by Kally Ash
When he finally stopped moving, they were both breathing hard, a fine sheen of sweat on their bodies. He looked down at his redheaded beauty and found her pale green eyes on his face, concentrating.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said, thinking it was a goddamn crime.
“And you never will. This was sex, not the start of a relationship.”
Unhooking her legs, she sat up and John took a moment to roll the used condom off, tie a knot into the top, and dump it into the wastebasket behind the desk. He took some grim satisfaction that Ethan would see it later.
Fuck you, buddy, I got the girl.
Putting his clothes back on quickly, he picked up her bra and handed it to her. She snatched it from him wordlessly. Figuring she wouldn’t want to prolong this, and with her words pounding through his head like the headache that had suddenly sprung up, he headed to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.
“I really am sorry for the dress.” He just wasn’t sorry that he’d gotten into her panties. Stepping back into the hall, he walked a few feet farther until he hit the men’s room. That had been the hottest sex he’d ever had. He didn’t even know her name, and yes, although she was here at the engagement party, it didn’t mean she was coming to the wedding. He’d been watching her for most of the night. She’d barely spoken two words to Vee and Beau. In fact, she’d barely left the bar and her martini glass all night, so maybe she was a cousin that had to get invited because, you know, family.
Well, whoever she was, John was confident she’d be featuring in his dreams for the next few months.
Three
Natasha woke the next morning sore and aching for all the right reasons. She’d been fucked and fucked well the night before. Despite the fact that the guy was a total stranger, that had been part of the appeal. That and she was horny as fuck. The promise of making Ethan sweat only to see the opportunity pass like a freight train had left her pissed off and irritated, but then that douchebag had shown up at the door and man, oh man, she wanted to make the fucker pay for everything he’d done.
Stretching out along the length of her mattress, she flexed her muscles and let them go loose again, then rolled her head to the side to see the number ten staring right back at her. Fuck. She had to get up. She was due at her parents’ Malibu mansion at midday for Father’s birthday lunch.
Peeling the sheets from her naked body, she padded into the bathroom and started the shower before pulling her red hair onto the top of her head and securing it into a messy bun. She looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, squinting hard at her face. She looked tired, and it had nothing to do with the late night.
It was working almost fourteen and a half hours a day. It was the daily grind of talking to clients, reading case files, and managing her boss. It was trying to find some sort of balance in her life where she could actually socialize and celebrate the next stage of her best friend’s life. Marriage. Maybe kids? And she was not jealous of that at all.
Really.
Not.
At.
All.
Before she got sucked down into a vortex of what-ifs, she stuck her hand under the water and tested the temperature. It was just this side of molten magma. Perfect. Stepping into the shower stall, she stood under the spray for a long time, just absorbing the heat and feeling the last vestiges of her muscular aches ebb away. She took her time washing her body, focusing on exfoliating the skin on her legs and arms.
Washing away the suds and the fine grit on her body, she shut off the water and wrapped a towel around her breasts. Walking straight through to her walk-in closet, she picked out the demurest outfit she had and laid it out on the ottoman in the middle of her dressing room. Just looking at the skinny jeans and long-sleeved, high-necked blouse made her skin twitch, but her parents—her father specifically—were traditional in their views and beliefs that a woman of her station had to act and dress in a certain way.
Toweling off, she got dressed quickly, then it was back into the bathroom to apply some light makeup and away she went. She took the elevator down to the garage level and hit the button on her key fob. Her Lexus’s lights flared as she unlocked it and slid onto the cool leather seat, placing her handbag beside her. Starting things up, she let the car warm up for a moment before navigating it carefully through the underground maze of pylons and concrete ramps.
She emerged on the outside, turning out onto a side street that would get her onto the Santa Monica Freeway eventually. Turning up the radio, she started to sing to the Katy Perry song blasting through the speakers and tuned out the rest of the world.
No matter how hard she tried though, she couldn’t tune out the sex she’d had the night before. She didn’t even know his name, but she supposed that made them even; he didn’t know hers either, but that didn’t stop him from fucking her senseless and her enjoying it. Being in Ethan’s office and being pounded on his desk seemed so elicit, and the chances of getting caught had only heightened the sex. Even thinking about it now, she felt herself getting wet. It didn’t matter though. She would probably never see the guy again... unless he was at the wedding. In which case, she would slip into her default mode of zero to bitch in two point one seconds, and everything would work out just fine.
Glancing at the clock, she worked out her lead foot and hit the gas, moving expertly between slow-moving cars and passing men who thought their cars were just an extension of their dicks. The thing was, they were just as clueless about driving the damn things as they probably were in the bedroom.
As she got onto the Christopher Columbus Highway, she braced herself for downtown Santa Monica, then headed north and started up the coast. She caught glimpses of the ocean as she carried farther up the road. The sun was bright, glinting off the tropical blue of the water, catching the foaming white caps farther out. She couldn't remember the last time she’d gone to the beach. Despite living only thirty minutes away, she never took the time to go.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to her parents’ nearly six-thousand-square-foot mansion that hugged the coast like a kid clinging to its mother’s legs. It was just three beige boxes, one stacked on top of another, but it didn’t feel like a box inside. Windows graced every ocean view, large monstrosities that let in the light from the break of dawn until the fall of night. All that ocular porn was for a good reason though—the views of the water were such that it looked as if you were floating above the Pacific when you stood inside almost any of the six bedrooms. Come to think of it, you got those views in all of the bathrooms too. Yeah, there really was nothing like leaving your ass bare to the fish and whales when you showered.
Checking to make sure there weren’t any cars coming, she opened up her door and stepped out, locking things up behind her. It was a redundant move though; with this much affluence, nobody would dare steal a newspaper from one of the residents. Walking past the green wall that delineated the only designated parking spot, she arrived at the front door and opened it without knocking.
She immediately ran into the maid, who fussed about her not knocking and that she had to be announced. Natasha stopped herself from rolling her eyes. The staff were just as institutionalized as her parents.
She hung back, waiting to hear her name announced. It was fucking weird. "Your daughter, Natasha Fraser, is here."
She strolled in and went straight to her father, kissing him on the cheek. She hadn’t bothered getting him a present. He had everything he could possibly want, and he’d always abhorred the “trinkets” she’d made him when she was a little girl.
“Happy birthday, Father,” she said stiffly.
He patted her hand like he was swatting a fly. “Yes, quite. Off you go now,” he muttered. He was as warm as a cadaver left out on an ice flow. Turning to her mother, she kissed the woman who had given birth to her on the cheek. Natasha shared the same red hair as she did, although her mother’s was now streaked with gray. Her mom liked it though. She thought it made her look distinguis
hed. Plus, she always said that a woman should age gracefully. Unlike most of the other women in the neighborhood, her mom was perhaps the only one who hadn’t shoved her face full of silicone and fillers. She was a true beauty.
“How are you, darling?” her mom asked.
“Fine. Great,” she replied, clearing her throat and taking a seat on the cream leather couch that looked out at the water. From her vantage point, all she could see was blue. “Is James coming?”
“No,” her father replied gruffly, the disappointment in his voice all she needed to know. James was younger than her by four years, but he was their father’s favorite all on account of his Y chromosome. It sucked to have ovaries sometimes.
“He said he couldn't make it—too busy with school—but next time he’d come,” her mom added in an attempt to lessen the sting.
“Good.” Fuck, she didn't mean that. She glanced around and caught the maid’s eye. She didn’t know what this one’s name was—her father cycled through the help too quickly and she gave up bothering to learn who they were after the twenty-somethingeth maid had been fired.
“Can I get a dirty martini?” she asked. “Two olives.”
The other woman bobbed her head. “Right away.”
She disappeared from the room with efficiency and Natasha couldn’t blame her; from where she was sitting, she could feel her father’s disapproval that she was drinking already.
“So, Father, how is work going?”
He was officially sixty-five years old today, but he’d shown no signs of slowing down or even wanting to slow down. Sometimes she thought the guy would be showing up to court in this three-piece suits until he hit the cemetery. Her mother, however, was slowly starting to cut back on her hours and enjoying more of the activities she used to do when she’d stayed home with Natasha and James.
“Fine,” her father replied. “Fine.”
Riiiiight. Well, she knew when to shut up.
“What about you, darling?” her mother asked, filling in that choking silence as smoothly as she always did. Hell, she’d had years to perfect that sweep in and pretend that everything was peachy. Natasha knew better than to expect her father had asked for her to come today.
He’d never been proud of her even though she’d done everything he’d ever expected her to do.
“Work is good.”
“Are Slater, Slater and Jones still wooing you?” her father demanded.
Natasha brushed away invisible lint from her knee. She sucked in a breath, knowing she had to tread a little more lightly now. “No, they've cooled a little.”
He grunted at this. “They don’t want you anymore?”
Natasha bit her tongue. “Actually, I’m the one playing hardball.”
“What's the holdup?”
She licked her lips. “They’re not giving me what I want.”
“Which is?” her father prompted.
“I want to be a partner.” The right answer. She knew it was the right answer by the small spark that lit her dad’s eyes. Except...
“You’re not working hard enough, then. They should’ve offered you that first. I was two years younger than you are now when I became partner at Gillet and Fraser.”
Well, I'm not you, Dad, she thought dryly. “I can do better,” she replied. Not because she meant it but because she was just regurgitating a rote sentence—one of many in her placate-dad arsenal. She turned when the maid appeared at her elbow, a “V”-shaped glass in her hand. Placing down a cocktail napkin first, the drink was placed onto the small table beside her.
“Thank you,” she said, pinching the stem between her forefinger and thumb and taking a large gulp.
“We haven’t even eaten yet,” her father grumbled.
She smiled coolly. “I have a strong constitution.”
Another grunt, then he said something she hadn’t seen coming. “You don’t want to take that job because you’re loyal to your current firm.”
She looked at him, not really surprised that her old man was still as sharp as ever.
When she said nothing, he added, “You’re too soft. Weak. You need to be ruthless in this industry, otherwise, you’ll get eaten alive.”
Natasha looked away, focusing her attention on the sea of blue just on the other side of the sheet of glass that separated the inside from the outside. The prison from freedom. She didn’t want to think about his words. He was wrong though. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t soft. She was loyal, and loyalty wasn’t something that should be dismissed as folly. It also shouldn’t be something that should be seen as a weakness. Loyalty had its place, because if it didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be sitting in this living room right now.
She took another sip from her glass, then turned to see what her mother’s take was on this little outburst. She wouldn’t look at her, but she hadn’t defended her either. Not that that was a surprise. She’d never defended her outright, not when her father belittled her. Not when he spoke down to her. Not when he made fun of her.
It was all par for the course.
Draining the rest of her martini, she placed the glass down and settled back into her chair. Lunch. All she had to do was get through lunch, and then she could get the fuck out of there. She’d probably tell herself this was the last time too. The last time she’d come here on her own volition. The last time she’d allow herself to be attacked like this.
The last time...
But loyalty was a bitch, even if it did have its place.
Four
John woke with a groan, squeezing his already shut eyes more tightly in an attempt to shut out the UV rays trying to drive an ice pick through his eye socket. No, thanks. He didn’t need it. Jesus, what time was it? A little turn of his head made him wish he hadn’t, and he tried to focus his eyes on the numbers on the clock. There was a one in there, but he had no idea if it was a digit flying solo or whether the bastard was teaming up with a buddy.
Nope, looked like the little guy was hanging out on his own.
So, it was officially the afternoon and he’d slept all morning. What a way to spend the day.
Getting himself vertical was the next order of business. Pushing himself up, he waited for a round of vertigo to hit, and when that didn’t, he waited for the evac order from his stomach.
Neither of those things happened, so the water and Alka Seltzers that were pushed into his hands when he’d gotten back from the engagement party last night had clearly done their job.
Throwing the sheets back from his body, he got out of bed and grabbed a shirt and a pair of running shorts from his duffel in the corner. As he walked to the door, he could hear Beau and Vee talking in the other room. Man, he knew he was fucked up last night; he just hoped he hadn’t ruined their engagement party.
“Ah, there’s the man of the hour,” Beau called from the kitchen. He was making a sandwich and John’s stomach rumbled. “Hungry?” his best friend asked with a grin.
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks. Oh, hey, Vee.”
Evangeline appeared from behind the fridge door. With a smile, she handed him a bottle of water and pressed a kiss to Beau’s cheek. They were so goddamn domesticated now that it was a little bit nauseating to watch.
“How are you feeling?” Vee asked, cracking open her own bottle of water and taking a sip.
“Surprisingly, not too bad.”
She elbowed Beau in the ribs. “I told you the H2O and fuzzy stuff would help.”
Beau only grinned. “Did you have a good time last night?”
John had only brief flashbacks of the evening, mostly of him drinking, although there was one memory that was probably seared into his mind.
The redhead.
Naked on a desk.
Her long, lean legs on his shoulders as he slammed into her relentlessly.
He cleared his throat and ducked to the side where he could sit on one of the stools at the island and hide his pounding erection. The bastard got a good workout the night before. He was surprised he’d be
up for another round.
“That good, huh?” Beau asked with a smirk.
Fucking asshole.
“I didn’t screw anything up for you guys, did I? Like, I didn’t defile an inanimate object or think that a potted plant was a urinal?”
Beau turned to Vee with a perfectly straight face. “Honey, do you remember that incident with the dog?”
“Oh, the bestiality thing? Yeah, I remember. I think someone got a video of it...”
He groaned as they both began laughing. “Okay, okay,” he said, once they finally stopped. “I get it. I drank too much. Never again.”
“Why did you hit it so hard?” Beau asked, slapping the lid on his ham-and-cheese sandwich tower.
“Are you kidding me? It was an open bar.”
Vee said, “Maybe we shouldn’t have one of those at the wedding.”
“You may be right,” Beau replied, grinning as he took a bite.
John rapped his knuckles on the countertop. “Well, I’m going to shower. I have to get back to San Diego, but I appreciate you guys letting me crash here.”
“Of course, man,” Beau told him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Plus, you know you’re always welcome here.”
“You might change your tune once you’re married and all you want is your privacy.”
“Public sex isn’t an issue for me,” Beau replied with a grin.
“Argh, don’t remind me,” he said. “I can still see your junk out on display on the living room floor.”
Beau threw his head back and laughed. “I’m not even apologetic about that one.”
“It was my fucking apartment, so you should be.”
“Alright, boys,” Vee interrupted. “This could go on all day. Beau, you said you’d come and help me get that squeak out of the mattress?”
His best friend’s face lost all signs of humor. He was straight up in lust territory now. He dropped his sandwich to the counter, his eyes fixed on Vee. She giggled and ran off, with Beau chasing behind her. John shook his head. Those two were so fucking loved-up, but he was so incredibly happy for them. He’d been there for the fallout of their relationship. He’d made it a point to make sure they got their second chance too. Hell, if it hadn’t been for him tearing Beau a new one for considering giving up on Vee, they wouldn’t be where they were right now.