The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(61)
Author: Emma Holly

“My dad’s father abused him sexually. I never met him, and my dad didn’t follow in his footsteps, but he was very weird about anything to do with sex. I wasn’t supposed to date or jack off or watch certain TV shows. If I gave any indication I wasn’t a eunuch, he got really uptight. In his way, I think he was trying to insure I never did to anyone what was done to him.”

“He tried to teach you sex was dirty. He tried to beat it into you.”

“Yes.” Trey seemed relieved she understood. He smiled unexpectedly. The expression was so compassionate it awed her. He wasn’t angry with his father—not like she would have been.

“I don’t know why,” he said, “but I never believed him. I always thought sex was good. I guess I’m lucky that was the case.”

Zane reached to squeeze his arm. He didn’t speak, but the depth of what he felt for Trey was clear. Trey smiled at his friend and her.

“Lie down,” he said. “We’re not done with you.”

When she returned to her prone position, her body forgot to tense against them. For once, the thoughts she was busy thinking didn’t get in the way of her relaxing.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dare

REBECCA loosening up changed the rest of the day. Feeling proud of herself, she skinny-dipped with the men in their indoor pool, not even squeaking when the chauffeur walked in to ask if they’d need the car later. Aside from his initial startled look, the young man hadn’t eyed her, so that was all right. Zane handled it well. He’d kept his temper as he told Owens to wait for a response to his knock next time. She doubted the man would forget. After their swim, they fed the ducks in the estate’s lagoon, then enjoyed a quickie back in the bedroom suite. The sex wasn’t as intense as their time in the playroom, but Rebecca liked it because both men were laughing and playful. Around four, she left a message for the twins that she was away from home.

She didn’t say the V word. That would have alarmed them.

At four thirty, Zane and Trey checked in with their office. That was more than her restraint could take. She begged the use of a computer in their library. Scattered around the elegant book-lined room, Zane and Trey had small writing desks for guests, each with an internet-ready workstation. Palms gone sweaty, she pulled a rolling leather chair up to one.

Typing in the link to Gordon Hewitt’s Boston Eats blog tightened every nerve she had.

You don’t have to read his review, she told herself, finger hovering over the ENTER key. She knew Hewitt’s experience might have been colored by having Neil Montana at his table. Moreover, Hewitt was a single set of taste buds in a world of them. People usually, mostly, almost always liked her food. The Lounge’s opening had some hiccups, but overall Monday’s service had been solid.

“Oh God,” she moaned and clicked onto the site.

“Do Bad Boys Do It Better?” asked the anxiety-inducing headline.

“Shit,” she said and forced herself to read on.

Before she’d finished the first paragraph she was grinning. Bad Boys did it awesome, apparently. Hewitt mentioned the problem with the lobster—but only in conjunction with it being fixed quickly. Her servers were praised for their knowledge and aplomb. Her clam chowder was declared sublime, her Boston beans on toast less aesthetic but still tasty. The words “creative” and “playful” were thrown around more than once. Trey earned kudos for an atmosphere as warm and glowing as fine whiskey.

Hewitt saved his most fulsome praise for the end.

“It is the dessert, however, the simple, satisfying genius of toothsome apple tart topped by handcrafted cinnamon ice cream, that deserves to become this establishment’s signature creation. The blend of flavors and textures fill one with an actual sense of love. Chef Eilert cooks with both heart and skill, making for an experience that this sometimes-jaded reviewer confesses to being eager to repeat. A Highly Recommended for The Bad Boys Lounge from me.”

“Oh my God,” Rebecca breathed, both hands pressed tight against her mouth. Gordon Hewitt, Boston’s most persnickety and respected food critic, highly recommended her. Almost unnoticed, a tear of relief spilled from her right eye.

She had to email Raoul, though he’d probably seen the blog already. Still, her head chef would be excited. This triumph was as much his as hers. She wondered if the booking service was getting many reservations for next week. Trey’s people needed to highlight Hewitt’s rating on the Lounge’s website, maybe pull out a few good quotes.

Adrenaline flooded her, her body wanting to do everything at once. Stop, she thought. Take a breath and calm down. When she did, she knew who she most wanted to share her excitement with. She also knew the partiality meant something.

~

Zane and Trey had a private office down the hall from their bedroom suite. When they had guests, this allowed them to get work done without disturbing their company. Because they’d decided to play hooky with Rebecca on short notice, there was work to see to. As efficiently as he could, Zane checked in on a few situations he couldn’t ignore. Though the office had two desks, and he’d left the door open, Trey made his calls from the sitting room.

Zane had just wrapped things up when Trey came in.

“You done too?” Zane asked, stretching back satisfyingly in his chair.

Normally, this would make Trey admire his muscles—a reaction Zane probably took for granted. This afternoon, Trey wasn’t biting. He sat on the corner of Zane’s desk, folded his arms, and rubbed his lower lip with one finger.

“I just got off the phone with Elaine,” he said.

“Oh?” Zane prompted, unsure what emotion he was facing.

“She took a message. From Constance Sharp’s grown son and daughter. They’re under the impression their mother is in Boston and want to know if I’ve seen her. Evidently, they’re worried. Elaine seemed to think you know something about that.”

“Uh,” Zane said. He recognized Trey’s mood now: it was controlled anger. “Your aunt kind of broke into our offices Friday night. I got her out before she did any damage.”

“You got her out.”

“I had security escort her back to her hotel. I gave the guards strict instructions not to let her back in the building. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I went on that weekend with Missy, and Rebecca’s big do was when I came back. Then we convinced her to join us here. I didn’t want to throw a damper over our nice time.”