The Billionaire Bad Boys Club (16 page)

To his astonishment, her smile faded.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said.

~

Rebecca saw she’d dumbfounded him, though he tried to act like it was no big deal. “Why would you say that?” he asked calmly.

She wasn’t certain how to explain. What were the guy rules for two friends fooling around with the same woman? As to that, what were the girl rules for pointing out they had? She did her best not to squirm under his regard.

“I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your partner.”

“Trey and I don’t run each other’s sex lives. I mean, he wouldn’t like me upsetting his new chef. Other than that, I don’t see why he’d care.”

He wasn’t telling the complete truth. She knew that from her experiences riding herd on the twins. Maybe he saw the suspicion in her eyes. “Call me crazy,” he said, turning it back on her, “but you seemed to enjoy what we did.”

She’d more than enjoyed it. She’d been as shocked by his ability to divine her unsuspected kinks as she’d been by Trey’s. “Of course I enjoyed it,” she said aloud. “Maybe this is just too fast for me.”

“I can slow down. I . . . like you, Rebecca. Why don’t you take tonight to think about it? I’ll call you tomorrow.”

In her admittedly limited experience, guys rarely meant they
would
call when they said that. If Zane didn’t mean it, it would let her off the hook of this dilemma.

“All right,” she said, opening her door and getting out. “Call me tomorrow.”

I won’t be disappointed if you don’t
, she swore to herself as she went inside.

CHAPTER EIGHT

On the Menu

TREY
had Elaine arrange his Wednesday appointment with Rebecca. He told himself it made sense to talk at the Lounge. Rebecca could confirm that the kitchen and dining room were set up to suit her. Yes, Zane was back in Boston and, yes, he might read something in Trey’s body language if he saw him with her. That wasn’t why Trey didn’t want Rebecca at headquarters. He had no plans to pursue her. Anything Zane might misinterpret was moot.

Aware the excuse was slim, he shook his head and opened his laptop at one of the dining room’s finished booths. He’d come early, and Rebecca wasn’t there. Possibly, he should have had sex with Zane more than once this morning. The thought of his new chef arriving made his libido feel antsy.

He’d left the street entrance open, but Rebecca knocked anyway. Trey’s palms broke into a sweat as he went to greet her.

“Hey,” he said. “Glad you made it.”

This wasn’t very bosslike, but he was grateful anything came out of his mouth. His pulse was going haywire, his eyes trying to drink in every part of her at once. It wasn’t normal to be this happy about another human being’s presence.

“Come in,” he said, stepping back to give her room.

She came, ran her gaze around, and turned back to smile at him. “It looks great,” she said delightedly. “It’s more finished than last time.”

He reminded himself she was delighted because she’d be cooking here, not because she was with him. His cock wasn’t listening. It was throwing a little party inside his Calvin Kleins.

“Should we sit?” he offered, gesturing toward the booth he’d chosen.

She jerked as if her thoughts might have wandered too. “Sure,” she said. She held up the computer tablet she’d been clutching to the side of her crisp white shirt. “I brought some suggestions for the menu. I realize you’re a foodie and probably have your own ideas. I promise I’m not married to what I’m proposing.”

She wasn’t married to what she was proposing. Trey’s mind had trouble processing that plainly. “I want your ideas. I’d be wasting your expertise otherwise.”

They slid into the booth at almost the same moment—and with very similar awkwardness. Trey’s legs were longer and his foot ended up against hers. He pulled it back, but the contact rattled her as well. She fumbled over opening her computer, a hot red tide rising up her cheeks.

He wanted to lick the color, or maybe just fuck her senseless over the tabletop. He was so hard he hurt, his prick a fricking missile seeking the heat of her.

Sheesh
, he thought.
I’m a maniac
.

The remainder of their discussion unrolled along the same road. Being this close to her might have been easier if he hadn’t known she wanted him too. Because he did, it took twice as long to rough out a menu, considering they weren’t at odds over it. Rebecca’s vision of classic Boston favorites given a luxury twist was very much what he’d had in mind.

He noticed the longer they sat, the tighter she pressed her knees together. When she crossed them under the table, he wanted to break into tears. Truly, he deserved industrial strength credit for the sacrifice of not chasing her.

“I, uh, need to put the word out,” she said. “But I should be able to pull a crew together within the next two weeks.”

“You’re going to steal some line cooks from your old employer.”

Her sly smile was a welcome break from tension. “A couple. But they already told me they’d follow me to a new place.”

He grinned back, and a small silence fell. Rebecca stroked the edge of her computer like it was something else. Trey tried not to get any harder at the unconsciously sexy movements of her fingers. Wrenching his eyes to her face didn’t improve matters. Her lips were so tempting . . . and her eyes . . . and that delicate stubborn jaw . . .

“Uh,” he said, his voice unavoidably husky. “We should plan on a dress rehearsal, after you’ve got the staff up to speed.”

She’d stopped fondling her tablet, but seemed to be staring at his mouth. “Right. You’ll want to invite local celebrities and press.”

“Friendly ones. That way we can get buzz started off on the right foot.”

“I’m not afraid of critics. Not if I’ve got a good team. Your special guests and their taste buds won’t know what hit them.”

He loved her confidence . . . and agreed with it.

“Rebecca—” he said just as she blurted out his name.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Trey didn’t know what he’d been about to say. Something crazy, chances were.
Please strip naked
or
where would you like to honeymoon?
“That’s all right. What did you want to tell me?”

“Only that . . . I’ll shop.”

She said it like someone else would have promised to see a dentist. “You’ll shop?”

“For clothes. That I can wear to greet VIPs. Your signing bonus was generous. It’s fair for you to expect me to look like a top-drawer chef.”

God, she amused him, enough that his chest warmed with it. “Do you hate it that much?”

“I don’t hate it exactly. I worry I’ll buy the wrong thing.”

Worry
ought to be her middle name. He wanted to take her shopping in the worst way. He would have loved to watch her change into or out of anything.

“I know a stylist,” he said instead. “She’s not a bully so much as a guide. I’m sure she’d be happy to work with you.”

Sybil would be perfect. She shopped for Trey and Zane when they were short of time. She knew how to pinch a penny or empty out a mint—as her clients preferred.

Trey tried to look reassuring, but Rebecca hesitated. “Could I get back to you maybe? I might have someone I can ask.”

He was more miffed than was rational. She had someone she could ask? Why would she when he had the ideal answer? Evidently, if he couldn’t sleep with her, he
really
wanted to help her out.

“Sure,” he said, doing his best to hide his annoyance. “I’ll have Elaine email you the stylist’s info, in case you change your mind.”

“Great,” she said.

It might have been Trey’s imagination, but she sounded miffed then too.

~

The call was close, but Rebecca escaped The Bad Boys Lounge without jumping Trey Hayworth’s bones.

He’s your boss
, she repeated.
Sleeping with your employer is asking for trouble.

Too bad she wanted to ask for trouble. And ask and ask and—

“Shut up,” she snapped to her rearview mirror. As she pulled her car into traffic, her face was hot—not merely from arousal but also annoyance.

Trey would have Elaine forward his stylist’s info? The man couldn’t peck one email with his own fingertips?

Oh Lord, what was her problem? An email wasn’t a lock of hair. And she didn’t need a memento of her non-relationship with him. Maybe most absurd, because she’d refused Trey’s referral of a stylist, now she was hoping Zane
would
call her. It
was
tomorrow. Twelve hours into it, to be precise.

Stopped by a red light, she glared at her shoulder bag, which she’d thrown on the right-hand seat. Her cell phone was in there, and it wasn’t ringing.

She could ask the twins for fashion advice, but they wouldn’t be as useful as Zane. He’d founded a magazine around what people ought to buy. He must know his Gucci from his Dior.

“You are so transparent,” she muttered. How could it be a good idea to fight her attraction to one man with her yen for another? Trey and Zane were friends. The phrase sailing close to the wind was invented for this sort of thing.

When her cell phone buzzed, she jumped a foot in the air. Knowing better than to talk and drive, she swung her car into a miraculously open spot at the curb. She dug the phone out before it stopped buzzing.

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re there,” came Zane’s voice. “And you’re answering.”

She wasn’t coy enough to pretend she didn’t recognize him. “Hi, Zane,” she said as her nipples tightened and her panties dampened yet again. “How are you doing?”

“Hopeful,” he said, his charm apparent even through the phone speaker. “Could I tempt you to a picnic on my boat? The skies are supposed to be clear tonight, and I anticipate a breeze.”

Rebecca squeezed her temples. “That sounds—”
ridiculously romantic?
her girly side suggested “—really nice, but I sort of need to ask a favor.”

“A favor.” He sounded curious rather than displeased.

Was asking this the lesser of two evils? Rebecca jumped in before she could decide. “I need to add to my wardrobe. Nothing crazy like a bunch of ballgowns, but a couple outfits I can wear for the public aspects of my new job. You seem to know about women’s clothes.”

“I know about them intimately,” he agreed waggishly. He was silent for a moment. “Suppose we both get what we want tonight?”

His tone ran through her like melting caramel. “Is that a trick question?”

“Maybe.” He laughed. “Meet me at this address at five. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You could explain what you mean.”

“No I couldn’t,” he twitted her. “You’re going to have to trust me to take
all
your needs into account.”

He texted the address and then he hung up, leaving her gaping at the little screen. She should trust him and show up? Did he realize who he was talking to?

He did, of course, and presumably this was why he thought it was funny.

“Zillionaires,” she muttered, maneuvering her car away from the curb. Thought they could arrange the world. A cab let her into traffic, and she lifted her hand in thanks.

She’d go on Zane’s mystery date. She’d squeezed herself into a corner where she more or less had to.

“I
didn’t
do that on purpose,” she said.

Her protest wasn’t convincing. She knew she was excited to find out what he’d planned for her.

~

Naturally, the address Zane gave her was a boat slip in Boston Harbor. Which of the small yachts belonged to him couldn’t be mistaken. For one, his was the biggest, and for two, the name painted on the back was
Bad Girl
.

Rebecca grinned when she saw that. Really, she couldn’t help herself.

Zane trotted out to greet her as she walked up the pier, an indicator of eagerness she was too flattered by. Zane probably treated all his dates nicely—the ones he hoped to sleep with anyway. In spite of knowing this, she couldn’t suppress a flutter as he handed her up the ramp. This was heady stuff for someone who’d once washed dishes to cover grocery bills.

“Welcome to the
Bad Girl
,” he said with a brilliant smile. “We’re nearly finished setting up.”

We
referred to him and a nicely dressed older woman who stood by two long racks of clothes. The living room was spacious enough that the racks weren’t close to filling it.

This was a home Rebecca had entered. Teak wood, highly varnished, gleamed in narrow planks on the floor. A long white sectional—one she suspected wouldn’t have fit in her house—stretched beneath a broad window. An open stairway led up to a second level: sleeping cabins, she presumed. To her right, she caught a glimpse of a kitchen with white marble countertops.

She had no doubt it was better equipped than hers.

“This is Sybil Spaulding,” Zane said, after she’d finished her quick gawk. “She’s a personal shopper. I’m sure you’ll find something you like among what she’s brought to try on.”

Sybil shook Rebecca’s hand. “I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a few selections in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”