Any Way You Want It

by Maureen Smith

  “Okay,” Zandra relented, holding up her hands. “Sorry I asked.”

  River glowered at Morgan another moment, then shifted his gaze back to Zandra. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted—”

  Morgan smirked.

  “—I’d like to take one of your escorts to the party.”

  Zandra nodded. “When is it?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Hmm.” She swiveled back to her computer, pulled up a new screen. “Let me just check the schedule to see who’s available. I think Laurel would be—”

  “I’ll go with him.”

  Zandra and River whipped their heads around to stare at Morgan.

  “What did you say?” they chorused.

  She looked calmly at River. “I said I’ll go with you.”

  His eyes narrowed challengingly. “Who says I want you to?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I work in public relations. I know how to schmooze and work a room. But, hey, you’re not interested. No skin off my teeth.”

  River watched as she uncrossed her long, slender legs and swung them from the desk, then glided to her feet with sylphlike grace.

  He gave her a mocking look. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  “Look, you already said you don’t want to take me. So let’s just leave it at that.”

  But it was clear that she’d piqued River’s interest—especially when she bent over to pick up her quilted Chanel handbag, and the fabric of her romper pulled snug across the round curve of her butt.

  River swallowed visibly.

  As Morgan straightened and slung the purse strap over her shoulder, he asked suspiciously, “What’s in it for you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Morgan wavered for a moment, then sniffed and gave a careless toss of her head. “If you must know, Isaiah has been working a lot of hours and breaking dates. He, ah, needs a gentle reminder not to take me for granted.”

  One corner of River’s mouth quirked upward, such an innately Brand gesture that Zandra couldn’t help smiling. “So you wanna use me to make him jealous. Is that it?”

  Morgan blushed, biting her lip. “Oh, just forget it.”

  “Nah. Too late to back out now. I’m taking you.”

  “Fine. Start by taking me out to lunch, and we can discuss our arrangement.”

  “Lunch, huh?” He gave her a slow, deliberate perusal and drawled, “Yeah. You could use a good steak.”

  “Excuse me?” Morgan sputtered indignantly. “Is that a crack about my weight?”

  “No crack. Just an observation.” He gestured to indicate that she should precede him from the room. “After you.”

  Morgan glanced back at Zandra, her dark eyes twinkling. “Sorry for costing you a client.”

  Zandra laughed. “Oh, I think I can forgive you.”

  Morgan grinned. “You and Remy enjoy your love trip.”

  “Yeah,” River added, winking at Zandra. “Have fun.”

  “Thanks, guys. You, too.”

  They left, River staring appreciatively at Morgan’s backside.

  Zandra grinned after them.

  It appeared that Morgan was about to fall victim to the same Brand magnetism that had not only ensnared her sister, but Zandra, as well.

  She sighed, shaking her head.

  God help us, Morgan. God help us both.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zandra hummed Adele’s “Chasing Pavements” as she strolled along London’s Regent Street, passing upscale shops and outlet stores housed in elegant buildings. It was the second full day of her trip to England, and she was on her own.

  After the way she’d behaved during Remy’s speech yesterday, he’d forbade her from attending his panel session that morning.

  The memory of what led to her banishment brought a wicked grin to Zandra’s face.

  After arriving in London late Tuesday evening, she and Remy had been too weary from their travels to do much more than check into their luxurious hotel suite, order dinner and fall asleep in each other’s arms. They’d awakened early the next morning and shared a steamy, decadent shower before breakfast was delivered—hot porridge, fresh fruit and coffee. After they ate, they’d quickly dressed and taken a chauffeured car to the conference hotel for Remy’s scheduled presentation.

  The ballroom had been filled to capacity, but Remy had already reserved a front-row seat for Zandra. She’d sat down, crossed her legs and focused intently on his handsome face as he began speaking authoritatively about the global landscape of terrorism. The audience was riveted, hanging on to his every word. And Zandra had been fascinated, too—until the deep, masculine timbre of his voice started doing things to her.

  Wicked, dirty things.

  Before she knew it she was imagining the rough stroke of his hands on her body...his mouth between her thighs...his tongue licking the moist flesh of her pussy.

  As a hungry ache spread from her pelvis to her breasts, she’d uncrossed and crossed her legs, inadvertently drawing Remy’s attention.

  Their eyes had met and held.

  She’d bit her lower lip, taken a shallow breath. The inhalation sent his gaze lower, to her breasts. Without glancing down, she’d known that her nipples were thrusting brazenly against her blouse.

  Remy’s nostrils had flared, his hands curling around the edges of the wooden lectern. Just a brief clenching of fingers, but it was enough to send a naughty thrill of excitement through her.

  He’d faltered for a moment, losing his train of thought. His black lashes swept downward as he glanced at his notes. Before members of the audience could begin to stir and glance around curiously, he’d recovered his composure and smoothly soldiered on.

  Though he hadn’t looked at Zandra again, she’d known that he was hyperaware of her presence. She’d sensed his agitation as he fought to remain focused on his lecture.

  When it was over, he’d been mobbed by people who were eager to comment on his presentation and pick the brain of a former Navy SEAL. He’d patiently answered their questions, flashed that killer smile, collected business cards and posed for photos—all the while tracking Zandra around the room as she smiled and chatted with other attendees.

  Once the crowd began to thin, Remy had made his way over to her. Without a word, he’d gently cupped her elbow and guided her from the ballroom.

  She didn’t have to ask where they were going. She knew.

  Back to their hotel.

  But Remy apparently couldn’t wait that long. Instead of ushering her outside to their chauffeured car, he’d led her down an empty corridor toward the rear stairwell. He’d moved with unerring purpose, making her wonder when he’d had the opportunity to learn the layout of the hotel.

  The thought fled her mind the moment he shoved open the stairwell door and pulled her after him. Once the heavy door swung shut, she didn’t have time to worry that someone might wander upon them. Frankly she didn’t care.

  Remy hiked her skirt up her thighs, ripped her silk panties off her legs, then stood and pushed her up against the wall. She was already soaked, her juices smearing the tops of her thighs. As he touched the glistening wetness, his eyes blazed with lust.

  He’d licked his coated fingers, nostrils flaring with carnal pleasure. Then he’d grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head as he reached down with his other hand to unzip his pants. She’d wrapped her shaky legs around his waist. Then he’d thrust into her, driving his dick so deep her spine contracted.

  They’d both gasped and shuddered violently.

  His hand gripped her buttocks as he began pumping into her, one long stroke after another. She’d wanted to touch him, to rake her manicured nails across his Armani-clad back. But his hard, strong fingers kept her wrists shackled to the wall.

  It was thrilling. Intoxicating. Wildly erotic.

  He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the ballroom, and neither had she. Even if she’d wanted to speak, the
maelstrom of sensation pounding through her body made coherent speech impossible.

  They’d kissed frantically, panting hotly into each other’s mouths as he thrust into her. Deeper and deeper, harder and faster until his hips were surging so powerfully that her breasts bounced inside her bra and her bound hands kept slapping the wall.

  Only when they exploded together did he groan. A raw, primal groan that reverberated throughout the stairwell and sent chills down her spine.

  And that was how she and Remy had kicked off their first day in London.

  Shagging in a hotel stairwell.

  Zandra chuckled wickedly at the memory as she strolled down the busy street, clit pulsing between her thighs. Since she’d been banished from the conference, she’d decided to treat herself to a leisurely morning of roaming London’s swanky shopping districts—an activity Remy wouldn’t have enjoyed anyway.

  She was standing outside a boutique admiring a silk sarong dress worn by the mannequin in the window when a man’s reflection joined hers in the glass.

  “Zandra?”

  She turned around. Her eyes widened in stunned recognition. “Heath?”

  He nodded slowly, staring at her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed.

  They moved toward each other and hugged.

  “I can’t believe it’s you.” Heath Upshaw held Zandra at arm’s length and gave her an appreciative twice-over. “You look wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

  “Thank you, Heath.” Zandra wished she could return the compliment, but his handsome face had grown gaunt, the cheeks hollowed so that his gray eyes looked sunken.

  She frowned, touching his face. “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Too much?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled ruefully. “That’s because I haven’t had you around to look after me and fatten me up.”

  She smiled, but only briefly. “Are you well?”

  His smile dimmed. “As well as can be expected. I had colon cancer.”

  “Oh, Heath,” Zandra whispered, stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right. It’s in remission, and my prognosis is promising.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know I don’t resemble the strapping young lad you met thirteen years ago.”

  Zandra smiled, because they both knew he’d never been what you’d call physically imposing. He was tall, yes, but too elegantly slender to ever be considered anything that approached strapping.

  His gray eyes roamed her face, returning her silent appraisal. “How have you been, Zandra?”

  She smiled softly. “I’m well.”

  “I can see that. And you’re in love.”

  His words startled her.

  She stared at him. “Wh-what?”

  A quiet smile touched his mouth. “Is he here?”

  “Who?”

  “The lucky fellow who put that glow on your face, the twinkle in your eye. The one you’re in love with. Is he here with you?”

  “No. I mean, um, not at the moment. He’s, um, at a conference.” Zandra was flustered. And stunned.

  In love with Remy?

  “Heath, I—”

  “Come along,” he said, tucking her hand through his arm. “Let’s sit down somewhere and talk. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Zandra smiled weakly. “Ten years’ worth,” she murmured as they set off for the nearest café.

  Heath was one of the employers she’d had while attending Oxford. They met one afternoon while she was working at a museum of sex in the East End. Heath was part of her tour group, and he’d seemed more fascinated by her than her animated spiel on ancient Japanese dildos. She was nineteen years old and no stranger to male attention, though her sexual experiences up to that point had been limited to a few unsatisfying romps with two fellow students.

  Heath was an older man, thirty-four at the time. His maturity and quiet elegance had appealed to Zandra, and something about his slow smile had reminded her of Richard Gere’s. When he asked her out for coffee at the end of her shift, she’d accepted.

  Heath was an affluent businessman who’d lost his wife to a car accident three years earlier. Zandra could empathize with his grief, having lost her grandmother that past winter. She’d sensed that Heath, like her, felt lost and lonely more often than he admitted to others. So it was no wonder that they’d struck up an immediate friendship.

  Over the next two years, he would take her to the finest restaurants, the opera, the ballet, Wimbledon tournaments, you name it. He was intelligent, cultured and worldly, and they thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

  Several months after they met, she’d quit her job at the museum to become Heath’s personal assistant, earning twice what she’d been making before. She efficiently managed his busy schedule, ran his errands, even hosted dinner parties for him while juggling her academic workload. Her friends had teased her about having a sugar daddy, but she’d never accepted lavish gifts from Heath, and they weren’t lovers.

  At least not at first.

  One evening after class she’d arrived at his town house in Belgravia to find him in his study, sobbing over his wife’s picture. It had fallen off his desk, shattering the glass inside the silver frame.

  Moved with compassion, Zandra had rushed to his side and folded him into her arms, holding and comforting him as he wept.

  That was the night they finally became lovers.

  Right there, on the plush oriental rug with the ghost of his wife watching, Heath had removed Zandra’s clothes and made love to her. He was sweet and gentle, and when it was over, he’d cried some more and thanked her.

  Years later when she opened her escort agency, she would reminisce about her relationship with Heath and fondly reflect that he’d been her very first client.

  And now as they sat across from each other inside the quaint café, sipping tea and nibbling warm scones, she realized how happy she was to see him again. And judging by the smile wreathing his face, he felt the same.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he confessed. “You stopped responding to my letters and emails.”

  “I know.” Zandra sighed. “I’m sorry, Heath. After I returned home, I just needed time to sort through everything...get my life back on track.”

  His expression softened. “I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your mum’s funeral.”

  “That’s all right,” Zandra said quietly. “I didn’t want to be there myself. Didn’t want her to be gone.”

  Heath nodded understandingly. He knew all about that kind of grief.

  Silence fell between them.

  “No London fog,” Zandra murmured, something they used to say to each other when it was time to change a subject that had become too maudlin.

  Heath remembered, and took the hint. “Let’s see. I’m forty-seven now, so that would make you—”

  “Thirty-two,” Zandra said wryly. “Old enough to wanna kick your ass for having the impertinence to bring up my age.”

  He laughed, shaking his head at her. “Still cheeky as ever.”

  “Damn straight.” She grinned as she polished off a scone, each flaky bite filling her with nostalgia.

  Heath reached across the table, wiped a dab of clotted cream from the corner of her mouth and licked his finger.

  Zandra smiled at him.

  He smiled back. “I kept hoping you’d return to London for good, but I knew you wouldn’t.”

  Zandra paused, her teacup halfway to her mouth. “How did you know?”

  A quiet, intuitive gleam filled his eyes. “Your heart was in Chicago. Always has been.”

  Zandra sipped her tea, saying nothing.

  “So tell me more about him,” Heath invited.

  “Him?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. The man you brought with you to London.” Heath paused. “It’s Remington Brand, isn’t it?”

  Zandra shot him a surprised look. “You still remember his name?”

  “Of
course. If it weren’t for him, you might have fallen as madly in love with me as I fell for you.”

  Zandra slowly set her teacup down on the table. “Don’t talk like that,” she murmured.

  “But it’s the truth.” Heath chuckled softly. “I remember how your face would light up whenever you talked about him. Oh, you had plenty of wonderful things to say about his family, as well. But Remington clearly brought you the most joy—and aggravation. I remember how worried you were when he joined the navy, and I remember how you grumbled and complained because he wasn’t good at keeping in touch. I always knew when you’d received one of his rare letters. You’d bring it to the house with you, and during your study break, you’d sneak it out and read it with this secretive smile on your face, as if you were savoring every word. I’d stand in the doorway watching you, and I’d think to myself, ‘When is this poor girl going to realize she’s in love?’” Heath smiled gently. “It was only a matter of time before it happened.”

  Zandra brought her hands up to her cheeks. Her skin was hot and flushed.

  “Look at you. You’re blushing like a schoolgirl.” At her affronted look, Heath laughed. “That wasn’t meant as an insult, love. You were always such an old soul, Zandra. Wise and troubled beyond your years. I don’t know how long you and Remington have been dating, but it’s obvious that he makes you happy. Happier than I ever remember seeing you.”

  Zandra made no reply, picking up her tea and sipping quietly.

  “You always imagined him when we made love.”

  Zandra nearly choked on her tea. The cup rattled into the saucer as she set it down, her eyes snapping to Heath’s face.

  “Wh-what did you say?”

  The corners of his lips quirked with wry humor. “Did you think I didn’t know that you fantasized about making love to Remington when you were with me?”

  Zandra was astonished. Had she?

  “If I did, it wasn’t because you were a bad lover, Heath,” she hastened to assure him. “I always enjoyed being with you.”

  “I know. I felt genuine passion from you.” His eyes glinted. “But he’s the one you really wanted to be shagging.”

  Heat rushed over Zandra, scorching her from scalp to toes. “I... It’s not something I consciously thought about. I’ve known Remington practically all my life. He was the most important male in my universe. And as we grew older, he became...well, I guess he became, to me, the quintessential embodiment of masculinity. And he...he... Oh, God.” She turned and stared out the window, her face burning with mortification.