Honk if You Love Real Men

by Lora Leigh

  “Okay.”

  He looked like he might bend down and kiss her, but he must have seen the warning in her eyes because what he did instead was say good-bye before walking away.

  “Trent?” she called out to him, shocked that he was so quick to leave.

  He turned back to her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He gave her that look again, the one that made her breath catch.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said gently.

  Chapter Three

  Five minutes later, Trent leaned his head against the steering wheel and groaned.

  What the hell was that?

  But as Trent turned on the ignition, he realized he would do anything to help her. Damn it. He still cared.

  And so the next night, Trent showed up exactly at six. One look in her eyes as she said, “Hi,” and he realized he might care for her a lot more than he realized. Damn it, what was it about the woman that made him nuts?

  “Hi, Bree,” he said, stopping in front of her, even though what he wanted to do was tip his head down and kiss her. In tight jeans and a peasant blouse, she looked hot. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly. “You look great, too.”

  Did he? To be honest, he hated wearing dress shirts and slacks. Give him a pair of worn-out work jeans and an old T-shirt any day.

  “Thanks,” he said, catching some guy looking at Bree, the man’s eyes sweeping her lithe body up and down.

  Mine, Trent wanted to growl.

  “What are we doing tonight?”

  “We’re going to a dinner party at a friend’s house,” he explained, taking her arm and guiding her out of the hotel. She didn’t seem to have a problem with him touching her in public, but he’d seen the momentary flash of relief that’d crossed into her eyes when he’d told her they were going out, not up to her hotel room. “I thought it might help you to relax if you weren’t alone with me. After the party, we’ll do whatever you want.” He looked into her eyes. “Whatever you want.”

  The gratitude he saw was unmistakable. “Thanks, Trent.”

  “No problem.”

  But he was having a problem because his body reacted to the sight and smell of her. As he opened his car door, he could have sworn he caught a whiff of her femininity, the salty-sweet scent unmistakable, especially after last night.

  “Nice car,” she said, referring to his black, E class Mercedes.

  “Thanks,” he said, having gone instantly erect, memories of how she’d looked last night with her legs spread, her cum juices glistening on the inside of her thighs—

  Oh, man.

  If she’d been any other woman, he would have dragged her upstairs right there. But this was Breanna, and no matter how much he wanted to spread her legs and taste her for himself, he couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I feel kind of bad,” she said as she slid in next to him, “because I never even asked how you’ve been doing?”

  “I’ve been good,” he said, a fantasy of what she’d looked like with her legs open making him want to moan.

  Get control.

  He was trying. Damn it, he was trying.

  “What about you?” he asked. Too late he realized he shouldn’t be delving into her past. Obviously, it was pretty painful.

  “I’ve been,” she looked away for a second. The sun had started to set, a sudden flash of yellow-gold light painting her face so that her blue eyes turned the color of ice—or maybe that was just a glimpse of her damaged soul. “Good,” she finished, meeting his gaze again, her jaw set in something he’d describe as determination.

  He decided to take the plunge. “What happened?” he asked. “How’d you find yourself with a man who,” raped you, he silently finished. “Did that to you?”

  She shrugged, looked away again. “He was nice in the beginning,” she said, giving him a self-deprecating smile. “But I’ve learned that’s what most victims say. A guy steps in, sweeps you off your feet. Everything’s wonderful, except . . . except there are little niggling signs that something’s off. A sudden flare of temper here, a fit of rage there. The first time he pushes you, you think it’s just an aberration, and you’re so into the whole ‘I’m in love’ thing that you find yourself forgiving it. The second time you’re a little more upset, but then he gets mad at you because you’re scared and before you know it that little shove turns into a fist. I tried to find a way out right after the first time it happened. He didn’t like that.”

  She dropped into silence, her face in profile as she stared out the window, and as she sat there, she didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t seem to do anything other than get lost in her thoughts.

  Goddam sick bastard.

  “Did you ever come close to marrying?” she asked.

  He felt his brow wrinkle at the unexpected question, but then recognized it for what it was—a ploy to change the subject. And as he put his mind to the question, it was strange, because he remembered back when they were teenagers all they’d talked about was marrying each other. Now here they were, years later, and in so many ways they were perfect strangers.

  “No. Not really,” he admitted. “At first I was too busy trying to make something of myself.” But now that my business has taken off, I don’t have time.”

  He saw her nose wrinkle. Funny, he’d forgotten she used to do that when perplexed. He remembered teasing her about it right before a math test.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me you’re the owner of Horizon Construction?”

  “I am.”

  Her brows lifted. “Wow, Trent. I’d heard what you did for a living, but I thought you worked for someone else.” And then she smiled, and it was like sunlight breaking the plane of the horizon—a beautiful flash of yellow gold.

  “And here I thought you might have rented this car.”

  The approval he saw in her eyes did things to him. Strange things. Like make him feel proud. Maybe even want to gloat a little. Instead he said, “I was lucky,” a part of him wondering what would have happened if she’d never left town. “I hit the Bay Area construction boom just right. Made a lot of money, invested some, put away even more. I work when I want to work now.”

  “And so here you are,” she said. “Mr. Successful.”

  “Somebody told me you haven’t done too badly yourself.”

  She shrugged. “I have a degree in law.” And then clouds rolled over her smile. “Obviously, it didn’t do me a lot of good.”

  “One day, the guy will pay,” Trent found himself saying. “I promise you that.”

  She nodded, still not looking at him.

  Trent almost asked her for a name right then, but he decided to let the matter drop. He’d find out on his own—even if he had to hire someone. He started his car instead. And since he was staring at her right as he turned the key, he had a perfect view of the way her eyes glistened with tears.

  He drove to the dinner party in a fit of rage.

  He’d turned quiet, but that was okay with Bree. She needed time to think, time to reassure herself that she was doing the right thing by involving Trent.

  He didn’t seem to mind being involved last night.

  Yes, that was true. But it wasn’t really him she was worried about—it was herself.

  She felt guilty. From the moment she’d looked into his eyes tonight, she’d begun to suspect he still had feelings for her.

  So?

  He’s a big boy, Bree. He knows you’re messed up. Don’t let guilt stop you from letting him help you. Damn it, you need the help.

  “What are you thinking about?” Trent broke the silence by asking.

  “Us,” she admitted, tempted to flat-out ask him if he still cared for her. She didn’t have the guts to do that.

  “You know—about us in high school,” she improvised.

  “I’ve put on sixty pounds.”

  In hard muscle. “You look good . . . so good, it makes me wonder what one of the campus q
ueens would think of you now.”

  “Actually, I dated Crystal. Gallager a few years back. She was crap in bed.”

  Bree laughed a little. “She looked like she was crap in bed.”

  Their gaze met, locked, each of them remembering how they’d stumbled across Crystal and her boyfriend having sex in the high school’s equipment room. Of how they’d been about to back out when Trent had stopped her, the couple having sex on blue athletic mats too far gone to notice them. Trent had put his hand under her shirt. . . .

  “I’d forgotten all about that,” he said in a low voice.

  Not her. It was the one sexual encounter she remembered with absolute clarity.

  But she lied and said, “Me, too.”

  His eyes grew dark, just the way they had that day at high school. Now they were traveling toward the hills surrounding the Bay Area, headlights flicking in and out of the cab, but she could still see the way the memories of that night aroused him. She had a sudden longing to be normal, to not have incessant fear beating at the back of her throat, to be, if only for a moment, taken by him—by Trent, her high school sweetheart.

  But she didn’t think she was ready for that yet and so she appreciated the fact that he didn’t delve into the subject further. She realized then that he was building her trust. Little by little, showing her that he wasn’t going to hurt her.

  “Nice house,” she said as they pulled to a stop.

  He didn’t say anything, just hopped out. Bree wondered if it would prove too much for him. Maybe he regretted offering to help her. Maybe he would ditch her at the party for some hot babe who’d put out.

  No. Not Trent. She might not have seen him in years, but he hadn’t changed that much.

  He guided her to the home’s elegant front door, leaded glass allowing a faint hint of music to come through. Behind them a view of the Bay Area looked like fireplace embers on the ground, yellow streetlights twinkling around the perimeter of the bay.

  “Stan Miller is a client of mine. He’s a bit on the eccentric side, but I hear he throws a good party.”

  “You’ve never been here before?”

  “No. He’s invited me over a few times but tonight’s the first time I’ve accepted the invitation. I should know a few people though. Everyone seems to travel in the same circles.”

  Bree nodded and soon they were shaking the infamous Stan’s hand.

  “Make yourself at home,” their host said. “Mi casa es su casa,” he quipped, giving them a smile.

  “Thanks, Stan,” Trent said.

  “Glad you could make it,” Stan said, eyeing Bree up and down. And something about that gaze made Bree shiver, made her sidle up next to Trent.

  “Bar’s outback.”

  Trent nodded, his arm going around her shoulder as if sensing her discomfort.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” he whispered as they walked away.

  Gratitude had her smiling up at him. “No. It’s okay. He obviously considers himself a player, despite his age.”

  “Then he must own stock in Viagra,” Trent said.

  Which made Bree laugh and feel better. It was a gorgeous home, and music poured out of hidden speakers. Trent seemed to know more than a few people, but he stayed by her side. She saw a few women eyeballing them, or more specifically, Trent. Not surprising. One of them, a stunning blonde, even lifted her champagne glass as if saluting Bree on snagging Trent as her escort. Bree looked away in embarrassment. If she only knew.

  They mingled, they talked. Trent brought her drinks, and she had to admit, being out among a crowd was good for her. She hadn’t been out in a long time. Trent helped a lot by keeping her amused as they nibbled on finger food.

  “Tired?” he asked a couple of hours later.

  “A little.”

  “Why don’t we take a breather?”

  She nodded, having forgotten how conscientious an escort he could be. He led her upstairs and to a game room that had a private balcony off the back, a small porch overlooking the pool.

  Bree stared down at the water that glowed like a white neon sign, glad to be away from the noise of the crowd. The drinks had relaxed her so much that she didn’t want to leave, Trent’s pressure-free evening was exactly what she needed after last night. She scanned the people milling around below, thinking they all looked like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Why don’t I get you another drink?” he asked.

  Bree said, “Thanks,” and handed him the glass. But she didn’t really like being alone, she realized. Her eyes caught on a couple groping each other on a lounge chair. Jeesh, they should get a room.

  “I saw you with Trent Walker earlier.”

  Bree jumped, a rap song’s boom-boom-bum having masked the woman’s entrance. The stunning blonde from earlier stared back at her, blue eyes friendly as she joined Bree out on the balcony.

  “Are you two seeing each other?”

  The question surprised her, though Bree supposed it shouldn’t. Trent was a good-looking man. It was only natural that women would be interested in him.

  “No,” she said.

  The woman handed her one of two champagne flutes that she held, silver bubbles clinging to the glass’s side. “Here. He asked me to give this to you.”

  “Trent?”

  The woman nodded. “Told me he needed to use the little boy’s room.”

  Bree said, “Thanks,” taking a sip of the drink as she went back to staring at the pool. “He was my boyfriend a very long time ago,” Bree found herself saying, wondering why she felt the need to insert that little bit of information. “But we—” What? Use each other for sex? That wasn’t true. “Broke up years ago,” Bree finished.

  The woman nodded, a smile coming to her eyes. “I see,” she said, taking a sip of her own drink.

  Bree suddenly felt uncomfortable, but like a moth drawn to a flame, she found herself gazing at the couple below. The guy spread the woman’s legs apart, and since she wore a bikini, it looked like they were having sex.

  “That’s Stan,” the woman said, having followed her gaze. “He does that at every party. Everyone’s used to it.”

  Obviously, Bree wanted to say, taking another sip.

  “I’m Tina, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Hi, Tina. I’m Bree.” And Bree could have sworn there was more to her touch than just a simple handshake. It lingered just a little too long, her soft fingers brushing Bree’s knuckles as she let her go.

  “Nice to meet you, Bree,” Tina said, moving in close.

  Bree tensed, but Tina stared at the people down below. “Look over there,” she said.

  Bree looked, then felt her brows lift. Two women made out against the side of a pool house, their tongues flicking in and out, breasts and butts barely contained by tiny triangles of brightly colored fabric. Not that the bathing suits would be covering them for much longer by the looks of things.

  “That’s Lila and Tory.”

  “I see,” Bree said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

  “They like fucking each other.”

  Maybe it was her drink, maybe it was the woman’s words, but suddenly Bree felt a little odd. Stan’s near-naked friend had wrapped her legs around him. She saw Stan reach between their bodies and lower his trunks.

  “Look,” Bree said, dumping the last of her champagne out. “I’m going to go find Trent.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Tina said, and was it her imagination, or had she stepped even closer? “Not yet.”

  What the heck was going on? And why was Bree suddenly hesitant to move?

  Below, the woman cried out in pleasure, and despite telling herself not to, Bree glanced down. The man had shifted down the woman’s body, his tongue lapping at her. The woman moaned again, her hard nipples thrust high into the air as she rode an obvious wave of pleasure. Stan’s tongue came out, and Bree saw him stick it inside her.

  Heat tingled along Bree’s thighs.

 
; Jeez, she was turned on.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Bree’s mind had gone numb. It took her a moment to realize Tina meant Stan’s friend.

  “I think I need to leave,” Bree said, turning away.

  Her companion stepped in front of her.

  “Do you want to be kissed like her, Bree?”

  Chapter Four

  Bree froze.

  Did she? She’d often wondered what it’d be like to be with another woman. Lord, in recent months she’d even wondered if she should give it a try.

  “Do you want to be touched?” the woman asked.

  “What?” Bree asked, the instant jolt that hit her—a jolt of sexual arousal—was such a shock that she couldn’t move.

  “I want to kiss you.”

  “No.”

  The woman stepped forward. “Please,” she asked.

  Move, Bree. Move now.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t think,” Tina said, sticking out her tongue and dragging it along Bree’s lower lip.

  Good Lord.

  “Let me kiss you,” Tina said, swiping her tongue along Bree’s lower lip again. “All over,” she said, moving closer, and then closer still, her tongue and teeth working Bree’s mouth.

  Move, Bree.

  But that sweet mouth had captured Bree’s bottom lip, tugged on it, made Bree feel things, want things she shouldn’t want.

  Oh, Jeez.

  It’d been long, so damn long, since anyone had kissed her.

  They were body to body now, just like the two women downstairs, Tina dragging the edge of Bree’s peasant blouse down and then finding her nipple, squeezing it, working the tip that hardened beneath her expert touch. She bent and took Bree’s breast in her mouth, and the sight of Tina tugging on her nipple, of her mouthing it, flicking her tongue over the tip, Jeez, it turned her on.

  And that was so strange, a part of Bree realized. She’d always been very firmly heterosexual.

  “Let me kiss you between your legs,” Tina begged.

  The words made Bree pulse in pleasure.

  The woman slid her hand down to Bree’s waistband. Bree felt it, told herself to move away. But suddenly Tina’s fingers were there—right there—her hand caressing Bree’s wet valley. Bree moaned. It’d been so long, so damn long since someone had touched her there. And she wanted that touch, damn it! Tina kissed her again—harder this time, only to draw back, her tongue lapping at Bree’s lips as her finger stroked her clit.