[Novel] The Billionaire Bad Boys Club

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The Billionaire Bad Boys Club
Author : Emma Holly
Category : Billionaire, Romance

TREY Hayworth had a choice. He could jack off to his dog-eared Victoria’s Secret catalogue or rely on his stash of torn out underwear stud ads. The Victoria’s Secret women were soft and curvy, the Calvin Klein men as ripped as gym rats in their groin-hugging briefs.
Both made Trey’s eighteen-year-old cock swell up and harden.
He could have used both to masturbate to of course, but he preferred to save that treat for his last . Privacy was precious. He liked to make a full meal of it.
Trey’s father was a pharmaceuticals rep for a drugpany. Twice a month he traveled out of town on sales trips. When he was home, he kept too close an eye on his son for Trey to risk breaking his anti-sex edicts. When he was gone, Trey had more leeway. His sort-of pal Kevin Dexter had shown him how to feed fake footage into his dad’s spycams, which gave him multiple days and nights to revel in freedom.
He could pretend he was normal then. Crawl the mall. Crash a party if he knew of one. He wasn’t popular enough to be invited. The other seniors at Franklin High smelled the freak on him—his indeterminate sexual preference, his home situation, the whole “his mother killed herself last year” thing. Whether they were jocks or nerds, people steered clear of making friends. Trey didn’t fit their boxes. They didn’t know what to make of him. His saving grace was that he was decent looking and owned a car. Waiting tables sixteen hours a week meant he could buy non-lame clothes and keep his rusty Mustang running.
...

 

[books4u]

The Billionaire Bad Boys Club
Page 1​

CHAPTER ONE

The Bad Boys Club

TREY Hayworth had a choice. He could jack off to his dog-eared Victoria's Secret catalogue or rely on his stash of torn out underwear stud ads. The Victoria's Secret women were soft and curvy, the Calvin Klein men as ripped as gym rats in their groin-hugging briefs.

Both made Trey's eighteen-year-old cock swell up and harden.

He could have used both to masturbate to of course, but he preferred to save that treat for his last . Privacy was precious. He liked to make a full meal of it.

Trey's father was a pharmaceuticals rep for a drug company. Twice a month he traveled out of town on sales trips. When he was home, he kept too close an eye on his son for Trey to risk breaking his anti-sex edicts. When he was gone, Trey had more leeway. His sort-of pal Kevin Dexter had shown him how to feed fake footage into his dad's spycams, which gave him multiple days and nights to revel in freedom.

He could pretend he was normal then. Crawl the mall. Crash a party if he knew of one. He wasn't popular enough to be invited. The other seniors at Franklin High smelled the freak on himmdash;his indeterminate sexual preference, his home situation, the whole "his mother killed herself last year" thing. Whether they were jocks or nerds, people steered clear of making friends. Trey didn't fit their boxes. They didn't know what to make of him. His saving grace was that he was decent looking and owned a car. Waiting tables sixteen hours a week meant he could buy non-lame clothes and keep his rusty Mustang running.

His father believed allowances ruined kids.

But that was fine. Trey was happier not relying on him. Safer too, probably. Trying to please her spouse had led to his mother giving up on everything.

He pushed that thought away. Remembering how his mother had checked out made him feel like he was choking. Determined not to waste his time alone, he scooted beneath the box spring to retrieve his inspiration from its well-concealed hiding place. His cock woke up as he did, twitching like Pavlov's dog from the familiar feel of his back sliding over the cool floorboards.

The sound of a raised male voice froze him there with the dust bunnies.

Zane Alexander's father was on a tear tonight.

In some ways, Trey's next-door neighbor was the opposite of himself. Zane was a golden boy. Captain of the football team. A zillion friends. A Porsche. A girl for each arm and leg if he wanted them. In one important way, however, he and Trey had too much in common.

Trey squirmed out from under his bed and crawled to the windowsill to peek out. His pitch-black hair was longmdash;too long, according to his father. Thus far, he'd avoided his father's scissors. As a result, he had to shovel it out of his eyes to see. A strip of grass separated the two ramblers, maybe fifteen feet in all. The night was dark and the shades were pulled. The light from a single lamp silhouetted Zane and his father in their living room. Divorced for a couple years from his beauty queen of a wife, Zane's father had been Franklin's hometown hero once, a football prodigy like his son. An injury sidelined his career, leaving him to simultaneously hate and need to live through his sonmdash;who he liked to pimp out at the sporting goods store he owned. Mr. Alexander was big and beefy but not as tall as Zane. As if he didn't want to remind his dad of that, Zane's shoulders were hunched in.

"You forgot?" Mr. Alexander's drunken voice shouted. "You forgot? You want to tell me how you could be such a stupid shit you couldn't remember one simple thing!"

Zane's answer was inaudible. Truthfully, it didn't matter what he said, no more than it mattered what he'd forgotten. What happened next was inevitable.

His father's arm uncoiled, his meaty fist smacking Zane in the temple. Trey flinched and gripped the window tighter. Zane didn't let out a sound. Again came the fist, and again Zane took the blow. If reflex made him jerk away slightly from the swing, experience kept him from blocking it.

Defending himself would be the opposite of helpful.

He'd made the right choice. Mr. Alexander was finished then, his anger a storm that had blown over.

"No sniveling," he instructed before he left the room. "You take your medicine like a man."

His son stood there by himself, his chest going up and down, his fists opening and closing with some struggle. Shit, Trey thought, not sure what was happening but concerned. Zane's body language said he was about to explode. Trey sucked in a breath, wondering if he should call out. Zane and he weren't friends by any stretch, but maybe something he could say would help.

Before he could decide, Zane turned sharply and headed for the door.

He was out of the house in seconds, striding down their front walk on jerky legs. Probably he wanted to walk his upset off. Trey had done the same lots of times. As he went, a circle of streetlight lit up his chiseled face. Trey winced. The cheek Zane's father hit was bruising. It made Zane's expression seem even more set and grim. His eyes were a blue so bright it was electric.

He looked like he might do anything.

Despite suspecting it was a bad idea, Trey swung out of his bedroom window, hung by his hands, and dropped the remaining distance onto the lawn. Because he was no champion athlete, the landing stung.

By the time he'd rounded the house's corner, Zane had reached the end of their cul-de-sac. Still reluctant to call out, Trey sprinted as stealthily as he could after him. If Zane intended to throw himself off a bridge, Trey was going to stop him.

Mr. Martin's head jerked up as he dashed past in his half crouch, startled from the engrossing task of watering his boxwoods in his robe and slippers. Trey nodded as if everything were normal. Thankfully, the surprised neighbor didn't say anything.

God, this was stupid. Zane wasn't a bully, butmdash;just on principlemdash;he'd beat Trey senseless if he caught him stalking him. The guy was a beast, 6'2" already and solid with muscle. He was quick as well, or he'd never have pulled off playing quarterback. He'd make mincemeat of a sparely built guy like Trey.

Zane didn't seem to know he was being followed. He didn't look around as he led Trey out of their suburban neighborhood and along the shoulder of the two-lane blacktop they took to school. Zane's hands were shoved in the pockets of his dark blue hoodie, his long strong legs apparently tireless. Though Trey ran a couple miles most mornings, he was beginning to get winded.

Then again, his breathlessness might have been arousal. Masochist that he was, he'd had a boy crush on Zane for years. The occasional glimpses he'd caught of his neighbor changing spurred more fantasies than a truckload of underwear models. Trey knew for a fact Zane woke up with morning wood.

As he'd expected, Zane turned in at the high school's grounds. He headed for the track, which was empty at this hour. The chain link fence that surrounded it wasn't tall, and Zane vaulted it easily. Empty or not, the track was lit. If Trey wanted to follow his example, no way could he miss being seen.

He hesitated in the darkness. Zane unzipped his hoodie and pulled it off, revealing his monster shoulders under a white T-shirt. He crouched down to stretch his thighs. He was going to runmdash;an activity Trey could conceivably join him in.

His heart drummed behind his ribs as he told himself not to pussy out.

"Hey," he said like he'd only then walked up and noticed Zane. "You come out here to run?"

Zane turned his head and snorted. His blackening eye confronted Trey, managing to convey sarcasm in spite of swelling up. "Don't be a tool. I knew you were tailing me since you climbed out of your window."

Trey hadn't known his cheeks could blaze quite that hot. A second later, a fierce sexual tingle streaked up his spine. If Zane had known he was there, why hadn't he stopped him?

"I was worried," he said as steadily as he could. "I heard you and your father fighting. I didn't want you to do anything crazy."

Zane let out a ragged laugh. "I guess Horny Hayworth knows a thing or two about crazy."

The nickname wasn't Trey's favorite. He wasn't as big a slut as that. He just tried not to waste opportunities. But at least Zane wasn't saying to take a hike. Trey approached the fence, stopping when he was close enough to grab its top rail. "You want to talk?"

"Fuck. What is there to say?"

"Nothing. Anything. Who cares as long as you know you're not alone?"

This might have been too touchy-feely. Zane dropped his arms and frowned. Still he didn't tell Trey to fuck off. "Your dad hits you too?"

Trey pulled up his flannel shirt to expose a fading bruise. It crossed his ribs in a purplish stripe. Maybe it wasn't appropriate to compare right then, but Trey was aware his six-pack wasn't as ripped as Zane's.

"Shit," Zane said. His fingertips touched the fence as if he'd reach through and stroke the mark. "I never hear him yelling at you."

"He's quiet. Likes to tell me I'm going to hell in a lsquo;rational' tone. Also he doesn't drink. He avoids leaving bruises where they might show."

 

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Zane grimaced at the reminder of his black eye. "I'm going to have to stay home from school until this looks better, and I'm already too behind. I'll lose my football scholarship if I'd don't graduate. Stupid guidance counselors are starting to give me looks. I know my dad will drag me to some other town if they confront him. This shit is so close to being over. I only have to get through this year."

Trey wrapped his fingers farther through the fence links. "You could say I did it. My GPA is okay. I'd survive a couple days suspension."

Zane's eyes widened. They were close now, not even a foot apart. Trey could smell the sweat on him from his rapid walk. "Won't your dad go ballistic?"

"He might do that anyway. It's not like he needs a real reason. If I catch shit for fighting, at least I'd know I was helping out . . . someone."

They both knew he'd avoided calling Zane a friend. Zane gnawed his full lower lip, stirring a longing to suck it that was painful.

"It'd help," he admitted. "I'm no dumb jock, but I can't miss more classes and still keep up."

"So we'll do it," Trey said. "We'll say you called my Mustang a piece of crap, and I got in a lucky shot."

"A lucky shot . . ." Zane's tone was amused.

"Wouldn't work otherwise. Everybody knows you'd take me in a fight."

Zane's gaze measured him up and down.

"Maybe," he said as Trey tensed with self-consciousness. "Maybe not. You're a fast damn bugger. I've seen you running here before."

Zane had seen him running? Zane had bothered to notice him among the usual morning crowd?

Trey took a second to close his gaping jaw. Zane wasn't paying attention to his amazement. He crossed his arms, big guns bulging under the sleeves of his white T-shirt. "You should be on the team."

"Me? Play football? You've gotta be kidding."

"I'm serious. Tony Ciccone blew out his knee last week. Coach would let you try out if I asked him to."

Only Zane could say this like it was no big deal. "No offense, but I don't think I'm the team sports type. More to the point, I'm pretty sure I'm not theirs."

"I have to pay you back somehow. I don't like being in people's debt."

Zane's bright blue eyes were stubborn . . . and maybe something else.

"You want me on the team," Trey blurted without thinking.

The faintest wash of color darkened Zane's cheekbones. "I wouldn't mind having someone as fast as you to back me up."

His gaze held Trey's a bit too determinedlymdash;as if he were resisting a temptation to scope out other parts of him. Trey knew that trick. He'd used it more than once himself. Being attracted to guys and girls wasn't always convenient. Recognizing the look in Zane set his blood on fire, his prick stiffening so swiftly it hurt.

"Shit," Trey breathed at the inescapable conclusion. "You're bisexual like me."

Zane didn't try to deny it, though he did heave a sigh. "Don't tell," he said, sounding more resigned than anxious. "My life is complicated enough."

"Sure," Trey said, disappointed but understanding why. If his quirks hadn't tended to out themselves, wouldn't he have tried to pass for one or the other? Sometimes being bi felt the same as believing in Santa Claus. People assumed he was actually gay and trying to pretend. "Look, you mind if I join you on that side of the fence? I feel silly talking through it this way."

Zane scrubbed his short sandy hair, then waved for him to come on. Trey didn't vault over as picture-perfectly as Zane, but Zane wasn't watching anyway. He'd moved to a nearby set of bleachers to sit on the bottom bench. Trey dropped beside him, not too close but not too far. Just because Zane was bi didn't mean he wanted to do him. A trio of dry brown leaves blew across the track's asphalt, the skittering sound a counterpoint to his not-quite-normal breathing.

He knew it couldn't be normal with Zane sitting next to him.

"Sometimes I don't know who I want to kill more," Zane said. "Him for hitting me, or my mom for cutting out."

Trey wasn't sure what to say to this. Everyone in Franklin knew Zane's mom had run away to Trenton to live with some greasy guy who sold bargain mattresses. Sometimes his commercials played on late night TV.

Fortunately, Zane didn't require a comment. "What's the bruise from?" he asked.

"Belt. My dad caught me watching Baywatch. He's got issues about sex. No," he added in response to Zane's raised eyebrows. "Something happened when he was a kid. Now he's convinced sex is evil. He'd stop the world from having it if he could."

"Good luck with that." Zane leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. His legs looked sexier in those worn gray sweatpants than most men's did naked. He turned his head to give Trey a sidelong glance. "I never."

Trey squinted. "You never?"

"You know: with a guy. I knew I wanted both since I was a kid. I didn't actually realize that was weird until it was too late."

Trey prayed he wasn't giving away how much this confession excited him. "You could try it out with me," he offered as casually as he was able. "See if it's worth the trouble. Unless you'd rather not."

Zane's stare was not as informative as Trey would have liked.

"If you aren't attracted to me, that's okay," he added hastily. "I know I'm not everybody's type. We can still be, well, maybe not friends exactly butmdash;"

Zane put his hand on Trey's knee and squeezed. "You're my type," he said huskily.

Heat rolled through Trey in searing wavesmdash;up his thighs, down his chestmdash;every drop of blood in his body trying to squeeze into his cock. His prick was so hard it was about to bust his jeans. "Really?"

His voice broke, and Zane laughed softly. His fingers squeezed Trey's knee again. "Really. I'm sorry I treat you like you're invisible. I'm sorry I didn't go to your mom's funeral last year."

Sanity-stealing lust fought with confusion inside of him. "Why would you? Even if we're neighbors, we don't really know each other."

Zane leaned over and kissed him.

That surprised him. In his experience, guys didn't always go in for kissing. Trey was glad Zane did. His lips were soft but they pushed firmly, molding over his mouth and urging it open. Trey didn't resist, a thrill shivering through him as Zane's warm wet tongue slid in. Hoping he wouldn't spook him, he cupped Zane's face. The hold steadied Zane's lean jaw, allowing Trey to participate with a minimum of good form. Since he had the chance, he took Zane's sweet lower lip and sucked.

Zane surprised him a second time by moaning.

Trey smiled at the throaty sound, which made Zane draw back an inch. "You've got a good mouth," he said defensively.

Trey snickered. "I'm glad you think so."

"You'd moan too if you'd never kissed a guy before."

"Kiss me more and I'll moan for you."

Zane gave him a disgusted look.

"Make me m-o-o-an," Trey teased, sensing he wasn't really ticked.

Zane laughed in spite of his annoyance, got a grip on Trey's ears, and went in for the kill. He kissed Trey like actors kissed women in moviesmdash;deep and hard and starving. The force he used was overwhelming but kind of great. No one had ever kissed Trey until he went dizzy.

"Crap," Trey gasped when Zane let him loose for air.

"Moan louder," Zane ordered, pushing him backward onto the bleacher to take his mouth again.

Trey was already making noises. When Zane settled over him and started grinding their hips together, they definitely turned to moans. Trey drove his hands under Zane's T-shirt, feeling up his big back muscles and urging him closer. He wanted to grab his ass, but settled for kneading the fans of muscle above it. Zane was doing fine without more encouragement. The ridge of his cock was thickmdash;long too, from the feel of it under his sweatpants. He worked it up and down Trey's prick like he wasn't shy at all. His humping was a little awkward, but his enthusiasm felt amazing. Trey absolutely had not expected this lack of inhibition. More than happy to let all the tigers out, he bent one knee up to give Zane more access.

"Shit," Zane cursed, abruptly jerking his hips away.

Okay, maybe he'd overestimated Zane's readiness for this.

"Was that too much?" he panted. "Do you not want to feel my cock?"

Zane let out a growling noise. "I love your cock. I'm gonna come if we keep that up."

 

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"So?"

"So I'm not gonna fucking rush this." Zane sat up, leaving Trey splayed on the bench. His erection throbbed like a Learjet behind his jeans. Zane looked at the giant hummock and then at him. "Unzip yourself."

Zane seemed sure, so Trey squeezed the top button free, gingerly dragging the teeth open. He'd never felt like this only from unzippingmdash;as if every nerve was cranked to maximum sensitivity. Once his jean front was spread, Zane took over, digging into his briefs to pull his cock up and out of the stretch cotton.

The first contact of his fingers was electricmdash;and not just for Trey.

"Oh man," Zane said, hands sliding greedily up the rod. "God, this is so gorgeous."

Trey wasn't convinced his prick was gorgeous. He was a good size, but his glans was flattish, his shaft oddly bulgy in the middle. He did pay attention to his grooming. As black as his hair was, his bush bugged him otherwise. Zane seemed to like its manscaped darkness. He combed his fingers through the short curls, then returned to fondling his dick. His thumbs rubbed a dangerously tingling circle around the head.

"Easy," Trey said shakily. "I'm close to coming too."

"Sorry." Zane let go to shove Trey's shirt to his armpits. Trey would have been disappointed, but then Zane bent to lick his breastbone, a big wet swipe like he wanted to taste his sweat. "Mm," he said, veering sideways to stroke Trey's tight left nipple. He latched on and sucked, thrumming it fast and hard with his tongue.

Trey gasped, hips thrusting helplessly upward as unexpectedly strong sensations zinged from his nipple to the knob of his cock.

"Do you like that?" Zane broke free to ask. "Girls usually seem to."

Trey barely had breath to laugh. How many times had he imagined having someone compare exactly these notes with him? This was going so much better than he'd dared fantasize. Saying yes with his body, he dug his fingers into Zane's hair, the way he'd dreamed of for fricking forever. Zane rotated his neck with pleasure as Trey massaged his scalp.

"That feels good," he said. "You really make me feel things when you touch me."

"You do too," Trey panted. "I guess we've got chemistry."

Zane rolled his eyesmdash;no hearts and flowers for himmdash;but his lips were smiling.

"Do the nipple thing again," Trey suggested. "I felt that all the way down my dick."

"Will you do it to me later?"

The hint of shyness in Zane's voice got to him even more than his oral skill.

"I'll do anything you let me," Trey promised hoarsely. "Any damn thing you can dream up."

Flashing a brilliant grin, Zane bent back to his chest.

He made Trey squirm and himself chuckle with enjoyment. "I'm going for this," he warned, beginning to move his kisses down Trey's abs.

"Uh," Trey said. Muscles in his stomach jumped from the swirly Zane's tongue drew around his navel. Zane couldn't mean he was going to blow him. That wasn't how beginners wet their toes. Then again, maybe Zane didn't care. He caught Trey's cock again, driving the sweaty heel of his palm up its underside, pushing the length into his stomach. The stroke felt amazing, especially when the edge of his hand compressed the tip.

It felt even better when Zane's tongue followed the same path.

"Zane," Trey said, his voice strangled. "We can just give each other hand jobs. You don't have to go this far your first time."

Zane licked the killing spot underneath the rim, where his foreskin would have attached if he hadn't been circumcised. "I want to. Just let me know if I screw it up."

He tucked his fingers under the shaft, tipping it back toward him. As if he knew it would make his mouth slide better, he wet his lips. Trey hitched up on one elbow so he could watch. Despite his intention to memorize every lick, his eyes nearly closed with bliss the moment Zane's sexy mouth closed on him. He had just the head in there, cradled between his tongue and his hard palate. His hand fisted Trey's rootmdash;good thing, considering how badly Trey wanted to pinball to his tonsils. When he was able to drag up his eyelids, Zane was staring at him, his mouth stretched open by Trey's cock. That visual set Trey's heart thumping harder. He wrapped his hand over the one that was straightening him.

"Keep your hold here," he rasped. "And maybe push the skin down. I like the feel of getting sucked when my dick is tight."

Zane's eyes widened, his breath speeding up. Maybe the idea that other people's mouths had been where his was turned him on. His grip grew stronger, stretching the surface of Trey's cock better than he could himself.

Trey arched his neck and groaned. "Jesus, Zane, that's perfect."

It wasn't half as perfect as when Zane slid his hot mouth down him.

Both men and women had given Trey blowjobs. He'd never failed to enjoy them, but this was an ecstasy of a different order. Zane blew him like it was a Hail Mary play he'd been visualizing. His tongue knew just where to go, his full lips forming the ideal ring for suction. Trey's nuts drew up so quickly he had to squeeze pretty hard through his jeans to pull the right one down. He'd learned the tactic helped him hold off if he felt too close to coming. When Zane saw him do it, he grabbed the other half of his sac himself.

Trey writhed like a fricking eel. Zane's pressure wasn't gentle, but Trey enjoyed an edge of pain. The entire center of his bodymdash;from his diaphragm to his thighsmdash;sizzled with fireworks. Zane sucked him slower and wetter, his magic mouth drawing easily up and down. Trey groaned, his head rolling back and forth on the peeling paint of the bleacher bench. His left hand dug hard into Zane's hair, his right clawed around his own balls. Zane hummed around his dick like he loved every inch of it.

"Pull off," Trey warned, though he didn't truly want him to. "I haven't jacked myself in a week. I never come a damn teaspoonful."

Zane made a sound around his mouthful that sounded like nuh-uh. In case Trey had any doubts about his meaning, he shook his head from side to side.

The motion felt better than Trey was prepared for. It twisted Zane's tongue and lips around him like the stripes on a barber's pole.

"Fuck," he cursed. His left hand tightened on Zane's head, but Zane resisted that urging too. He stuck to his slow pace, letting his tongue caress Trey's underside tenderly. The sweetness of it killed him. Zane was into this. Maybe Zane was actually into him.

"That's good," Trey forced his vocal chords to push out. "God, Zane, that's really nice."

Zane pulled up him until the head popped out. His seductive lips shone with saliva. "I want it," he said, his pupils liquid black in the blazing blue of his eyes. "I want you to shoot down my throat."

The expression on his face made Trey's penis throb violently. Zane pushed down again before he could think what to say. His hand had slid behind Zane's neck when the football star pulled up. Now he forced himself to stop fighting, telling his body to relax and roll with Zane's motions. He caressed Zane the way Zane's tongue caressed him. Everywhere he could, Trey rubbed gently against him: inner thighs brushing ribs, fingers massaging nape. Zane uttered a little noise, like he loved the kindness and like it hurt him at the same time. Maybe the jock would be embarrassed after, but Trey didn't care. His eyes stung with feeling, his heart clenched enough to ache. The edge of the gargantuan orgasm he was riding wasn't as big as his emotions.

If he missed out on this moment, he knew he'd kick himself.

"Do me," he crooned, the words completely different ones in his head. "Do me, Zane. Make me come for you like you want."

Zane groaned and took him deeper, his wetness and his suction increasing. Trey's gathered, his cock twisting tight with its last warning. Zane must have felt the shaft contorting inside his mouth. His cheeks pulled close, soft, his hand releasing Trey's trapped testicle. Heat rushed outward from the freed spot. Trey gasped as his ejaculation shot from him.

It felt like a flood to him, but Zane didn't seem to mind. He sucked right through the contractions, his tongue doing things that kept Trey's as sharp as it could get. When it ended, Trey didn't recognize his own sigh. It was low and melodic, like he was singing his pleasure, like every muscle had released a tension he hadn't known it held. His legs lost their grip on Zane, the soles of his running shoes slapping the compacted dirt beneath the bleacher bench.

The sound seemed to wake Zane from his sucking. He let Trey's cock slip free, the thing so exhausted he couldn't even mind. With a casualness Trey found reassuring, he wiped his mouth on his T-shirt's sleeve. Then, clearly not disgusted, he turned his head to rest on Trey's sweat-streaked stomach.

"Shit," he murmured, lungs going up and down. "That was hot."

 

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He lifted a second later, one arm reaching between his own legs to tug himself comfortable. Trey's eyebrows shot upward. "You didn't come?"

Zane looked at him and grinned. "I did. The second your big hot dick slid into my mouth. I just got hard again."

Trey was happier with this answer than he knew how to say. "You are a crazy mother. How'd you know to suck me so well?"

"It was good?"

"It was incredible. I can't believe that was your first time."

Zane hunched his shoulders, the gesture both mischievous and bashful. "I'm a big reader."

"Come on."

"Okay, maybe I watch a lot of porn. And sometimes I practice on a dildo when I jack off." Zane hid his face against Trey's stomach to laugh silently.

Trey couldn't remember ever being so entertained. "Your practice paid off." He gave in to the temptation to stroke his sandy locks. Zane used some sort of product to spike his hair, but it was still silky.

For half a minute, Zane lay still under his petting. Then he sighed and sat up. He looked down at Trey, flushed from sex but not speaking. His powerful thighs V'd around the bench, his hard-on sticking up nice and prominent in his sweatpants. Trey scratched his stomach, searching for the best approach to get a ***** at it.

"I'm not as good at oral sex as you," he tried, "but I surely do like it."

Grinning, Zane slid his hands down his own torso, skirting his erection to cup and hike his balls. The lift pushed his junk forward. "I bet whatever you did would feel good to me."

Mesmerized, Trey watched his erection wagging behind the cloth. "If I did suck you, I'd get hard again."

"If you got hard again, you'd have to teach me some other way to play."

Trey had never been accused of having a poker face. Easily reading his approval, Zane dug into his sweatpants. His championship hands emerged with both his cock and balls. Trey licked his lips at the tasty sight. Zane's family jewels were as sizable as the rest of him. Even better, the big flushed head was sticky from having come. His own goodies began stirring between his legs.

"You're getting hard right now," Zane whispered.

Trey loved how awed he sounded but didn't grab for him straight away. He had a couple issues he wanted to get clear first. He sat up too, hoping this would help him think. His cock bounced higher as their knees bumped. Ignoring it, he gripped the stretch of bench between them. Zane looked at him questioningly.

"I need to know," Trey said. "Is tonight the only time we'll do this? 'Cause if it is, I'm not letting you go till dawn."

Zane dropped his hold on his cock, his fingers wrapping next to Trey's. He hesitated. "I don't want it to be. You just shouldn't expect me to, you know, ask you to go to prom."

"No," Trey agreed, though the reckless freak in him would have liked if Zane wanted that. "What I'm asking is if you want to fool around againmdash;in private."

Zane's hands covered Trey's, squeezing them on the bench. "Yes, I really do want that."

Trey had to smile at his seriousness. "Good. I really want it too."

"So . . . it'll be our secret?" Zane's fingers stroked the dips between Trey's knucklesmdash;as if he thought Trey needed bribing to keep quiet. Trey couldn't let this pass without teasing.

"Yup," he said. "We'll call it the bad boys club."

Trey knew Zane would think this was stupid. "We're not calling it that," he huffed.

"I think we are," Trey contradicted, prepared to do some bribery of his own. Amusingly, neither of their cocks was bored by the conversation. Both were sticking up and bouncing. He reached for Zane's, wrapping it in his hand and pulling toward the head. As susceptible as a virgin, Zane shuddered and closed his eyes. When Trey squeezed his fingers tighter around the rim, Zane's breath sighed out pleasurably. Deciding he had the jock where he wanted, he switched hands and pulled again. To his surprise, the pressure revealed that Zane was uncut. Trey was able to stretch his foreskin at least an inch higher. A shiver of titillation rolled down his vertebrae. He'd never had a guy with a hood before.

With some effort, he dragged his focus back on topic. "You know why we're calling it the bad boys club?"

Eyes still closed, Zane shook his head tightly. His expression was enraptured, but even rapture could be improved. Trey licked his palm, slicking it good and wet for his next caress. This time Zane squeaked as it tugged up him. Given his reaction, Trey couldn't doubt his was the first male hand to pleasure Zane's equipment.

"Why?" Zane gasped, rolling his hips higher.

"We're calling it the bad boys club so this can be our secret handshake."

In spite of his distraction, this tickled Zane's fancy. He laughed and his eyes flew open. "You're crazy."

"Crazy for you." Trey wagged his brows to make this a joke as well.

Since he hadn't minded it before, Trey smacked a kiss on Zane's mouth. Then he bent to the part of Zane they both wanted him swallowing. Zane's cock was oven-hot, his skin as smooth as satin. Trey's tongue did a happy dance over him.

"God," Zane moaned, the volume of the cry exciting. His pelvis jerked, shoving half of him inward.

Trey took him eagerly. He discovered this was extra good when you had a thing for the other person, when you weren't just sucking a cock but a cock you'd been dying for. Trey wanted to devour Zane, to pull on him with his mouth until he popped like a champagne cork. His tongue went crazy along his shaft, his hands searching out the sweetest places in the vicinity. His thumbs dug between Zane's balls, pushing through to where his cock rooted. Trey loved having his perineum rubbed. Luckily, this wasn't just a hot zone for him. Zane punched his groin upward.

He groaned Trey's name, hands urging his head closer.

"Please," he gasped, totally thrilling him. Trey sucked him harder, and Zane let out a wail.

He came like Trey had, in a burst so big it couldn't be contained, tremor after tremor milked out by his suckling. His final sigh echoed Trey's, his fingers combing Trey's hair over him.

Trey pulled gently up him, leaving one last kiss on the warm wet crown. As if it had been waiting for the salute, his cock sagged downward immediately afterward.

"Wow." Zane's breathing was ragged. "You're better at that than you gave yourself credit for."

His hand was on Trey's shoulder, gripping it like he was a teammate who'd scored a goal. Trey wanted to hug him but decided not to push. He didn't know what Zane was feelingmdash;apart from more relaxed.

"So," he said carefully. "You want to try this again tomorrow?"

Zane flashed the devilish grin that made all sorts of heart flutter. "Screw tomorrow. Tonight isn't over yet."

CHAPTER TWO

Bad Girl

REBECCA Eilert was dreaming. Same as thousands of other girls, she danced with a famous actor who'd invited her to prom. You look so pretty, he said. There's no other girl like you. She didn't believe him. She wasn't that special, but she liked hearing it. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he rubbed her back. Let's ask your parents if we can run away.

The fateful words yanked her from her slumber, the slap of reality causing her heart to pound. She had no parents, and she couldn't run away.

Her mother was dead.

Her father was permanently "off on business."

Her two seven-year-old brothers only had her to take care of them.

Though no one had celebrated, her sweet sixteen had come and gone yesterday.

Oblivious to her distress, Charlie and Pete were locked in their usual morning war. Who got to use the bathroom first was a favorite squabble, along with Pete's habit of stealing his twin's backpack. Charlie knew which one was his because it had no rip in it. When Pete yelled at Charlie for sticking his toe across the duct tape that split their room, Rebecca wanted to yell too.

Their house had three bedrooms. None of them had to share. The problem was, not sharing meant giving up on the pretense that their father would return.

Her final image of him came back to her. He'd been standing by the front door, his overnight bag zipped and bulging by his feet on the penny tile. He was handsomemdash;maybe a little weak, a little less pulled together since his wife had gotten too sick to spoil him. Her funeral had been a week ago to the day.

I can't handle it, Rebecca, he'd said. Your mom being gone. You. When you try to cling to me like this, all I want to do is run.

He'd actually shuddered. He'd been too disgusted by her needing him to hide his repulsion. In that moment, if there'd been a knife in her hand, she'd have shoved it into his heart.

 

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How dare he make her feel like she was the needy one? Like it was her fault he was abandoning them.

Call child services, he'd said. There'll be someone who wants the boys.

Clearly, he couldn't conceive of anyone wanting her.

So it was on her now: taking care of the boys, of herself. As Pete and Charlie's turf war hit a new crescendo, she yanked her flowered comforter over her head. She wished she could stay under here forever, pretending everything was all right. She knew they were lucky they had the old brick row home. She wouldn't hold her breath about her dad sending money, but their mother's insurance payout covered the mortgage. They could keep the house they were used tomdash;even the same bedrooms. As long as no one got sick and the roof didn't spring a leak, they were safe from starving.

Probably anyway.

On the bright side, she was getting really good at forging Sam Eilert's signature.

Before her stomach had time to clench, her bedroom door burst open and banged against the wall.

"We're hungry," Pete announced, finally in agreement with his brother.

Rebecca sat up and glared at him. Though she was tired and angry, her heart twisted. Pete looked hungry. Like his brother, he was skinny as a railmdash;pale too, with pinchy shadows around his eyes no boy his age should have.

"Sorry," he said guiltily, though her glower had faded. "Forgot to knock. Charlie ate the last of the cereal yesterday."

Without their mother to cook for them, cereal and milk had become their go-to meal.

I'm screwing up, Rebecca thought. If I'm going to keep them out of foster care, I need to do better.

"I'll make breakfast," she announced, immediately wondering if she could.

Charlie skidded down the hall in his socks and bumped into his brother. He and Pete were blond like her, but not identical. Charlie was a hair taller and had a wider, more anxious mouth. He hung his pointy chin over Pete's shoulder.

"Pancakes?" he said hopefully.

"Yes," she said with as much firmness as she could muster. "Whole wheat with syrup."

Throwing off the covers, she swung out of bed in her Dalmatian-print pajamas. She tried not to think about her mother shopping for them with her. Paula Eilert been sick already. That trip to Macy's was one of their last outings.

"We don't have syrup," Charlie said.

"I'll make that too," she declared.

Her tone must not have been as confident as she'd meant. The boys exchanged doubtful glances with each other.

"I will," she said. "Go set the table so I can dress."

The twins must have found a smidgen of optimism. By the time Rebecca reached the kitchen, they'd put out the plates and silver. Praying she could whip this together before the elementary school bus arrived, Rebecca set to work.

To her relief, pancakes turned out to be a cinch. She'd watched her mother prepare them so often she needed no recipe.

The syrup was trickier. Sugar dissolved in water didn't taste right at all. Trying to think fast, she chopped and threw some apples in the saucepan. Maybe a pie-filling thing would do. She'd seen her mother make them too. Muttering to herself, she rummaged through the pantry for ingredients that might work. The boys watched her dash around with big eyes, reminding her to flip the pancakes as they fluffed up and browned.

"We don't have to have syrup," Charlie said, trying to be helpful.

"I'm not giving up," Rebecca growled, though her apples had gone mushy. Cursing, she strained them out with a slotted spoon. That disaster discarded, she noticed the remaining juice had thickened. It smelled pretty good. Hoping to salvage something, she blew on the spoon and licked. The miracle that hit her taste buds had her gasping with excitement.

Completely opposite to her expectations, her apple syrup was delicious.

Not only that, it had an amazing texture: smooth and rich on her tongue and a zillion times better than store-bought. With a sense that the magic would disappear if she didn't hurry, she ladled her creation over the boys' pancakes.

"Eat," she urged, setting the portions in front of them.

Possibly she was acting crazy. The boys looked at her, then the food, then picked up their forks and started shoveling.

Pete was the first to pause. "Mmm," he said, a sound she wasn't certain she'd heard him make before. The noise wasn't simply pleased; it was shocked. She'd made him pay attention to what he was eating.

"Mmm," Charlie agreed, nodding emphatically. "This is better than Mom's, Becca!"

They were seven, so those were all the compliments she was getting . . . unless you counted them literally licking their plates clean.

Delighted by their reactions, she almost forgot to eat herself. When she did, she found her brain ticking through adjustments to make the dish better. She wasn't even trying, and her mind just did it. She hadn't known it would. It seemed important. Actually, it seemed epic. Rebecca was okay at lots of things. This suggested there might be something she maybe was great at.

I could learn to really do this, she thought.

"Five minutes till the bus," Charlie broke in to say.

Charlie lived in fear of missing his ride to school. Sympathetic to the worrymdash;because if anyone needed safe routines it was themmdash;Rebecca handed him a damp washcloth. While he mopped the stickiness from his face, she herded her brothers out of the kitchen and down the entrance hall. On the way, she checked Charlie's precious non-ripped backpack.

"Everything is here," she assured him. Apprehension that he'd forget something was a recent tick of his. "All your books and all your supplies."

More relaxed than his sibling, Pete slung his matching sack over his shoulder. His boniness made her gladder that she'd fed him. When his clear gray eyes met hers, they seemed eerily grown up.

"We'll remember," he said before she could start her spiel. "Dad is working in Cincinnati. He called us all last night."

"Right." She bent to kiss his head. She kissed Charlie's too, holding both of them a little longer than usual.

"Bus!" Charlie said in a panic.

"All right," she surrendered, letting go to open the door for them. "You two have fun today."

They galloped down the steps without looking back, exactly like they used to with their mom. Those boys, her mother would sigh. They'd run straight off a cliff if it looked fun enough. Back then, Rebecca's brothers had seemed like pests. Today she understood her mother's concern. Pete and Charlie needed someone to be their safety net. Like it or not, she was it.

I will do better, she told herself.

From then on, whatever it took, she'd be a real parent.

CHAPTER THREE

The Night They Met

THE last four years had been the best of Zane's life. Finally free of their fathers, he and Trey had gotten into Harvard. Zane's way was paved by a football scholarship, Trey's by a special economics prize. Trey might have been more surprised than anyone that he'd won it. His essay on the correlation between macro and micro markets had been submitted by one of his teachers at Franklin High. Though Zane wasn't stupid, when he'd tried to read the doorstopper of a paper, he'd understood one word in two. The experience taught him an important lesson about his friend.

Trey Hayworth's smarts were easier for him to downplay than his sexuality.

Zane didn't hesitate to say yes when Trey tentatively suggested they room together off campus. Not only was this convenient for their continuing sexual hookups, but if Zane got lost in his classes, he had a built-in tutor. The arrangement turned out better than either predicted. For four years they worked and played with equal fervor, each one giving the other whatever hand he needed.

No longer a social outcast, in the university's broader atmosphere Trey blossomed into the king of the eccentrics. His gentleness attracted people . . . and his big brain. He brought his coterie of geeks and Goths to cheer Zane on the gridiron, in return for which Zane made sure every one of them was welcome at jock-thrown parties. Zane discovered his own knack for economics by starting a lucrative bookmaking enterprise. Obviously, he couldn't make book on Harvard football, but what his scholarship didn't cover, his sideline did. Even professors placed bets with him, his reputation for always paying off a matter of pride with him.

As far as it was possible for two individuals to rule a place like Harvard, Zane and Trey did. They were a familiar sight strolling Harvard Yard's leafy paths, generally shoulder to shoulder. They both liked clothes, though not the same styles of them. Zane favored Tom Ford suits while Trey was more Abercrombie and Fitch. Because Trey was Zane's odds maker, once their extracurricular work took off, they could afford to shop. They didn't pretend to be privileged; they just naturally looked it. They learned about living well by doing itmdash;living free, they called it. From the best place to eat scallops to the best place to ski, they were interested. If they didn't know, they researched. Before they'd been on campus a month, people mistook them for grad students.

 

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Neither ever went home on breaks, and both were aware they weren't missed.

Rumors cropped up now and then about the true nature of their friendship, something they chose not to comment on. Girls they enjoyed aplenty, though none of them lasted. By mutual if undiscussed agreement, the only men they slept with were each other. That source of gossip cut off, too many females heaved too many sighs over torrid trysts for anyone to conclude precisely what they were.

That was the way Zane liked it. What he felt for Trey, what he did with Trey, was his business. Well, his business and Trey's. Somehow they'd never got around to spelling out the rules exactly.

He assured himself that was his preference too.

At the moment, contrarily, he wished their association were more defined. Graduation was a week away, their classes finished, their futures twinkling brightly in front of them. Trey had accepted a position at a prestigious economics think tank in DC. Zane had played decently for the Harvard Crimson, but not at a level to turn pro. He was moving to Seattle, having been headhunted by an alum to help start a chain of fitness clubs. The work would be exciting, the responsibility more than most of his peers could boast. Nonetheless, from the moment he'd said yes to the CEO, depression had gripped him.

He didn't want to work for other people. He had his own dreams to chase. The fact that Trey didn't seem to mind them parting increased his dejection. He actually tried to turn down Zane for dinner, claiming he had a mountain of packing to start on. Zane had to coax him a full five minutes to get him to accept.

"We haven't tried this place yet," he said, physically tugging the moving box out of Trey's hold. "Boston Eats gave it a five-fork rating."

"Fine," Trey huffed. "But you're picking up the tab."

Zane had planned to. He always did when the restaurant was his choice. Grumpy enough to bite more than food, he grabbed the keys to his Mercedes CLK and his portfolio.

"Oh no," Trey said, attempting to yank the leather case from his hand. "If I have to quit packing, you're not bringing along work."

"It's not work," Zane snapped, his patience pushed to the limit. "It's an idea I've been meaning to show you."

That shut Trey up long enough to complete the short drive. Wilde's Bistro was on Brattle in Harvard Square, housed in a less-than-lovely concrete and glass complex. The atmosphere was so-so, but the food had been drawing raves. Trey's years of waiting tables in high school had given him an interest in fine dining that Zane enjoyed sharing. They'd made it their tradition to go somewhere nice, just the two of them, once a week.

Zane damn well hated that this might be their last time.

Trey was sloppy chic tonight in tan pants and a navy sweater vest with a rumpled white shirt beneathmdash;tails hanging, naturally. He doffed his sunglasses as they went in, his grin and wink for the very gay maître d' scoring them a window table. Tonight, that also made Zane grumpy, thoughmdash;to be fairmdash;he didn't shy from using his looks to earn a perk or two.

"You boys enjoy yourselves," their escort cooed, handing them the prix fixe menus. "I'll send your server right over."

Annoyed by the special treatment, Zane glowered at the entrees.

"Your face . . ." Trey exclaimed, chuckling. "Why do you get angry if I let some guy think he has a chance with me?"

"I don't."

"You do," he insisted. "And you don't care half as much when I flirt with girls."

Zane flipped the page back to appetizers. "I don't care about either."

Trey sat back and heaved a sigh. His hair flopped over his broad shoulders, the glossy black locks as outrageous as ever. Women went wild for the silky strandsmdash;just like they did for the Celtic tat he'd had inked onto his neck. He'd gotten the black-work knot freshman yearmdash;to prove his skin was his own, he'd said. Because Zane understood the appeal of that, he'd shut his trap on his objections. Afterwards, he'd admitted the thing was hot, but only to himself. Trey didn't need to start thinking he knew best about everything.

Clearly, he was thinking that now. "You care," Trey said quietly.

"What do you want?" Zane asked in exasperation. "Me to hold your hand in public?"

"What I want is for you to feel like you can, to not to care if people get the wrong impressionmdash;or the right one, for that matter."

"I'm not you."

"You don't need to be. Just be okay with who you are."

"Fine," Zane snapped. "Who I am is still uptight."

Trey laughed and shook his head. "Point taken," he surrendered.

Zane's irritation melted, as susceptible to Trey's grin as the maitre d'. Trey was an amazing person, and he'd gotten more so in the five years that they'd been friends. Truth be told, he was sexier at twenty-two than he'd been when they were eighteen. He was taller, more filled out in the chest and shoulder. His green-gold eyes held a self-acceptance Zane wasn't certain he'd ever share. Zane felt compelled to push life into the shape he wanted. Trey seemed content to let it unfold.

Trey leaned forward now, lightly touching the gold-haired muscles of Zane's forearm. "What did you want to tell me?"

For a couple seconds, Zane couldn't remember. Trey's expression was gentle, his eyes familiar and trustworthy. His lashes were thick and dark, his eyebrows heavy slashes above them. Those brows made him look more dangerous than he wasmdash;not unlike the masculine stubble he rarely shaved completely. Then again, maybe Trey's gentleness was the danger, sucking a person in, letting him think he'd stick around forever. A tingle spread from the place Trey brushed with his fingertips, pleasant sensations sliding smoothly across his skin until his cock gave a good hard twitch.

If they'd been alone, he'd have French-kissed Trey, then fucked him like a sailor over the nearest chair.

"The portfolio?" Trey reminded. "You said it wasn't work."

"Oh, excuse me," said a soft female voice. "If you're not ready to order, I can come back."

Trey glanced at the waitress before he did. Because Zane was looking at Trey, he witnessed the subtle shock that snapped through him.

"Hello," Trey said, his eyes widening.

Zane jerked his gaze to the waitress too. She was on the small side; younger than they were, he thoughtmdash;though he couldn't be positive. Zane and Trey usually came off as older than their years. This girl had gamine cut blonde hair, big gray eyes, and a mouth so soft and pink it could have been candy. Her Wilde's Bistro apron made it hard to tell, but he thought her rack was good.

"I'm Rebecca," she said. "If you like, I can tell you the specials."

"Please," Trey said, like it was really important.

Zane looked at him sharply. His roommate's voice had dropped lower than normal.

Rebecca rattled off the specials, then pushed her pencil eraser into her bottom lip. In spite of the situation, interest zinged along Zane's nerves. She truly did have a stellar mouth. "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you really shouldn't order the lobster."

"We shouldn't," Trey repeated.

The short waitress shook her head. "There was a screw up with our purveyor. All we've got today is frozen."

Trey planted his elbow on the tablecloth and his chin in his hand. The position turned him toward Rebecca, silently declaring: I'm all yours, sweetheart. "Frozen lobster so close to Maine is blasphemy."

Flustered by his attention, Rebecca pulled her order pad to her cushy chest. "The striped bass is good. And the duck breast, though it's not on special. One of the senior line cooks makes it. He's got a knack."

Trey's smile couldn't have been more salacious if she'd been discussing sex. "You seem familiar with the kitchen."

He must have been giving her his best smolder, because the girl's breath hitched. "I cook on the line for lunch. I serve dinner because the tips are good."

"People are more generous once they've survived a day at work."

Trey wasn't simply playing his fellow wait staff card, he was crooning at her. The girl began to flush, but stopped herself with a laugh. "Alcohol doesn't hurt either."

Trey smiled at her humor. For all the pair noticed, Zane could have been invisible. He'd watched his friend flirt before, but disappearing himself was a new experience.

"We'll take the duck to share," he cut in. "And the smoked cod tartine to start."

"Oh." The girl shifted her gaze to him, her smile faltering as she recalculated them being a couple. Recovering, she scribbled down what he'd said. "And you?" she asked Trey. "Would you like an appetizer?"

 

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"The terrine of foie gras." After all these years of fine dining, the French pronunciation rolled off his tongue. "We'll get back to you on the wine." His tone was soft, his penetrating green eyes reclaiming their intimate hold on hers. The girl's soft mouth parted, as if she saw something in his consideration that perplexed her. For a couple seconds, the pair stared at each other.

"I'll . . ." She cleared huskiness from her throat. "I'll put your tickets in right away."

As she spun jerkily and walked off, Zane struggled with his shame. "She was cute," he observed, some part of him unable to leave dogs sleeping.

"She was," Trey agreed, now perusing the wine list. His manicured index finger trailed as smoothly down the page as it could stroke an erection. He didn't mention that Zane had effectively cock-blocked him.

That meant Zane really was obliged to act mature.

"You could probably get her number."

Trey looked up and smiled. He seemed to know what had just happenedmdash;even if Zane preferred not to sort it out. "What's in the portfolio?"

"Oh. It's . . . a business proposal I wanted your feedback on it."

The weird exchange with the cute waitress seemed to be over. Trey traded the wine list for Zane's zippered leather case. He opened it, pulled out the stack of bound pages, and flipped through them. Though his movements were swift, Zane knew his friend was reading.

As he did, his expressive lips began curving. "You want to call your business The Bad Boys Club?"

"It conveys a feeling. Exclusive but still fun."

"I agree." Trey turned a few pages back and forth. "This is a big plan, Zane. A magazine. Luxury vacation properties." His saturnine eyebrows quirked. "A fleet of fractional jets?"

"I want to create a brand. I wouldn't try to do everything at once."

Trey closed the neat report. "You'd start with the magazine."

"Yes." Zane was relieved he saw it the same way. "I know magazines are risky, but this one is designed to be ad heavy. We'd do articles on the coolest expensive watches or the best wines for impressing your girlfriend. So many people are insecure about spending money. Whether they have a lot or a little, they want to know they're buying the right things. Of course there aren't lsquo;wrong' things, but they want someone to guide them. People who won a bet were always asking my opinion on how to celebrate. It was like they needed my approval."

A grin slanted Trey's mouth. "That's because you're the lucky stiff whose shoes they wished they could walk in."

Zane didn't take offense. He knew Trey's teasing was meant fondly. "I want The Bad Boys Club to represent a lifestyle. Work hard. Play hard. Look good while you're doing both. I was thinking . . ." He hesitated, because this pushed the edge of his comfort zone. "Every so often, we'd do a spread with skin appeal: the best nude beaches in Europe, the hottest soccer players with their shirts off. We'd draw in male and female readers. Everybody likes visuals."

"You mean everybody likes eye candy." Trey laughed, patting the tablecloth to either side of Zane's report. "You'd totally have to be the first cover boy."

"Me?" Zane jerked straighter. He hadn't thought of this.

"Absolutely. You are the brand you're talking about: the guy women want to bed and men want to hang out with. I can completely see you pulling this off. Like Oprah with testicles."

Zane choked on the water he'd been sipping. "Thank you for that image."

Trey leaned across the table to grip his hand, passion animating his eternally interesting face. "You can do this, Zane. This is so not beyond your capacity."

"I want you to do it with me," Zane admitted.

Trey's jaw dropped, his eyes gone round. His throat moved like he was having trouble deciding how to respond. Abruptly nervous, Zane pulled his hand back from him.

"I know you're excited about working in DC. You'll probably be advising senators before the week is out. The thing is, you'll have more fun if you stick with me."

Trey sat back and blinked at him.

"Full partners," Zane went on stubbornly. "You wouldn't be working for me like you did on the bookmaking. We'd be an equal team."

Trey's green eyes welled up. "Well," he said, blinking them again rapidly. "I wasn't expecting this."

"Think about it," Zane said gruffly. "We don't have to stop being partners just because we're leaving school."

"Right." Laughing softlymdash;possibly at himselfmdash;Trey picked up his napkin and pressed it to his face.

"Uh," said the waitress, choosing then to come up. "Did you decide on the wine?"

Trey laughed harder and dropped the shield for his expression. "Rebecca," he said, looking at her directly despite his emotion. "We'd love it if you'd bring us a bottle of the Les Belles Filles Burgundy."

Zane reminded himself Trey usually remembered server's names.

"That'll complement what you ordered." Rebecca sounded like she knew . . . and like her customers ought to care. Evidently, she had confidence in her taste. "Shall I bring the bottle with the main course?"

"Please," Trey said. The pair traded smiles, not as flirtatious as before but like they approved of each other and were enjoying it.

Zane bit his tongue against interrupting their mutual admiration society. If Trey wanted to make time with this girl, that wasn't his concern. Because of who they were sexually, they couldn't supply each other with everything they craved. Given a choice, neither would give up women as bed partners.

"I'll take care of it," Rebecca said, tapping her pencil crisply against her pad.

Maybe consciously or maybe not, as she walked off, Trey turned to watch her butt twitch in her plain black trousers. When she'd disappeared past a couple tables, he returned his gaze to Zane.

"I'll think about your offer. I expect you could use an answer soon."

"Soon would be good," Zane conceded, "but take the time you need."

Privately, he'd expectedmdash;hoped?mdash;Trey would jump at the opportunity. Did his delay mean he was searching for a way to refuse? Would Zane feel half as excited about his dream if his best friend weren't living it with him?

Uncomfortable with his doubts, he squirmed like a five-year-old through dinner, whichmdash;despite being tastymdash;couldn't hold his attention. Trey mm'ed and savored per usual. The waitress and he didn't share any more moments. Zane couldn't decide if he felt relieved or guilty.

Since Zane was paying, Trey left the tip. Zane believed in being generous, but the pair of hundred dollar bills Trey pulled from his wallet raised even his eyebrows.

"The service was good," Trey said as he stood. "Plus, she seemed like she could use it."

His gaze evaded Zane's, not a reassuring development. Just how sparked by this girl was he?

"Okay," Zane said, wondering if he should say more. In the end, he decided no comment was safer. They walked out onto the street where the sun had set and the temperature was cooling. The commercial area was popular. Shoppers and diners came and went. Zane paused on the sidewalk, squinting through the streetlights to see if he could spot stars. They were blurry, but he found a transparent three-quarter moon.

Please say yes, he thought silently to his friend.

Trey stepped closer to him, the back of his hand brushing the back of Zane's. Traffic rolled by, some of the cars recognizably driven by students. In a what-the-hell reaction, Zane wove their fingers together.

Trey bumped his shoulder companionably.

"I want to do it," he said. "The thing is, I'm sure I haven't saved as much money to invest as you."

Zane's heart jumped inside his chest. "Your brain is worth more than mine."

"True," Trey agreed.

Zane turned to him, wanting to kiss his sly smirk so badly he hurt.

"Careful," Trey teased, the smile deepening. "You look like you're on the verge of a PDA."

Zane growled deep within his belly, beginning to tug Trey urgently toward their parking spot. He hadn't realized he was getting hard while it happened, but now his cock pounded. Trey laughed, guessing exactly where the night was going.

Zane was so eager it took two tries to unlock the silver convertible.

"I can drive," Trey offered, not hiding his amusement.

"I'm faster," Zane refused.

Trey didn't wait for Zane to get through the next intersection before he reached past the armrest and manhandled his erection.

 

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"Crap." Zane's foot slipped off the gas pedal, causing the car to jerk. Because he was an excellent driver, he recovered without an accident. When Trey curled his fingers tighter and massaged, he was prepared for the knee-weakening wash of bliss.

"Just trying to help," Trey purred, rippling his hold again. "You looked like you were having trouble . . . containing your excitement."

"When we get home," Zane warned, "I'm going to fuck you so hard your head will spin."

This was no dissuader for his roommate. Trey squirmed closer on the seat, leaning toward Zane until his lips brushed his ear warmly. "Promise I won't be able to walk straight?"

"Yes," Zane confirmed through clenched teeth.

He drove carefully enough not to kill them. Trey's hand never left his crotchmdash;squeezing, kneading, dragging all ten fingernails over the hardened ridge. Only when Zane's breath hissed inward did Trey's technique gentle. He rubbed Zane's erection gently with the heel of his palm. A quick check of Trey's lap told Zane he was sporting a big hump too.

Sweat broke out on Zane's forehead.

"I could suck you off while you're driving," Trey whispered in Zane's ear. "I could just lean over and unzip you with my teeth."

Zane's hard-on throbbed as if a very pleasurable knife had stabbed it. They were two blocks from the old triplex in which they lived.

"If you make me shoot before we get behind closed doors, I'm fucking going to kill you."

Trey was a master at knowing when to back off. Smiling like the Cheshire cat, he released Zane's tormented dick and lounged against his door.

"I have my own surprise for you." He slid one hand down the bulge in his smooth tan pants. His fingers were together, his palm absolutely flat. The ridge he pushed against barely budged.

"I've seen your prick before," Zane said even as his mouth watered.

Trey rubbed his hand down and up again. "You haven't seen my prick like it is tonight. Trust me, you're going to beg to give me a blow job."

Zane shuddered as Trey's tongue swept around his lower lip. Dragging his attention back to the street, he gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled. Their neighborhood in Cambridge was residential, many of the old three-story houses providing rentals for students. Short on driveways, parallel parking was the norm. Miraculously, Zane got the Mercedes into its spot with one try.

Continuing to look at Trey seemed like a bad idea. As he jogged up the steps of the old house's wooden porch, he felt as if a foot-long hammer were wedged in his underwear.

"Get the lead out," he called to Trey, who was strolling more leisurely behind him.

Still on the middle of their front walk, in full view of any neighbors who might be peeking out their windows, Trey reached into his trousers to adjust his boner.

The wave of heat that rushed to Zane's core seared him.

He fumbled over opening the deadbolt just as he had the car. Luckily, he and Trey rented the first floor. They didn't have any more stairs to run up or doors to unlock.

When Trey finished sauntering to the porch, Zane grabbed his wrist and yanked him in after him. Trey stumbled, but only until Zane caught him. Their combined weights slammed the door behind them.

The kiss that ensued was equatorial. Zane flattened Trey against the wood, grinding their groins together and eating at his mouth. Zane was only a little taller and barely had to bend his knees to match up their erections. Rarely shy about touching Zane, Trey climbed him with one leg and clutched both octopi arms around his back.

Zane relished the way they groped him.

"God," Trey sighed, his neck arching back, his right hand urging Zane's ass to rock harder. "I am so fucking hot for you."

Past waiting any longer, Zane tore free and started ripping off his own clothes. As he did, he backed toward the living room. He loved fucking Trey over the arm of the button-tufted leather Chesterfield, the height being exactly right for them. He toed off his black Pradas, then braced on a chair to peel off his socks.

"Hurry," he said to Trey, because he was barely done unbuttoning his shirt.

Zane shucked his trousers, leaving himself in nothing but underwear.

Seeing this, Trey pressed his hand to his heart and smiled. "You wore my favorites."

The boxer briefs were black Calvin Kleins with a white waistband. Zane preferred Hugo Boss, but Trey had fetishized the former brand during his teenage jack off days. Exploiting this, Zane teased his fingers under the stretchy band. "Why don't you finish stripping and then help me?"

That spurred Trey to undress with greater efficiency. He left his briefs on like Zane: white snug cotton that glowed against his bronzed hair and skin. Because he'd adjusted his cock outdoors, the head of the thick stiff rodmdash;now leaning slightly to the leftmdash;stuck out above the top. Zane loved everything about Trey's penis: the slightly flattened breadth of the crest, the strength of the veins, the way his shaft swelled in the middle when he was extra excited. It was swelling now, behind the soft cotton. His cock was big, maybe bigger than Zane's. Since Trey was leaner, it seemed so.

Zane couldn't take his eyes off the sexy monster as Trey approached.

He touched Zane's waist when he arrived, fingers rubbing his skin softly. His tenderness might have been the only thing that could drag Zane's gaze upward.

"Take yours off first," Trey said. "My surprise is under mine."

"You've really got a surprise."

"I really do," Trey said.

Zane kissed him, lips molding over his lover's gently, hands flattened for balance behind his shoulder blades. The girl-soft kiss was more Trey's style than his. When he let go, Trey was starry-eyed. Pleased with himself, Zane shucked his briefs, spun them around one finger, then plopped himself bare-ass naked on the couch.

"All right," he said, arms and legs akimbo on the leather, "show me what you've got in there."

Trey shoved the white briefs down his legs. Zane noticed his bare cock first, this being the natural magnet for his interest. He took a moment to realize Trey's pubes were shaved.

Then he saw the outline of the ornate monster.

"Holy fuck," he said, scooting forward on the cushion.

Trey had a new tattoo, a black Chinese dragon a bit smaller than Zane's hand running up the left half of his abdomen. This was no press on. The skin around the design was pink from healing. The dragon's tail curled around the hefty base of Trey's erection, the final pointy tip extending onto his penile skin on the underside. Zane's breath hissed in at the thought of artist's needle shooting ink into him there.

Getting this tattoo must have burned like a mother.

Zane's penis lurched out so hard it felt like it was burning too. His hands seemed to find their own way onto Trey's thighs, stroking the hairy muscles there. He swallowed, more turned on than he knew how to describe.

"It's not complete yet," Trey said, his voice softened by shyness. "I could only stand to have one color done for the first session. You'll see the letters more clearly once the green and red are there."

There were letters? Trey's erection cast a shadow from the light on the end table. Zane pushed his shaft gently to the side so he could see better. He was panting and couldn't seem to stop. Somehow, he thought Trey would forgive him.

And there they were: an intertwined Z and T worked into the dragon's body. The lettering was fancy, hard to read unless you knew to look for it.

"It's for me," Trey said. "To always remember us. No one else will guess it's there."

Zane throat threatened to close up. Fuck, Trey was sweet sometimes. He didn't know how to thank him, though he was going to try. He looked up, knowing his emotions shone naked in his eyes. "When did you get this done?"

"Last week. I kept wondering if you'd notice I was avoiding you in bed."

"Oh I noticed." Zane laughed ruefully at himself. "Why do you think I've been in a shit mood lately?"

"Because you thought we were going our separate ways."

"Didn't that upset you?"

"Yes," Trey said. "Why do you think I wanted a mementomdash;especially one that was guaranteed to get you hot under the collar."

Zane frowned, but Trey wasn't fooled.

"Come on," he said. "You think I haven't noticed how much you like my neck tat? You hardly ever nuzzle the other side. It's always the inked one you're licking up."

Zane shook his head. "You are too smart for me."

Trey didn't say of course, just tipped his head endearingly to the side. "Want to christen my cock art?"

In case Zane couldn't figure out what he meant, he poked the tip of his tongue out. That this was a cheap trick didn't matter. Zane's groin tightened with excitement.

 

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"Yes," he said huskily. "I want to lick you until you're dripping . . . and then I want you to fuck me."

Trey's grin had been widening, but at this it faltered. "Really? I thought you didn't like being fucked."

Zane had a thing about pitching versus catching, but maybe it was time he got over it. Trey taking him wouldn't make him less of a man. Trey couldn't make anyone less than they were.

"I want you to," he said, his ass going weirdly hot. "It wouldn't hurt you too much, would it? Since your tattoo is still healing?"

"Oh boy." Trey dragged his thumb and fingers down the sides of his expressive mouth. He had long creases there when he smiled, like dimples on steroids.

"What?" Zane asked, because Trey looked sheepish. "Should we save this for another night?"

Trey shook his head and laughed breathily. "Here's the thing: If fucking you hurts me a little, it'll get me extra hot."

Zane didn't think of Trey as a guy who kept secrets. His face gave him away too easily. Zane's obvious amazement must have embarrassed him. Trey's face turned redder than his cockhead.

"I don't mind that," Zane hurried to reassure him. "I'm just surprised you kept this to yourself."

Trey didn't explain why he had. He grabbed Zane's hands, hauling him off the couch and kissing him thoroughly. Zane enjoyed that, but didn't forget his agenda.

"Phew," he said, disengaging his tingling lips. Their groins were plastered together, their long naked cocks squashed as close as possible. Zane wondered if his curls were chafing Trey's waxed skinmdash;and if this was good or bad. Whatever the answer, Trey was revved. His slit was leaking a steady trickle of pre-cum.

Loving that, Zane rubbed the moisture slowly across their side-by-side dick heads.

Dropping his gaze to watch, Trey bit out a breathless curse.

"Stay," Zane ordered, sitting back on the couch himself.

He kept his hold on Trey's hands, fingers locked to form conjoined fists. Normally, he'd have gripped the base of Trey's penis before he went down on him, but he trusted him not to over thrust. The gamble had a nice payoff. Trey's fingers tended to telegraph every shift in his tension. They tightened like iron when Zane's mouth sank over him.

Trey sighed as sweetly as if it were his first time.

Zane never lost his enthusiasm for this act. Sucking Trey's cock was his idea of heaven. Tonight, it looked like his friend wasn't destined to last long. His moans grew louder, his fingers clenching Zane's as his thighs knotted. Taking pity, Zane switched to lapping the flat of his tongue up him.

Trey's body undulated from knees to chest.

Laughing, Zane sat back with his legs sprawled. His cock could have been a pole planted at his crotch. "You're not up for teasing right now, are you?"

Trey shook his head and panted.

Zane was going to do it anyway. Sliding off the couch, he kneeled on the carpet to nip and kiss Trey's hipbone. Trey had a sexy muscle that swooped and fell around it. Zane mouthed his way along it until he reached Trey's dragon. With a little prayer that he hurt him the right amount, he pulled his tongue across the slightly hotter skin where the tattoo artist had performed his magic.

Once he'd left a trail of wetness, he blew on it.

Trey shuddered, fingers gripping Zane's hard enough to hurt. Zane's cock began to tremble, sympathetically excited. The tattoo made this better, the knowledge that his lover could not only take the pain but actually got off on it. Maybe this said weird things about Zane's kinks, but he couldn't help enjoying that Trey was tough. Again Zane licked, a longer swipe this time . . .

Then he dragged his tongue to the very tip of the dragon's tail.

"Stop," Trey begged, a mere breath of air. "I'm too close to going."

Zane stopped. He wanted Trey to last too. "You ready to take me then?"

"I'm ready," Trey said. "You need a bit of prep."

Zane and Trey's two-bedroom apartment was their sanctum. They didn't bring female dates here, and only close friends hung out. Because of this, they didn't hesitate to stock every room with supplies. Considering how much they liked sex, they never knew where the mood would strike.

Trey reached into the end table drawer for KY and Trojans. Tossing them to Zane, he shifted the lamp and table out of their way. Making sure they didn't trash their belongings was usually Zane's job. Watching Trey's arm muscles tighten with the familiar task sent an odd thrill through him.

"Stand," Trey said. His voice was every bit as authoritative as Zane's could be. "I'm going to fuck you over that couch arm."

Zane stood. His legs were stiff as he moved into the specified position, his forward bend on the padded leather unavoidably awkward. This was Trey's place, exactly to a T. Zane rested his weight on his elbows, craning his head around as his friend stepped closer.

"Good," Tray praised, sliding both hands around Zane's butt cheeks. His palms were warm, his caress admiring.

He took the lube away from Zane's hand.

Zane had engaged in butt play a time or twomdash;a thumb crooked into his hole to excite him, a lick that skirted the forbidden. Until tonight, that was as far as it went. Trey had never stuck a finger all the way in before, much less one coated in warm lube. Zane must have been readier than he knew. His body didn't resist the smooth intrusion.

"God," he said, squirming helplessly. His interior tingled around Trey's knuckles, and his cock had begun to drip. "Jeez, Trey, that feels so good."

Trey bent over to kiss his nape, hot breath stirring the short hairs there. "Want to try another finger before you take my dick?"

Zane did and didn't, his every erotic nerve suddenly impatient. "Yes," he said, because he had to give some answer.

Trey pulled out, squeezed more lube down his *****. His way prepared, he pushed two fingers into him. That was even better. Zane groaned, his spine arching with pure need. Seeming to understand what he wanted, Trey moved his slick fingers. He curved them to match Zane's passage, their probing almost too gentle. Gentle or not, they felt incredible. In and out they rubbedmdash;deep, slowmdash;sending waves of feeling through his body.

Zane gritted his teeth with pleasure, helpless to keep his moans inside. "Tell me, Trey. Why did I . . . wait so long to do this?"

Trey laughed and pulled his fingers out, eliciting a small whine from Zane. Paper ripped. Trey had grabbed a towelette packet to wipe his hand.

"Nothing wrong with waiting until you're ready." To Zane's relief, Trey's voice was thick with anticipation. "You're bound to enjoy it more this way."

Zane was already enjoying it. He still held the box of condoms, his tensed-up hand having crumpled the cardboard. Trey rescued the squashed package and took out what he needed.

Unable to resist, Zane turned his head to watch. As graceful as a sculptor smoothing a length of clay, Trey rolled the latex on.

"Now I know I'm big," Trey said, stroking his shaft more than he had to. "I promise you, though, you can take my mighty sword. You don't have to worry about swooning."

"Fuck," Zane said, startled into a laugh.

Seeing his joke was appreciated, Trey grinned broadly. His mighty sword sheathed and ready, he cruised his hands gently up Zane's back. "I love you," he said. "I'm really glad you're ready to try this."

He said this as easily as Zane would wish him luck on an exam. He seemed not to realize hearing it would stun Zane. Trey loved him? Trey wanted to say it? Zane knew they were best friends; more than friends, truthfully. Nonetheless, those words rocked his foundations.

"Shush," Trey said, amusement crinkling his eyes. "That's a freebie. No need to think about it too hard."

"Imdash;"

"Shush," Trey repeated before he could stammer. "New rules are I get to say what I like when I'm fucking you."

"You're not fucking me yet," Zane returned weakly.

Trey leaned down to nip his shoulder. "Hairsplitter," he mocked him.

He drew his hands to Zane's ass, pulling his cheeks apart. "Push out a little," he said. "My cock is wider than my fingers."

It was wider, but by God it felt good. Being taken was different than being the one in charge. Something in Zane, something not of the body, felt like it was giving way. He was trusting Trey, more than he ever had before. Maybe it should have alarmed him, but that pleasure was as intense as the rigid pole pushing into him. Trey obviously liked penetrating him. Zane heard the hitch in his breathing, the little moan of bliss that caught in his throat.

"Okay," Trey panted, once he was halfway in. "Your erection might flag a little, but trust me it will come back."

 

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Caught beneath the Chesterfield's soft roll arm, Zane's erection was solid as granite. "Um," he said, "I think my libido is skipping past that part."

He arched to take more of Trey, the shift in angle allowing the other man to glide in all the way. That felt so awesome they moaned in chorus.

"You okay?" Trey panted.

"Yes." Zane couldn't help squirming. Stretched by Trey's huge erection, he couldn't decide if his back passage itched or just felt wonderful. "You?"

Trey's ragged breathing broke up his laugh. "My tattoo stings a little. It's really making me hot."

Him saying so made Zane's toes dig into the plush carpet. He swung one arm back to latch onto Trey's hip. "Please don't wait. Please fuck me right away."

Trey trailed his fingertips up Zane's arm. "Okay," he said, bending to kiss Zane's shoulder. "You don't have to hold me, though. I promise I'll get you where you need to go. Your first time, you should just relax and enjoy."

Zane let go reluctantly. Leaving everything up to Trey didn't sit naturally with him. With a quiet grunt of approval, Trey slid one arm beneath Zane's chest, hugging him firmly for leverage. His other hand gripped the couch cushion. Something about the sight was unbelievably sexy. Their bodies situated, Trey retreated to Zane's brink. Zane sank his teeth in his lip, dying for the pulsing organ to drive back in.

Trey rocked forward with the perfect amount of oomph to push a gasp from him.

Trey didn't ask Zane if this felt good. Zane wasn't his first, and he knew what he was doing. He repeated the thrust instead, building speed, building force, until Zane's moans began sounding crazed. Trey had found his prostate. The flare of his glans ran repeatedly over it, the fatter center of his shaft adding a wonderful extra pressure to the proceedings. Zane even liked the smoothness of Trey's shaven groin slapping him.

"I can . . . rub your cock," Trey offered, his chest wall tight behind him. "Sometimes taking it in the ass . . . isn't enough to bring guys off."

In Zane's experience, it was always enough for Trey.

"There's no wrong answer," Trey assured him when he hesitated. "Ask for . . . whatever seems good to you."

Zane didn't get a chance. Trey shifted his legs apart, maybe to improve his balance, or maybe just because. The move stretched Zane's legs wider. His feet were stuck in the broadened stance, held in place by Trey's weight and position. The sensation of being trapped heightened his awareness of Trey pumping inside him. Zane's throat went tight, his lungs struggling to get air fast enough.

Did Trey know what he'd just done to him? If he did, he'd done something to himself as well. His thrusts came harder, his hips slinging jerkily inward. The leather couch cushion creaked from the strength with which he gripped it. He was breathing as raggedly as Zane.

"Hold my cock." Zane panted out the order, sensing Trey didn't have much longer. "Hold it . . . really tight and don't rub."

Trey released the couch cushion, fumbling under his partner to get a grip on him.

Trey's fingers tightened and Zane cried out. His next cry was even hoarser, because of course Trey wasn't satisfied with a simple hold. He'd always been fascinated by Zane's foreskin. Now he cinched it with thumb and forefinger, forcing the retracted hood back above the flare. He shimmied it around Zane's glans, pleasure stinging the sharpest nerves he had.

"Take it," Trey urged, his hips and his voice gone wild. "Fucking take your . Fucking come over my fingers."

Trey's own words did a number on himself. He shoved hard, his cum flooding Zane with heat. The final jump and swell of his cock pushed against Zane's prostate.

"Zane!" Trey cried, pulling back two inches and slamming in again.

Zane's heart thumped a mile a minute, the ache in his lower torso deliciously suspenseful. About to die if he didn't come, he threw back his head and bucked as hard as he could into Trey's next thrust.

The orgasm seemed to explode inside his brain.

He spurted over Trey's fingers, spraying the couch, the rugmdash;hell, maybe half of Boston. This was a colossal ejaculation, more than could be accounted for by the week he'd gone without. Trey had touched off a switch inside him, and possibly in himself. That they'd been fucking each other five years now didn't seem to matter. The twists and turns of their kinks still had some surprises left.

They both were shaking when Trey sank over him.

"Jesus," he said, dragging his lax mouth across Zane's sweat-streaked skin. "Tell me I didn't hurt you at the end."

"You didn't hurt me," Zane slurred obediently.

Trey pulled out with a groan, dropping from where he was to sit on the floor. "I don't think I can stand up."

Without his weight, Zane felt as light as air. He squirmed fully onto the couch, then turned himself around. Trey's damp dark head was near enough to pet.

"Thank you," Zane said. He meant for everything: the last five years, tonight, the future they were going to share together. Zane might not have cornered the market on introspection, but he knew this was a rare moment. In this moment, his life was very close to perfect.

As if he sensed his thoughts, Trey drew Zane's hand down and kissed its palm.

Emotion overwhelmed him. How could he deserve this man? Trey's kindness alone was humbling, his ability to forgive. Trey never held back his affection, no matter what Zane did. In the face of that, Zane had no right to deny him anything he wanted.

"We could go back to Wilde's tomorrow," he offered impulsively. "See if the lobster is fresh yet."

Trey hesitated for one heartbeat. "No," he said. "I expect we'll be too busy to try their food again."

CHAPTER FOUR

Chef

REBECCA'S heart pounded way too fast as she opened the passenger door and hopped out of the delivery van. Her head chef Raoul was driving, taking time off to help her. She owed him big for this, especially sincemdash;strictly speakingmdash;he didn't work for her anymore. In the back of the van was his strapping son Dominic. They'd double-parked in the financial district, a busy area of Boston that mixed Colonial buildings and skyscrapers. Because Raoul couldn't leave the wheel, Dominic was helping her offload her two shrink-wrapped six-foot-tall supply carts. Neatly packed onto the steel shelves was everything she needed for today's menu. She knew this because she'd checked the contents as obsessively as her brother Charlie used to check his backpack for school.

She couldn't afford to forget anything today. Every detail had to go perfectly.

She wiped sweaty palms on her clean black trousers, then grabbed the back end of the first cart to guide it down the van ramp with Dominic. He grinned at her, a nice kid who adored his talented father and seemed likely to follow in his footsteps. Once the second cart joined the first on the hot sidewalk, he flipped the ramp up and slammed the doors.

"Knock him dead, chef," Raoul called out the driver's window. Though they were friends, he often called her that. Coming from him, the title was a cross between "boss" and "hon."

Grimacing at the butterflies in her stomach, she acknowledged his well wishes with a wave before he drove off. God, she hated being this nervous.

"You'll be fine," Dominic assured her like he was sixty and not sixteen. "You've done this sort of thing, what, two-and-a-half zillion times?"

"Pipsqueak," Rebecca retorted as they shoved the carts toward the entrance of TBBC's corporate headquarters. She might have done this a zillion times, but never with so much riding on the result. "If their kitchen sucks, I'm not letting you forget it for a year."

The building's doorman trotted over to open the non-revolving door. His charcoal gray uniform was sharp, his buttons bright enough to blind. Trey Hayworth and TBBC didn't do anything half-assed. She'd need her A-game to get this job with him.

Inside, the circular air-conditioned lobby was just as intimidatingmdash;soaring steel and glass and Carrara marble stretching to a hundred-foot atrium. Her mind boggled at the thought that two Jersey boys who'd barely cracked the age of thirty were responsible for Beantown's latest architectural marvel. The spread she'd read in Boston Magazine claimed the pair had been integral to the design process, and that Hayworth in particular had caught an engineering miscalculation that would have resulted in large stretches of windows popping out in high winds. If she'd been applying for an architectural position, she'd probably have quailed before she set foot inside.

You're a genius at what you do, she tried to remind herself. No one cooks for Bostonians like you.

 

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Unless they did, and she'd been deluded all this time.

The stupid thought sank her stomach. God, please, let her not screw this up. She couldn't beg that bastard Titcomb to take her back on staff, not if it meant working under the dumbass dickhead he'd hired to be her supposed boss. Titcomb liked the guy because he'd won some reality TV show. However he'd managed that, it wasn't by cooking well. The only thing sadder than his overworked, over-seasoned dishes was watching him try to impress Wilde's crew with his "credentials." She knew the veteran cooks were hoping she'd get this job and could bring them over. Titcomb would be lucky if the new guy didn't drive him out of business within the year.

Not that she'd be there to see it.

Molars grinding, she pushed her cart beside Dominic's across the shiny lake of imported stone. The wheels bumped slightly at the lobby's center where the company's elegant gold logo was inlaid.

"Ms. Eilert?" said a security guard in a suit. He'd stepped out from behind his desk before they could reach it. He was trim and polite, his wireless earpiece adding to his professional air. "We're holding the freight elevator for you if you'd like to follow me."

"See," Dominic murmured. "No way is this place's kitchen going to suck."

Rebecca smiled, amused by his confidencemdash;despite her ability to be neurotic under almost any conditions. Calm at least for the moment, they and their carts made it to the twentieth floor before her palms broke into a sweat again.

She forgot they were damp the moment she caught a glimpse of where she'd be working.

"Whoa," Dominic said, coming to a halt behind her.

TBBC's corporate kitchen was a palace. Impeccably equipped, every pot, every burner, every inch of burnished steel worktop was spotless. Rebecca's entire brigade from Wilde's could have cooked here with room to sparemdash;assuming she still had a brigade, of course.

"The walk-in is that way," the suited guard informed her, gesturing toward its door. "Feel free to use anything in it. Mr. Hayworth has cleared his schedule for 1:30. If you suspect your food won't be ready, please use the phone on the wall to warn his assistant."

"I don't think that will be a problem." Rebecca was slightly breathless from the lovely toys around her.

The guard smiled at her. "Good luck," he said, exiting politely.

"Am I staying?" Dominic asked, hardly containing his eagerness.

The terms of Rebecca's tryout allowed her an assistant. She'd been planning to do everything herself. When you had her experience, creating a tasting menu for just one person wasn't overly difficult. On the other hand, Dominic had sufficient training from his father to carry off simple sauces and fine chopping. Seeing his pleading look, she remembered how eager she'd been to learn when she was his age. If he stayed, she'd have to keep her nerves wrapped up for his sakemdash;which might not be a bad thing.

"You'll do what I say?" she asked, pointing her sternest chef's finger. "No getting lsquo;creative' with my instructions?"

Practically bouncing, Dominic crossed his heart.

"All right," she said, swallowing back a surge of adrenaline. "God help me, you're my sous-chef."

~

A tasting menu's purpose was best described as amuse-gueule: amusement for the mouth. Small portions kept taste buds in a state of attention, while creative presentation seduced the eyes. Flavors could be subtle, but they had to communicate. I am basil. I am lamb. Do I not blend magically with my companions? Ideally, courses took diners on a journey: from surprise to delight, from pungent to delicate. Childhood memories could be evoked or exotic global trips. If food was emotion, a tasting menu was a tale packed with adventure. Creating one proved a chef possessed imagination as well as skill.

The journey Rebecca had devised mixed comfort and surprise. Naturally, preparation didn't occur without hiccups. Adjustments invariably had to be made en route. In the end, however, when the minute hand on the wall clock clicked to 1:29, she felt as confident as she was capable of.

She smoothed the front of her chef's whites, polished a faint smudge from the first plate's cover, and turned to face the door. Dominic had set up the little table at which her sole guest would eat. Rebecca believed in working clean. Although later dishes were still in process, very little chaos remained.

At precisely 1:30 and ten seconds, Trey Hayworth entered the kitchen.

He and his business partner Zane Alexander were among Boston's most glamorous bachelors. In addition to making their mark in commerce, they supported numerous charities. Rebecca had seen shots of Hayworth in his tuxedo climbing out of limos too many times to count. She knew the young CFO was hot stuff.

She hadn't known meeting him in person would stop her heart.

He was tall and tan and shaped from shoulder to hip like a pro athlete. His black hair was long enough to tie back and as smooth and shiny as if he'd just brushed it. The cuffs of his beautifully fitted Oxford shirt were rolled up to his elbows. An expensive watch gleamed on one wrist, but his soft suede shoes were as scuffed as if he'd kicked around in them for years. The overall effect was one of effortless stylishness, suggesting weekends in the Hamptons or maybe Ralph Lauren ads. He literally looked polished.

Maybe he buffs himself with money, she joked, trying to recover her humor. From what she'd heard, the bad boys had enough of it.

Her cynicism shredded the moment his gaze met hers.

Clear and bright, his surprisingly hot green eyes were the color of bottles deposited on a sunny shore. Glints of amber increased their intensity, as did their lush frame of dark lashes. His thick eyebrows were crazy-sexymdash;brooding, manlymdash;unavoidably sinking their hooks into her where she was most girly. His gaze seemed to penetrate her soul . . . evidently as preparation for wetting her panties.

"Hello," he said with a smile that hinted at unfairly deep dimples.

Squirming already, Rebecca experienced the oddest shiver of deja vu.

"I'm Rebecca Eilert," she said, aware that her voice wasn't quite steady. Annoyed with herself, she offered him a hand that damn well was. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity to show you what I can do."

The panty-wetter took her hand in both of his, holding rather than shaking it. Again, Rebecca quivered with arousalmdash;an inconvenience she could have done without. Hayworth's palm was unexpectedly callused, possibly from rowing. Her college-age little brothers were on a crew and had similar rough spots. For a second, Hayworth seemed to be waiting for a response from her. Whatever it was, Rebecca didn't know how to supply it.

"Would you like to begin?" she asked politely.

His mouth was well-shaped but not full. At her question, it slanted to one sidemdash;as if he were enjoying a private and slightly rueful joke.

"I'd be honored," he concurred.

Dominic took his cue with a smoothness that would have done his father proud, pulling out the single chair for Hayworth. Hayworth took it, then let the young man spread his napkin and pour his water. That done, he looked expectantly at her.

Rattled but notmdash;she promised herselfmdash;shaken, she set the first plate in front of him.

Hayworth's ah of pleasure as she removed the lid was exactly what she'd hoped for.

Two fluffy golden potato blinis sat on a clean white plate, one picture-perfect little pancake tipped rakishly atop the other. This base was surmounted by a glistening scoop of tomato confit, which she'd seasoned lightly with roe of cod. Rebecca explained the dish's contents, stepped back, and allowed him to dig in.

Hayworth did so, then swallowed his mouthful. "Oh my God," he moaned gratifyingly, spooning into the dish again. "That is amazing."

His appreciation was just beginning. He adored her creamy Maine lobster bisque, and pronounced her lamb chops with cassoulet wicked. Her palate-cleansing cucumber fraiche was praised, and her squab with foie gras and figs. By the time she was ready to serve dessert, her newly anointed sous-chef was grinning from ear to ear. Dominic knew he'd helped her prepare a hit.

Rebecca gave thanks the teenager's heels remained on the floor.

For the final lsquo;taste' she'd made upside-down apple tart with dollops of homemade cinnamon ice cream. This was a signature dish for her. Served in a small ramekin, the dessert mingled sweet and spicy, playing off the textures of creamy and toothsome. The tart and tender apples complemented the crispy puff pastry as if God had invented them for this pairing. Buckwheat pancakes with apple syrup it was not. All the same, for her, the tastes and scents brought back that first success. Unbeknownst to her guests, each time she served it, she shared her heart with them.

Hayworth scraped the ramekin with his spoon, then sat back in his chair and sighed. Though the amounts she'd served were too modest to have stuffed a big man like him, he wove both hands together over his flat stomach. His eyes were shining, his smile as satisfied as any guest she'd seen.

 

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"That was killer," he declared.

His tone was husky, causing her to speculate how he'd sound in bed. Mesmerized, she noticed a small Celtic knot tattooed on his neck. She'd seen these sometimes on Harvard studentsmdash;book boys trying to act badass. Hayworth wore his differently, his toughness maybe not put on. The possibility added a whiff of mystery to his buffed stylishness, reminding her people got inked for other reasons than showing off.

Maybe Trey Hayworth was more than a spoiled tycoon.

"So Rebecca gets the job?" Dominic broke in, the sixteen-year-old no longer able to restrain himself. "You'll hire her to be in charge of your restaurant?"

Dominic was too excited to notice the repressive look she shot him. Thankfully, Hayworth was amused. "I believe your chef and I need to discuss that privately."

"Shoo," Rebecca added, giving the boy a gentle shove toward the door.

"She's awesome," Dominic called over his shoulder. "She only yells for really bad screw ups. All the line cooks love her."

He was still trying to cheerlead as the door swung shut behind him.

"High praise," Hayworth murmured, rubbing his lower lip.

"I can do this," Rebecca said, because he seemed undecided. "I've done everything in restaurants, from scrubbing toilets to expediting to stocking up on wines. I know the profit margin on every plate and what it doesn't pay to be stingy on. I've hired and fired and trained servers to make sure every guest walks out the door as happy as possible. I'm more than a chef, Mr. Hayworth. I'm the entire package. You'd be lucky to have me."

"That I have no doubt of," he said with a wry mouth twist.

He could have been suggesting a double meaning. Before she could color up, he sobered. "You're my top candidate, Rebecca, but I have to consider this. You've never run a place this big before."

Rebecca clenched her jaw. Was he going to call Titcomb? Would Wilde's new owner trash her for the huffy way she left? Calling his handpicked chef a pompous A-hole might not have been her most brilliant career move.

"I can do it," she repeated a smidgen more softly. "I've studied what TBBC is about. You want a showstopper and a place folks can be comfortable eating in. You want the food critics slavering for a chance to slam you . . . and then to go home beaming. That's what I do, Mr. Hayworth. You won't find anyone better suited to creating a restaurant you and your partner will be proud of."

Hayworth rose, which she interpreted to mean the time for arguing was over. She was five foot nothing, and he towered over her. He also smelled good, like soap and sweat and some faint cologne too expensive for her to know its name. She steeled herself against its appeal. As if he felt sorry for her, he dropped one warm hand to her shoulder.

Despite the kindness of the gesture, the amount of testosterone he exuded was distracting. He rocked his sexy beard shadow like nobody's business.

"You're my best candidate," he said, giving her incredibly tensed-up muscle a light squeeze. "I promise I'm taking your application seriously."

She needed this job, not only for her pride and to rescue her crew from Wilde's, but to continue paying Charlie and Pete's tuition. The twins covered books and rent with work-study, but Harvard was expensive. She'd been as proud as a peacock when they got inmdash;as if their braininess proved she'd been a good caretaker. She wasn't sure she could bear for them to transfer somewhere cheaper.

She truly couldn't bear it if somewhere cheaper was far away. Her little brothers were her family twice over. She already hated going home to an empty house.

She couldn't say that of course. Trey Hayworth was a big mogul. He wouldn't care why she needed him to hire her.

"Thank you," she said, inclining her head stiffly. "I'll wait to hear from you."

~

Trey left Rebecca in the kitchen to gather her equipment. As he rode the executive elevator to the top floor, he was aware he'd treated her shabbily. That she could handle his latest project he'd established in five minutes. The woman radiated motivation, not to mention competence. The reasons he hadn't dropped to his knees to beg her to take the job had nothing to do with her.

He thought he'd prepared himself for today. Naturally, he knew who she was. He'd recognized her name the instant her resume crossed his desk. Some might argue he should have forgotten it after all these years. Who had she been except a waitress with a nice pair and a pretty smile? There had to be thousands like her in any big city. That didn't seem to matter. The night they'd met, the night she'd imprinted herself on his memories, was a life changing one for him.

That was the night Zane admitted he wanted them to stay together.

Trey had never regretted accepting Zane's offermdash;business or otherwise. Zane might not have said the words, but Trey knew he loved him. Pursuing a girl like Rebecca would have road-blocked all the good things that came after. She wasn't a woman he could sleep with and then let go. Trey didn't know if it was genetics or hormones or some weird subconscious awareness. He just knew her eyes had warned him; the way his chest had tightened at her nearness. She was his thunderbolt, possibly the only woman he could fall for as hard as Zane.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed into his big office.

Zane's office was next to his. Most days, if he heard Trey come in, he'd say hello with a friendly drumroll on their shared wall. Today he couldn't. He was on his way to Hawaii, to visit a resort they were considering bundling into TBBC's collection. His partner being so far away didn't lighten Trey's mood at all.

Zane tried not to be possessive. He liked their arrangement. At least once a month he indulged his alternate erotic interest with a female. His revolving door for dates amused Trey, but it served a purpose. Rotating women as he did, Zane avoided encouraging any particular one to believe she'd stick around. Though Trey stepped out less frequently, his methods were similar. Hardly anyone got a repeat, and nobody slept over. Other men were off limits entirely. Trey understood his partner needed to come first with him. Sharing Trey with another love of a lifetime would be a deal breaker.

He dropped into his desk chair, swiveling toward the long expanse of windows to stare at the city. August's sunshine shimmered in sparks and sheets off the old and new buildings. He could see the waterfront from this direction, the wharves and the bright harbor. Boston was never all one thing or another: neither all modern nor historic, neither completely land nor sea . . . kind of like him, when it came down to it.

He remembered the day, two weeks after his and Zane's fateful dinner, when he'd given in to temptation and returned alone to Wilde's. He'd purposefully gone during lunch, when Rebecca had said she worked in the kitchen and not out front. He'd emerged with her last name and a pounding long-term hard-on. Simply coming as close to her as that had sent a storm through his libido.

The reaction was enough to shock him to sanity. He hadn't tried to contact her. He'd pushed the thought of her behind him, telling himself his crazy ideas about her had to be in his head. Love at first sight was silly. What he felt for Rebecca Eilert wasn't any more than a crush.

Eventually he'd stopped dreaming about her sad gray eyes. Eventually he no longer wondered if anyone but him had noticed how profoundly alone she was.

Being more romantic than Zane didn't make him an idiot.

Or maybe it did, because when he saw her application for the executive chef's position, he hadn't torn it up. The letter she'd sent along had been literate, humorously thorough, and inadvertently neurotic. The things she didn't realize she was saying charmed him as no female had for years. He had his assistant schedule her to cook before he could stop himself.

He'd changed his clothes twice this morning, taking extra care to close-trim the stubble most women seemed to love. As they rode in the limomdash;Zane to the airport and he to workmdash;Zane had accused him of having a hot lunch date. He'd been teasing, but Trey had blushed like a teenager. He hadn't told Zane he was interviewing chefs, though they both had a stake in the future Bad Boys Lounge. Truthfully, he couldn't tell him. Rebecca was the only applicant he'd seen.

Trey was acting like a cheating husband. He needed to cut it out. He'd almost convinced himself he would when he stepped into that kitchen.

His heart had jumped in his chest like it had at Wilde's. It's her, sang his imagination. She's in the same room with me. His skin had tingled at her presence, his every cell humming with aliveness.

Her littleness was a mule kick to his breadbox.

She had the same short blonde haircut, like she'd settled on a style and couldn't be bothered to change it. Her eyes were still huge, still haunted by shadows and mulishness. She was wirier than he remembered, as if she didn'tmdash;or maybe couldn'tmdash;leave a restaurant's heavy lifting to underlings. The tension in her handshake astonished him. She was like a racehorse who never, ever allowed herself to relax. He shouldn't have found that sexy. He shouldn't have wanted to strip her naked and massage her all over.

 

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"I'm insane," he said aloud to the high ceiling.

He'd been disappointed when she didn't remember him, though he'd been a solitary restaurant patron in Lord knew how many. That should have convinced him he was deluded. If they'd been soul mates or whatever nursery tale he was spinning, surely she'd recognize him too.

He let his head thunk forward onto his blotter. Maybe if her food hadn't been so fracking amazing, maybe if he hadn't watched her glow like a sun at his praise, he'd have been able to stop flirting with disaster. Unfortunately, Trey had eaten a lot of world-class meals, from Paris to Sonoma. Rebecca's was right up there with the best of them.

She deserved this job. Hell, she'd be great at it. Worst of all, to go by what his research had uncovered about her leaving Wilde's, Rebecca needed it.

It wasn't fair to turn her down just because he found her treacherously attractive.

"Crap," he said, caught in the quandary.

Unused to being indecisive, he sat up to absently rub the ache in his crotch. Too late he realized where his hand had gone. She'd done it to him again. He was as hard as a teenager, his horny cock a pole in his underwear.

Had it been like that when he ate her food, when he'd squeezed the knotted muscle at her shoulder?

He groaned at the memory of how it felt to touch her. He'd been so focused on her he couldn't have sworn what his own body was doing.

What if she'd seen her effect on him?

Heat seemed to explode in his groin. Sometimes his kinks really were ridiculous. So what if she'd noticed his hard-on? Rebecca was a grown womanmdash;and attractive. Men had to throw wood for her now and again.

Other men throwing wood for her wasn't the most helpful topic to calm him. Giving in to what he couldn't fight, he unzipped his trousers and shoved a hand inside. God, handling himself felt good, especially whenmdash;apparentlymdash;he'd needed to for a while. He didn't bother with the jar of Albolene in his bottom drawer. He kept the infamous jack off aid there for Zane. Trey enjoyed the chafing of his bare palm, the sexual burn that edged on discomfort. Gritting his teeth, he pumped his erection quickly, concentrating the strokes toward the top where his nerve endings were thickest. He was too impatient to tease himself, besides which he had a conference call in ten minutes. He needed this release now.

She was here, he thought, his mind running a bit away with itself. I had her hand in mine. I could have bent down and tongue-kissed her.

He saw himself slamming her naked against the stainless steel walk-in door. She was so petite he'd have no trouble trapping her with his weight. Off her feet would be good, her thighs hugging his waist, her lush pink mouth pressed tight to and sucking his. She'd gasp when he slid his throbbing penis inside of her. Compared to her, he'd feel really big. Maybe he'd have to saw in and out to get in; maybe tease her clit so her wetness would ease his way. He wished he knew what her pussy looked like, wished he knew how she kissed.

Pressure built in his scrotum, balls jerking toward the base of his erection. He yanked his flesh harder from his body, abusing it, willing the tension that rose in him to crest.

She'd called him Mr. Hayworth. Maybe he could tie her to a worktop and force her to call him Trey.

The thought of her strong little wrists and ankles bound up in leather sent his excitement rocketing. Maybe he'd truss her all over, from thighs to waist to dark crisscrosses between her breasts. He pictured suckling her nipples, imagined rolling them on his tongue. His breath came from him in hard quick pants as he ground his ass cheeks into the office chair. The extra friction on his tailbone made all his sensations better; made him picture her in even more detail. Knowing he was nearly there, he tugged his cock faster. Though it wasn't smart, the fantasy was so good he couldn't let go of it.

I remember, she'd cry. I couldn't forget you!

Then Zane would come up behind Trey and bugger him breathless.

He snapped so suddenly into he didn't have a chance to grab a tissue. He spurted across his blotter, a long white arc that felt incredible shooting out. His cock blazed with pleasure at the contractions, then virtually melted with contentment. He wasn't certain he'd ever felt as good before.

The good feelings couldn't last, of course, not when he had so little chance of living out this scenario.

Hell, he thought. He was in big trouble.

CHAPTER FIVE

Temptation

THE line cooks of the world formed an effective spy network. They worked everywhere, knew everyone, andmdash;most importantlymdash;were bonded by a fellowship of incredibly grueling work. They were like cops in a way, only with knife rolls instead of badges. Nobody understood a cook as well as the guy who stood shoulder to shoulder with him at a blazing hot grill station.

Having spent a sleepless night that strengthened her resolve not to give up too easily, Rebecca stumped to her kitchen wall phone at daybreak. Her targets also roused early, so this was a good time to call. Within fifteen minutes, she had the information her plan of attack required.

Trey Hayworth's limo driver, who bought his daily bagel and a cup from a cafe in Faneuil Hall, was ferrying his boss to his new restaurant's site today. The decor was nearly finished, and Mr. Hayworth wanted to check on it.

Rebecca dabbed concealer on her under-eye circles and dressed herself for battle.

In her case, this meant throwing a light summer jacket over her standard white shirt and black trousers. Also, she swiped on lipstick with actual color. If she were careful, she wouldn't gnaw it off too quickly.

She took it as a good sign that her old Nissan Versa agreed to start.

The address she'd been given was on Charles Street in Beacon Hill. Beacon Hill was quintessential old Boston, the most sought-after neighborhood for elite Victorians. People sought it out today as well. Cobbled streets delighted tourists, sidewalks were paved in brick, and Federal-style residences all seemed to sport historical black shutters. Here on Charles Street, swanky shops and restaurants were as common as ivy.

Rebecca thanked the parking gods for helping her find a spot just a block away.

The Bad Boys Lounge inhabited the lower floors of two adjoining brick row houses. An old fashioned wooden sign swung above the sheltered entry. The custom painting showed a pair of rakes in Colonial dress, escorting two buxom ladies in for dinner. The scene was happy rather than leering, and Rebecca smiled at it.

The door beneath was propped open by a potted topiary tree.

No need to knock then, and no chance to be tossed out before she had her say. Cautiously, she stepped inside the big dining room. Morning light slanted in from the front windows, cutting through the dimness inside. Her eyes took a moment to adjust. The soon-to-be restaurant was empty, a scatter of construction and design clutter indicating it wasn't yet finished. Free to humor her curiosity, Rebecca looked around. As she did, her heart sighed within her breast.

However she might resent testosterone-based entitlement, the bad boys had a rep for doing things top-drawer. She'd known that when she applied to work for Hayworthmdash;counted on it, in fact. What she hadn't prepared for was this exceedingly mellow place.

The atmosphere was upscale men's club with a soupcon of modern edge. Dark plank floors threw their gloss to dark leather, which blended beautifully with aged wood. Antique tin tiled the ceiling, where tiny industrial lights hung down between exposed pipes. For color, stacks of fat coffee table books were in the process of being shelved in recesses at horseshoe booths. To her left, an elegant archway opened onto a softly glittering bar space. She couldn't see a single bad table, and the traffic paths for wait staff appeared to be well thought out. The end result was comfortable and stylish. Men would salivate at these surroundings, but women would as well.

A bad boy who took his date here seemed likely to get lucky.

The covetous urge that seized Rebecca was impossible to throw off. This leather-scented little kingdom ought to be hers to rule. She wanted her savory clam chowder served at the round tables, her fresh lobster with butter sauce. Wilde's most regrettable trait was its sad lack of ambience. Even unfinished, The Bad Boys Lounge had enough for three eateries.

Damn, she thought. I could spin magic here.

Since wishing wouldn't bring this about, she continued along the just-wide-enough back hall to the kitchen's logical location. The wainscoting in the passageway was black oak, the carpet protected from deliverymen by taped-down brown paper.

She saw no one until she reached the pass-through window. This was where wait staff would hand in their tickets and pick up plates. The shelf was sturdy, the height good for servers to dip their knees and cheat a heavy tray onto their shoulders. At first, Rebecca thought the kitchen was empty. The lights were off, and it was shadowy inside.

Then she noticed the tall man rubbing his bottom lip in front of the brand new grill.

A hot prickle slid across her breasts. She didn't simply recognize Trey Hayworth's profile; she recognized his whole shape. Considering she'd just met him, she found this disquieting.

 

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"Mr. Hayworth," she called softly before her nervousness could worsen.

He spun around at her voice like a gun had gone off.

"Fuck," he said, which didn't strike her as promising.

"Sorry," she said, stiffening a little but aware she was trespassing. "The entrance was open. I was hoping for a chance to talk to you one more time."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook himself.

"That's okay," he said with a surprising lack of anger, considering. "You just startled me." He walked toward the pass-through. Thenmdash;belatedly remembering he couldmdash;he veered aside to open the kitchen door for her. "Please come in and have a look."

His politeness knocked her off balance more than his curse.

"Thank you," she said. "I know I shouldn't have showed up like this."

He'd invited her to have a look, but didn't seem inclined to give her one. He stood in front of her, too tall to see around, hands shoved in his pants pockets. When you were a big-deal boss, she guessed you could dress as you pleased. Today he wore a pale green polo shirt that stretched over broad shoulders. His jeans appeared to be faded in all the right places. Rather than check them out and confirm, she kept her eyes on his face. His dark brows screwed together as he gazed down at her. He seemed so boyish any second Rebecca expected him to start rocking on his heels.

"Whatmdash;" He cleared his throat. "What did you want to say to me?"

His strange reception had made her forget her prepared speech. She retrieved it with an effort. "I thought it might help your decision to know why I left my last position."

"Not a mystery," he said. "Latest owner brought in a new executive chef and demoted you. You were perfectly right to quit. I'm sure you can cook rings around that yahoo."

"I don't know about perfectly right," she admitted wryly. "I could have waited to leave until I had another job."

Hayworth smiled, his eyes warm with understandingmdash;unnervingly warm, actually. He seemed weirdly happy that she was here. Rebecca tried to ignore how that unsettled her. Nothing she'd read about Trey Hayworth suggested he was this eccentric. But that didn't really matter. Plenty of good bosses were quirky. With her responsibilities, she couldn't afford to be picky.

"What do I need to do to get this job with you?"

"Ah," he hemmed, rubbing his lower lip again. "I want to hire you . . ."

"But?"

He looked at her, seemingly unable to answer.

"You could try me out," she offered. "Let me work for a month for free."

"That wouldn't be fair."

"Then what would be?" she asked, her determination unshaken. "Because my gut tells me this combination of The Bad Boys Lounge and me would work out."

His grin burst out like sunshine, momentarily dazzling her. His dimples were as deep as she'd expected. "Really?" he said, like she'd given him a gift.

"Really. I have no trouble imagining me and your restaurant being a big success."

"Me too." He put his hands on her shoulders, their size and warmth unavoidably perking up her hormones. "I can picture you here. I can picture us having fun."

Okay, that was a strange response. Her mind said um, but her temporarily fractious libido urged her not to protest. His lovely hands chafed her shoulders, comforting little rubs like he thought she was cold. Though she shivered at his touch on her linen jacket, she was anything but chilly. Tingles pulsed between her legs, fire spreading through her clit and beyond. Her nipples tightened with a vengeance, practically punching against her bra. Hayworth's gaze dropped to the sharpened peaks like they were magnetized.

When he licked his lips, her shiver grew bigger.

"Rebecca," he said, his tone as serious as the grave, his eyes rising with difficulty to lock on hers. "Believe me when I say I know I'm being inappropriate."

Her mouth fell open as he leaned down. Suddenly, her hands were on his front, not pushing him away but curling into his polo shirt. Boy, if this was how she reacted to a bit of attention, she needed to date more. She was tugging him toward her, and his arms slid warm and strong around her. His chest was broad and steely. As his head came closer, she rose on tiptoe.

He licked a swipe up her parted lips, his tongue as soft as a rose petal. Rebecca's breath shuddered out of her.

"God," he whispered and sealed their mouths together.

He tasted like sun-warmed cherries.

Rebecca wished he'd kiss her forever.

"Mm," he hummed like he had over her food yesterday. "Mm, Rebecca."

"Mr. Hayworthmdash;"

She lost her breath as he hiked her butt onto the worktop. The seat brought their heights closer. He angled his head and kissed her a second time, his tongue sliding sleekly into her waiting mouth. She didn't stop him any more than she had before, her fingers tightening helplessly on his shirt. His kiss was yummymdash;sliding in, drawing out, sucking gently at her tongue to coax it into playing. It seemed like ages since any man had held her, and he was a fine one. She moaned at the heat he stirred inside her, cream filling her sex so swiftly it spilled out. She squirmed on the stainless steel even as his mouth pulled free.

"Please call me Trey," he said.

"Mr. Hayworthmdash;"

She wasn't trying to be funny, but he laughed. His hand came to stroke her face, those rowing callusesmdash;if that's what they weremdash;undeniably erotic. His gentleness silenced her, both in his touch and eyes. The pad of his thumb slid across the top her cheekbone. She supposed he noticed the shadow under her concealer, because he clucked his tongue.

"Were you losing sleep over this?" he murmured. "I didn't mean to make you do that."

"You are . . . a very peculiar man," she pushed out breathlessly.

He smiled, a shade of melancholy in the curve. She couldn't look away from his gaze, nearly colorless in the shadows but conveying mysterious multitudes of feeling. His narrow waist spread her knees, and her thighs were as tense as stone. Through everything, her hands had remained on his chest. She noticed they'd started rubbing in small passes up and down his pecs.

Trey noticed too. His eyes went dark, his respiration quickening.

"I'm kissing you again," he warned.

No one could mistake the way she wrapped her arms around him for anything but encouragement.

Her participation seemed to embolden him. He groaned, his kiss turning more aggressive, which felt completely great to her. He pulled her off the counter and fully onto him. Though she clung like a monkey, the difference in their heights meant her pussy rocked against his waistmdash;not the target it craved. Rebecca tried to wiggle lower, which somehow resulted in Trey pushing her into a cement block wall.

That put the huge hump of his erection exactly where she needed it. Heedless of what it said about her, Rebecca threw all her strength into rolling over it.

Trey wasn't offended. He shoved his hand into the back of her trousers and under her panties. "Fuck," he said, feeling how wet she was. "Jesus, Rebecca."

Her name sounded funny when he said it, like he knew her better than was possible. In that moment, she didn't care. He was hot and hard and she wanted him like she couldn't remember wanting a man before.

"Yes," she gasped, tugging greedily at his shirt.

Trey tore it over his head himself. "You," he said.

Understanding him perfectly, Rebecca returned the favor. She had a jacket to wrestle off, plus a button-down collar shirt. Naturally, she took longer than he had, but he panted flatteringly while she worked, his attention glued to every move she made. He panted harder once her shirt was gone. Her bra was satiny and white with small push-up pads to give her some cleavage. With her usual habit of sticking with the comfortable, she had drawer full of others just like it, bought on sale at a bargain store. She was sure he'd seen nicermdash;both in lingerie and breasts. If he had, he wasn't complaining.

"Oh God," he moaned, staring down at her pebbled nipples. Before she could stop him, he hiked her farther up his body. Nuzzling down into her bra cup, he latched his mouth over at least half of her right breast.

Rebecca's bosom was too small to be her favorite part of her body, but the way her nerves caught fire as he drew on her certainly increased her fondness.

"Can I?" he broke off to ask, already bending toward the floor. "Rebecca, can I get inside of you?"

His knees hit the tiles, and he rolled her under him. His weight felt good, his heat and the ragged in and out of his ribs. She drove her hands up his naked back, fingertips digging like a cat into its firm muscles. His skin was hot, as smooth as if he'd come to her from a spa treatment. Without a second thought, her legs had spread to make room for him. He looked at her, propped above her on his forearms. The expression on his face shocked her, like if she said yes it would mean the world to him. Who was she that a man like him would look at her that way? Whatever the reason for it, his urgency was catching. Rebecca was so excited she couldn't seem to take a full breath.

 

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That she wasn't in the habit of hopping into bed with men she barely knew was hard to remember.

"Okay," he said, sensing her lingering indecision. "I won't ask you that yet. Just open and unzip my jeans. Just take me into your hand."

"Will you take me?" she asked.

He smiled so wickedly she blushed. That made her feel silly. She wasn't a mouse. She could ask for what she wanted in plain English.

"I mean will you take my pussy into your hand? Will you get me off too?"

He ducked his head to kiss her, deep and wet and dizzying. When he finally released her, she knew her eyes were starry.

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice a fusion of sex and smoke. "If you let me, I'll get you off each and every way you desire."

This was quite a promise. Rather than express doubt, Rebecca reached for the metal button of his blue jeans. He lifted his hips for the unzipping, his hot dark gaze holding hers. His bulge pushed out as the tab lowered.

"You're big," she breathed.

He flashed his dimples at her again.

"Oh fine," she said, eyes rolling at his smirk. "It's not the size that matters. It's what you do with it."

He started to laugh, but her hand was just then sliding into his cotton briefs.

He sighed long and low with pleasure, lashes sinking as her fingers roved over him.

"Oh boy," she said, loving all that velvety rigid heat. "Oh boy, you are a handful."

She pulled her hold up his shaft, and he writhed like the sort of dancer who gets paid in dollar bills. She guessed he was sensitive. She thought she was being careful not to grip too tightly.

"Fuck," he said with his teeth gritted. "God."

Remembering what he'd promised, he worked his own hand into the front of her panties, two long fingers pushing her lips open. The heel of his palm settled on her clit, giving it a firm grind that spilled more cream from her. He curled his fingers to their second knuckle into her wet entrance. Once there, he didn't rub or thrust. Instead, he used his fingers to exert pressure on the wall where her ache of wanting was most tender.

Rebecca's moan betrayed how much she liked that.

The longing sound brought his eyes open, their lustrous surface catching stray gleams of light. "I have a condom," he said huskily. "I really want to be inside you, if you think you'd enjoy that."

She knew she shouldn't let this go any farther, but she couldn't say no to him. He got to her in places she hadn't known she had: emotional places, places she wanted to throw open for the first time. Never mind she'd probably smack herself tomorrow. Today she wanted to know what being taken by him was like. Resistance dissolving, she smiled before she answered.

"Okay," she said, giving his hard-on a friendly squeeze. "Why don't you show me what this bad boy can do?"

She spoke as humorously as she could, knowing better than to be too serious with a guymdash;no matter how sweet he was acting.

"I'm not asking if you're sure," he warned, reaching hastily into his back pocket. He pulled the condom from his wallet, using his teeth to rip the corner off. She didn't bother asking how old it was. Given his looks and charm, the answer had to be not very.

"Do you want me to help?" she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. "Already got it on."

He kneeled back to show her. Though his cock was worth ogling, something else caught her eye. The Celtic knot on his neck wasn't his only ink. A tattoo stretched up the side of his ripped stomach: a Chinese dragon, it looked like. She guessed the thing was old news to him. Before she could reach to touch it, he pushed her legs up his front. He removed her boring comfortable shoes and dragged off her trousers. This was a skilled bit of undressing. Rebecca tried not to worry if her most recent shave had been recent enough. To judge by the way he rolled forward and rubbed her thigh, having access to her booty was what he cared about.

She still wore her satiny panties, but they weren't much of a barrier.

"Sorry it's cold," he whispered, meaning the kitchen tile.

She ran her hands up his clipped chest hair and struggled not to purr. He was manscaped just the right amount for her. "Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl needs to."

"You could be on top."

This time she shook her head. Her refusal seemed to please him. Maybe he preferred the superior position? Smiling, he curved one hand under her bottom and lowered his hips to her.

The thickness of his erection settled over her labia.

"Say when," he said, "and I'll be inside you in two seconds."

She wasn't sure what he meant until his pelvis began rocking. He was warming her up again, sliding his length up and down the silky gusset of her panties. The friction felt really good, and even better when he compressed her nipple between his thumb and finger. He pulled the bead out, and a zing shot straight to her pussy.

"God," she gasped, hips jerking with pleasure.

"lsquo;When' is the word," he reminded her.

Jeez, he was cute. She stretched up to kiss him, hands starfished on his back, tongue saying thank you and please do me. He jerked with surprise before kissing her back just as hungrily. The way he gulped for air when she let him go was a treat of the first order.

"When," she teased, her voice rough with arousal.

Excitement flashed across his features. His hand shifted between them, thumbing aside her panties and fitting his cock in place. Though his tip was broad, she was very wet. He rocked it inward to test her, and she grew steamier.

The sound she made was probably a whimper.

"Yes," she said to the brief question in his expression.

He closed his eyes and pushed with his ass muscles.

She saw everything on his face as his cock slid in: pleasure, wonder, a flicker of being overwhelmed when being wrapped in warmth felt a bit too nice. Then she couldn't keep her eyelids up. The sensation of being filled had to be savored.

He didn't rush his penetration, at least not until the end. Then he groaned and shoved harder, taking the last inch of her.

Rebecca thrust upward to grind them both closer.

He let out a growling noise, like this was the far side of too much. Even then, he didn't start thrusting.

"Please," she begged, short nails curling into his shoulders. "Don't make me wait for more."

His laugh was at least half moan. He did something with one knee that lifted her butt off the hard cool tile. "Hold on tight," he said. "God, I want this so bad."

She didn't know why he did, just that she was grateful. He drew back, and thenmdash;thank the Lordmdash;he went at her fast: quick strong pumps that tugged her inside and out. She'd never gotten so much clit stimulation from plain old intercourse. Maybe this was due to his thickness, or he just had a good technique. Whatever the reason, her excitement climbed faster than she expected. He hadn't been driving at her even two minutes before she hovered on orgasm.

Her neck arched off the floor with its imminence.

"Shit," he said, reading the tremors inside of her. The fingers that gripped her bottom dug in harder. "Breathe for me . . . just . . . hold on a little longer and I'll catch up."

He went faster, using longer strokes that somehow didn't push her past the brink. They did plenty for him. His breath huffed out, the center of his thick shaft swelling.

The pressure the extra girth created was inspiring.

"Rebecca," he gasped. "Don't tense your thighs like that."

She hadn't known she was doing it. Probably her body didn't want to wait for its . He massaged her butt, no doubt coaxing her to relax. The caress felt really good to her. She couldn't help wriggling around him, couldn't keep from thrusting harder into his next down stroke.

He grunted and slung a second bent knee under her. Rebecca's eyes flew open as her world shifted. Though she was lying down, Trey had sat up to thrust. His hands held her hips like steel, controlling her movements. Ironicallymdash;given her control freak streakmdash;him restraining her pushed really good buttons. Her body seemed to think it could react more freely if he was driving it. She tried to distract herself by focusing on him. His bare chest looked like a god's, muscles rippling under the sheer dark fur. He was close to the peak as well, his beautifully interesting face tightening with pleasure. With a groan of need, he shifted directions the tiniest bit.

The new angle he pumped into her was even better than before.

"Take it," he panted. "Take what you need from me."

He stretched his thumbs to her labia, rubbing into the nerves beneath while at the same time pushing the folds closer to his striving cock. His veins had a texture, popped up as they were with blood. Wonderful sensations throbbed crazily through her groin.

 

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"Trey," she gasped, startled by how sharp her feelings were. Desperate for an anchor, she slapped her hands around his wrists.

When his eyes slitted open, they should have been shooting flames. Had she done something to him, cuffing his arms this way? His stare was too hot, too intensely impassioned.

"Almost," he rasped, muscles in his jaw clenching. "Almdash;"

Rebecca's peak uncoiled.

He let loose with her, his loud groan of pleasure pitched lower than her wail. Like exclamation points to his ejaculation, the head of his cock dug repeatedly into her, the deep percussions against her cervix reverberating through her as after-orgasms. Before this, she'd have sworn she didn't care if she and a man came at the same time. What did it matter, as long as they both enjoyed themselves? With Trey, she had to rethink her attitude. The warmth that flooded her as they peaked was incredible, the sense that they were truly sharing the experience. He deepened the feeling by pulling her upward after and hugging her.

It seemed normal that her head settled on his shoulder, that her hands rubbed his back like his were rubbing hers. The scent of his cologne and sweat were heady. If she weren't careful, they'd become her new favorite smell. He let out that hum of his, his all-purpose happy sound.

"Sweet," he said, pressing soft lips to her hot temple.

Somewhere on the wall a clock ticked, the second hand going tock-tock-tock. Rebecca's breath gusted out on a reluctant sigh. With every tock, sanity returned.

"Sorry," she said. "I swear I didn't sleep with you so you'd give me the job."

Trey pushed back slightly to look at her. "I swear I didn't sleep with you so you'd take it."

He sounded annoyed. In her experience, guys who just came were in good moods. "Are you angry?" she asked.

"Are you really sorry?" he retorted.

"Well, that was enjoyablemdash;as I'm sure you noticed, but if you're planning to hire me, you have to agree it wasn't smart. Bosses and employees shouldn't sleep together."

His expression was a study in irritation, perhaps because he couldn't dispute her point. "Damn it," was all he finally said.

Taking this as her cue, Rebecca pushed gently off of him. Her shoes were halfway across the kitchen, her trousers caught on the edge of a lowboy refrigeration drawer. Shoving her legs back in them, she did her best to hide her disappointment that he didn't argue more. Calling what they'd done enjoyable was an understatement, to say the least.

She took comfort in him muttering to himself as he stood and yanked up his pants. The word idiot peppered his diatribe.

He waited to speak to her until she was buttoning her shirt. She noticed he'd smoothed his hair back into its ponytail.

"I am hiring you," he said grimly.

Rebecca's heart gave a little skip. "Truly?"

"Truly. Full pay from the start and no arguments. Imdash;" He paused to grind his teeth. "I reluctantly agree we shouldn't do that again."

She smiled in spite of herself. Reluctantly agreeing was sweet of him.

~

Watching Rebecca dress in her borderline frumpy clothes was an exercise in frustration. Could Trey have backed himself into a worse corner? After all those years of fantasizing, now he knew how amazing real sex with Rebecca was . . . and he'd conceded they shouldn't do it again. She was right of course. Sex in the workplace led to messiness and complicationsmdash;neither of which he'd have shied from if his workplace weren't already complicated from loving Zane.

One quickie with her on a cold hard floor had worsened his longing by a gazillion times. He couldn't wish it hadn't happened; he wasn't smart enough for that. He did wish it hadn't been quite as earthshaking.

There was something between them, some out of the ordinary emotional chemistry. Trey was willing to bet she'd never come like that with another man. Her eyes in those final moments had been too damned surprised.

When she laid her head on his shoulder, he'd nearly asked her to marry him.

Knowing he'd lost his mind for certain, he handed her the thick-soled shoes he'd taken from her earlier. While it was true restaurant work kept people on their feet, surely she could do better. Telling himself not to be a fashion snob didn't kill his urge to toss them in the trash.

"Thanks," she said. Dropping the hideous things to the floor, she braced on the worktop to push her cute feet into them. He'd rushed through stripping her, though he had noticed her legs were nicemdash;lent charm by muscles as well as curves. He was sorry they'd disappeared into her uninspired black trousers. Honestly, she had to be trying to look dowdy.

"Do you even own a dress?" he blurted.

She straightened and looked at him pinchily. "I don't see how that's your business."

It might be his business. Being named The Lounge's executive chef could conceivably involve a photo op or two.

He clamped his mouth on the words. Being in the right wasn't always strategic. "I'll have Elaine email you a contract to look over."

"Elaine is your assistant?"

"Yes." Stubbornly, he didn't pass Rebecca her tan jacketmdash;yet another supremely boring garmentmdash;but held it up for her. Though she grimaced at him playing gentleman, she turned and slid her arms into it.

When she would have moved away, he dropped his hands to her shoulders, once again as tense as before they'd worked out their kinks on the kitchen floor.

"Don't be sorry about this," he said, his frustration creeping into his tone. "If you'd just eaten a great meal, you wouldn't regret it afterward."

She turned to him, and he let her. Her features were delicatemdash;extra pretty with flushes from sex and kissing staining them. Ten heaps of boring clothes couldn't hide that her lips were luscious, her elfin hair improved by tousling. Clearly ignorant of her gorgeousness, she cocked her head to one side. "You're not sorry for what we did?"

"Never," he declared, meaning it.

She smiled, probably because he sounded so earnest. She patted his chest, immediately making him regret having covered it with a shirt. He hadn't forgotten how she'd enjoyed combing his chest hair.

"All right," she said. "No regrets for the world class meal."

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he felt better at her calling it world class.

CHAPTER SIX

The Darling Boys

REBECCA walked down the block and sat in her Versa, staring at nothing. She'd promised Trey she wouldn't be sorry, but that was easier said than done. He was going to be her bossmdash;probably, hopefullymdash;which meant their relationship ought to stay professional. Now that she'd felt his athletic body pressed up to and into hers, she couldn't imagine how she'd accomplish that.

Not wriggling on the seat was impossible. Having Trey only once would never satisfy her. He'd been an amazing lover: vigorous, intense, with a knack for knowing what she wanted almost before she did. All he had to do was look at her with those hot green eyes, and she'd melt into a puddle.

She dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned. His cock had been lovely: its silky heat in her hand, the skill with which he used it to pleasure her. Her fingers curled at the thought of stroking his shaft again. Worse, they curled at the thought of embracing him.

He'd cradled her at the end, as if she were precious. She'd felt safe in his arms. She'd wanted to stay there.

Absolutely nothing about that was smart.

Over the years, she'd struggled to be smart about men. Until she was twenty-one, she'd done without dating. She'd been a single parent without a support system. She couldn't risk anyone revealing her and the boys' situation to an adult. That was too likely to result in them being split up, and she'd committed herself to keeping the three of them together. Just as important, if anything had happened to the twins while she was out having fun, she wouldn't have been able to live with it.

"Hey, lady!" called a voice from a nearby car. "You coming or going?"

"Sorry," she said, realizing the man was hoping to claim her parking spot. "I'm leaving now."

The other driver backed up to give her room, polite enough now that he knew she was moving. Grateful for the distraction, Rebecca focused on the tasks required to get on the road.

She almost didn't think about Trey Hayworth as she drove home.

When she arrived at their house in Cambridge, a shock awaited. A battered pick-up sat in the driveway behind her delivery van, the logo for a firm called Alcott Construction on its door. Equally troubling, a large green dumpster hulked on their small front lawn. Broken drywall and wood were piling up on one end.

Rebecca flew out of her car almost too quickly to park it first.

 

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"Excuse me," she said to the hulking young man who came up her basement steps, dragging a roll of stained carpet behind him. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

Rebecca wasn't big, but she could do scary, no problem. The young man paled at her clear fury.

"Uh," he said, halting in his tracks while keeping his hold on the rolled-up rug. "Your brothers hired me to reno your cellar?"

"My brothers!"

"Becca!" Charlie called, hurrying frantically down the front steps. "It's okay. This is Jesse. He goes to school with us. His dad is in construction. We wanted to surprise you."

As soon as he was near enough, Rebecca punched his shoulder.

"Ow!" Charlie said, rubbing it.

Pete stuck his head out the front door too.

"You," she said, pointing her finger of doom at him. "Go back in the kitchen and wait for me."

Pete made an oh crap face and disappeared. Rebecca looked at the boy named Jesse. To his credit, he seemed to have retrieved his nerve. He squared his bulky shoulders and answered her. "They told me you'd come around once they explained what this was for."

"Fine." Rebecca moderated her tone a tad. "Please don't trash my house any more until I talk to them."

The boy opened his mouth. Charlie stopped his protest with a headshake. He knew when his sister's temper had hit its red zone.

"Inside," Rebecca ordered, shooing him ahead of her.

"We're not being crazy," Charlie started babbling on the way. "Pete and I both agreed this is a smart idea."

"Well, as long as you both agreed," Rebecca snapped angrily.

Always calmer than Charlie, Pete stood his ground at the kitchen table. At nineteen, the twins were still gangly, but probably their full height. They weren't as blond as she wasmdash;her hair having a little helpmdash;but the bright summer sun had streaked their shaggy waves. Naturally, she thought they were handsome, something girls their age were beginning to discover. Their recent rowing obsession had filled them out. To her surprise, Pete's formerly spindly biceps looked impressive in his ragged gray T-shirt.

When did that happen? she wondered.

"We have a plan," were the first words out of his mouth. Pete knew his older sister as well as Charlie did.

He slid his open laptop across the well-used butcher-block table. The screen displayed a neat black and white blueprint. Reserving the right to lose her temper later, Rebecca stepped closer to look at it.

"It's an income suite," Pete said. "One bed, one bath, with an open kitchen and living room. We've planned a stacked laundry in the hall closet, so you won't have to share yours. I talked to a rental agent. With the right finishes and all the students here who need housing, you should get a thousand a month for it."

"Pete," she said, appreciating his pitch but aware this transformation would take dollars she didn't have.

"It's smart," he insisted. "The ceilings are high enough to be legal, and the plumbing's in decent shape. The only thing you had down there was Charlie and my old junk."

"Pete, converting basements into apartments costs money."

"You have it," he said. "The house is worth way more than the mortgage. And if you don't want to go to the bank for a line of credit, Charlie and I are working on a way around that."

"We are," Charlie agreed, nodding to support his twin.

"Guys," she said. "You can't just grab some friend of yours to come here and tear things up. You have to discuss these things with me."

"You'd have said lsquo;no,'" Pete justified stubbornly. "You know how you are about this house. Anyway, Raoul told us about you quitting Wilde's. You shouldn't have to worry about everything yourself. Charlie and I can help support the family too."

"Raoul told you!" she exclaimed, annoyed for a new reason.

"Exactly," Charlie said. "You wouldn't tell us that, but we're supposed to tell you. We're almost grown-ups, Becca, and you treat us like babies."

They were babies to her, though she couldn't admit that. "How much is this lsquo;income suite' going to cost me?"

"Only eighteen thousand," Pete replied. "Maybe a little more if that ***** in the foundation turns out to be something."

"Jesus."

"That's not so much," he and Charlie chorused in unison.

They made her laugh, her beautiful darling boys. "Could I convince you to stop if I told you I might have another job?"

"No!" Pete said.

"No!" Charlie seconded.

"Do you have a new job?" Pete asked.

"I think so. I haven't seen the contract yet."

"A contract," Pete said, sounding excited. "Can I read it before you sign?"

Her slightly older younger brother was at least half lawyer. "I'll read it first," she said. "Then I'll consider letting you."

This was good enough for Pete. He rubbed his lean hands together. "We should celebrate."

"We should finish tearing out the drop ceiling first," Charlie corrected. "The permit guy said Becca's new between-unit insulation has to be sound and fire-rated."

As much as a brother could be, Charlie was her soul mate. If an activity counteracted worries, he was all for it.

"Why don't we do both?" she said. "I expect your friend Jesse will like celebrating too."

~

They spent a few hours on demo, getting disgustingly sweaty. After that, Rebecca showered and cooked a nice lunch for everyone. She expected the twins knew this would calm her, because they didn't volunteer to chop. Their friend Jesse ate more than he talked but seemed knowledgeable about construction. He was a class ahead of Pete and Charlie, and they obviously looked up to him. Just as obviously, he looked up to his fathermdash;whose firm Rebecca planned to Google the second the boys left.

She didn't bring up the obvious: that Pete and Charlie could save her money by moving home again. They paid for their housing with part-time jobs because their independence was important. No matter how much she missed them, she had to let them practice leaving the nest.

That, however, wouldn't come to pass today. Relaxed now and happy to have them near, she lingered with the three of them at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while Pete and Jesse teased Charlie about a girl he liked. Given their circumstances growing up, having a guest in the house was a relatively new pleasure.

It made them almost seem normal.

"You can't take a girl to the library on a date," Pete was instructing.

"That wasn't supposed to be the date," Charlie protested. "That was just where we arranged to meet. I can't help it if the stacks turn her on."

"Do you date much?" Jesse turned to ask her quietly.

Rebecca's mouth fell open. The faint flush on Jesse's sturdy face said he asked this out of more than idle curiosity. She supposed he was a good-looking kid. Compared to Trey, though, he seemed awfully unformed.

"Hardly ever," Charlie said as she searched for a safe answer. "Becca barely owns a dress."

"I do too," she said, thinking twice in one day was too often to be accused of this.

"It's a beige dress," Pete informed Jesse. "Buttons up to her neck like a nun's habit. I think she bought it back in '06."

"I did not. It's only, like, three years old. And it's a perfectly nice shirtwaist. Anyway, why do I have to wear a dress on a date?"

"You don't have to wear anything," Jesse assured her earnestly, which sent her brothers into fresh fits of snickering.

The boys proved they all were too young to date by throwing balled-up napkins at each other. Maybe sensing he wasn't coming off as mature, Jesse volunteered to help clean up. Rebecca's kitchen was old and didn't have a dishwasher. Not quite by the by, Jesse mentioned he could get her a deal on a kitchen reno . . . once her income suite was finished.

Rebecca avoided grinning by a hair. Jesse might be young, but he certainly was working out the paths to a woman's heart.

Pete seemed to think his friend had made too much progress. As the others went down the front walk later, he hung back in the entry. "Watch out for him," he said, cocking his head toward Jesse's departing back. "He's a nice guy, but he's got a string of older women he dangles after him."

"Ah, the lure of a hunky young handyman," she mused.

"I'm serious," Pete said. "Not that you shouldn't date. You should. Maybe someone fun your own age. It isn't right for you to give up having a life for me and Charlie."

 

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Rebecca absolutely wasn't going to mention the fun she had that morning. She hugged Pete instead, loving the easy way his arms came around her. Neither of her brothers had outgrown showing affection.

"I shall ruminate on your advice," she promised him humorously.

Pete pushed her back to arm's length, his almost-adult face concerned. "You don't have to be alone so much, Sis. The time when the three of us had to hide things is over."

Before she could speak, he trotted down the front steps after the other two, leaving her with her eyes stinging. Sometimes Rebecca wished the twins weren't so awesome. If they hadn't been, maybe she wouldn't dread the day when they would be grown up.

~

Zane and Trey had come a long way from their student digs in Cambridge. Their place in Lexington was a 1930's era mansion set on sixteen acres of walled-in greenery. Their needs were seen to by a small and loyal staff, perhaps the only people in the world who knew Zane and Trey rarely used the second of their two bedrooms. The house itself had twenty, plus a library, an indoor pool, an outdoor lagoon, and a huge garage with room for fifteen cars.

They sometimes threw weekend parties, which could get racy. Then the rule was what happened at Buck Housemdash;as the estate was known locallymdash;stayed at Buck House. Thus far, they hadn't had problems. The friends who came to play also valued privacy.

Most of the time, they enjoyed the place on their own. It was too big for two people, but it was peaceful. Zane loved coming home to it, whether from a day in Boston or a longer business trip. Few residences could have reminded him less of the 1960's rambler he'd grown up in. He could be a different person here entirelymdash;not abused, not boiling so helplessly with anger he feared he'd turn patricide. Here he was free and calm. Here he and Trey ruled what they surveyed.

Owens, their relatively new driver, dropped Zane off at the tall columned portico. Owens would park the limo, pass Zane's luggage to Mrs. Penworth for laundering, after which he'd retire to his apartment over the big garage. The man was settling in. As a nephew to Mrs. Penworth, their house manager, he'd known what to expect of the job.

With no suitcases to haul in, Zane let himself in the wide front entrance. The hour was past ten. The house was quiet, nothing brighter than wall sconces burning in the main hall. To Zane's left, the paneled door to the library was ajar.

"Trey?" he called, his heart beating faster at the thought of greeting his closest friend. Per usual, his eagerness to see Trey made him slightly uneasy. Pushing that aside, he swung the library door open. A single black-shaded sconce near the door illuminated the long book-lined space. Naturally, the A/C was blasting. Trey liked the house chilly.

"You in here, Trey?" he asked.

"Here," he said from the other end of the room. He'd been hidden within a wing chair in the half-circle of French windows that overlooked the back lawn. Tonight, a bright half moon cast squares of light through the panes. Trey seemed to have been daydreaming. A magazine lay open on the carpet at his feet. On the table beside him a bottle of Bordeauxmdash;half emptymdash;and a glassmdash;half fullmdash;showed how he'd spent the time.

Zane wondered if he were drunk, not a common state for him. Trey turned his head to watch him approach without rising. "How was Hawaii?"

"Unproductive. The resort wasn't up to TBBC standards."

"Mm," Trey said vaguely. He picked up his wine and sipped. "Meet any interesting women while you were there?"

Trey never asked him that. Zane couldn't imagine why he was asking now. "No. Wasting my time put me in a bad mood. I didn't feel like chasing skirts."

"Sorry," Trey said absently.

"You okay?" Zane dropped his hand onto Trey's shoulder. "You don't usually sit in the dark drinking wine."

"The moon was nice." Trey let out a laugh Zane couldn't interpret.

Because he hadn't gotten up yet, Zane bent down to kiss him. Trey touched his face and returned the slow lip lock. The kiss was nice. Trey didn't kiss any other way. Despite this, when Zane drew back, his uneasiness had returned. Something was off with his friend and, because of that, something was off with Zane.

"Did something happen while I was gone?" He stiffened as a possibility occurred to him. "You didn't get another letter from your aunt, did you?"

Trey's father had killed himself six months earlier. According to the police, he'd left no note and no warning signs besides a general depression. Mr. Hayworth had simply parked in his closed garage and let the engine run. This, as it happened, was the same method his wife had used to commit suicide. Trey hadn't gone to the funeral. His father hadn't contacted Trey after he went to college, nor had his son called him. His aunt, on the other hand, had been writing to her nephew ever since her brother's death. Her persistence was one of few things Zane ever saw upset Trey.

"No," Trey said, squeezing Zane's hand in reassurance. "And it wouldn't matter if I had. I know all she has to say: that her father didn't abuse my dad when he was a kid, and if my dad ever told me differently, it was a pack of lies. I don't think she realizes she confirmed what I'd only suspected until she wrote me that first time."

Zane sat on Trey's chair arm, letting their sides rest companionably together. "Why do you suppose she keeps at it?"

"God knows." Trey wiped his hands down his face, dragging the muscles with his palms. "After all these years, I think she's having trouble believing her own story. If she can convince me, the lie will be shored up. She was older than my dad. Maybe part of her thinks she should have protected him."

"Maybe she wants forgiveness."

"I can't forgive her for something she won't admit happened. Hell, I don't even know her. Dad kept me away from his relatives."

"Bet you didn't guess the fucked-up way he raised you was kind of a favor."

Trey laughed, the streak of black humor about their childhoods a trait they shared. He pushed out of the wingchair, maybe not drunk, because he didn't sway.

"Come." He reached for Zane's hand. "Walk in the moonlight with me."

"Romantic," Zane accused, not minding that at all.

"You bring it out in me. Always have and always will."

Zane's body stirred for his lover, waking as it hadn't for the beaches or the beauties of Hawaii. Aware this was liable to turn into more than a walk, he opened one of the French doors. Perversely, Trey resisted his tug toward it. Grinning, he pulled out the drawer in the little table his wine sat on. Digging through the clutter, he retrieved a pair of wrapped condoms.

"In case I get lucky," he explained, flashing his dimples.

"In case you do." Amused and finally feeling he was home, Zane bumped his shoulder. Hand-in-hand, they strolled onto the lush green lawn. Crickets creaked and ivy rustled on the back wall. The night was sultry compared to the over-cranked A/C, the warmth as soft as velvet against his skin.

"Welcome home," Trey murmured, fingers rubbing his gently.

Zane ignored his worry that Trey was the only person in the world who made him this happy.

~

The email with Rebecca's proposed employment contract arrived later that evening. It was long, but if she understood the legalese correctly, it was weighted more in her favor than TBBC's. The salary seemed astronomical, the signing bonus overkill. She supposed Trey's company paid the most to get the best, but could this be normal? She read the thing three times at the kitchen table to make sure she wasn't overlooking a hidden catch. Maybe he'd lied about not sleeping with her again. Maybe she was secretly agreeing to be his sex slave.

You're neurotic, she reminded herself. Can't too good to be true really be true sometimes?

Constitutionally unable to bring herself to sign so quickly, she went down the steps to the cellar to mull over her alternate concern. Funnily enough, the gloomy old cellar looked better torn back to studs. Being her, she couldn't resist carrying a flashlight to the ***** in the foundation. Now uncovered, it ran in jags from the wall's top to its bottom. Though it was dry at the moment, she saw signs water had seeped in. According to Jesse, her outside wall might need excavatingmdash;which could cost additional thousands.

She touched the ***** and gnawed at her lip. How long had the break been here? Since their mother's death? Since their father's abandonment? Maybe it was a blessing she hadn't known. If she had, she wouldn't have slept a wink in years.

She shivered, suddenly aware how alone she was down heremdash;no one in the house above her, no close ties to her neighbors. Her mind flashed back to the feel of Trey's arms around her. She wished someone were there to hold her now, to tell her: I understand why you're upset the twins' clothes and toys are gone. Yes, maybe other kids could use them, but she'd liked knowing they were here.

 

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Sighing, she plunked her butt on the cellar steps.

What had Trey been like as a boy? And how did boys grow up to be tycoons? He seemed the type for whom business would be an interesting challenge, but not an obsession. His partner, Zane Alexander, was usually the one the press interviewed. Was he more ambitious or just better at talking? They looked as if they liked each other when they were photographed, as if they were good friends. What would it be like to have a friend that long? Raoul was her friend, but they didn't hang out and drink beers. He invited her to his house sometimes, and she ate barbecue with his family. Though they cared about each other, she couldn't imagine telling him anything truly personal.

She couldn't imagine telling him she'd had wild monkey sex with her brand new boss on a kitchen floor.

She hoped the wild monkey sex wasn't the reason for the generosity of her contract.

"You have to sign it," she said, admitting it. If she didn't, how would she pay for this maybe-not-crazy project the boys had roped her into?

To her surprise, the decision eased the semi permanent knots of worry in her shoulders.

She continued to feel better when she woke up the next morning, though she did wish she were going in to work. She'd faxed the signed contract back last night. When she checked her email, she had a response from the as-yet-unmet assistant Elaine. She asked if Rebecca was free to meet Mr. Hayworth on Wednesday, to discuss her ideas concerning hiring and menus. While Rebecca appreciated the implication that her opinions were valuable, it seemed to her Trey could have sent his own answer. Was he that busy? Or did he intend this distance to cool things between them? She couldn't forget him saying he pictured them having fun together at the restaurant.

Odds were, she shouldn't hold her breath on that.

To keep herself occupied, she cooked up a care package for the boys, everything assembled in pans with reheating instructions. They rented a house with six other students, and it had a full kitchen. She wondered if she should throw in candles to help the romantically challenged Charlie with his new girl. Was it weird to admit she knew he and Pete were sexually active?

The kitchen phone rang as she slid the finished dishes into her fridge. Her heart jumped into her throat. What if Trey were calling her?

"Pete," she said, recognizing his voice after she picked up. She swore she wasn't disappointed. That would have been stupid.

"Bec," he said, the super-shortening of her name a signal that something was up. "Glad I caught you. I need a favor for Charlie. Can you bring his anti-anxiety meds to the Common?"

"Boston Common? What are you doing there? And why does Charlie want his meds? I thought he decided not to take them anymore, on account of the side effects."

"He did, which is why he left the last of his supply in the medicine cabinet in our old bathroom."

Her knees now a little shaky, Rebecca sat on the old vinyl barstool beside the phone. Leaving the pills here was pure Charlie. For him, preserving one final shred of his security blanket made it easier to let go.

"He probably won't need them," Pete assured her. "If you just bring them out, he'll feel better."

"But what's wrong?"

There was a pause while Pete covered his cell phone. When he came back, his voice was hushed. "It's that girl he likes. She came to watch the photo shoot."

This answer was pure Pete. "What photo shoot?"

"We told you," Pete said, which he so had not. "Charlie and I and a couple others got picked to be this year's Hot Men of Harvard. You know, for Bad Boys Magazine. They're paying us real money. We're putting it toward the income suite. The thing is, we have to strip down to Speedos, and Charlie doesn't want to get too nervous and look like a dork in front of Caroline."

Rebecca squeezed her temples, her brain trying to process too much information simultaneously. "Bad Boys Magazine?" she repeated, experiencing a neck-tickling prickle at the coincidence.

"It's that magazine with the fancy cars and the watches. It's national, not skeevy. The guys who own it are these cool self-made billionaires."

This Rebecca was aware of. "Right," she said aloud.

"You'll come, won't you?" Pete continued. "I don't want Charlie to be embarrassed. This girl is really cool."

"I'll come," Rebecca promised. "And I'll bring Charlie's pills. I'm just not sure they're supposed to be used like this."

"Thank you!" Pete exclaimed. "Like I said, once he knows you've brought them, he'll probably feel better."

"Fine. Just give me time to change. All I've got on is jeans and an old T-shirt."

"Uh," Pete said. "Your jeans look good. I mean, they're fine. Most of the people here are wearing them. Maybe it's better you don't make Charlie wait."

His tone was weird, but he hung up before she could question him. She shook her head at the receiver. She felt more comfortable in work clothes, but if Charlie were having a crisis, she'd go as she was. In a way, she found Pete's call reassuring. She guessed her little brothers weren't independent yet.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Common Ground

WELL, hello, Zane thought, his inner skirt-chaser perking up. A little blonde was hurrying toward him on the Public Garden's pedestrian bridge. The temperature was near ninety, for which he was grateful. The pint-sized bit of booty wore a strappy Harvard T-shirt with a shelf bra built in. She had great arms, slim but muscled, and truly mouthwatering tits. Jiggling on her ribs with the energy of her strides, they were no bigger than oranges but beautifully shaped and high. Her lack of stature aside, her legs and hips were greatmdash;precisely the sort of limbs faded blue jeans were meant to drape. Her hair was a Peter Pan pixie cut. Cute, he thought, and ideal for showing off her cheekbones.

Observing that she seemed to be looking for something, Zane stepped politely into her path.

"Need help?" he offered when she jolted to a stop.

She had big gray eyes, startled at the moment and unexpectedly piercing. Without warning, his throat tightened. For a second, he had the odd sensation that he knew her.

"Oh," she said, lashes blinking fast as she took him in. As usually happened with women, her gaze took a detour over his chest. Shaking that off sooner than some did, she clutched her canvas shoulder bag closer to her side. "I'm looking for a photo shoot. My brother is one of the models. He told me they were posing in Boston Common, but no one's there."

"We were there," Zane said pleasantly. "Now we're setting up near the swan boats."

"Oh. You're with them. That's great. I really need to find Charlie or Pete Eilert."

"Of course," he said, realizing why she seemed familiar. "You must be Rebecca. I see the family resemblance. I'm Zane Alexander, by the way. It's very nice to meet you."

This appeared to fluster her. Her cheeks flushed up an adorable pink, a color that went well with her luscious mouth. Her upper lip was shorter than her lower, creating an effect that was both succulent and girlish. Added to the big eyes and the gamine hair, she looked impossibly innocent.

Zane sent up a silent prayer that this was misleading.

She accepted the hand he held out dazedly. "Imdash; I'm sorry," she said. "I should have recognized you. You're the Zane Alexander who owns the magazine."

"I am." He was pleased she didn't seem star-struck. Skirts that belonged to groupies weren't his favorite to chase. Rebecca's little hand was cold. He experienced a need to chafe it he truly couldn't resist. "Why don't I take you to where they're setting up?"

She was gaping at him, but at this she shut her mouth. "Yes," she said, retrieving her hand from his. "That would be nice of you."

He'd waylaid her on the stretch of bridge that crossed the narrowest point of the park's lagoon. Having lost her hand, he took her elbow to lead her down the small jog of stairs to the bank. If she'd taken ten steps farther, she'd have seen the set-up herself. The crowd of boys in Speedos had gathered near the swan boats, which the magazine had taken over for the time being. The photographer and his assistants were there as well, adjusting reflectors and blotting sweat as required.

"Group photo," he explained as the dozen underdressed college boys clambered joking onto the wooden seats. The pontoons sploshed at their shifting weight. "It's kitschy, but I expect readers will like it."

On the bank now, Rebecca searched the faces for ones she knew. Zane's hold remained on her arm. He felt her stiffen as she spied who she sought.

"The little bastard," she murmured. "He's perfectly all right."