by RG Alexander
Peter glared up from his computer in irritation. He’d spent his morning shamelessly perusing Henry and Holly’s email exchanges. Despite it being Henry’s idea, he felt like a damn Peeping Tom reading her responses to the “Holly Report,” but he wouldn’t allow himself to be sorry. He’d been kept outside the loop for too long.
“Not even close, Vincent. But you didn’t show me these to satisfy me as much as you did to ease your own guilt.”
Henry rolled his eyes, grabbing his plate and getting to his feet. “Figure that out by yourself, genius? Look, forget it. You know just about everything now. We talked, we met for drinks, and we talked some more. Tame and boring stuff.”
“I suppose you weren’t trying to seduce her.”
“I was taking my time, getting to know her again,” Henry corrected. “Then you showed up and five minutes later, here we are. You get to run things for the next three months, we all get laid and I will do my damnedest to remember that I owe you and follow your lead. I have no problem with that role, as long as it gets me what I want. And just so you know, I’ve wanted to tell you about Holly for a while.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He paused, stopping beside Peter. “Honestly? I wasn’t sure you’d forgiven her for leaving yet.”
Peter scoffed. “After seventeen years you thought I hadn’t…but you had?”
Henry nodded, his brown eyes sad and sincere. “I forgave her as soon as she walked out the door. You might have too, if I’d been a better friend and told you why, whether you were ready to hear it or not. Chalk it up to being young and dumb and too wrapped up in my own regrets to hold your poor little rich boy hand.”
Peter slammed the computer closed and got out of his chair, following Henry inside to the cavernous kitchen where he used to chase the cooks around as a child. “You’re telling me you knew why she left? That you always knew?”
“I’m telling you I respected your moratorium on all things Holly.” Henry sighed. “I miss Martina. She made the best breakfast burritos. I know you have day crews still coming in, but are you sure we can’t keep the permanent staff on for this project of ours? They’ve kept bigger secrets, and cooking might be the one skill you haven’t mastered.”
“Henry.”
“Fine.” He set his plate down and turned to lean against the counter, his large body tense. “Mom heard things back then. The world of the filthy rich is a small one, its own little cul-de-sac of sin where everybody knows everyone else’s business. Mom hasn’t got a judgmental bone in her body—I mean, look who she’s married to—but when I told her I was dating Holly, she warned me to steer clear of meeting her mother. Said she was bad news, already on her third husband and looking to upgrade to a richer number four. From the implication, she wouldn’t have been above seducing her daughter’s young boyfriend if he fit the bill and she got a tiara out of it.” He took a breath, shaking his head. “After Holly left, I found out about the scandal that happened the day she showed up at our place. I guess her stepfather found her mother in bed with his married golfing buddy. There was a fight and the police were called. Everyone knew.”
Peter ran a hand through his hair and tugged, feeling a headache coming on. “Bullshit. How did I not know this?”
Henry winced. “Because I didn’t tell you. I thought if she hadn’t said anything, had never mentioned her mother once since we started seeing her, it probably wasn’t something she wanted to talk about.” He shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame her—you know how much flak she took at our school from those rich sorority bitches. Can you imagine how they would have reacted after finding out her mother was a bona fide gold digger?”
Had Holly thought Peter or Henry would judge her because of her mother’s obvious ambitions? Had she made an assumption based on the kind of money they came from instead of who they were?
I was just being selfish. Greedy. I think it’s genetic.
Her words came back to slap him in the face. And the emails—how many times had she mentioned to Henry the relationships she’d cut short because she didn’t want things to get serious? She didn’t want to hurt anyone when “reality” got in the way. Almost exactly what she’d said to Peter that last day.
Was that the reality she was talking about? Did she think she was anything like her mother? Or was she trying to make sure she wasn’t by limiting her commitments? Hell, even the three-month project rule and her job writing other people’s stories made more sense now.
She was still running.
It would be better for all of them if he kept that in mind for the next few months. Holly wasn’t going to stay.
Peter crossed his arms. “No wonder you’re being so agreeable, Henry. You haven’t kept this many secrets from me since we were five and you thought you were a magician. Is there any-fucking-thing else, Henry? Anything you didn’t tell me that I should know about Holly?”
Henry’s eyes shifted and Peter swore. “I’ll be damned.”
“It’s a suspicion,” his friend insisted. “Nothing concrete or anything.”
“Tell me.”
Henry shook his head. “If I do, you’ll be pissed and this will be over before she gets here. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. Nobody wants that, man.”
“Tell me anyway.” He braced himself.
Henry looked down at his boots. “I think she might be Ms. Anonymous.”
“What?” Peter shook his head adamantly, shock reverberating through his body at Henry’s accusation. “That’s insane. What would make you— No way.”
Henry scratched his beard, his expression regretful. “You can see why I didn’t mention it. But it adds up. She’s a writer in communication with some fairly high rollers in Hollywood who’ve recruited her for her services. She has the connections. I looked into her professional bio. I know she wrote that book where Dean’s lack of after-sex cuddling takes up an entire chapter. You remember that one. I know because you sent us all a copy for Christmas to get under his skin.” Peter’s head felt like it was going to explode. Henry saw his expression and took a step toward him. “On the other hand, how much harm has Ms. Anonymous actually done, other than irritating Dean? Tracy’s the Teflon Cowboy and God knows you and I never gave a shit about being in the news. Sure, you don’t want to believe the woman you’re about to fuck five ways from Sunday thinks you’re a lewd, heartbreaking playboy with a penchant for public indecency…but other than that, would it really matter?”
He refused to believe it. “Holly is not Ms. Anonymous. You just told me about her mother’s scandal. Why would she become a gossip columnist after growing up around that?”
“I thought about that, I did, and I don’t know the answer. But if she isn’t, then she knows the person who is.” Henry was persistent. “You read my emails, man. You know for a fact I put in one or two stories that weren’t true, just for shock value. Use that recording device you have for a brain and think about it. Did they sound familiar? Ms. Anonymous referred to them in her columns before I could tell Holly I was joking. That’s when I started wondering.”
Peter reached for one of the stools lining the kitchen island and sat down, floored. Henry was right about that. He had seen a familiar correlation. But there had to be another reason. “And I’m right back to wondering why you didn’t tell me any of this until now. In fact, why are you telling me now? You’re getting what you want. Why this confession?”
“Because I don’t want any uncomfortable discoveries after she gets here. You’d poke and prod and end up pushing her away, and we need her.” When Peter laughed, Henry scowled and slammed his hands on the counter. “Damn it, I’m serious. Call it closure, call it a satisfying form of payback, but don’t deny that you want this chance with Holly. I’ve seen your gallery, pal—I know you haven’t let it go. She might have been in a bad place back then but so were you. Before she came around, you were the fucking Batman origin story. The rich, genius orphan lurking in the shadows of his giant mansion. We got you into that house
off campus after a hell of a lot of arm twisting, but secretly we were all waiting for the cheesy one-liners and the rubber-suited cry for help.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Until Holly,” Henry continued, undaunted. “She changed you, changed us both, only I’m not denying it. But it was over too soon. Now we have a chance to taste that again, what it was like to be a part of that, and I don’t fucking care if she is Ms. Anonymous. I don’t care if she’s as commitment-phobic as you are and only suggested this research as an excuse so she could write a tell-all book about us. I know she’s more than that. We were more than that. And whether you’ll admit you do or not, I want her. Are you really going to mess this up for me by sending her away?”
Peter couldn’t hold onto this anger, not when Henry was right. “No. I won’t mess this up for you. I don’t think I could send her away if I wanted to. What I have planned for the summer will be hard enough without you having to worry about that.”
Henry looked up at the ceiling with a resigned laugh. “I had a feeling. Care to clue me in?”
“No.” Peter turned to leave the room but stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder. “Henry, I need your word on a few things before she gets here.”
“I’m not shaving.”
He shook his head, hating the vulnerability that had crept into his heart. “No more secrets. And no sex or satisfaction unless we’re all together. You can’t take her unless I’m in the room. For now.”
Henry held out his hands. “This is your show, boss. As long as Holly’s here and we get to touch her, I’ll read from your script.”
His “show” was already being rewritten in his mind. He needed to think. To assimilate the new information he’d been hit with and alter his plans accordingly.
Was Holly Ms. Anonymous, the gossip columnist who’d coined their nickname, The Billionaire Bachelors, and hounded the missteps of his friends with her wit and judgment for years?
He‘d find out before this was over, but right now Henry had said exactly what he was feeling—it didn’t matter. Didn’t change the plan or stop either one of them from wanting her. And whatever she truly thought about them, she still wanted them. Enough to spend the summer following Peter’s lead, as long as she got her ménage.
He’d make sure the experience was one she’d never forget, but not before he added one or two more scandalous scenes to this play. Not until she was begging him for the final act. He had a lewd reputation to uphold, after all.
Peter heard the sound of a car coming up the drive and smiled. She came.
Not yet. But she would soon enough.
He was a man of his word.
Holly had obviously lost an important piece of her mind—the screw or bolt that kept her from doing things that weren’t healthy for her, things that were dangerous to her physical and emotional wellbeing. Being an adrenaline junkie in the name of research was kind of her thing. She’d enjoyed cliff diving and bungee jumping. Even her experiences with cleanses had been moderately life threatening—or at least they’d caused some truly unfortunate hallucinations. But this? This was madness.
She hadn’t told Chaz where she was going, despite his wide-eyed curiosity when the Hummer pulled up in front of her house at eleven-thirty in the morning.
Henry had warned her Peter might send ninjas…he hadn’t mentioned the possibility of Roy.
She guessed she wouldn’t be needing her car for this project.
“Nice to see you again, Holly Ruskin.” He smiled as he helped her into the homage to indulgence. “I would ask what adventure you’re off to this time, but I hear you’re doing research on the old Faraday estate. I’m here to help if you need any details. It’s the oldest mansion in the state, you know. I had a great-aunt who worked there years ago, said she needed a map just to find her way around the house.”
Holly nodded weakly. “I’ve heard it’s big.”
“Big?” Roy lifted her luggage into the limo with her. “Big is a wee bit of an understatement. Can’t imagine one man living there by himself, to be honest. I guess that’s why Mr. Faraday is always traveling.” He laughed at himself. “But if I ever stop talking and do my job instead, you’ll see it soon enough. Speaking of, I do need to hurry. This beauty is on loan to Mr. Warren for at least the next week or so, and me with it.”
He closed the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts—the last place she wanted to be.
After they left her last night, Holly had gone through her closet with the ferocity of a tornado, packing and preparing, too excited to think about what the next day would bring. It was only when her head hit the pillow that her mind caught up with her. Thinking had swiftly led to panic when she realized how much could go wrong in three months.
If it really lasted that long.
None of them were models of commitment when it came to relationships with the opposite sex. As far as Holly knew, neither man had shown interest in a single woman long enough for her to be loosely dubbed by the press as a girlfriend. Not since college.
How had they not been taken off the market by an enterprising bride-to-be?
Henry was loving, thoughtful, affectionate and funny. He knew about the importance of family, and his parents had given him an unorthodox but positive example of marital longevity. He’d spent most of his adult life traveling with his band or hanging out with his friends, but it still didn’t make sense that he would be alone.
Peter was brilliant and focused, intriguing and exciting—loving him would be a romantic adventure for the right woman. Holly knew his parents had died when he was a teenager and he didn’t have any extended family. He was never lacking in temporary companionship, but she couldn’t help but think he was lonely. It was a shame because if she remembered anything about their time together, other than the earth-shattering sex, it was his heart. He should be filling all those rooms with a family of his own by now, continuing the Faraday name and living happily ever after. Should be, but he wasn’t.
And you’re glad.
It was a selfish feeling, but that was nothing new when it came to these men. Even if she couldn’t be what either of them deserved in the long term, she still wanted them too much to walk away from this chance. Not when the chemistry between them was as combustible as ever.
Greedy.
Holly leaned her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes. They might act the part of perennial bachelors, but she was the real thing. She wasn’t meant for a happy ending. She honestly wasn’t sure if that kind of forever was meant for everyone, since she could count on one hand the couples she knew who’d managed to beat the odds and stay together.
Her mother used to tell her that an entire relationship could be experienced within the first three months of meeting. The honeymoon phase, a short period of intimacy and cohabitation, and the pressure and resentment that came from what she called the boring inevitable—all of it until two and a half months in, you could see your entire life with that person mapped out ahead of you. Each and every monotonous day until you finally reached the end, having no clue why you’d fallen for each other in the first place. She’d said in that moment you had to choose whether to accept that fate or reach for something new and shimmering. And she always chose the something new. Her mother loved falling in love even more than she loved the money her new husbands brought with them, and she really loved the money.
While Holly had long since parted ways with the woman she’d never been able to respect, the woman whose seventh husband had lost all his money in the stock market a few years ago, that nugget of information had remained lodged in the back of her mind, and so far it had proven true. She didn’t need a psychiatrist to see the correlation between her work habits and her mother’s advice. A shrink would have a field day with her three-month Mommy issues, but it was true in her personal life as well. None of her boyfriends after college had lasted more than a few weeks beyond that. She’d tried, if only to prove her mother wrong, to stick a relationship out for six month
s or a year, but in the end, the timing was always eerily similar. And she’d always ended up hurting someone she didn’t mean to.
It wouldn’t happen this time. They were all on the same deliciously dirty page, and all she had to do was relax and go with it.
So why couldn’t she?
She fiddled with the pleats in her skirt. She’d worn one of her favorite sundresses, a white halter top with a flaring skirt and heart shaped bodice. It was covered in cherries that matched her red pumps and lip-gloss perfectly. The dress was her armor, making her feel sexy and confident and ready for whatever they wanted to throw at her.
As soon as you come to us, you’ll come for us.
Holly was ready to come now. She hadn’t given in last night. Hadn’t used her vibrator and butt plug to ease the tension they’d left her with, though no one would ever know how badly she’d wanted to. So badly she’d woken in the middle of her restless night to find her pillow between her legs, her thighs squeezing it in desperation.
She glanced at the blackened window that kept Roy from seeing her and let her hand glide under her dress, remembering her dreams. Peter and Henry had her arms and legs spread and shackled, each of them taking turns bringing her a heartbeat away from climax, only to leave her unsatisfied. They’d been heartless, sexy machines, ignoring her pleas in order to punish her for walking away. The things they’d done to her body had her sobbing, begging for release.
She closed her thighs over her hand and rubbed her clit through her underwear. “Peter,” she whispered. “Let me come.”
As soon as you come to us, you’ll come for us.
Not until then. Some part of her knew he wouldn’t like it if she cheated by reaching her climax without them. Even this quick—oh God—moment of pleasure wouldn’t be allowed. She stopped, her body shaking and her nerves frayed, and removed her hand. She’d wait. She didn’t seem to have another choice.
The limo stopped and Holly didn’t wait for the door to open before hopping out and reaching for one of her bags. She blushed when the driver got out and came to stand beside her. She couldn’t believe she’d been so shameless. But realistically, Roy had to be used to things like that by now. This was Henry Vincent’s driver. She’d be shocked if the famous guitar player hadn’t had Hummer orgies. At the very least.