The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(77)

The scope of the offer impressed. If Rebecca asked for a spaceship, would one appear on the lawn?

For the moment, breakfast was sufficient. Zane and Trey dug in without conversation, so she guessed they weren’t morning folk. That was all right with her. The food was good enough to take up her attention.

“Don’t get dressed while we’re gone,” Trey said sternly when he and Zane excused themselves to shower. “We have business we want to discuss with you.”

She’d planned to pull on her clothes and go. It was after ten by then. She wanted to stop at her house, maybe check the Internet for early reports on last night’s event at the Lounge. She knew Trey’s people were on top of PR, but it couldn’t hurt to touch base with her contacts in the media. Though these were reasonable intentions, she didn’t pursue them. The way Trey said business made it impossible.

Her curiosity as to whether he and Zane were sharing more than a shower also might have kept her there.#p#分页标题#e#

Maybe it would be okay to poke her head in, but they hadn’t invited her. So what if she wanted to soap their lovely backs—or watch them soap each other’s? Being inordinately intrigued by what they were getting up to was no excuse for invading their privacy.

She’d gotten the robe she’d borrowed a little sweaty by the time they emerged from the walk-in closet that connected to the bathroom. Somewhat to her frustration, she couldn’t tell if they’d had sex. Though the color on their cheeks was high, they didn’t wear the languor that went with orgasms.

They also weren’t wearing the playboy robes they’d left in.

“You dressed,” she complained. They wore white T-shirts with no sleeves and sweat shorts—Zane’s in gray and Trey’s black. They were so fit the simple workout clothes looked ridiculously hot. Either could have graced a spread in their magazine. The Bad Boys get casual! the caption might have said.

Unmoved by her objection, Zane handed her a folded pile of clothes. “These are for you, sweetheart.”

Him calling her sweetheart almost caused her to blush. She focused on what he’d given her instead. The small bundle included yoga pants, cotton bikini panties, and a soft strappy shirt with a built-in bra—an outfit any woman could have worn for lazing around on her day off. Rebecca peered at them suspiciously.

“These are new,” she said. “And my size.”

“The clothes you wore last night are wrinkled,” Zane not-quite-explained with a smile.

If they’d pressed her to accept a designer dress dipped in diamonds, she’d have had no problem refusing. Suspecting she’d been managed, she retreated huffily to the bathroom to put them on. When she returned, both men gave her onceovers. Their unmistakable approval heated her in places she wished she could control better.

“Nice,” Trey praised.

“Very,” Zane seconded.

Rebecca put her hands on her hips. “Fine. You’ve dressed me in formfitting sportswear. Now tell me what your business is.”

“Not here,” Zane said. “We need to take a walk.”

He caught her fingers in his, surprising her. She’d thought Trey was the big hand-holder.

The walk took them to a vintage elevator with a folding gate. Rebecca half expected to be shoved against its wall and screwed . . . and maybe more than half wished for it. When Zane smiled at her knowingly, she snapped her head away. They got out at a sub-level, one she had the impression was under the basement. From there, they strode along a shadowy corridor, stopping at what looked like a bank vault door. Constructed of metal, its hardcore lock required a key and a thumbprint.

Rebecca bit back a tart remark about showing off their stash of gold bars. Just because she was nervous, she didn’t have to be snarky.

Trey finished swinging the heavy door open. With a humorous little bow, he waved her ahead of them.

The corridor she’d entered was lined with old brick and arched. Cool and smelling of earth, the passageway bent left, then right, and then opened into a huge round room. A columned arcade circled it, each pair of arched supports dividing off a niche. High above their heads, a crude wooden wheel of a chandelier provided illumination, but not enough to make out the contents of the recesses.

“What is this place?” Rebecca asked, automatically speaking in hushed tones.

“During Prohibition,” Trey said, “it was a gin mill and speakeasy. Now it’s Zane and my playroom. We’re completely private here. No one has the key but us.”

A shiver she couldn’t suppress ran through her. She realized she wasn’t afraid to be alone with them. With the sense that she’d stepped to the edge of a deep canyon, she turned to look at the men. They were watching her closely. “The stories are true then. You throw orgies.”