The Bikini Diaries (18 page)

thought about that sort of woman, the image wasn't a good one—this woman wasn't

someone she wanted to know or whom she particularly respected. And since she
wasn't

normally that sort of woman, how might she feel afterward? Would she have trouble

looking herself in the mirror? Would she harbor regrets and feel sleazy every time she

remembered it?

Still, the vague images in her fantasy continued to float pleasingly through her mind, and even as she walked along the winding path toward Brandon's place, a warm breeze

kissing her skin as it rustled through palm fronds overhead, the cloudy visions made her breasts feel heavy and her pussy tingle.

Part of her wanted to forge ahead with her "no hesitation" plan, throw caution to the wind, tell herself that what happened at Emerald Shores stayed at Emerald Shores. But

that silly saying about Vegas was just that: silly. You still had to live with yourself

afterward. And among the many things she'd learned from being with Brandon, one of

them was that fantasizing about something and actually doing it were
very
different.

When
fantasy
became reality, it was real,
there, in your face,
and more intense than she could have imagined. You couldn't shut your eyes and decide it was over.

So as she reached Brandon's building and hit the button that would prompt him to buzz

her in, she concluded that her explanation on the beach was completely true. She'd

invited Pete to dinner
for fan.
Simple, easy, flirty
fan.
She liked the idea that Brandon's equally hot friend was attracted to her; she liked watching the playful banter between

them; she liked knowing she
could
have them both if she
wanted
to have them both. But that was all.

When Brandon greeted her at the door, he gave her a tingle-inducing once-over, then

said, "Damn, bunny—you look amazing," easing her into a warm embrace that moistened her panties further. His hands closed gently over her ass, squeezing slightly, as his dick—

already half hard—nudged her in front.

"Mmm, and
you feel
amazing," she assured him, still a little astonished that she could sound so silky and seductive without even trying—it was simply more sexuality spilling

from her beneath his influence.

That quickly, though, she found herself glancing past his broad shoulders, vaguely

curious if Pete was here yet.

Apparently, she wasn't being very sly about it since Brandon informed her with a teasing grin, "Your other boyfriend's on the balcony."

She rolled her eyes, but still her pussy fluttered. "Stop it— he's not my other boyfriend."

And does that make you my
main
boyfriend?
But she kept that question inside.

"Whatever you say," he told her again, like on the beach. Then he added, "Hope you like pork chops—that's what the grill man brought to grill. We have kind of an arrangement—

he'll grill whenever I want him to, but he gets to choose the food."

"Sounds fair enough," she said, glad the topic had edged away from sex already.

Yet as she watched Brandon puttering around the kitchen, stirring pots on the stove and

then getting her a drink, she realized that, for her peace of mind, she had to turn it
back
in that direction—briefly. "You didn't say anything to him, did your she asked. 'About your suspicions—about me?"

A small, still-suspicious grin formed on his face. "No. Why? Should I have?"

It almost galled her that Brandon persisted in thinking she had ulterior motives here, so she was going to set him straight, once and for all. "Because I'm serious," she told him and for good measure closed her hand around his wrist, hard, looking intently into his

eyes. "I
really, truly
don't plan on pursuing anything like you suggested earlier. And I keep getting the idea that you don't believe me."

His smile softened on her, his eyes going kinder, along with his voice. He covered her

hand with his free one and said, "I believe you, bunny." Only then, just as she was starring to feel relieved, his expression changed once more, leaning back toward sexy,

knowing. "But things don't always go the way you plan in life. Sometimes ... desire wins out over intent."

Despite the fact that Brandon's words had made her a little nervous, dinner turned out

easy, fun—exactly as she'd hoped. There was easy talk peppered with bits of flirtation

that continued to make her feel sexy and attractive. Wine flowed, and the meal—

seasoned chops accompanied by garlic mashed potatoes and a green bean soufflé

Brandon had whipped up from a family recipe—was delicious. She discovered that even

as much as she enjoyed the obvious contrasts between the two men—the smart,

handsome CEO versus the swarthy "sky pirate"—she also sincerely liked Pete and could see enough similarities to understand why they had a long-standing friendship.

Pete, she learned, had a father in the air force, which had resulted in him living a transient childhood. Their last stop, just before Pete graduated from high school, was at nearby

Eglin Air Force Base, and Pete had determined "to put down some roots and never leave again. And to let my hair grow as long as I damn well pleased." He'd grinned, adding,

"So far, it's worked out for me.

"How did your dad feel about that? Your hair, I mean?" she asked with a smile. She'd gathered that the elder Mr. Faber had been a fairly strict father, in keeping with his

military background.

"He's cool with it," Pete assured her. 'M in all, he's a good guy and just wanted to make sure he instilled some values in me. Once he figured out I had some ambition and didn't

want to be a
total
beach bum, he pretty much let me do my own thing."

"So what about
you?"
Brandon asked, shifting his eyes to Wendy. He sat between her and Pete at the round table on the balcony. To the west, the sun set rapidly, leaving the sky over the ocean streaked with pinks and purples so vibrant that the scene began to feel a bit otherworldly despite the "normalness" of the evening.

"What
about
me?" she inquired.

"Well, you know how I ended up here and how Pete ended up here. Now that I know

what you do for a living—how did you get into this line of work?" Even cool Pirate Pete had looked adequately stunned when they'd shared with him earlier the coincidence

they'd discovered this morning when she'd strolled into Brandon's office.

"No big, fabulous story," she explained. "I was working in an investment advisory firm in Chicago—I'd gotten my Series 6 and 7 licenses, which enabled me to buy, sell, and

advise on securities— but I didn't enjoy the corporate environment much, or the pressure of the job. Walter Carlisle was a company client, and when he came in one day to discuss his portfolio, he mentioned he was interviewing for a new assistant. I'd talked with him before and liked his easygoing style—I could tell he was a wealthy man who knew his

business, but he didn't act superior or shove his success down anyone's throat. I sent him a resume and the rest is history."

"And you're happy in this job?" Pete asked.

She nodded, draining her second glass of merlot. "The setting is a lot more laid-back, but the work is still interesting and challenging. And I learn a lot just from watching Walter."

Brandon grinned, arching one eyebrow.
"A
mogul in the making."

She thought about rolling her eyes and protesting the statement—normally she would

have; normally she didn't see herself ever taking on that type of role. But maybe more

than just her senses of sexuality and femininity were changing here. Walter had enough

confidence in her to trust her evaluation of Emerald Shores and to let her make demands

of the CEOs. Who knew where that could lead someday? So she simply smiled and said a

light, airy "Could be."

Then she smiled inwardly again at the whole unlikely turn of events—how had she ended

up in a hot, kinky affair with one of the CEOs? Despite the typical conversation taking

place, that knowledge hung over the meal—at least for her. And she enjoyed the aura of

masculinity around her, discovering she liked being the only girl at the table with more than one guy, especially guys who dripped as much testosterone as these two.

As Brandon poured the last of their second bottle of wine into her glass, she commented

on the stunning sunset. "If being a mogul will get me a view like this, that provides some serious motivation."

"Yep, bud," Pete said to Brandon, "I gotta admit, there are rare moments when I regret not going in with you when I had the chance. Look at this—penthouse with a view, the

hottest chick on the beach, and she's smart, too. You've got it all, man." He concluded with a wink toward Wendy that made her pussy tingle as she cast a coquettish smile back

in his direction.

But Brandon replied with a laugh and said, "What are you talking about, dude?" Then turned to Wendy. "You should see this guy's house."

Wendy raised her eyebrows, trying not to let her surprise show. She knew Pete had done

well for himself, but she hadn't pictured him living anyplace fabulous. "Oh?" she directed toward him.

He shrugged. "I've got a nice little place up the street in Destin."

Brandon added dryly, 'A nice little mini-mansion with a pool and a hot tub and one of the priciest addresses in the area."

"Wow," Wendy said. "Color me impressed."

Again, though, Pete just shrugged. "You guys should drop by. I'm having Stacy over for dinner tomorrow night if you want to join us."

Wendy smiled and asked, "Who's Stacy? Your girlfriend?" Until this moment, she'd been thoroughly convinced that if Brandon hadn't found her on the beach yesterday, she'd have ended up in bed with Pete—but maybe not.

Although Pete was quick to deny it. "Just a girl I've known a long time. But we decided to try the dating thing, so we're starting with dinner at my place."

Wendy was back to raising her eyebrows again. "So you're inviting us along on a first date?"

He shook his head and laughed. "Don't worry—with Stacy, things are totally casual. No big deal."

"Are you sure? Because maybe she sees things differently."

Now Brandon chimed in. "Nah, Stacy's the most easygoing chick around. And it's not

like they've never..." He trailed off and Wendy prodded him.

"Never?"

"Well, they kind of epitomize the phrase 'friends with benefits.'"

"Ah." Wendy leaned her head back in understanding, cognizant of the fact that Pete didn't look even remotely embarrassed. And she found herself envisioning—just for a fraction

of a second—Pete pounding into some sexy girl, grunting, moaning, hot and sweaty. But

then she forced the vision away. Because her pussy was already wet
enough,
and because she had her
own
guy to get hot and sweaty with and he was certainly nothing to sneeze at.

"Well, if you're sure it won't be weird and she won't mind."

Pete was already shaking his head again. "Nothing weird, and she'll be glad to meet you.

She's a more-the-merrier kind of girl—loves a party."

"Speaking of a party, we need more wine," Brandon announced.

Wendy sensed him getting ready to push to his feet, so she reached over to cover his hand with hers. "I'll get it. I need to tinkle anyway."

And as she got to her feet—thinking,
Did l just say
the
word
tinkle?—she felt the effects of the wine swirling through her and decided she'd probably had enough. Now she hoped

she didn't ruin her sexy image by falling off her quasi-stripper shoes.

"Be right back," she heard herself say, glancing at the two men, then scurrying through the door.

She rushed to the bathroom, careful to keep her balance, thinking that peeing would help.

Standing up had suddenly made her feel
sooo
drunk—and more than just drunk, really.

While she'd been very pleasantly aware of her body and the dual masculine presences on

the balcony all through the meal, standing up had somehow... escalated it. As she walked, her breasts had felt heavier—her pussy, too. The lace of her panties rubbed slightly

against her crotch, and the underwire in her new bra seemed to frame her tits in a

pleasingly tight way.
So
maybe by the time she went to the bathroom and uncorked a fresh bottle of merlot, she'd feel more... in control of her responses.

Only that didn't happen.

Moments later she found herself standing at the kitchen counter, carefully working a

corkscrew, and every subtle move she made heightened her awareness of herself. The

gauzy fabric of her dress seemed to caress her skin like a sea breeze, and her breasts

heaved lightly with each turn of the corkscrew.

She suddenly wished Pete would leave—so she could have her way with Brandon. She

remembered pushing him down in the sand that first night and she wanted to take that

kind of control
again.
She suddenly didn't want to wait; she wanted pleasure
now.
She wanted his big dick
now.
She wanted his hands and mouth on her
now.

Although maybe, it hit her just then, it wasn't particularly control she wanted at the

moment—she rather liked when
Brandon
took control. The issue for her at the moment was actually timing—-the
now
part of the equation. Given her body's sudden readiness, she'd turned instantly impatient.

Only at the same time, she
didn't
want Pete to leave. Because he was so brawny and sexy.

She could scarcely recall ever meeting a man who made a mere T-shirt and jeans look so

good. And she'd noticed a tattoo on his arm—the sleeves of tonight's T-shirt must be