by Ella Frank
“Deal. Now open the door, Hotshot, before I go out there and tell them to all go home.”
Ace grinned and then opened the door wide, and there standing with his finger hovering over the doorbell was Ace’s high school buddy—and smart-talking lawyer—Logan Mitchell.
“Well, it’s about time you opened the door. I know you’re a big shot and you likely need a map to get from point A to point B in this monstrosity, but really, can’t you hire someone to answer the door?”
“Logan,” Ace said. “I’m so glad to see that you and the plane made it in one piece.”
“Yeah, yeah. And just so it’s crystal clear, next time, you two are coming to us. I’m done flying all over the world to see you like you’re important or something.”
Ace grinned then turned his attention to Tate. “Has he been like this the whole trip?”
Tate flashed a smile and took hold of Logan’s hand. “Only ninety-five percent of it.”
Logan looked to his husband and slowly licked his lips. “Yes. The other five percent I’ve spent accepting Tate’s apology for putting me through this—over and over again.”
Okay, there was the Logan I remembered, unfiltered and one hundred percent inappropriate. A trait that Tate seemed unfazed by, judging by his grin. When a second car headed up the drive, I looked between the two in front of us and said, “It looks like our special guest is here.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, and then back to us. “Special is definitely one way to describe Robbie.”
“Logan,” Tate said under his breath.
“What? He is…special.”
Tate smacked him in the arm and looked to Ace. “What Logan means is that Robbie can be a little bit over the top sometimes.”
Ace laughed. “I’m not worried. I’ve been dealing with all kinds of fans for years.”
“And the truth of the matter is,” I whispered, “we’re extremely curious to meet the two men that the very serious Mr. Priestley ended up marrying.”
“That, and Dylan’s been panicking about serving food to the Julien Thornton.”
I slapped Ace’s arm.
“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his bicep.
“You said you would keep that on the DL.”
“Logan and Tate are the down-low. I’m not going to tell Julien himself.”
I arched a brow at my husband, and when he reached out to smooth a finger over it, I batted his hand away. “Don’t try to use your charm on me, mister. Keep it for your new fan.”
The car drew to a stop and the door opened up. “Oh my God. This house is like something out of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.”
“He’s here,” Logan said, and he and Tate stepped aside to reveal three men looking up at the house towering above them.
Two of them I recognized immediately. Joel Priestley, the steely lawyer with the deep auburn hair whom Logan had sent to help us when my horrid (biological) mother had crawled out of the depths of hell to blackmail us. And Julien Thornton, the chef with the jade eyes who’d won Chef Master, becoming a household name the minute the camera landed on him.
Not hard to see why. The man was smokin’ hot. I mean, his cooking…his cooking was smokin’ hot.
So that meant the fresh-faced, starry-eyed man standing in the middle of them had to be Robbie.
“You three find the place okay?” Tate finally said. Priestley’s lips quirked, Julien’s curved, and Robbie’s split into a wide grin that practically lit up his face. It was fascinating, as though they were all in sync.
“Did we ever,” Robbie said as he hightailed it over to Logan and Tate. He was so wrapped up in his surroundings that he completely missed the two people in his immediate vicinity that he didn’t recognize. “This place is incredible.”
“That it is,” Logan said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Does it belong to someone famous? Do you think they do tours with brunch? I’d love to look around. Oh my God, Priest? I bet they have the best bathtub ever here.”
“I’m sure they do,” Priest said as he stepped up beside his husband—well, one of them. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Huh?” Robbie frowned.
“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”
“Myself?” Robbie looked in the direction Priest indicated. “What do you mean ask them my—”
The second his eyes landed on the two of us, Robbie’s words came to an abrupt halt and his jaw all but hit the ground.
Yep, there it was, that one-two punch that could only be described as the Ace Locke Effect.
Eight
Robbie
OH. MY. GOD. That’s Ace Locke. The Ace Locke. As in The Last Guttersnipe, Original Bourbon, and, hello, Hard Throttle.
No. No. There was no way Priest and Julien would bring me to meet the Ace Locke without telling me. There was no way they wouldn’t prepare me for something so…so…monumental.
They knew how I was. That I’d want to wear my best clothes, have my hair styled perfectly, have my lips all glossy with my favorite brand of lip gloss, so when I stood in front of Ace smiling stupidly—like I’m definitely doing now—I knew that my lips looked totally kissable. Not that I planned to kiss him.
There was no way my husbands would do that to—
“Good morning, you must be Robbie.”
—me.
Holy shit. Ace Locke is standing right there. No. He’s actually coming closer. He’s…he’s talking to me. He even said my name…
“Princesse?” Julien said softly as he stepped up alongside me. “Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Umm…if one counted the fact that I couldn’t seem to get any of the words in my head out of my mouth, okay, then sure, I was doing great. But I might’ve forgotten how to move my feet.
“Don’t mind him,” Priest said as he walked past me to shake Ace’s hand. “I think he’s a little bit starstruck. We didn’t tell him we were coming, so he’s finding out in real time.”
Ace flashed a megawatt grin my way, and I blinked several times. It was surreal, standing within touching distance of someone that was usually on your television or, you know, a fifty-three foot-IMAX screen.
“That’s no problem at all. Take all the time you need. We even have alcohol inside.”
Oh thank God.
“In the meantime, let me introduce my husband, Dylan.”
Uh, no introduction necessary. Any gay man worth his tiara knew Dylan Prescott. Not only did he manage to snag Hollywood’s hottest action hero, he was also the face and body of some of the sexiest ad campaigns out there.
From Calvin Klein to Giorgio Armani, the man had been plastered on billboards and gracing commercials from the moment his stunning face—and six-pack—had come into view.
“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Joel.” Dylan reached out and gave Priest a hug, and as I watched the scene from my hiding spot behind Julien’s shoulder, I noticed Priest’s expression soften. He really liked these two; he didn’t soften up for anyone.
“I’m happy to be here. We all are. Thank you again for the invitation.”
“Oh, it’s our pleasure. It was a great excuse to see you again. Not to mention meet the men in your life.”
Priest glanced our way, and his expression shifted from soft to possessive. It was subtle, but the eyes, those stormy grey eyes, never lied. “And I’m pleased to introduce them. Ace, Dylan, my husbands. Robbie, the unusually shy one, and Julien.”
When both Ace and Dylan looked in our direction, my breath caught at the sheer beauty of them. It was like something out of a movie.
“Bonjour.” Julien, charming and suave as always, stepped forward to greet both men, which left me a mute onlooker.
It was so weird. I was never stuck for words, never this shy, but when Ace glanced my way and winked, my breath got caught and I took great interest in the fact that I wished I had worn my pink leather loafers, not these boring beige ones.
“I’ve got to say, I might pay Ace to come hang out a
t the Popped Cherry if it renders you mute for a night.”
Logan.
It was a rare day that anyone could take the spotlight off Logan Mitchell, but today was that day. I glared over my shoulder to see him and Tate grinning at me like fools and mouthed, Shut up. They started to laugh. Idiots.
“Why don’t you come inside?” Ace suggested, and gestured to the open door. “Maybe after brunch I could give you a tour, Robbie.”
Priest and Julien were both looking at me, and I could feel my face flush from Ace’s use of my name. But when Logan and Tate laughed even harder at my freak-out, something inside me clicked.
Right, that was it. I was standing in front of Ace friggin’ Locke, and was about to walk inside his house and have brunch with him and his hot husband, for God’s sake. Pull it together, Robbie.
I tilted my chin up, straightened my shoulders, and stepped up to our famous hosts for the morning, then I graced them both with my most winning smile, trying for some of my usual pizazz.
“There’s nothing I’d enjoy more than coming inside your house.” Then I gave a flirty wink to my husbands and decided to let them do with that whatever they wanted to. After all, this was their own fault.
“Funny,” Dylan said as he hooked his arm through my elbow and guided me through the open door. “I said something just like that to Ace the first night I showed up at this place.”
“You did?” I asked, feeling an instant sense of camaraderie with Dylan.
“I did. Up in his bedroom, I believe.”
“The first night?”
“Mhmm. It was his birthday party, there were hundreds of people, including my own date—”
“Dylan…” Ace said in warning, much like Priest had with me. But luckily, Dylan and I were becoming fast friends—he ignored his husband. Good man.
“What? It’s true,” he said as he led me through an enormous foyer and past a sweeping staircase.
My eyes widened as we entered a dining room fit for the Christmas issue of O, the Oprah magazine. “This place looks amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Dylan walked me around to a seat by the one at the head of the table. “This is you.”
I thanked him and watched as he gestured for Julien and Priest to take the two seats beside me. Logan was at the other end of the table—thank God—and Tate and Dylan took the seats opposite us.
That meant that—
“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”
—Ace was sitting right next to me. As in, our feet could touch under the table. Not that I was about to play footsie with him. He was a married man. I was married twice over. But seriously, Ace Locke was sitting next to me.
“Would you like a drink, Robbie?”
I glanced up guiltily to find Dylan looking at me, and nodded. “Yes. God yes. The stronger the better.”
He chuckled and glanced around the rest of the table, and after everyone was taken care of, he disappeared through a set of doors I assumed led to the kitchen. Not a second later, a young man came out with a tray of mimosas. Mine didn’t even have a chance to touch the tablecloth before I took a long gulp of the drink as a loud bang came from behind the doors.
We all looked toward them, and then Julien said, “Uh, should I go and help him, maybe?”
“No way.” Ace chuckled. “He’s been looking forward to serving you all day. If you go in there, he might drop the breakfast tarts on the floor. But don’t tell him I told you that.”
Ah, so it seemed I wasn’t the only nervous one in the midst today. I wondered if Dylan was in there guzzling down his own mimosa.
“My lips are sealed,” Julien promised, and that made me look at my husband's fabulous mouth, because wow, Julien really did have the most suckable—
“So, Robbie, are you excited about the Jingle Ball tonight?”
I turned to find Ace’s piercing blue eyes locked on mine. As I stared into a face I had seen a hundred times over but never actually seen, I said, “You’re Ace Locke.”
A low rumble of laughter left his throat. “Yes, I am.”
“Wow.” I quickly took another sip of my drink and this time let my eyes rove all over his famous face.
“And you’re Robbie Thornton-Priestley.”
I nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“That’s…” Ace’s eyes shifted past my shoulder to my husbands, then came back to mine. “Wow.”
A burst of laughter escaped me before I could help it, and wouldn’t you know it, Ace’s cheeks flushed red.
“I’m sorry, that was rude.”
I immediately reached out to assure him it was fine, and the second I squeezed his forearm, I remembered exactly whom I was touching and quickly withdrew.
“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to just…touch you.”
“You didn’t?”
When I just sat there mute, Ace chuckled.
“I mean, Joel told me that I was your freebie, so I just assumed that—”
I whipped around in my seat and pinned Priest with narrowed eyes. “You told him he was my freebie?”
Not perturbed in the slightest, Priest brought his drink to his lips and took a sip. “I did.”
“Are you insane? That’s Ace Locke.”
Julien was doing his level best not to laugh, as Priest glanced past me and then nodded. “Yes, I believe we established that.”
I leaned across Julien and said, “You don’t tell someone like him that he’s my freebie.”
“Why not? This way, he knows what a big fan you are.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
The flame that entered Priest’s eyes made my cock instantly respond. “I look forward to it, sweetheart.”
I swallowed back the desire I had to grab my infuriating husband and kiss his smug lips, and instead tried for some level of composure.
The look of mischief in Ace’s eyes told me he was well aware he was part of a larger plot here, and when I scanned the table to see all attention was on me, I threw back the last of my drink and glared at them all.
“So do we do this here, or do you take me back to your room? Are the others invited? Ooh, maybe Dylan? I mean, I do my best work when I’m in the middle.”
Before I could get to my feet to take advantage of Ace’s offer—real or not—Logan put in his two cents.
“Jesus, Robbie. Why don’t you just strip naked and throw yourself on his lap?”
I shot Tate’s bitter half a glare. “Don’t be jealous. You and Tate had your chance.” Then I turned back to Ace, who still had an amused look on his face. “If you need another option, I look delicious lying across the table—”
“Aaand that’s enough, princesse,” Julien said, draping his arm around the back of my chair to hug me in close.
“Seriously? You’re going to deny me the pleasure of Beckett Sinclair?” When Julien’s brow furrowed—he clearly did not get the reference to one of Ace’s hottest characters—I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, I’ve made you watch it a million times. The one where Ace spends practically the entire movie shirtless.”
“Okay, Robert. You’ve had your fun.”
Priest’s voice should’ve been warning enough, but I was on a roll now, and I felt Ace had it coming at this stage. After all, he’d been in on it this whole time. With the champagne from my mimosa nicely singing through my system, I placed an elbow on the table and leaned over to trail my fingertip in a lazy circle over Ace’s arm.
“So whaddya say, Beckett, want to show me how well you can handle another man’s…gun?” I batted my lashes for extra emphasis, and when Ace let out a booming laugh and shook his head, I grinned. “Or maybe you could just sign my—”
“Okay, Robert. That’s enough.” Priest got to his feet, and I turned to look up at him.
“What? I’m just making sure I make the most of this opportunity. You do want me to make the most of it, don’t you?”
“What I want right now is not polite to do in front of company.” Priest’s jaw twi
tched, and the immense satisfaction I derived from my little bout of payback was quite satisfying. Not as satisfying as what I was sure his brand of punishment would be, buuuut this would do rather nicely.
I was just about to tell him that he’d have to wait until later, when the kitchen door swung open and Dylan stepped through with a tray of breakfast tarts. All heads turned his way, and as he looked over the now-silent table, he smiled brightly and said, “Right, what’d I miss?”
Nine
Trent
“IS THAT EVERYTHING?”
When I nodded, Shaw zipped the bag I’d be taking to the Jingle Ball event later and set it by the door. Standing at an imposing six-five, and with muscles for days, Shaw Jennings looked more like my bodyguard than my boyfriend, but that wasn’t the only reason he got stares wherever we went. The man was damn gorgeous. The first time I’d walked into his tattoo studio, I’d lost my words—and who wouldn’t, with those dark brown eyes made for falling into, and the way his tailored clothes molded to his body so perfectly? I trailed my eyes down his body over the white collared shirt he wore paired with black slacks. There was something about the way he kept the top buttons undone and rolled his sleeves up his thickly muscled forearms that always sent a shot of lust straight to my cock.
He smirked. “I know that look, Trent.”
“Oh yeah?” I started toward him. “And what’s it telling you?”
“That someone is in a dangerous mood.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Only when our car service is scheduled to be here any minute.”
I moved closer, backing Shaw up against the door, and his eyes sparked. Oh, he wanted it, our schedule be damned. I fingered the opening of his shirt, and the heat of his skin was scorching. I’d kissed those tattoos rising up his neck so many times, but it was never enough.
The second my lips hit his collarbone, Shaw sucked in a breath, his hands moving to my hips to hold me close.
