“Well, you’ll never believe what happened.” I paused for a dramatic breath. She flopped on the sofa beside me, one foot folded beneath her, large eyes wide with interest. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
“You met a guy,” she said. With a pink-polished fingertip, she touched the side of my neck. “You’ve got a muffler burn and stars in your eyes.”
“Not just any guy,” I said. “The guy. Beckett.”
“No!” Her jaw dropped with an appropriate amount of shock. She shoved my shoulder. “No way.”
“Yes way.” If anyone understood the significance of what had happened, it was Sydney. She’d been at my house the first time Sam had brought Beckett home with him. We’d been awkward teenagers lounging around the swimming pool when he’d appeared, a vision of rippling abs, long legs, and smoldering hotness in a pair of blue board shorts. I’d never forget the easy grace of the way he moved, the water glistening in his black hair when he surfaced after a dive, or how his deep voice rumbled when he laughed. Of course, he’d barely noticed me beyond a polite nod following our introduction, but it hadn’t stopped me from fantasizing about him for the rest of the following decade.
“Holy shit.” She tucked a wayward strand of her sleek pageboy behind her ear. “This is epic, V. Epic, I tell you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “How was it? Was it amazing? Is he hung like a stallion? Details, girl. I need them. Now.”
I exhaled a long, tortured breath. “It was good. Amazing, but he doesn’t remember any of it.”
“What?” Her dismay lessened a little of my own. “That sucks.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning and try to work through it. Tell me everything.”
“I went to the hotel bar last night after my flight came in. He was down there and already smashed, I think.” I rubbed my aching forehead. “He said Sam wouldn’t go to a strip club, so he and Tucker went on their own. I said I didn’t understand the appeal, that I’d never had a lap dance, and next thing I know, he and I are at a strip club down the street.”
Laughter burst from Sydney’s lips like a gunshot. “OMG. No way.”
“Yes way,” I replied gravely.
“I have to admit, I like Beckett’s style.” She snuggled deeper into the sofa and leaned forward. “Then what?”
“Then I got a lap dance.”
“From a girl?” Her lips formed a perfect O.
“Yes. Don’t judge.”
“Not judging. You’re doing great. Now get to the sex part.” She twirled a finger in the air between us.
I collapsed against the couch and rubbed my temples, which were beginning to ache from the strain of recollection. On any other occasion, I would have regaled her with intimate details, but this time was different, too personal. I wanted to keep the sweet sting of the night tucked away, protected, to savor and lament in private. “Let’s just say he rocked my world.” I held up three fingers. “Over and over and over.” I raised a fourth finger. “And over.”
Sydney pursed her mouth. I could hear the gears of her brain working. “And you’re sure he doesn’t remember?” I rolled my eyes, and she patted my knee apologetically. “Of course. Why would he lie? So what did he have to say this morning?”
“Honestly, he seemed pissed.” The vision of his clenched jaw returned the heat of mortification to my cheeks.
“Tell me what he said. Exactly.”
I gave her the short version of the morning’s events. A prickle of hurt stabbed my pride. “Then Sam came to the door, and he shoved me into the bathroom like some common whore and told me to stay quiet.”
“Oh, wow. That is bad.” We fell silent for a long moment. “But you really can’t blame him. You know how overprotective Sam is about you. And Beckett is his best friend. I’m pretty sure in Sam’s eyes that would be a direction violation of the bro code.”
“I know, it’s just—” The prickle of tears returned to confuse me.
Sydney pulled me into her embrace. Her hand rubbed soothingly along my spine. “I know, honey. I know. You’ve been in love with him forever. That’s gotta smart.”
Chapter 3
Beckett
TO SAY the drive from our hotel to the plantation house was tense would be a gross understatement. Tucker, suffering from a hangover like my own, remained silent throughout the trip. I suspected his eyes were shut behind the protection of his sunglasses. Venetia sat between us in the back seat of the chauffeured car, cool and lovely in a pair of white shorts and a flowing blue halter top. Her hair cascaded loosely down her back. The occasional brush of her long locks over my bare forearm lit my skin on fire.
“Tucker, get off me.” Venetia shoved Tucker’s head from her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, straightening in his seat.
The movement stirred the scent of her shampoo, clean and floral. I drew in a lungful. She smelled good enough to eat. I leaned toward her and took another sniff then stiffened, appalled by my attraction. What the hell was I doing? She was too young, too off-limits. I’d already violated Sam’s trust a hundred different ways by sleeping with her, a mistake I had no intension of repeating. On the other hand, every time her arm brushed against mine, my skin prickled with awareness—the sexual kind, the kind that made me wish I had no principles.
“Can you turn up the air?” she asked the driver. “It’s hotter than Hades today.”
“Supposed to pass a hundred this afternoon,” the driver answered in his unique Creole accent. In the rearview mirror, his eyes lingered on Venetia’s cleavage.
“How much farther?” I asked. The chauffeur’s gaze met mine in the reflection. Irritation stiffened the hairs at the back of my neck, and I narrowed my eyes. He blinked away quickly.
“Almost there,” he said.
“Not soon enough,” she muttered, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
In preparation for a day of casual outdoor camaraderie in the oppressive Louisiana humidity, I’d worn a pair of Bermuda shorts. A scant inch of space existed between Venetia’s leg and mine. My skin prickled at the proximity. Tucker’s head lolled onto her shoulder once more. She pushed him aside and slid against me with the effort. I twisted away, seeking to put distance between our bare flesh, but only succeeded in dragging my hairy thigh over her smooth one. A picture of her calves balanced on my shoulders as I pounded into her flashed through my head. The scene was too vivid, too detailed to be imagined. The muscles in my groin tightened. I passed a shaking hand over my eyes.
“Looking forward to the wedding?” I asked her, seeking to break the unbearable tension through a neutral topic.
“Don’t talk to me.” She lifted a hand into the air. I admired her forthright personality. A guy always knew where he stood with her, even if it was in the doghouse.
“You can’t still be pissed.” I groaned in relief when the cab turned onto the long, oak-lined driveway to the plantation, eager to get out of the confines of the car.
“I can and I am.” After a growl of irritation, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the opposite window. “Don’t pretend nothing happened, Beckett.”
“Venetia.” I glanced at Tucker. He remained silent. His chest lifted and fell in a quiet, even rhythm. Satisfied he was sleeping, I continued in a whisper, “We both agreed it was a mistake.”
“You’re a dick.” She shifted her back to me, affording a view of her smooth shoulder. My fingers curled with the desire to stroke her unblemished skin. “Take my advice and shut up before you make it any worse.”
Chapter 4
Venetia
THE WEDDING party sat at an oblong table on a veranda lined with white columns. Huge ceiling fans circulated the air above us and created a teasing breeze in the sweltering heat. The view beyond offered glimpses of ancient oaks and velvet lawns. An arched bridge traversed a small stream where water splashed across rocks. Over a crystal vase of fragrant hydrangea blossoms, I fought the urge to glare at Beckett and turned my attention instead to a plate
heaped with fresh fruit and beignets.
“Hey, Vagina.” Dakota’s brother, Crockett, greeted me first. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he hadn’t changed much. He still dressed in head-to-toe black, his shaggy hair hanging over his forehead. When we were kids, he’d spent a lot of time at my house, doing chores while his mother cooked for my family, and thinking of ways to torment me. “Long time, no see.”
The use of my childhood nickname resurrected deep-seated insecurities. “Hello, Crackhead.” I lifted my chin and gave my haughtiest glare. He needed to know I wasn’t a timid little girl anymore.
There were eight of us in all. Sam’s friends, Tucker and Beckett, would serve as his groomsmen. Mrs. Atwell, his prospective mother-in-law, sat across the table, his driver Rockwell at his left, and Dakota at his right. I watched my brother interact with his bride-to-be and felt a swift surge of protective rage swell inside me. He’d been married before—to Dakota—and she’d fucked him over royally. Despite my father’s best efforts, they were headed to the altar once again, and I could do nothing but watch helplessly from the sidelines.
“We missed you last night, Venetia,” Dakota said. The hot Louisiana breeze lifted one of the long brown curls near her face.
Deceitful gold digger. My fingers tightened around the napkin in my lap until my knuckles ached. I refused to believe anything she said, no matter how sincere her expression.
“Where were you anyway?” Sam asked, at the exact second I placed a too-large bite of papaya into my mouth.
My gaze flicked to Beckett. Although his expression remained cool, a flush of scarlet colored his tanned throat. His deep brown eyes pleaded for my silence. I choked down the fruit and used the time to formulate an answer, reveling in the power of the moment. This could go one of two ways. Either I confessed to debauching Sam’s best friend, or I swallowed the indiscretion along with the papaya and maintained the civility of breakfast. Beneath the table, a large foot nudged my toe.
“I was tired after the flight,” I said. Beckett’s broad shoulders lowered a notch and the pressure of his foot eased away. “I caught a cocktail in the hotel bar and went to sleep.”
“Too bad,” Tucker interjected in his lazy southern drawl. His black Wayfarers hide the collateral damage to his eyes from the previous night and his wavy blond hair stuck out around his head. “We made Bourbon Street our bitch.”
“You should’ve told me your plane was delayed, V,” Sam said. “Rockwell would’ve picked you up at the airport. It’s not safe to be out by yourself around here.”
“I travel alone all the time,” I replied, simultaneously warmed and irritated by his overprotectiveness. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I could kick your ass or anyone else who needed it.” I stared pointedly at Beckett.
“Jesus,” Tucker muttered, and inched his chair back.
“Well, we’re glad you made it,” Dakota said. “We’ve got a lot planned for today, and it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Is Sydney coming?” Tucker leaned into my side, speaking too low for anyone else to hear, his tone hopeful.
“Later,” I replied. “She wanted to take a nap first.” Before I could question why he wanted to know, the thread of conversation took an unwelcome turn.
“Beckett had a good time last night. Didn’t you, Becks?” Sam’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he deftly changed the subject.
“I suppose so,” Beckett said. Our gazes collided across the table and bounced apart.
“I stopped by his room this morning. Seems he had some company.” In spite of my mental curses, Sam kept on talking. For a reticent man, he certainly had a lot to say this morning.
“What?” Tucker’s fork hovered in midair. “You devil. You’ve been holding out on me.”
“No one’s holding out,” Beckett said. “There’s nothing to tell.” A silver ring holding a large blue stone adorned his right ring finger. I’d seen it before; it was some kind of basketball championship ring from his college years. He spun it around and around as he spoke.
“Why don’t you bring your girl to the wedding tonight?” Dakota suggested.
I pushed a piece of pineapple around the plate with my fork.
“I don’t think so,” Beckett said, carefully avoiding my eyes. “But thank you for the invitation.”
“Beckett doesn’t date,” Tucker added. “He’s a one-and-done man.”
“A hazard of my occupation,” Beckett said.
I meant to nudge his big foot with my toe beneath the table but kicked Crockett instead.
“Ouch. What was that for?” Crockett scowled across the table at me and reached down to rub his shin.
“Excuse me,” I said in my most prim and proper accent. “My apologies.”
“Beckett’s a divorce attorney,” Dakota explained to Crockett.
“It’s ruined him for marriage,” Sam said. He lifted a tray of beignets and offered it to me. I shook my head.
“I’m not against it, exactly.” Beckett took the tray and dropped two of the tasty confections on his plate. “My parents have been married for thirty years, but I believe they’re the exception rather than the rule.”
“We’re going to be married for thirty years.” Sam dropped a kiss on Dakota’s temple, and she smiled. My stomach turned over, and I had to look away.
“And thirty more after that,” Rockwell interjected and lifted his glass into the air in a toast.
“I have no doubt you will,” Beckett said, his tone warm. “But I believe you two are also the exception and not the rule. Not everyone is cut out for marriage. Like me, for instance. In my opinion, it’s a binding legal contract, a business agreement.”
“Wow, that’s cold,” Crockett said and stuffed an entire beignet into his mouth.
“It’s not cold. It’s realistic. Statistically speaking, half of all marriages end in divorce,” Beckett said.
“And some marriages last a lifetime,” Mrs. Atwell said. I hadn’t seen her in a decade, but age hadn’t dimmed her Nordic beauty. Her blue eyes softened as she watched Dakota caress Sam’s cheek. I wanted to shove a finger down my throat but sat on my hands instead.
“Absolutely,” Beckett added smoothly. A ray of morning sunlight cast blue highlights on his short black hair. “But if they don’t, they always need a good attorney. And that’s where I come in.” The dimple beside his mouth deepened. Desire skated up the inside of my thighs.
“Have you ever even had a relationship?” Tucker asked.
“Why buy the cow when I can get the milk for free?” Beckett said.
I bristled at his callous remark. His brows drew together as he realized the insult he’d just thrown my way. It was all I could do to resist stretching across the yellow tablecloth and tossing my Mimosa in his lap. He leaned back to regard me with open curiosity, an arm thrown over the back of the empty chair beside him. His square jaw gleamed from a fresh shave. Hidden by my eyelashes, my gaze snagged on the hint of black curling chest hair exposed through the open throat of his white polo shirt. The space between my legs ached from where he’d ridden me. Lordy, he was smoking hot. I had to pinch myself to prove it hadn’t been a dream. Then I remembered I was mad at him.
“What about you?” I asked Tucker, eager to turn the attention somewhere else. “What happened to you last night?”
“After Beckett bailed on me, I sat in on a poker game at the casino,” he said, leaning his chair back on two legs.
“Alone?” I lifted an eyebrow.
Tucker’s cheeks colored, but his smile grew. “I was lucky enough to run into an old friend along the way.”
“How’d you do?” Beckett asked.
“With the girl or at the table?” Tucker smirked.
“I never have any luck gambling,” Dakota said.
“Unlucky at cards, lucky in love,” Rockwell interjected. He patted Mrs. Atwell’s hand, and they shared a smile.
“Lost my ass.” Tucker lowered his sunglasses and winked at me. I grinned back. Our relations
hip was much easier than the one I shared with Beckett.
“A fool and his money are soon parted,” Sam said.
“Well, you should know all about that,” I quipped. Awkward silence descended over the table. Heat flashed into my cheeks. Oh, why had I said that? Damn my mouth. I bit the tip of my tongue.
A muscle in Sam’s jaw flexed, and a knot of regret tightened in my belly. I frowned and stared down at my lap. No matter how I felt about Dakota, it was evident Sam adored her. The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. He’d been the only constant in my life. Even during what he and I called the dark ages, when he’d been at war with my father and heartbroken over Dakota’s betrayal, he’d been my rock.
“Excuse me. I think I’ll visit the ladies room.” I pushed back my chair, unable to tolerate another second pretending this event was anything other than a huge sham.
Tension crackled through the room. The walls of my chest ached from the weight of it. Sam and I stood in unison. The legs of our chairs scraped across the hardwood floor. We stared at each other over the elegant china, antique silver, and crystal goblets. Even the birds stopped chirping.
“In the hall. Now.” Sam spoke in a low, quiet voice, his words clipped. It was his business voice, the one he used to call order to an unruly boardroom, the one that meant I was about to get a verbal ass-kicking.
My knees wobbled, knowing I’d pushed him too far. The frown on his face reminded me of being eight years old, having trespassed into his bedroom or listened into his phone conversations with a teenaged Dakota. I fought the urge to hang my head and walked into the hallway, chin lifted, lips trembling. He followed on my heels, fingers tight around my elbow, and marched me over the threshold of a nearby sitting room.
“That’s it. No more.” He took a warrior’s stance in front of the fireplace. I stared at my toes and fought back words of hurt and anger. He was all I had left. The only thing worse than his rage was the threat of his emotional pain once Dakota showed her true self and dumped him again. I’d do anything to protect him from that kind of anguish.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 2