Private Party (6 page)

Tonight, it was Chris, not Brian, sinking his fingers into the hot, creamy clasp of her cunt. He was the one reaching down, covering her hand in his to show her exactly how he liked to be stroked. It was his cock she was pumping with fast, firm strokes until he was throbbing and twitching like he hadn’t just come with enough force to make him lose consciousness.

He was the one watching her slide down his shaft, moaning as his cock disappeared inch by agonizing inch inside her sweet pussy. Tonight, he was watching her moan and squirm as she came all over him.

Tonight she was his, and that was enough. It had to be.

Gray light was just touching the sky as Chris zipped up his suitcase. Julie was sprawled on her stomach, the sheet twisted so the whole of her smooth back and one creamy leg were exposed. His fingers itched to slide over her skin, his mouth watered with the urge to bury his tongue between her legs, have her wake up as she was coming against his mouth.

He resisted, in part because he’d already pushed his departure as far as he could. At this rate he’d be lucky to make his flight back to St. Thomas. But also because his emotions were a mess. Far from the pleasantly exhausted state he usually found himself in after a night like last night, this morning he was all simmering anger and old resentment.

What did he expect her to say if he woke her up to say good-bye? He knew what he wanted her to say—

that she would announce her plans to dump Brian once and for all and run off with him. Fat chance of that happening, no matter what had happened last night.

And that was a good thing, he reminded himself as he quietly slipped on his shoes. Because he had no time whatsoever to devote to his personal life. The twisted, sour feeling in his stomach was just old wounds reopening. The long forgotten desire—for once—to be chosen first over his asshole brother. To not be chosen as second best, or in Julie’s case, as a convenient and potent form of revenge. Chris thought he’d gotten over all of this in the years he’d spent building his own successful business away from the influence of his family. But watching Julie march down the aisle had brought it all bubbling back to the surface. And spending the night discovering all the secrets of her lush, sexy body hadn’t helped matters any.

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Best to leave quickly and quietly, not draw it out any further. Still, it seemed wrong to just leave her without a word, without some acknowledgement. As a nod to courtesy, he penned a quick note:
Had to catch an early flight. It was great seeing you again. Thanks for a great night.

He stared down at his own blocky print, biting the pen. It seemed a bit abrupt. He added:
Come down whenever you need a break from the rat race.

He almost scratched it out. What if she took him up on it? His stomach clenched with anxiety at the thought of her showing up at Holley Cay. A man could only stand so much emotional torture.

No, Julie didn’t want anything more from him than for him to help even the score with Brian. She would see it for the meaningless invitation it was, but it kept the note from being a complete “thanks for the fuck” sort of brush off. He signed his name and indulged himself in one last look at her, golden, creamy, exhausted from his loving, before quietly closing the door behind him.

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5

J
ulie closed her eyes and inhaled the salty Caribbean air, feeling her tensions melt under the warmth of the tropical sun. This was exactly what she needed, she thought as the low hum of the ferry’s engine lulled her into a half dream state. A whole week of sun, sand, and umbrella drinks. And most importantly, a hot vacation fling to put the icing on the cake.

A curl of anticipation blossomed in her belly. It had been ten days since she’d woken up alone in Chris’s hotel room. In less than ten minutes, she would see him again.

She sighed in pleasure as the light breeze caressed the skin of her shoulders, left bare by her gauzy white halter top. It was among the many purchases Wendy had insisted on in preparation for her trip to the Holley Cay resort.

As she settled back into the soft padded bench, she couldn’t help but be impressed with the resort’s service so far. She and several other passengers had been met by an SUV at Charlotte Amalie Airport in St. Thomas and whisked in air-conditioned comfort to the resort’s private ferry. On board, they had been served delicious rum punch, shrimp cocktail, and a beautiful array of fresh tropical fruits as they awaited the arrival of additional guests.

If her greeting was any indication of the service she would receive, Julie could see why Holley Cay was quickly gaining a reputation as a favorite spot for the young and wealthy to rest, recuperate, and frolic.

She couldn’t help but admire Chris for realizing his dream. She remembered vividly back in college when Chris had talked about starting his own place, out from under the shadow of D&D. Chris had accomplished his dream and then some.

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“It’s nothing more than a sleazy swingers club,” Brian and his father had grumbled after Holley Cay was described as “over the top, hedonistic luxury” by
Travel and Leisure
magazine. “I bet it’s all orgies and people running around nude. It’s an embarrassment to D&D to have Chris involved in something like that.”

Julie had never bothered to point out that Holley Cay was in no way affiliated with D&D, that Chris had built the resort from the ground up and found his own investors. As far as she knew, he hadn’t taken a penny from his considerable trust fund.

But Julie knew better than to argue. Grant Driscoll, Brian Dennison, and David Dennison all suffered greatly from “Not Invented Here” syndrome. If they didn’t think of it first, it wasn’t worth bothering with.

Nervous anticipation hummed through her. Coming down here had seemed like such a great idea when Wendy had suggested it two days ago.

“You need to get out of here,” Wendy had said, surveying the piles of wedding gifts littering Julie’s apartment a week after her disaster of a wedding.

“I wish,” Julie groaned, threading her fingers through her hair. “But I have to return all the gifts, write apology notes to all the guests.” She surveyed her normally immaculate living room.

“Apology cards? What are you supposed to say, sorry the groom was nailing someone else in the broom closet? Shouldn’t Brian be doing this?”

“I don’t know. Mother insisted,” Julie said. “She’s been such a mess lately, I couldn’t argue with her.”

“What happened to the new Julie? The Julie who doesn’t let herself get pushed around?” Wendy asked as she settled herself into the high-backed wooden chair across from Julie.

“I think she’s on my honeymoon.”

“No, that would be Brian and Vanessa.”

“Don’t remind me.” Julie let her head drop to the table.

Her phone let out a piercing ring. “Don’t,” Julie said when Wendy moved as though to answer. “It’s probably one of those sleazebags.” As if discovering her husband doing another woman at her wedding reception wasn’t bad enough, somehow the national tabloids had latched onto Julie’s story. In what must have been an incredibly slow celebrity news week, Julie had been featured in a piece called “Heiresses Gone Wild.” A thoughtful wedding guest had furnished the tabloid with several candid photos, including one of Julie, veil askew, dress torn and stained with red wine, her face snarling with rage as she smashed PrivateParty

cake into Brian’s face. For the past several days she’d been plagued with phone calls, her every move dogged by photographers as the tabloid press tried to paint her—boring, dutiful Julie Driscoll—as the next Paris Hilton.

Thank God no one—except Wendy, of course—knew what had happened with Chris. She probably would have been disowned.

Which, admittedly, had its appeal right about now, with her mother calling her fifty times a day in hysterics, and her father nearly as many times, his manner much colder and biting as he castigated her for the PR disaster she had caused.

And Brian, who had caused the whole mess in the first place, wasn’t suffering one bit as he drank umbrella drinks in Fiji while his new girlfriend rubbed him down with coconut oil. By the time he got back, the entire fiasco would have blown over.

Come to think of it, getting out of town until the world forgot about her wedding scandal did sound like a good strategy.

“Before I forget, I brought this, too.” Wendy reached into her briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “It’s the annulment papers. I ran it by one of the senior partners, and she says it looks fine. All you have to do is sign.”

Julie did so, with such enthusiasm that her ballpoint pen left an imprint in the rustic wood finish of her kitchen table.

“And you made
US Weekly
,” Wendy said, tossing the magazine on top of the pile of legal papers.

The magazine was open to a picture of Julie, free of makeup and dressed in running clothes as she went for her morning latte. It had been taken less than a block from her apartment. “You’re right, I have to get out of here,” Julie groaned.

“As usual, I’m one step ahead of you.” Wendy pulled another envelope out of her briefcase and opened it with a flourish. “I have taken the liberty of booking you, the new and improved, complete with spine Julie Driscoll, a one week stay at the ultra luxurious Holley Cay resort, in the tropical paradise of the U.

S. Virgin Islands.”

Julie’s head shot up. “You did what?”

“Don’t worry, I used your credit card. You know I love you like a sister, but twenty thousand a week is pretty steep for a second year associate.”

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“I can’t go there, that’s Chris’s resort. If I go there, and anyone finds out, the press will have a field day.

This,” she waved the issue of
US Weekly
under Wendy’s nose, “will look like nothing in comparison to the chaos. Not to mention my parents will kill me.”

“So what,” Wendy scoffed. “If you ask me, if they’d been more concerned with your happiness and less concerned with stock price and social status, you never would have married Brian in the first place. So, really, the whole mess is their fault. I don’t see why you’re so worried about protecting them.” While Wendy had grown up in a comfortable upper middle class neighborhood outside of New York City, she would never understand the pressure Julie was under to uphold a certain social standard.

Nevertheless, Julie knew she had a valid point. No wonder Wendy was already on the fast track to making partner at her law firm.

“Besides,” she continued, “who’s going to find out? I’m certainly not going to tell anyone, and isn’t Holley Cay renowned for its privacy? I mean, when Brad and Angelina went, no one even knew until a month after they left.”

She had a point. One of Holley Cay’s main selling points, especially to celebrities, was the fact that the press never seemed to be able to find people there. Maybe it would be possible to disappear, if only for a week.

With Chris.

A sly smile crossed Wendy’s face. “Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?” She picked up the glossy brochure.

“‘We will go to any lengths to insure the pleasure and satisfaction of our guests.’” Wendy’s eyebrows waggled. “And from the look on your face, you’re remembering exactly what ‘lengths’ Chris will go to, aren’t you?”

Julie felt herself redden at Wendy’s knowing smirk. New Julie Driscoll or not, she still wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that she’d slept with the best man on her wedding night, and said as much.

Wendy waved her hand dismissively. “If anyone deserved a good fuck from a hot guy, it’s you. If anything you should be proud of yourself for taking initiative.”

“I don’t think a meaningless one night stand is something to be proud of,” Julie grumbled. But she couldn’t prevent a smile at the memory of that night. Okay, maybe she was a little proud of herself.

“Alright, wipe that ecstatic grin off your face. You don’t have to rub your good sex in my face, especially when it’s been ages since I’ve had any.”

Julie highly doubted that, given Wendy’s very active dating life. “Not good sex,” she said, unable to resist the taunt, “Amazing sex. Perfect and amazing.” PrivateParty

“Then I can’t understand why you’re not making a beeline to the airport right now.” Julie’s smile faded as she remembered that morning, waking up alone in the rumpled bed that still smelled of Chris and sex. A single sheet of paper was folded up on the pillow next to her.

“Had to catch an early flight. It was great seeing you again. Thanks for a great night. Come down
whenever you need a break from the rat race—Chris”
They might have gone out for coffee for all the emotion it contained. She was pretty confident that he’d enjoyed himself—she had three empty condom wrappers and the sore muscles to prove it. Okay, so he’d said she should come visit. But she was pretty sure he only said it because he was sure she’d never take him up on it. He certainly wouldn’t expect her less than a month later.

“We had our one night,” Julie said, “and neither of us intended it to go any farther. I don’t want to push it.” She wrinkled her nose at the potential for social awkwardness. “I don’t want him to think that I’m like, stalking him, or something.”

Wendy waved off her protests. Ever the optimist, she replied, “Hey, plans change. Do you or do you not want to see him again?”

“It would be great, but I’m in the process of getting an annulment. The last thing I need is to get involved again right away.”

“Who said anything about getting involved? I’m talking about a week in a tropical paradise with a gorgeous guy. Why not indulge yourself a little? And by the time you come back, the annulment will be final, and the press will have moved on to the next skank of the week. Meanwhile, you’ll be smug in the knowledge that the real scandal—you sleeping with Chris—will remain top secret.” Julie fiddled with the brochure, considering.

“You’re offering sex with no strings—no guy refuses that,” Wendy urged “And, from what I’ve read about this place, if Chris
is
crazy enough to refuse your offer, you’ll have no trouble finding a very suitable substitute.”