The Billionaire Bad Boys Club(84)

Zane’s hands hesitated in moving down her spine.

“We invite both,” Trey said. “But Zane and I only play with women and only separately.”

This suggested their trusted friends didn’t know they were a couple. That was a level of secret keeping worthy of her.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Trey said when she paused. “Those are all the answers you want from us?”

“Now you’re inviting trouble,” Zane chided.

Maybe he was. Rebecca wriggled up on her elbows and looked at Trey. “Can I ask you something personal?”

His face tightened. She thought she knew what thought had crossed it. He assumed she wanted to ask why he liked tying people up.

“It’s about your dad,” she said, which maybe wasn’t any better.

“Okay,” he said cautiously.

“Zane said your dad beat you for different reasons than his.”

“And you want to know what they were.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she assured him.

Trey’s hands had stilled on her legs. He stood to one side of the table, working on her lower half. When his gaze met hers, it was steady but guarded.

“My dad’s father abused him sexually. I never met him, and my dad didn’t follow in his footsteps, but he was very weird about anything to do with sex. I wasn’t supposed to date or jack off or watch certain TV shows. If I gave any indication I wasn’t a eunuch, he got really uptight. In his way, I think he was trying to insure I never did to anyone what was done to him.”

“He tried to teach you sex was dirty. He tried to beat it into you.”

“Yes.” Trey seemed relieved she understood. He smiled unexpectedly. The expression was so compassionate it awed her. He wasn’t angry with his father—not like she would have been.

“I don’t know why,” he said, “but I never believed him. I always thought sex was good. I guess I’m lucky that was the case.”

Zane reached to squeeze his arm. He didn’t speak, but the depth of what he felt for Trey was clear. Trey smiled at his friend and her.

“Lie down,” he said. “We’re not done with you.”

When she returned to her prone position, her body forgot to tense against them. For once, the thoughts she was busy thinking didn’t get in the way of her relaxing.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



Dare

REBECCA loosening up changed the rest of the day. Feeling proud of herself, she skinny-dipped with the men in their indoor pool, not even squeaking when the chauffeur walked in to ask if they’d need the car later. Aside from his initial startled look, the young man hadn’t eyed her, so that was all right. Zane handled it well. He’d kept his temper as he told Owens to wait for a response to his knock next time. She doubted the man would forget. After their swim, they fed the ducks in the estate’s lagoon, then enjoyed a quickie back in the bedroom suite. The sex wasn’t as intense as their time in the playroom, but Rebecca liked it because both men were laughing and playful. Around four, she left a message for the twins that she was away from home.

She didn’t say the V word. That would have alarmed them.

At four thirty, Zane and Trey checked in with their office. That was more than her restraint could take. She begged the use of a computer in their library. Scattered around the elegant book-lined room, Zane and Trey had small writing desks for guests, each with an internet-ready workstation. Palms gone sweaty, she pulled a rolling leather chair up to one.#p#分页标题#e#

Typing in the link to Gordon Hewitt’s Boston Eats blog tightened every nerve she had.

You don’t have to read his review, she told herself, finger hovering over the ENTER key. She knew Hewitt’s experience might have been colored by having Neil Montana at his table. Moreover, Hewitt was a single set of taste buds in a world of them. People usually, mostly, almost always liked her food. The Lounge’s opening had some hiccups, but overall Monday’s service had been solid.

“Oh God,” she moaned and clicked onto the site.

“Do Bad Boys Do It Better?” asked the anxiety-inducing headline.

“Shit,” she said and forced herself to read on.

Before she’d finished the first paragraph she was grinning. Bad Boys did it awesome, apparently. Hewitt mentioned the problem with the lobster—but only in conjunction with it being fixed quickly. Her servers were praised for their knowledge and aplomb. Her clam chowder was declared sublime, her Boston beans on toast less aesthetic but still tasty. The words “creative” and “playful” were thrown around more than once. Trey earned kudos for an atmosphere as warm and glowing as fine whiskey.