Working It (23 page)

The shrill ring of a cell phone startled my eyes away from Braydon’s. Ben leaned over the side of the bed and dragged the phone from his discarded pants pocket before groaning and tossing the phone on the bed beside him.

Braydon reached for the still-ringing phone and checked the screen. “It’s Fiona.”

“It’s after midnight. What could she possibly want?” I couldn’t help the disdain in my voice.

Ben exchanged a knowing glance with Braydon. There was something big yet completely unspoken being communicated between them.. “Don’t tell Emmy about Fiona,” Ben muttered softly.

“I think you just did.” Braydon’s eyes met mine, studying, watching for my reaction, but I gave him none. “Call me if you need anything. Ben has my number in his phone,” he said, finally.

I nodded, still too stunned to speak.

I wanted to go to my own room, to shower, to change. Maybe have a good cry. But Ben tugged me down to the bed just seconds after the door closed behind Braydon and folded his body around mine.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing the skin at the back of my neck.

I let him hold me, unable, or unwilling, to tell him to let go.

16

Ben

I had the next several days off, and now that the craziness of Fashion Week was behind us, Emmy and I enjoyed some sightseeing in Paris. I felt bad about getting so drunk at the afterparty. Emmy had taken good care of me, and I wanted to make it up to her.

We lounged on a blanket on the expansive lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower, her lying in the warm sun and me quietly reading beside her. I felt her watch me as I read. I was used to being looked at, critiqued . . . but the way Emmy looked at me was different. I skimmed the pages, feeling her gaze take in the way my lips moved as I read, watching my fingers turn the pages. She lifted her sunglasses, wanting an unobstructed view.

“What?”

“Have you and Braydon really shared a woman?” she asked, eyes squinting on mine.

I set the book down beside me. “Yes.”

“More than one?”

I wanted to be honest with her. “A couple. Does that bother you?”

“No.” Her eyes darted away from mine, looking longingly at the sunglasses she’d discarded. There was something she didn’t want me to know.

“It is something you’d like to try?” I asked.

She swallowed heavily. “I don’t know.”

Individually, Braydon and I were no match for a woman. But together, the two of us were devastating. We’d attracted some of the world’s hottest supermodels. It was all in good fun, but something about doing that with Emmy felt wrong. She caused the alpha male in me to want to mark my territory. She was off limits, not to be shared. But unless I read her wrong, I could tell the idea of Braydon and I moving against her, two rock-hard cocks to stroke and suck, was getting her hot. I cataloged her reaction. Her pulse quickened, fluttering wildly against her neck, and her nipples pebbled against the front of her tank top.

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have taken you for a threesome type of girl.”

“I’m not.” Her voice was tiny, a little broken murmur of uncertainty. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes blinking up at mine in complete surrender. She may have never considered it before, but it was obvious she was now. I was willing to bet if I reached a hand inside her panties, I’d find her wet.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. She wasn’t mine. I’d made that clear. And now I was being a selfish prick. If this was something she wanted, I should give it to her. If only to prove to myself that I could.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“Fiona called last night after midnight. And Braydon didn’t seem surprised she was calling.”

My gaze dropped from hers down to the blanket.
Shit
.

“She’s not one of the women you two shared, was she?”

My heart throbbed in my chest. She’d asked me directly about Fiona and I didn’t see any way to avoid it. I knew she wasn’t going to be happy, though, and I didn’t enjoy the thought of hurting her.

“Did you and Braydon sleep with Fiona?” she prompted.

“Would that bother you?”

“To know that you had sex with Fiona? Yes.” Her voice was firm and I could only imagine the many thoughts swirling inside her head. “Was it just once?” Her wide gray-blue eyes blinked twice, finding mine.

With Braydon?
“Yes.” I knew I wasn’t being entirely truthful, but my answer to her question was honest. It was the best I could do.

She twisted her hands in her lap.

I couldn’t help reaching for her, cupping her jaw to lift her chin. “Hey. Are you okay?” I whispered.

She nodded. “I guess so.”

I smiled and leaned in to softly kiss her mouth. “It wasn’t a big deal. Okay?”

Emmy stayed quiet. I prayed we could move past this. I didn’t want my past with Fiona fucking up my present with Emmy. She straightened her posture, but I couldn’t help but notice the movement shifted her farther away from me on the blanket.

Emmy

The fact that Ben had been intimate with Fiona was devastating. I couldn’t help picturing Ben kissing her, his mouth moving over her throat, his hands gripping her hips. I squeezed my eyes shut. My breath caught in my throat like someone was sitting on my chest. She was the anti-me, my nemesis. How could he have been with someone like her?

During the last several weeks, I’d convinced myself that Ben and I were growing closer—if not a real couple, at least moving in that direction. But if he was willing to share me with his friend, how serious could he actually be about me?

Maybe that was exactly why I shouldn’t question this. If Ben was okay with it, shouldn’t I be? This was all just casual exploration. I was in Paris, the most romantic and seductive city in the world with the opportunity to enjoy the company and intimacy of two male models. I knew what Ellie would say. Go for it! So why was my stomach in knots? And why did my mind keep replaying the subtle way his jaw had tightened when I’d acted open to the idea? Part of me wanted this—if only for the chance to read Ben’s reaction, to see if this really was okay with him.

I quieted the portion of my brain yelling at me that this was nothing more than a sick little competition. The need to conquer something that Fiona had done wasn’t healthy, and I hated myself for thinking that way. I shouldn’t need to compete with her. It was childish and petty, but it was how I felt. No denying that fact.

I just needed to shut off my brain and let my body take the lead.

• • •

Ben and I hadn’t talked about Braydon again, but several days later an envelope was delivered to my room midmorning. I slid out the thick notecard.

Join Braydon and me for dinner and drinks—8pm—Grand Capri

I’ll send a car for you at 7:45

Ben

He wasn’t asking. He was telling. But before I had time to freak out or ponder his intentions, another knock at the door grabbed my attention. The concierge delivered a large box. I carried it inside and placed it on the bed. Lifting the top, and shoving aside mountains of white tissue paper, I discovered a dress. Not just any dress, but an evening gown. My mouth dropped open. It was a Vera Wang: sleek and expensive-looking black silk, halter-style top with built-in bra cups, and a long slit cut up one side. It was a classic style that I knew would still be stylish years from now. I hugged the soft material to my chest, savoring the feel of it. I’d never owned something so pretty.

Moving aside more tissue paper, I lifted a shoebox from the bottom of the package. A pair of shiny black Christian Louboutin platform heels. There was a note inside of the shoes—on a damn Post-it of all things—that said:
Only what you can handle.

My blood pumped erratically and a hot shiver ran through my body.

What did that mean? If all I wanted was dinner and then to come back here alone, or just with Ben, that’d be fine? Or if I wanted them both . . . was that on the table too? God, this was awkward. What had he said to Braydon? No. That was crazy. Just because I was a bit curious did not mean I was going to go through with it. I was willing to go out with them tonight, but that was it.

I had all day to ponder these and loads of other questions before my date. But it also afforded me the luxury of time to get ready. I figured a long bath would help me relax and I could devote some much-needed attention to my neglected e-reader. Pity, my mind was spinning.

A text from Ben that afternoon asked how I was feeling.

Me: Nervous

I chuckled at the brutal honesty in my response. So much for playing it cool.

Ben: Don’t be, baby. Remember, only what you can handle

His words did nothing to calm me. He sounded so in control, so certain. I could only hope he was, because I was neither.

Ben: I’m sending someone over to help you get ready. She’ll be there at 5:30—if that’s okay with you . . .

Me: Sure

I wasn’t used to having someone fuss over me, but if Ben thought it would help, this was his world, and I was just playing in it.

I bathed, shaved, and smoothed sweet-smelling cream on my arms and legs. I had just finished blow-drying my hair when Lucia arrived at five thirty. I was slightly worried she’d just be in my way, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. She quickly took charge, introduced herself with a friendly handshake, then unpacked her black rolling suitcase full of makeup and various hair-styling instruments. She directed me to sit and then assessed my skin and features. I was relieved to hear she spoke fluent English. Ben had thought of everything.

“What type of look would you like?”

I had no idea. “Oh, just something natural.”

“What colors are you wearing tonight?”

“A black dress and shoes.”

She nodded. “Special occasion?”

Heat flooded my cheeks as a wave of embarrassment washed over me. How did I explain my situation with a model who wasn’t quite my boyfriend, yet I wanted him to be . . . and that I’d be going on a date with him and his equally delicious model friend for an apparent threesome? No . . . that wasn’t something you told people. Though I knew Ellie was likely to get it out of me, especially if tequila—or as I liked to call it, truth serum—was ever involved. “Something like that,” I offered.

Lucia applied natural makeup: dusted bronzer across my cheeks and forehead, lined my eyes with charcoal, applied several coats of mascara, and dabbed my lips in rosy-pink gloss before handing me a mirror. I loved it. I looked elegant and very pretty. Having this special treatment made me feel confident and put together. A small miracle, considering how nervous I was about tonight.

I felt like a princess getting made up for her wedding day. When in actuality, somehow I found myself headed off for a date with two men. I wondered how Ben really felt about this. I knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious with me, but when I’d brought it up, his jaw had gone tense and his whole body posture had changed. Unless I had imagined it.

When I’d learned of his past of sharing women with Braydon, I was surprised more than anything. Heck, I didn’t think that kind of thing actually happened outside of porn videos. I’d never been particularly drawn to the idea of ménage. Yet the idea of Ben, and another man—not just any man, but Braydon—both pleasuring me was like system overload. I couldn’t deny my curiosity.

After my makeup was done, Lucia curled my hair in big, loose waves and ran her fingers through before setting it with hairspray. I never took the time to style it this way, and I loved what she’d done.

After she packed up and left, I took my evening gown into the bathroom to get dressed. Since the style couldn’t accommodate a bra, the only undergarment I put on was a tiny scrap of pink lace, one of the few thongs I’d packed.

The smooth silk glided over my hips and fell into place, brushing the tops of my ankles. I tied the halter straps behind my neck, letting the silky ribbons form a bow. I took in the plunging neckline that hugged my breasts perfectly. I’d been worried about going without a bra, but this seemed to work.

The addition of my little diamond-studded earrings made me feel a little more like me. When I turned to face the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. She looked sophisticated, confident and sexy. Inside, my emotions were a mess of nerves and insecurity. But at least it didn’t show on my face.

I shoved my feet inside the beautiful pumps and wiggled my toes. The peep toe opening showed a glimpse of my red toenail polish. I was ready as I’d ever be.

Ben arrived alone in a black limousine. I was grateful for that. I didn’t think I could handle seeing him and Braydon together quite yet. He stepped out of the limo and greeted me on the curb. He looked dashing—smart and sinfully sexy in a black Armani suit and black shirt open at the neck to expose his sexy throat. The dark clothing made his eyes stand out, shining brighter than usual and looking more green than hazel today.

He bent to kiss my cheek, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne washed over me. “You look lovely,” his whispered, sending a shiver down my spine. His gaze lingered at my breasts, which were squeezed together by the form-fitting dress, before his eyes finally lifted and settled on mine.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked.

“This is for you, Emmy. It can be anything you want.”

I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t answer the question. His hand on the small of my back led me to the limo and I climbed inside. It was dimly lit and spacious—the smell of leather and a trace of Ben’s cologne were waiting for me inside.

Sitting down across from me, he lifted a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket. “Would you like a glass?”

“Something stronger if you have it,” I murmured, arranging the dress around my legs.

He nodded thoughtfully and poured us each a measure of vodka over ice and added a splash of cranberry juice, almost as an afterthought.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the glass and taking a sip. Mother, that was strong.