyes and thick lashes. They suited her, the changes. Gave her a bad girl edge that made her more alluring and him hard as a rock.
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