The Billionaire Bad Boys Club (11 page)

When his eyes slitted open, they should have been shooting flames. Had she done something to him, cuffing his arms this way? His stare was too hot, too intensely impassioned.

“Almost,” he rasped, muscles in his jaw clenching. “Al—”

Rebecca’s peak uncoiled.

He let loose with her, his loud groan of pleasure pitched lower than her wail. Like exclamation points to his ejaculation, the head of his cock dug repeatedly into her, the deep percussions against her cervix reverberating through her as after-orgasms. Before this, she’d have sworn she didn’t care if she and a man came at the same time. What did it matter, as long as they both enjoyed themselves? With Trey, she had to rethink her attitude. The warmth that flooded her as they peaked was incredible, the sense that they were truly sharing the experience. He deepened the feeling by pulling her upward after and hugging her.

It seemed normal that her head settled on his shoulder, that her hands rubbed his back like his were rubbing hers. The scent of his cologne and sweat were heady. If she weren’t careful, they’d become her new favorite smell. He let out that hum of his, his all-purpose happy sound.

“Sweet,” he said, pressing soft lips to her hot temple.

Somewhere on the wall a clock ticked, the second hand going
tock-tock-tock
. Rebecca’s breath gusted out on a reluctant sigh. With every
tock
, sanity returned.

“Sorry,” she said. “I swear I didn’t sleep with you so you’d give me the job.”

Trey pushed back slightly to look at her. “I swear I didn’t sleep with you so you’d take it.”

He sounded annoyed. In her experience, guys who just came were in good moods. “Are you angry?” she asked.

“Are you really sorry?” he retorted.

“Well, that was enjoyable—as I’m sure you noticed, but if you’re planning to hire me, you have to agree it wasn’t smart. Bosses and employees shouldn’t sleep together.”

His expression was a study in irritation, perhaps because he couldn’t dispute her point. “Damn it,” was all he finally said.

Taking this as her cue, Rebecca pushed gently off of him. Her shoes were halfway across the kitchen, her trousers caught on the edge of a lowboy refrigeration drawer. Shoving her legs back in them, she did her best to hide her disappointment that he didn’t argue more. Calling what they’d done
enjoyable
was an understatement, to say the least.

She took comfort in him muttering to himself as he stood and yanked up his pants. The word
idiot
peppered his diatribe.

He waited to speak to her until she was buttoning her shirt. She noticed he’d smoothed his hair back into its ponytail.

“I
am
hiring you,” he said grimly.

Rebecca’s heart gave a little skip. “Truly?”

“Truly. Full pay from the start and no arguments. I—” He paused to grind his teeth. “I reluctantly agree we shouldn’t do that again.”

She smiled in spite of herself.
Reluctantly
agreeing was sweet of him.

~

Watching Rebecca dress in her borderline frumpy clothes was an exercise in frustration. Could Trey have backed himself into a worse corner? After all those years of fantasizing, now he knew how amazing real sex with Rebecca was . . . and he’d conceded they shouldn’t do it again. She was right of course. Sex in the workplace led to messiness and complications—neither of which he’d have shied from if his workplace weren’t already complicated from loving Zane.

One quickie with her on a cold hard floor had worsened his longing by a gazillion times. He couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened; he wasn’t smart enough for that. He
did
wish it hadn’t been quite as earthshaking.

There was something between them, some out of the ordinary emotional chemistry. Trey was willing to bet she’d never come like that with another man. Her eyes in those final moments had been too damned surprised.

When she laid her head on his shoulder, he’d nearly asked her to marry him.

Knowing he’d lost his mind for certain, he handed her the thick-soled shoes he’d taken from her earlier. While it was true restaurant work kept people on their feet, surely she could do better. Telling himself not to be a fashion snob didn’t kill his urge to toss them in the trash.

“Thanks,” she said. Dropping the hideous things to the floor, she braced on the worktop to push her cute feet into them. He’d rushed through stripping her, though he had noticed her legs were nice—lent charm by muscles as well as curves. He was sorry they’d disappeared into her uninspired black trousers. Honestly, she had to be trying to look dowdy.

“Do you even own a dress?” he blurted.

She straightened and looked at him pinchily. “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

It
might
be his business. Being named The Lounge’s executive chef could conceivably involve a photo op or two.

He clamped his mouth on the words. Being in the right wasn’t always strategic. “I’ll have Elaine email you a contract to look over.”

“Elaine is your assistant?”

“Yes.” Stubbornly, he didn’t pass Rebecca her tan jacket—yet another supremely boring garment—but held it up for her. Though she grimaced at him playing gentleman, she turned and slid her arms into it.

When she would have moved away, he dropped his hands to her shoulders, once again as tense as before they’d worked out their kinks on the kitchen floor.

“Don’t be sorry about this,” he said, his frustration creeping into his tone. “If you’d just eaten a great meal, you wouldn’t regret it afterward.”

She turned to him, and he let her. Her features were delicate—extra pretty with flushes from sex and kissing staining them. Ten heaps of boring clothes couldn’t hide that her lips were luscious, her elfin hair improved by tousling. Clearly ignorant of her gorgeousness, she cocked her head to one side. “You’re not sorry for what we did?”

“Never,” he declared, meaning it.

She smiled, probably because he sounded so earnest. She patted his chest, immediately making him regret having covered it with a shirt. He hadn’t forgotten how she’d enjoyed combing his chest hair.

“All right,” she said. “No regrets for the world class meal.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he felt better at her calling it
world class
.

CHAPTER SIX

The Darling Boys

REBECCA
walked down the block and sat in her Versa, staring at nothing. She’d promised Trey she wouldn’t be sorry, but that was easier said than done. He was going to be her boss—probably, hopefully—which meant their relationship ought to stay professional. Now that she’d felt his athletic body pressed up to and into hers, she couldn’t imagine how she’d accomplish that.

Not wriggling on the seat was impossible. Having Trey only once would never satisfy her. He’d been an amazing lover: vigorous, intense, with a knack for knowing what she wanted almost before she did. All he had to do was look at her with those hot green eyes, and she’d melt into a puddle.

She dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned. His cock had been lovely: its silky heat in her hand, the skill with which he used it to pleasure her. Her fingers curled at the thought of stroking his shaft again. Worse, they curled at the thought of embracing him.

He’d cradled her at the end, as if she were precious. She’d felt safe in his arms. She’d wanted to stay there.

Absolutely nothing about that was smart.

Over the years, she’d struggled to be smart about men. Until she was twenty-one, she’d done without dating. She’d been a single parent without a support system. She couldn’t risk anyone revealing her and the boys’ situation to an adult. That was too likely to result in them being split up, and she’d committed herself to keeping the three of them together. Just as important, if anything had happened to the twins while she was out having fun, she wouldn’t have been able to live with it.

“Hey, lady!” called a voice from a nearby car. “You coming or going?”

“Sorry,” she said, realizing the man was hoping to claim her parking spot. “I’m leaving now.”

The other driver backed up to give her room, polite enough now that he knew she was moving. Grateful for the distraction, Rebecca focused on the tasks required to get on the road.

She
almost
didn’t think about Trey Hayworth as she drove home.

When she arrived at their house in Cambridge, a shock awaited. A battered pick-up sat in the driveway behind her delivery van, the logo for a firm called Alcott Construction on its door. Equally troubling, a large green dumpster hulked on their small front lawn. Broken drywall and wood were piling up on one end.

Rebecca flew out of her car almost too quickly to park it first.

“Ex
cuse
me,” she said to the hulking young man who came up her basement steps, dragging a roll of stained carpet behind him. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

Rebecca wasn’t big, but she could do scary, no problem. The young man paled at her clear fury.

“Uh,” he said, halting in his tracks while keeping his hold on the rolled-up rug. “Your brothers hired me to reno your cellar?”

“My brothers!”

“Becca!” Charlie called, hurrying frantically down the front steps. “It’s okay. This is Jesse. He goes to school with us. His dad is in construction. We wanted to surprise you.”

As soon as he was near enough, Rebecca punched his shoulder.

“Ow!” Charlie said, rubbing it.

Pete stuck his head out the front door too.

“You,” she said, pointing her finger of doom at him. “Go back in the kitchen and wait for me.”

Pete made an
oh crap
face and disappeared. Rebecca looked at the boy named Jesse. To his credit, he seemed to have retrieved his nerve. He squared his bulky shoulders and answered her. “They told me you’d come around once they explained what this was for.”

“Fine.” Rebecca moderated her tone a tad. “Please don’t trash my house any more until I talk to them.”

The boy opened his mouth. Charlie stopped his protest with a headshake. He knew when his sister’s temper had hit its red zone.

“Inside,” Rebecca ordered, shooing him ahead of her.

“We’re not being crazy,” Charlie started babbling on the way. “Pete and I both agreed this is a smart idea.”

“Well, as long as you
both
agreed,” Rebecca snapped angrily.

Always calmer than Charlie, Pete stood his ground at the kitchen table. At nineteen, the twins were still gangly, but probably their full height. They weren’t as blond as she was—her hair having a little help—but the bright summer sun had streaked their shaggy waves. Naturally, she thought they were handsome, something girls their age were beginning to discover. Their recent rowing obsession had filled them out. To her surprise, Pete’s formerly spindly biceps looked impressive in his ragged gray T-shirt.

When did that happen?
she wondered.

“We have a plan,” were the first words out of his mouth. Pete knew his older sister as well as Charlie did.

He slid his open laptop across the well-used butcher-block table. The screen displayed a neat black and white blueprint. Reserving the right to lose her temper later, Rebecca stepped closer to look at it.

“It’s an income suite,” Pete said. “One bed, one bath, with an open kitchen and living room. We’ve planned a stacked laundry in the hall closet, so you won’t have to share yours. I talked to a rental agent. With the right finishes and all the students here who need housing, you should get a thousand a month for it.”

“
Pete
,” she said, appreciating his pitch but aware this transformation would take dollars she didn’t have.

“It’s
smart
,” he insisted. “The ceilings are high enough to be legal, and the plumbing’s in decent shape. The only thing you had down there was Charlie and my old junk.”

“Pete, converting basements into apartments costs money.”

“You
have
it,” he said. “The house is worth way more than the mortgage. And if you don’t want to go to the bank for a line of credit, Charlie and I are working on a way around that.”

“We are,” Charlie agreed, nodding to support his twin.

“Guys,” she said. “You can’t just grab some friend of yours to come here and tear things up. You have to discuss these things with me.”

“You’d have said ‘no,’” Pete justified stubbornly. “You know how you are about this house. Anyway, Raoul told us about you quitting Wilde’s. You shouldn’t have to worry about everything yourself. Charlie and I can help support the family too.”

“Raoul told you!” she exclaimed, annoyed for a new reason.

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “You wouldn’t tell us that, but we’re supposed to tell you. We’re almost grown-ups, Becca, and you treat us like babies.”

They were babies to her, though she couldn’t admit that. “How much is this ‘income suite’ going to cost me?”

“Only eighteen thousand,” Pete replied. “Maybe a little more if that crack in the foundation turns out to be something.”

“Jesus.”

“That’s not so much,” he and Charlie chorused in unison.

They made her laugh, her beautiful darling boys. “Could I convince you to stop if I told you I might have another job?”