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“He killed himself?” She blurted out the question. Fortunately, Trey didn’t flinch.
“Yeah,” he said. “My mom did too when I was younger. My dad did it the same way, in a running car in the locked garage. Neither of them were happy people.”
Rebecca was at a loss for words. She considered how kind Trey was, how deeply he embraced life and love. What a waste that his parents didn’t have the capacity to appreciate that. But he must fear their sadness was in him. No one could come from that background and not wonder. She stroked his cheek, the skin beneath his stubble hot from his emotions.
“You know how to be happy,” was all she could think to say.
He smiled, moisture glittering in his eyes again. He took her hand to kiss its palm. His lips were warm and soft.
“I can talk to your aunt’s kids,” Zane said.
Trey’s head jerked to him. “That’s not your responsibility.”
A muscle bunched in Zane’s jaw. “It’s good sense. You send the coolest head into a negotiation.”
“It’s not a negotiation.”
“Maybe it is. We don’t know what their deal is. Either way, I’m the best person for the job.”
“Zane—”
Zane crossed his arms. “I’m not negotiating with you.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Trey said.
Rebecca rolled her lips together to hide a smile. Given Zane’s stubbornness, she doubted that discussion would occur.
“I have good news,” she said, deciding the subject was ready to be changed. “The Lounge got a great review from Gordon Hewitt.”
She handed Trey the printout of his blog.
“‘Highly Recommended,’” he quoted, eyebrows up and reaction predictably pleased for her.
As he continued to read the review, exclaiming the best bits aloud, Zane mouthed thank you silently to her.
~
Zane knew Trey was more rattled than he’d let on. He took off in his—yes—pretty red Bugatti and still hadn’t returned by evening. Zane could tell his absence troubled Rebecca. She joined him in the library while he power-watched the news on the multi-screen wall display. Aside from sending a few emails, she mostly wandered up and down.
He wondered if this meant she felt more comfortable being alone with Trey than him. She wasn’t relaxed like she’d been this morning after their game. She felt back on her old standby, offering to whip up a quick dinner. Reminding her she was a guest didn’t dissuade her.
“I’d love to play in your kitchen,” she said earnestly. “You have great equipment.”
“Maybe some other time.” Wanting to give her his full attention, he clicked off the television and lounged back in his big leather chair. “Mrs. Penworth rules that roost. If you were cooking, I’d want to give her advance notice.”
“Oh,” she said, her face falling comically.
“You wouldn’t want Trey to miss out on your food,” he added. “We can’t be sure when he’ll come back.”
“But you like eating,” she pointed out hopefully.
God, she amused him: their delectable, neurotic little elf with her short blonde hair and her big gray eyes. She resembled a sprite even more in the workout clothes she’d pulled on again. He didn’t know how to admit he had an entire wardrobe of clothes for her stashed in their walk-in closet—ordered through Sybil Spaulding and then hidden in the back. The discovery had raised Trey’s eyebrows that morning.
Perhaps Rebecca hadn’t cornered the market on eccentric behavior. Perhaps, in his way, Zane had been dreaming about her as hard as Trey.
“C’mere,” he said, patting his thigh for her to sit on.
She lowered herself with her back as stiff as a board. Zane snorted, squeezed her, and she relaxed a few inches.
“Sorry,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Not a lot of lap sitting in my past.”
“No trips to Santa?”
“I took the twins.”
Of course she did. He smoothed a spiky lock from her brow. Hadn’t her parents treated her like a kid when they were around?
“My mom must have taken me,” she said as if she’d read his mind. “Or sat me on her lap. She was affectionate. I guess I don’t remember that part of my life as well as . . . what came after. Just as well, I expect. I’d have missed it, and there was no getting it back.” She frowned, squaring her shoulders even as he tugged her closer. “Will Trey be all right?”
Zane supposed she thought she wasn’t allowed to feel sorry for herself.
“He’ll be all right,” he said, hoping this was true.
“He doesn’t usually get upset like that, does he?”
“No.”
She squirmed around to face him more directly. “He feels guilty for not wanting to see his aunt. He forgives other people’s flaws, but he thinks he’s supposed to be perfect.”
Zane laughed softly.
“What?” she asked, surprised by the response.
“I don’t know if I believe in soul mates, but I suspect there’s a reason he recognized you as a kindred spirit all those years ago.”
Rebecca worried her lower lip between her teeth. She didn’t deny she was a perfectionist. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you recognize me as a kindred spirit?”
“Maybe.” He couldn’t look away from her sweet vulnerable eyes. “I definitely feel something for you I haven’t for other women. You might be like me in some ways. I don’t know you well enough to be sure. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” she said, bracing for it.
Her reaction made him want to laugh again. “Is it easier for you to be alone with Trey than me?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. “I know it might not seem the case, because I’m kind of uptight, but it’s easier for me to be alone with either of you than any men in the world. Well, except for my brothers and maybe my head chef, but that’s different.”
“I’d hope so.”
She smiled, her gaze falling to his mouth. Her fingers rose to stroke its curved edges. A tremor slid down his spine at her touch, a mini-quake that rolled out his cock and set it stirring. “Will anyone walk in on us?” she asked.
He recalled Owens interrupting them in the pool, a transgression that had bothered him more than he’d let on at the time. His and Trey’s rules were clear. The man should have known better.
That, however, wasn’t worth wasting brain space on now.
“No,” he said, angling his head in preparation to kiss her. “No one will walk in. We can do what we like.”
“I like this,” she whispered and sealed his mouth with hers.
The sex the kiss sparked was quick and hard, both of them getting naked in record time. Zane began by taking her on the chesterfield, but decided it was too soft. Yanking the throw off the sofa’s back, he shifted her to the floor. He didn’t want her getting rug burns but, oh, he liked fucking her on a hard surface. She was strong for a small woman, and she flung herself into lovemaking—each time more than the last, it seemed.
“Oh God,” he said, feeling his rise but unable to slow down. He had one hand on her breast and the other braced on the floor to push up his torso. Watching pleasure and desire trade places in her expression was an incredible turn-on.
“Me too,” she gasped. Her heels dug into the floor, hips slapping forcefully up to his. Her hands gripped him below the waist, urging him to pump harder. “I’m close too. God, yes, grind into me at the end.” She groaned as he obeyed. “I love that. I love—”
She came and it triggered him powerfully, her contractions like a fist yanking the delicious feelings out. He made a strangled sound as he let go, pressing even deeper into her. She cried out in a way that said that felt good. A second later, another set of inner flutters tightened wonderfully on his cock.
Humming with enjoyment, he dropped onto both elbows. Her nipples trembled with her post-orgasmic heartbeats, tickling where they brushed his chest.
“Nice,” she said between pants for air, hands rubbing his back as she smiled up at him.
“There’s a reason the missionary position is a classic.”
He stroked her damp hair from her brow. Just looking at her made him happy, knowing he’d put that dreamy, slightly smug laziness in her face. Her roving fingers slid around to his front, circling his pectorals. Zane didn’t think he ever wanted to pull out of her.
“What would you say to planning something for Trey?” she asked. “Something he thinks of as a classic . . . if it isn’t rude to suggest that now.”
Zane’s cock stopped softening inside her.
“It isn’t rude,” he said, additional gravel in his voice. “Since we’re all interested in each other.”
