The Face of Scandal

by Helena Maeve

  It was how she had eventually pried Hazel’s secrets from the tight clutch of her hands. “I know something happened. You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

  To her credit, Sadie had been a woman of her word.

  Hazel all but cringed as her best friend rounded on Ward.

  “You went to college with Dylan, right?” she asked, blunt and shameless.

  “He went to college with me,” Ward replied.

  “So you guys hooked up back then or what?” Sadie swirled her fork through the emerald strips of kale on her plate. She didn’t seem convinced by the texture and had yet to take a single bite. “I mean, no judgment. I’m all about free love and all that. Guy on guy? That’s cool. Not my usual thing, but if Hazel likes it, that’s what matters, right?”

  Less than accidentally, Hazel tipped over her glass. Water streamed all over her placemat and Ward’s plate. “Oh, crap…” In the flurry of activity that ensued to mop up the spill before it dripped to the hardwood boards beneath the table, she flashed Sadie a glare. Stop it.

  “I’ll get the paper towels,” Ward sighed, pushing his chair back with a screech of wood on wood.

  “I’ll help.” Hazel rose with him, heart sinking like a stone when she registered the dark twist to his features. “I’m so sorry. I swear I haven’t told her anything.” The circumstances in which Dylan and Ward had become Dylan-and-Ward were not, she’d understood early on in her relationship with them, up for public debate. She could keep that secret as Ward had kept hers. It was the least she owed him. “Ward—”

  “It’s fine,” he said, in a voice that made it sound like the exact opposite.

  Hazel caught his arm. “Look, just hang in there an hour more. Please? Then I’ll drive her home and we can pretend none of this ever happened. She means well,” Hazel added, as though that tiny detail might sweeten the bitter pill.

  Protective didn’t begin to cover Ward’s complicated feelings for Dylan. Whether or not they were returned—and Hazel had her suspicions, but she didn’t want to rock this particular boat—it still hit too close to home to have Sadie pry.

  “I told you,” Ward insisted, “I’m fine.” The smile he plastered onto his wide mouth was more sharkish than friendly.

  Hazel smothered a groan and trudged back to the table.

  Sadie pointed an accusing finger as soon as their eyes met. “You didn’t tell me Dylan spoke Mandarin.”

  “I know a little Mandarin,” Dylan corrected, cheeks dimpling as he grinned at the woman beside him. “I took classes and listened to a few tapes. That hardly means—”

  Undaunted, Sadie launched into a stream of fluent Mandarin that left both Hazel and Ward trading confused glances as they dealt with the spill. Dylan, for his part, burst out laughing.

  “Okay, I got that part. Um…” He twisted in his chair as he gathered his thoughts, resting a hand on the back of Sadie’s seat.

  The reply he formulated in Mandarin was more halting than Sadie’s, but no less incomprehensible.

  “Anyone else get the feeling they’re being discussed in foreign?” Ward quipped, casually helping himself to a wedge of artichoke from Dylan’s plate.

  Hazel smirked. “So sayeth the Green Card holder.”

  She couldn’t tell if they were making light of something that had them both worried or if she was the only one fretting while Ward, always confident in himself and Dylan’s devotion, tried to reclaim the spotlight.

  It didn’t work.

  Over the next minutes, it quickly became apparent that Dylan and Sadie had found something of a kindred spirit in one another and though they occasionally tried to translate for their audience, there was no disguising the connection that flowed between them as they maneuvered around the sharp consonants and lilting vowels. Sadie claimed Dylan spoke very well, a charge he brushed off with a wave of his hand. She also claimed he had a northern accent.

  “I take it you’ll be the one she invites to mahjong night next time,” Ward mused, swirling the wine in his glass during a lull in their excited chatter.

  Sadie seized onto this like a bulldog with a stick. “Oh, yes! You should definitely come. It’ll be good practice.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  The smile Dylan shot her way was blinding and true, and Hazel felt as though a fist squeezed around her heart at the sight. She tried to shake off the sensation, but it clung fast, fangs sunk deep into that pulsing muscle.

  This was everything she’d ever feared—Sadie and Dylan, together at last.

  * * * *

  Hazel eased off the brakes once the Volvo had slid to a full stop. They were double-parked, not a single spot available on the curb up or down the street. Clucking her tongue, she considered the options available. Leave the car where it was and risk seeing it towed away or try another slow tour of the block?

  Before she could make up her mind, Sadie unbuckled her seatbelt.

  “Wait, let me park first—”

  “It’s okay,” she told Hazel. “I don’t need a chaperone.”

  “Are you sure?” Sadie’s mood swings were as impenetrable as cinderblock. They’d been particularly bad since this morning. Her vivaciousness over dinner had struck Hazel as a front, but she’d been wary of assuming, of meddling in Sadie’s pain. She dropped her hands into her lap. “I could just walk you to the door.”

  Sadie focused a pair of inky black eyes on her, the corners crinkled with some other sentiment than amusement. “Afraid I won’t go inside?”

  Yes. It was nothing Hazel could admit without sounding judgmental. She supposed she was. Tonight hadn’t brought out the most virtuous side of her.

  “Give me a break. Where would you go?”

  “Your place,” Sadie replied easily. “You’re not using it right now, are you?”

  Something in her tone of voice tipped Hazel off. Sadie had thought of everything. Between needling Ward and stealing the spotlight over dinner, she’d still found the time to map out her next move. Unfortunately, she didn’t have all the data.

  “It’s not safe,” Hazel told her, thinking of the ugly slurs her efforts to protect her privacy had prompted. “That latest repost of Malcolm’s video brought all the creeps to the yard. They found out where I lived, started goading each other into—”

  “Yeah, I figured.” Sadie gripped the door.

  “I’m serious!”

  The icy glare Sadie flung back would have had Hazel ratcheting up the tone if it wasn’t for the bruise on her friend’s cheek. One eye had begun to swell a little, giving her face a strange, lopsided quality. She looked just pitiful enough to make Hazel back off. “If you’re not ready to tell your mom, we can think of something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “A hotel?” Hazel suggested. “I don’t know. How are you on cash?”

  “Not as well as some people,” Sadie quipped. Before Hazel could reply she went on, “It’s okay. I need to bite the bullet sooner or later, right? And we drove all this way…”

  Hazel reached between their seats and clasped Sadie’s elbow with a cold hand. “Do you want me to take you back to the loft?” she blurted out.

  “I didn’t realize there was a spare room.”

  The tightness in Hazel’s chest unfurled in a rush of corrosive suspicion. Did you know? Were you planning this all along, too? Hazel balked at that greedy rush of condemnation. She had returned from Missouri more secure in her relationship than she’d ever been, but she was beginning to realize that didn’t mean all her fears had evaporated.

  They’d merely changed focus, from Dylan leaving her because of the video to Dylan leaving her for another—better, prettier—woman.

  “No spare room,” she told Sadie, looking across to the lit windows of the house where she and her mother had lived since their move to California. It was just a small bungalow with green shutters and an overly decorated front yard. It was homey, welcoming. But needing distance from family made perfect sense to Hazel, even when said family was sweet and understand
ing, like Sadie’s mom. “We’ll figure something out.”

  As she put the Volvo into gear, she could’ve sworn she heard Sadie sigh with relief.

  “Thank you,” Sadie gushed. “You’re the best.”

  I’m really not. Hazel mustered a smile, but Sadie had already glanced away. She hummed jauntily the whole ride back to the loft.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan agreed at once that Sadie should spend the night. Ward followed suit, as Hazel had expected him to, albeit sedately, smiling politely and retiring to his room as soon as the decision was made.

  It was another hour before Hazel finished helping Dylan change the sheets and the towels in the bathroom. Sadie would spend another night in his room, dressed in whatever clothes they found that would fit her slim frame.

  “You guys are the best,” she enthused. “Seriously, thank you.”

  “Our pleasure,” Dylan assured her.

  For a brief moment, as she pretended to adjust a corner of the bed sheet, Hazel thought he was going to give her a hug goodnight. But Dylan stepped away without contact and the tension between them evaporated so swiftly that Hazel suspected she’d imagined it in the first place.

  She followed him into the living room, watching as he turned down the lights. Provided he didn’t decide to throw them out, they would share Ward’s room tonight, the three of them crammed into a bed that usually accommodated Ward on his own, or, more rarely, Ward and Hazel.

  “He wouldn’t,” Dylan scoffed when Hazel joked about her suspicions. He looped an arm around her waist and gently but firmly walked her back toward the circular stairs. “He’ll want to make the most of it.”

  With his hand on her, Hazel found it nearly impossible to cling to restless doubts.

  No way was Dylan interested in Sadie. Didn’t he prove as much every second that he stroked his palm along her flank? He was just being a good host. Hazel grinned at him over her shoulder.

  “Oh, really? So under those still waters, he’s been plotting to get us into his bed all along, hmm?”

  “Precisely,” Dylan murmured. “Besides, if Ward doesn’t like something, he’ll make sure everyone knows it. He’s not one to suffer in silence.”

  You really don’t know, do you? Before Hazel could speak—not certain that what she meant to say needed pointing out, anyway—she cleared the top of the landing and noticed that Ward’s bedroom door was still open.

  The door of the en suite bathroom was likewise ajar, the pitter-patter of water on tile faintly audible from within.

  Dylan drew level with her and smirked. “What did I tell you?” he quipped, cocksure to a fault. “Almost looks like an invitation, doesn’t it?”

  “Mm, all we’re missing are the rose petals on the bed.” Jokes were useful currency when Hazel wasn’t quite sure where she stood.

  Dylan didn’t seem to have that problem. He barely hesitated for an instant before nudging the bedroom door shut and reaching for his belt buckle.

  “What are you doing?” Hazel asked, bemused but not indifferent.

  “A shower before bed can be very relaxing…or so I’ve heard.” Dylan arched his bushy black eyebrows. “Care to test the theory?”

  Hazel shut her mouth with a click. She had yet to refuse Dylan anything sexual. No reason to mess with a working model now. Her eyes on him, she hooked a hand in the back of her T-shirt and tugged it up and over her head. Ward wasn’t quite as maniacal about scattered clothes as Dylan, but he wouldn’t be too pleased when he saw the disorder in his room.

  If he saw it.

  Hazel toed off her sneakers and shucked off her jeans and underwear. She had every intention of making sure Ward was in no position to notice anything much at all by the time he went to sleep.

  The shower cubicle in Ward’s bathroom was a grotesquely lavish, all clear glass monster. It could easily have fit half a dozen people with room to spare. Hazel set aside the small frustrations that routinely crept up when she thought of how the rich spent their money and focused on what was relevant in the here and now. First, there was no curtain to conceal her from view when Ward spun around. Second, the tile underfoot was just coarse enough to keep him from taking a tumble.

  “Careful,” Hazel murmured unnecessarily, “wouldn’t want you to slip and fall.”

  “And who would we blame for that?”

  For all his quibbling, Hazel saw Ward sweep a slow, heated gaze down her body. Heat prickled along every inch of her flesh, something akin to pride igniting in her chest. He was welcome to look, but Hazel hoped he wouldn’t stop there.

  She stepped gingerly into the shower cubicle when Dylan held open the glass door.

  “I had something more interesting in mind than head injuries,” he teased.

  “You don’t say…” Ward swallowed hard as he found himself cornered, back close to but not quite touching the shower tiles.

  Hazel tilted her head back under the ceiling spray, shivering despite the temperature of the water. “You know Dylan, always with the good ideas.” She felt him against her backside, erection warm with blood and already at half-mast, stirred by whatever wicked thoughts shot through that head of his.

  Not to be outdone, Ward slid a hand over the swell of Hazel’s hip and drew his fingers up her flank to her ribcage, then slowly onto the swell of her breast. He pinched her nipple tightly, knowing just how she liked to be touched.

  “Gonna tease me, huh?” Hazel moaned, tipping back into Dylan’s arms.

  She had been here before, a willing prisoner trapped between her devoted tormentors. She couldn’t wait for the playful teasing to morph into punishing thrusts and harsh, choking hands.

  The thought of Sadie downstairs, so close to the playroom where she and Dylan had once enjoyed each other in thoroughly carnal fashion, was all the incentive Hazel needed to twist around and slide a hand around Dylan’s nape.

  Mine.

  She had never felt so possessive of a boyfriend before. She had never wanted to bite her name into flesh, or hold him in isolation because it drove her mad to think of anyone else staring at him.

  With his mouth against her and Ward’s fingertips digging bruises into her skin, there was no room for any of that nonsense to slip out in the heat of the moment. It was just as well. Between them, Ward and Dylan whispered enough filth to make Aphrodite blush.

  “You little slut,” Ward murmured fondly, “you’re already wet.” He pressed a finger inside her as if to prove it, meeting no resistance.

  Her body was lax and ready for him, well used to the more strenuous activities Hazel put it through. But last night’s romp had taken its toll. Hazel flinched, reaching down to clasp Ward’s wrist. “Wait, wait…”

  “You’re sore,” Dylan guessed, incrementally relaxing his hold around her waist.

  Hair dripping into her eyes, Hazel nodded. “Yeah… I’m sorry.” Her heart plummeted. She’d wanted this for them—and for herself, she was selfish enough to admit it. She needed the anchor of physical contact to clear her head. But Ward’s touch triggered a spasm too far from pleasurable to be confused with delight.

  “I can still get you off,” Hazel hurried to point out.

  “I know you can,” Ward said, gently extricating his fingers. “I was there last night…remember?”

  Of course she did. Heat flooded her face when she thought of blowing Ward to orgasm and Dylan wiping away the cum from her lips and chin. She was greedy enough to crave a repeat performance, pain notwithstanding, her every muscle tensing as Dylan reached between her thighs.

  “Does this hurt, too?” he wondered and tapped a fingertip to the hood of her clitoris.

  Hazel gasped, bracing for another twist of discomfort. She shook her head. It was too light, a barely there pressure that curled her toes but stopped short of satisfying her need. “Ngh… No, that’s—that good. Keep going,” she pleaded.

  “You heard the lady.”

  Ward’s gaze zoomed up her body to fasten onto Dylan’s. He cocked his right eyebro
w, a sneer cresting slowly onto his features as if to ask, Since when do you tell me what to do?

  “Please,” Hazel choked out, not in the mood for one of their cockfights.

  Whether it was the pitiful whine in her voice that drove him from tease to action, or Dylan’s ponderous silence—it hardly mattered once Ward sunk to his knees before her. Hazel trembled—focus instantly thrown off kilter as Ward hooked a hand behind her knee and raised her thigh onto his shoulder. Her cunt pulsed in anticipation.

  “He’s gonna be so gentle with you,” Dylan whispered in her ear, instruction shrouded in a taunt. “You’re not used to that, are you? You like everything fast and rough…”

  “Not everything,” Hazel panted. It was hardly an objection.

  She dug her toes into the ceramic tile with the first caress of Ward’s tongue to her labia. The sensation was dulled by the water—and yes, Hazel had grown accustomed to something a little more vigorous. But Ward knew what he was doing. He shuffled forward, knees scraping the bottom of the tub, and parted her folds with his thumbs to expose the pebbled nub of her clit.

  Hazel sank her fingers into his hair, drawing him the rest of the way in. To her surprise, Ward allowed it. Dylan, behind her, didn’t protest. She squirmed a little to find the perfect angle, her heel digging into the small of Ward’s back, and gradually became aware of Dylan grinding against her ass.

  A soft, pleased sound spilled from her throat.

  “You’re getting off on this,” she murmured, realization like a gut-punch. The thought of being good enough for Dylan even when she could do no more than stroke his thigh with a shaky hand was as astonishing as it was exciting. What else could she do to turn him on?

  Dylan chuckled, breath warm on her cheek. “You have to admit…seeing Ward on his knees is not without appeal.”

  In retribution, Ward fastened his lips snugly to her clit, vulgar, wet sounds ricocheting off the tiles, and sucked at her in earnest.