Her Billionaires(90)

And sex. He wanted sex. Letting that be secondary had been hard. Hell, he was hard. All the time now. And lavender-scented hand lotion wasn’t the best girlfriend these days, no matter how nice it smelled. It couldn’t sigh, or groan his name, or dig its fingers into his shoulders at the just perfect moment when —

Damn tight pants. That helped with one clothing decision for the evening—looser jeans.

Mike had accepted that they should wait, though his reluctance was clear. And now here they were, in her homey, pink apartment, ready to take things to the next step. The second he and Mike had entered her apartment the air had crackled with anticipation, the atmosphere a 180 degree difference from dinner at their place the week before. Laura had shifted a bit, wearing something loose and diaphanous, a little more sultry and open than last week.

They were all ready for more.

But not Mike’s level of more. Not yet. Having luscious sex with her and Mike in the next hour, spread out and spread eagle and licking and laving and loving and touching and thrusting? Sure.

Bare his soul and reveal the money and experience the unsettling feelings he still didn’t know how to cope with?

No way.

“Mmmm, what is that incredible aroma?” he nearly shouted as he came into her tiny kitchen. White tile floor, white formica counters, a cheap kitchen table and vinyl-covered chairs. Red and pink, of course. It looked like any kitchen in any apartment you’d expect a twenty-something corporate worker to live in, especially someone likely still paying off student loans.

You could fix that, a voice whispered. He quashed it.

“I’m no Italian cook,” she joked, pretending to be humble, “so I made chicken satay and pad Thai.”

“From scratch?” he and Mike said simultaneously, both with an incredulous tone.

She shrugged. “Sure. Just have to follow a recipe.”

Could they have found anyone better? She was already the whole package but add in the fact that she made her own Thai food and—wow.

“I, uh—you do like Thai food?” An alarmed look crept over her features.

“We love it,” they said.

Dylan looked at Mike. “Jinx!”

Everyone laughed. The pink shrimp Laura was throwing into the noodle dish matched, exactly, one of the stripes of pink on the dish towels. This was getting to be a bit much. He looked at her and realized she was staring at him, eyebrow cocked.

“What?”

“You keep peering around my apartment as if you were in a museum, surveying it.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Shit. Caught. “It’s nice!” he said, a bit too cheery for everyone’s tastes. Mike grabbed a bottle of red wine he’d brought and began to uncork it, pretending not to pay attention to the interaction between the other two.

“Nice.” Uh, oh. There was no way to come out of this one on top, was there? He had to fess up.

“It’s really...pink.”

“Too pink?”

“Just right pink.”

Mike interrupted. “Laura, where are your wine glasses?”

She pointed to an upper cupboard. “Up there. The not pink ones,” she added dryly. Now he knew this was just a game. Two could play...

So could three. “Next time I’ll bring a rosé,” Mike muttered.

Dylan and Laura both did double takes. All three burst into laughter. “It is quite pink. Josie helped me decorate,” Laura explained, her smile so deep it made her cheeks look like apples, dimples forming and her eyes lighting up. Dylan loved that smile. Wanted to make her have it every waking moment.

And in her dreams, too.

As the guys set the table, Laura put the finishing touches on the meal, and the three dug in. “No dessert,” she announced.

You can be our sweet ending, he almost said. The rice noodles were perfect, flavored with the right touch of fish sauce and something spicy, red flakes mingling with crushed peanuts, chicken and shrimp. It was pad Thai like he’d never had—fresh and flavorful, without that bogged-down, MSG feeling. He ate three plates full, giving Mike a run for his money.

“Hungry?” Laura asked, agog at his appetite.

“It’s so good!” he groaned.

Mike nodded, working a bit slower through his food. “It could use a nice white, though,” he pointed out, referring to his wine glass. “I’ll bring some next time.”

She grinned. “Rosé would be fine. I have a feeling you’ll learn to enjoy my pink.”

Whoosh. Dylan felt his eyes go wide. Mike bit his lips. Laura seemed to realize her double entendre and everyone avoided eye contact for a few seconds until Mike let out a little snicker. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses, giving each a few final ounces, before peals of laughter and an uncontrollable folding made Laura slip to the ground in a crouch, her body shaking with mirth and giggles.