Games People Play (8 page)

When he hesitated, she glanced over her shoulder at him and had to smile at the disappointment on his face. “You prefer something a little stronger?”

“It might help relax things.”

Good point.

He gave an approving nod when she withdrew a fresh bottle of Shiraz from the weathered cabinet. She poured him a paper cup full and one for herself. Colm was now five minutes late.

“Here’s to your dream ménage à trois,” Garrett said, his smile disappearing behind his cup. He drank his wine in one swallow, so she poured him more, and then he wandered over to her workstation and picked up a tube of paint. “Oils?”

“Acrylics. It forces me to work fast.”

“Colm said you were really talented.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, I think that’s all subjective.”

“And his subjective opinion, Sydney, is that you hang the moon.”

She didn’t know what to say. Relief battled with bemusement when the door swung open and Colm stepped into the studio.

“Hey.” He sounded breathless, as though he’d jogged to get there. He brought the crisp, fragrant autumn into the room with him. Sydney had the ridiculous urge to shoo Garrett away and put Colm alone on the platform, where she would capture him anew on canvas just as he was, in his jeans and jacket, flushed and a little ruffled from the November wind. And when his gaze collided with hers, electricity buzzed through her limbs.

“Wine?” she asked him, snatching up a paper cup. “We’re relaxing before we begin.”

Colm stopped beside his friend and grasped his hand in a brief shake. “Relaxing, huh? Your influence?”

Garrett grinned. “Of course.”

Sydney handed Colm his cup then left the men to talk while she alternately readied her workstation and sipped her wine. She’d never felt self-conscious with models before, but suddenly she couldn’t quite envision the men entangled with beautiful Cherise, or how it would feel to witness the unquestionable sensuality of the night ahead. A thread of anticipation went through her at the idea of watching Colm in action with other people, hints of what he looked like when he touched a woman in carnal need. Slow warmth seeped through her at the idea, compliments of wayward arousal and wine drunk too quickly.

Cherise, of course, ran late. When she half stumbled through the door, Sydney glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. My GPS broke and I was sure I could find this place without it. This neighborhood is way the hell out here!” She hopped off the ramp and slid out of her fitted leather coat, exposing a body clad in a tight chartreuse sweater and even tighter jeans. “Are these guys my victims for the night?”

“We are, thank God.” Garrett approached her and took her hand. When a pleased flush reddened her cheeks, he upped the ante and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “I’d hoped you be gorgeous.”

She flashed him a saucy smile.

Colm rolled his eyes at Sydney from behind his cup and she bit back a laugh. She cleared her throat and offered Cherise the obligatory Shiraz, which, to Sydney’s surprise, the girl politely waved away.

“I feel more sensuous in my skin when I’m smoking weed,” she explained.

Sydney sighed. “I don’t have any weed.”

“No big deal,” Cherise said with a shrug. “I can fly sober.”

Garrett’s grin widened, but Colm didn’t react. He was watching Sydney with an intensity that made her stomach feel light and fluttery. The sexual tension in the room sent galvanized thrills through her nerves. “Let’s get started.”

“Naked right away?” Garrett asked.

“Yes. There’s a changing room over there and robes for everyone.”

She wasn’t one bit surprised when all three models began to strip right there.

Cherise’s nude body emerged first, lithe, ivory, and flawless. Immediately the girl wrapped her arms around her breasts and shivered. “It’s kind of cold in here.”

“It’ll warm up,” Garrett murmured, but Sydney grabbed the space heater she’d asked Hans to drop off and aimed it in the direction of the stage.

Colm was the last to finish undressing. He seemed unusually quiet as he folded his clothing and set it on a nearby chair then joined the other two on the stage.

She hadn’t seen him fully nude more than once, and if she thought it had affected her before, now the sight of him bolted through her. The easy, fluid way he moved, the muscles shifting beneath his skin . . . she wanted to stare; she wanted to revel in his beauty; in the beauty of the three models standing so unabashedly naked before her.

Cherise was long-legged and sleek, almost too thin, but lissome in a way that would read beautifully on canvas. Garrett’s physique was slimmer than Colm’s, his muscles defined by nature but not with that same sculpted quality that spoke of exercise discipline. Where Colm’s chest was smooth, his complexion more olive, his friend was fair-skinned and had just a sprinkle of brown hair on his chest. And Colm—even his stance while he waited for instructions was graceful, and again Sydney thought of demigods emerging, all muscle and smooth flesh, from slabs of marble.

It was time to stop ogling. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, she approached the platform, where she adjusted the yards of black brocade on which they would pose. “Okay, Cherise, I need you to sit in the middle, Garrett beside you and Colm on your knees behind them.”

Once they were positioned, she hopped up on the stage, moved to Garrett, and drew his arm around Cherise. “One hand on her left breast,” she told him. “Open your lips against her cheek like you’re about to kiss it, but not quite. More a breath of a kiss.”

She tilted Cherise’s head away from him and drew her long brown hair over one slim shoulder. So beautiful. Already Sydney was excited about this canvas’s potential. “Give me ecstasy,” she told the girl. Cherise closed her eyes and immediately affected a look of such rapture, Sydney thought of the climb to orgasm.

At last she moved behind Colm, where she stopped. She didn’t know how she could put her hands on his naked skin without going weak and foolish. “Shift away from them just a little, as though you’re beginning to separate from the unit. Slide your right arm around Garrett and rest your hand on his opposite biceps, like you’re about to turn him toward you, to take him with you.” She drew a breath and adjusted his warm, muscled arm across Garrett’s chest, vaguely aware how tense he seemed as his fingers found his friend’s opposite shoulder and curved around it. Despite Colm’s apparent discomfort, Garrett was obviously someone Colm trusted. Sydney decided to take advantage of that.

“Now, put your lips on his bare shoulder,” she told him low, kneeling beside him. “And breathe. Can you do that?”

They were so close he could have just as easily put his lips on hers. He locked eyes with her, hesitated, then finally turned his head and dropped his mouth to Garrett’s smooth shoulder, his lashes sliding closed.

Garrett shivered. “Yowza.”

“Shut up,” Colm gritted out.

“This is going to look so hot,” Cherise added.

Colm lifted his head slightly, said something under his breath that made Garrett burst out laughing, but they settled quickly back into position. The exchange lightened the mood though, and Sydney smiled to herself. It was beguiling to see Colm interact with a friend, someone from his other life, which she knew so little about.

With his heated attention momentarily aimed in a different direction, her focus honed in on the canvas and she picked up her charcoal to sketch. Slowly the figures took shape, entwined, like willows twisting in a tempest. Sexual electricity bounced between the models, heedless of gender, singing only of sensuality and beauty. And Sydney wasn’t left out. Every time she took in the whole, exquisite picture they made, arousal engulfed her, the voyeur.

Cherise was right. This was definitely going to be hot.

Chapter Nine

C
olm had never touched another man’s thigh, nor wanted to. Of course, he had never dreamed of being a prostitute, either. He had never dreamed of being here, tangled up with Garrett and some Barbie doll named Cherise. He had never dreamed of Sydney, or the twisted emotions he was experiencing tonight.

Garrett shifted Colm’s hand aside to scratch his thigh, then slapped it back into place. “Sorry. Itch.”

They’d been at it nearly three hours except for brief breaks. For this particular pose, Colm’s hand was much too close to his friend’s genitals for comfort, but fortunately Garrett had avoided a hard-on most of the night, with the exception of any particularly intimate contact with Cherise. Then he sported his arousal without a blink.

“I might offer her a freebie,” he told Colm during their last break.

“More sex,” Colm said wryly. “That’s just what you need.” In truth, on the previous two breaks, Cherise had cozied up to Colm a little too closely for him to give his friend the thumbs-up. For all Garrett’s swagger, when it came to women outside the club, his ego was an eggshell. Fortunately, Sydney had mostly paired Garrett with the girl whenever they changed positions, leaving Colm curiously separate, more and more with each new pose, as though he were a spurned lover and stood alone.

As ten o’clock crept around, Sydney set down her brush and grabbed a camera from the cabinet. “I think it’s time to call it a night. Mind if I take a few photos?”

They held the pose for a few shots, and then she dismissed them. Colm climbed off the platform and pulled on his boxer-briefs and jeans. Jesus, his muscles were tight. Not necessarily from holding the pose for so long, but from watching Sydney, from wanting her, from suppressing the arousal that kept creeping up as he read her passion while she painted. It was, he realized, the only time her barriers crumbled and exposed the wildness within.

After Cherise finished dressing, she threw her arms around Sydney, who startled, but then hugged her back. “Thanks for the job.” Cherise said. “I hope you’ll use me another time.”

“I will.” Sydney gave her a confident smile. “You held those poses as skillfully as anyone I’ve ever worked with.”

Garrett was next on Cherise’s attack list. While he was slipping into his jacket, she gave him a long embrace, snuggling into his arms. “You are so,
so
hot.”

He just laughed.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, and kissed him straight on the lips, her fingers curling into his lapels to hold him close.

He grinned when she backed away. “On that promising note, I think I’ll take off.” He thanked Sydney, saluted Colm, and headed outside, a gust of frigid air whirling through the door as it closed behind him.

When Colm grabbed his leather jacket and started to follow, Cherise caught his arm. “Wait.” She drew a piece of paper from her purse. “You got a pen?”

He didn’t need to ask why.

“I have plenty,” Sydney said in a dry tone without glancing up from capping her paint tubes. “Look on my table.”

Colm waited, vaguely disconcerted, as Cherise picked a pen from the metal can on the worktable, then jotted something down and returned to hand it to him. “Can you read that? It’s sloppy.”

Her phone number, followed by ‘Call me,’ was scrawled in bubble writing that reminded him of high school.

“I can read it. Thanks.” He smiled, tucked it in his jacket pocket, and glanced in Sydney’s direction, but she had disappeared into the bathroom and he could hear her rinsing her brushes.

Cherise should have said good-bye then, but she didn’t seem to understand social cues. She stood waiting, her big brown eyes expectant on his face.

The practiced male prostitute in him kicked into play. He let his fingers trail along her angora-covered forearm down to her hand, which he gently squeezed. “Listen, I need to catch Garrett before he’s gone, but I’ll be in touch.”

“’Kay,” she said softly, and he could feel her gaze burning his back as he escaped the studio.

* * *

G
arrett had reached the end of the long driveway and had one foot in the driver’s side of his Audi when Colm caught up with him.

“I won’t see you for a few days, but I appreciate you showing up tonight and making this thing easy on me.”

Garrett smiled. “No problem. You know I love this shit.”

“I think Sydney’s happy with the start on her portrait, even though it might not be what she truly wants to paint.”

Garrett nodded and looked at Colm a long moment before he said, “That’s important to you, isn’t it? Her happiness.”

Colm shrugged, keeping a neutral expression in the glow from the driveway lanterns. “She’s a job.”

“If you say so.”

Out of nowhere, anger swooped in. “I said she’s a job. That’s it.”

Garrett waved a hand. “Okay, I hear you. You don’t need to be defensive with me, James. And hey, the fact that you are indicates—”

“It indicates how important it is that I keep my eye on the end result, which is double the money if I can get this woman into bed. Double the money to help me keep Amelia in good care. That’s what every part of this indicates. So mind your own goddamned business.”

Garrett gave a single nod and started his car, his expression stony in the glow from the dashboard.

“Jesus . . .” Colm looked skyward. How had he ended up in this place at this moment, hurting all the people around him, even Garrett? “Look, I’m an asshole. But you need to understand—”

“I do understand.”

“No.” Colm shook his head. “This isn’t just any job.”

“Even though a minute ago you said it was.”

“There are things you don’t know.”

“James.” Garrett laid one forearm across the steering wheel and shifted to stare at Colm. “I don’t need to know much to figure this whole thing out. You’re not exactly immune to her. That’s a mortal sin at Avalon, and once it happens, it’s hard to untangle. What’s it been, five days?”

With nine to go.
Shit.

Garrett went on. “I’m just being the devil’s advocate here, and I’d count on you to do the same for me if I was in your shoes. You know there’s always the possibility that we could be exposed through something like this if it gets out of hand. Azure will fire your ass at the very least. You need this job and all the others connected to the club. So do I. So get this thing over and get out of here.”

He was right. Garrett was always right. The anger and desperation tightening Colm’s chest loosened its hold and he rubbed his hands over his face. “I hear you. And I’ll rein it in. No one’s getting exposed except me—and Beaudoin—for the bastards we are, and that won’t be until I leave Sydney in the dirt.”

“You’re not a bastard,” his friend sighed. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m the worst kind.”

Pulling on his seat belt, Garrett offered him a faint smile. “Then we all are. But you can be king.” Just like that, the tension snuffed itself out. “Now give me Cherise’s digits, you slut. I know she gave them to you. She looked at you like a hungry dog all night.”

Colm handed over the slip of paper. “You really never are fucked out, are you?”

“A total impossibility.” Garrett shifted gears and the headlights flashed on the manicured hedges bracketing the driveway. “I’ll see you in a week or so, buddy. Good luck.”

* * *

C
olm walked slowly back to the studio to get his jacket, rubbing his arms as he went. Damn, it was cold. After a day of working on his house in Silver Spring and visiting with his sister, all he wanted was a warm bed and a dreamless sleep. No more posing, no Garrett, no Cherise. Only Sydney, but that was an improbability tonight after the phone number fiasco. His mind was so tired. He needed to call home, talk to the nurse about a change in schedule, and then fall into bed.

“Colm.” The sultry voice came from nowhere as he reached the porch, and he paused before he spotted her sauntering toward him. Cherise again.

When she reached him, she tilted her head and eyed him in a feral way that both amused and exasperated him.

A wry smile curved his mouth. “I thought I said goodnight to you.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Going to sleep,” he said. “You?”

“Having a drink with you, if you’ve got something in your cabin.”

He wanted to laugh. Cherise was sex on sticks, and any man would be crazy to turn her down. But even if Colm hadn’t been working, even if he didn’t have a job that kept him from being an average man without a cellar of secrets, he wouldn’t have said yes. He wanted only Sydney. Christ, he really might be in trouble here. Somehow he needed to slow down the game while speeding it up.

“You don’t look legal to drink,” he told Cherise.

“I’m twenty-four.” She drew herself up to her full height, almost as tall as he. “Come on, one drink.”

He pictured Sydney at her easel, her brows lowered in concentration, the way she caught her lip between her teeth as she worked, the tension in her slender body as her electric blue eyes shifted with lightning speed between her canvas and her subjects.

“I can’t tonight,” he said. “But thanks.”

“Maybe another time?”

He tried to conjure another smile and couldn’t. “I don’t think so.”

She looked at him in the glow from the studio porch light. “I think you find me attractive but don’t want to admit it.”

“I have no problem admitting you’re gorgeous.”

“Are you gay?” she demanded.

“No.”

“Then at least kiss me goodnight.” And rising on tiptoe, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her mouth to his.

Her lips were soft and she tasted good, like Fruit Stripe gum. When her tongue tangled with his, he grasped her shoulders and set her away from him. “Whoa.”

“For real?” She smiled; she knew her effect on men. Sydney didn’t. Sydney had no idea how beautiful she was, how fragile and yet strong she seemed. He wanted inside her so badly, suddenly he couldn’t even meet Cherise’s eyes.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He started toward her ancient Ford Bronco and finally, reluctantly, she followed. When they reached the vehicle, she climbed in and he shut the door for her before she could launch another attack.

She rolled down the window. “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

“It’s hard to say no to you.”

That brought another smile to her bewildered expression. God, she was gorgeous, yet clichéd, simply another just-bloomed flower in the basket of beauty to which he’d grown immune.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around. I model all over town.” The subtle pout of her bottom lip was meant to entice, but he said nothing in response.

She gave him a last long look, sighed, and revved her motor. He stood in the driveway and watched her red taillights wink and disappear. When he turned back toward the studio, the windows were dark. Sydney had obviously locked up for the night and slipped out the back while he was screwing around. Jesus, had she seen the kiss Cherise laid on him?

A fresh wave of determination burned off his exhaustion. He needed to get this thing rolling tonight. Max was gone, the pall that hung over the estate with his presence had lifted, and all Colm could think about was replacing the memory of Cherise’s mouth with Sydney’s. He headed toward the mansion to find her, his purpose burning with every step.