Sarasota Sin (10 page)

Drake straightened his blazer, stepping to the door. “Why did you have to hire such a hot assistant? Evan is breathing down her neck, might get us sued for harassment.”

“I hired Miss Lange for her qualifications, not her appearance.” To Avery, all women paled in comparison to Payton. “I’ll set Evan straight personally.”

“Blasé attitude when you clearly understand it won’t be that simple.” Drake laughed harshly. “You know how Evan gets when he wants someone, so let me know if you need any help chaining the beast. Meanwhile, order your Miss Lange to run like hell.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” He held his hands wide, impatiently. “Anything else needing my attention?”

“That’s enough, I suppose.”

“Then get the hell out, all of you,” Avery demanded. The sooner he was finished with work, the sooner he could get to Payton. When the door finally closed behind Drake and Trey, the silence was deafening. “That goes for you, too, Dylan.”

“Trey said you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“Trey loves to dramatize. I think he was meant for theater. I’m knee-deep. We can discuss this later.” Or not at all, Avery added to himself.

Dylan refused to be deterred. “I saw your face when he said it.” Tension firmed his jaw as he turned back to the window, placing his hands on the glass. A day’s worth of dark blonde stubble glinted in the Florida sun. Between the two, Dylan held angelic features — all light where Avery was dark. “The redhead,” he whispered, his hands curling into fists, pressing onto the glass, “you saw her without her mask.” He looked over his shoulder, his expression almost accusatory. “Didn’t you?”

And it had been a walk in the past. “Dylan, don’t bring this up now. I’ve already enjoyed a hearty breakfast of scotch.”

Dylan’s eyes clouded with memories he’d undoubtedly relinquish his nearly limitless fortune to forget. “After I saw the color, ah, the exact color of her hair, a layer of ice melted. And for once, I thought I could breathe again. I went to lift her mask. Twice, I think.”

“I saw.”

Dylan slumped. “Something told me not to.”

“You were protecting yourself.”

“Not you, though, you’re far braver than I credit you.”

“I wanted her. Nothing was going to stop me. Still, I didn’t see her face until yesterday afternoon.” Avery shuddered to think of Payton not crossing his path the night of the benefit. “Well, yeah, it doesn’t stop with her hair.”

“Shit, A, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You know I don’t talk about this, much less joke.”

“That’s why you’re not giving me an answer about resuming our lifestyle,” he accused. “You’re going after her on your own. But you can’t…I mean. What about your limitations?”

The fucking restrictions caused by the fire. Self-consciously, Avery yanked at his watch, the band of his Devon Works Tread covering the faint lines of his last skin graft. He took a deep breath, reminding himself he had more to offer Payton than most men did, and he refused to consider himself selfish for wanting her. “I will have her.” He had to find a way to get her in his arms for…Was he thinking forever? The way his body was suddenly coming alive only for her, it sure seemed that way. Taking another moment, Avery eventually offered, “It’s different with Payton.”

“And you think you can make a relationship with Payton work without my involvement?”

“When you left, I considered my future, too.” Avery flashed an insolent smile, opening a file and blindly signing. “I’m sick of mistresses.” He wanted to experience love again, to breathe easily once more. “It’s time I married.”

“I understand you feel different around Payton, but all of the sudden, you can…keep a wife?”

Avery barely refrained from shouting. He’d been reminded enough of his inadequacies for one day. “What’s your problem? You’ve watched me satisfy our lovers.”

Dylan hesitated. “Those women were ones we paid not to question anything sexual,” he replied gently, “and I finished for us every time.”

Avery didn’t need that reminder, but Dylan was the only person he could be completely honest with, even if he sounded like a pussy in doing so. “I barely know her, yet it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I held her, too. I get it. Without me, though, you are dooming her to an eternity without her needs being met,” Dylan finished.

“Not if I were honest from the beginning. Her needs would be met; she’d know what to expect.” He would refuse her nothing. “Because I would sit down with Payton and bottom-line it.”

“Bottom, interesting choice of words,” Dylan replied hoarsely, his hand slipping down to adjust his growing length. “I remember the feel of her lush ass in my hands. Damn, I would enjoy seeing it naked, over my lap, glistening from my tongue, and reddened by my hand.”

Avery wouldn’t permit Dylan to screw this up for him. “Might I remind you that the longest we shared a mistress was six months? Your attention span is childlike and frightening. Without any consideration of her heart, you’ll want her for however long you will last.”

“Right now,” Dylan replied coyly, “I want her for lunch.”

Avery was sure that came out wrong. “You mean…you want to take her to lunch.”

“For lunch,” he clarified. “Upon my table, I would spread her creamy, full-figured legs wide and feast as though I were king.” A challenge lit Dylan’s eyes. “She would beg me to stop before I was through; I swear my tongue is infinite.”

Avery nodded. “You can move back in with me, if you want.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “But I want to see where these urges, these new needs take me with Payton,” he explained while walking to his private bathroom. “So unless I say otherwise, I won't be sharing any women you choose. I only want Payton.”

“Fine,” Dylan said with a low chuckle as Avery closed the bathroom door. He slid his hand across his step-cousin’s desk, searching through the files needing immediate attention, wondering if he could help Avery wade through paperwork, when he landed on one labeled The Sarasota Firehouse. Then he moved that file aside when he caught sight of a manila envelope shoved beneath Avery’s blotter. “What are you hiding, A?” Easing out the unmarked envelope, he opened the tab and slid the contents free. Beyond women, Avery and Dylan still shared almost everything. Apart from the past two weeks, they were mutually exclusive in all things — best friends, and uneasiness stroked Dylan’s soul at the thought of Avery keeping something from him.

Payton Calloway, he read at the top of the investigative report. Ah, he mused, she was connected to the Firehouse. The place Trey would give his left nut to torch for his golf course. When he heard Avery washing his hands, he pulled out his phone and snapped shots of the first three pages, irritated photos of her weren’t included. Hurriedly placing everything where he found it, he grabbed The Sarasota Firehouse file and left Avery’s office with renewed purpose.

Walking past his assistant, he ordered, “Barbra, I’m leaving at one, please clear my schedule thereafter.” He didn’t like the fact that her eyes bugged, but she was new and he’d let it slide this once.

“Yes, Sir.” Punching her keyboard in double-time, lines of concern marred her forehead. “Your ten o’clock is waiting, Mr. Grafity of Sarasota Community Bank.”

“Mr. Grafity?” How many times would this man beg for The Easton Company’s local business? “I’ve met with him once.” Once was enough. “Did I approve this meeting?”

Her cheeks flushed. “He’s persistent.”

Strike two for Barbra. “Bank Presidents often are, therefore, you’ll have to be equally persistent, if not more, in asking him to leave.” Not for the first time, he wondered what skills promoted her to The Easton Company’s elite fifteenth floor. “And remember this mistake next time he becomes a pest.”

Three minutes later, Dylan slipped behind his desk, pulled out The Sarasota Firehouse file, and immediately located an original document diagramming the property lines encompassing the base structure. He held up the still, turning it this way and that. “A perfect circle,” he murmured curiously, wondering what else would garner his jaded interest today. “Hmm, Trey, what are you up to?”

7

“Stop wiggling. It’s a perfect fit.”

“I felt a seam pop.”

“No seam popped, Pay.”

She opened her eyes, studying her reflection: a throwback to old Hollywood, when women were proud of their curves and no one could convince them otherwise. Even so, she couldn’t believe she was wearing a gown this formfitting, even more shocked to find she looked good in it — hips and all. If only she could afford these creations on her own, instead of Libby risking her job to forage for her lacking wardrobe. “If I move, I’ll explode right out of this baby, and when those theater biddies find the remnants,” she said of the cappuccino-colored evening gown with an ebony-flocked overlay and trumpet skirt, “they’ll also find my DNA linking me to the crime.”

“We’re borrowing not stealing,” Libby huffed. “They won’t look for DNA.”

“It only takes a hair, Lib.” She held up a solitary finger, flipping Libby’s smirking reflection the bird. “One hair can send me up the river for eternity.”

Libby swatted her. “I told you to stop watching those old Perry Mason reruns.”

Last night, Payton had watched a marathon of decades-gone-by shows while an exhausted Noah snored like a leaf blower. Her mind unable to follow the simplest plots, considering it stayed tuned to her internal station featuring the incomparable Avery Easton. Avery had insisted she be ready for everything, then tried to keep her from her tutoring job by taking her to dinner and proving his words. She wasn’t in a position to skip work, needed the income, so she’d refused his invitation. He’d promised to call her today, and although she’d worked a busy day tiling the small reflection pool out back, technically on Easton property, she’d watched the time as if she had a pie in the oven. One minute ticked by the same as an hour, and since it was nearing dinnertime, she was going stir crazy. Half of her knew better than to get involved with a powerful man such as him, one who could demand any woman with a simple nod of his head. Her other half called her every name in the book, insisting she go after Avery Easton in a full-frontal attack, baring her teeth at any woman who dared stand in her way.

Then, there was Dylan.

Not that the second Mr. Easton was in her life one iota. But the dreams she’d had of him, so far, had brought her out of a sound sleep, clutching her blanket with one hand and stroking her pulsating core with the other. Frustratingly, not once had she experienced climax. Considering how he’d treated her, kissing her after he’d just placed his hands and lips on another woman, and then dismissing her as if she were a lowlife reporter from a sleazy celebrity rag, Payton shouldn’t be wasting her time headlining Dylan in her dreams. Unfortunately, she’d been unsuccessful in stopping two nights of subconscious fantasies: Dylan scraping his flaxen stubble over her tightened nipples, biting ever so lightly on the peaks before lowering his mouth down, down, down, where she’d never before felt a mouth. And she stood contemplating if tonight would be filled with a third dream or would she be given a break?

“All zipped up,” Libby said, beaming over Payton’s shoulder. “To offset the kohl around your eyes, I want to paint your lips red.”

“Not with red hair, Lib,” she argued, pushing Libby’s lip brush away and checking the clock on her nightstand.  Her stomach gave a little nervous squeeze as she reached for her pot gloss. Payton dabbed nude glaze on her mouth, rubbing to the edges and pressing her lips together.

“Ah, Payton,” Noah exclaimed from the doorway, “you look like a wet.” He thought better of finishing that sentence, clearing his throat while dropping his eyes from her sultry-shined mouth. “What I meant to say was, you are gorgeous, as usual, but particularly so in that dress.” He had his guitar case in one hand, his car keys in the other. “I wish I could join you for dinner instead of playing this gig.”

Payton glanced at him quickly, threading glittery hoops through her ears. They didn’t suit the style of the dress, but the chandelier earrings Libby had insisted on were too heavy. “You guys are lucky to get an extra gig. Gotta take it, right?”

“Money talks,” he agreed.

An awkward silence fell, unnatural for their long-term friendship, and Payton hated it. Last night, when she had rolled in with pizza, Noah had rolled in from practice smelling mildly of beer and heavily of cheap perfume. Normally, he’d toss his shirt and find his way to the sofa, surfing the channels while propping his bare feet on the ottoman. Last night, however, he’d left on his shirt and Payton recently found out why. She’d caught sight of his back this morning, when he was hosing down the side lanai. Eight perfect claw marks lined either side of Noah’s spine, and love bites bruised one delectable shoulder. Payton wasn’t as angry as she should have been. After all, he’d earnestly pledged his desire to be her man, forsaking all others while he was with her, and yet he couldn’t keep it in his pants for a few hours after leaving her just to prove, if nothing else, his determination to further their relationship. She should be royally insulted and equally pissed. Instead, she felt sad, oddly deflated that he didn’t find her worthy enough to try and prove he could be faithful. But what was she expecting? This was Noah Wyatt in his truest form: the good, the bad, and the horny.