Crave

by Sierra Cartwright

Who the hell brought a bar to a basketball court?

  “Olives and celery are there as a garnish.”

  Grant saluted. “Knew I could count on you.”

  “I hope you packed some different clothes,” Julien said.

  “Not a damn thing,” Grant replied. “Svetlana didn’t give me five minutes to get ready. I barely had enough time to back up my files. Still trying to figure out how the hell she got past security.”

  “I hired her for a reason. You do have a credit card? You can’t come to my party in those pants. And that shirt. Is it supposed to be white?”

  “When did you get to be such a snob? There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

  “Everything’s wrong with them. Including the fact you slept in them.”

  Kennedy lowered his sunglasses. “He didn’t sleep.”

  Julien scowled. “Tell me you have a credit card. Or bill something to your room.”

  “It’s better than the way you usually dress,” Grant protested. “But don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you at your big event tonight.”

  “I have an extra pair of athletic shoes he can wear,” Kennedy offered.

  “Yellow?” Reece asked.

  Kennedy nodded. “They come in orange, too. And purple.”

  “Feet that big, you’d see the glow from outer space,” Julien said.

  “Your airplane can use them as a landing beacon,” Kennedy added.

  Julien walked toward the makeshift bar, and Grant joined him.

  “Anyone else?” Julien called out, pulling out the bottle of vodka.

  Since he had Sarah waiting for him, Reece shook his head.

  “Kennedy?”

  “Got a telephone conference call.”

  “It’s Saturday,” Julien said.

  “Sunday in Australia,” Kennedy replied. “Want to be sure we’re prepped for Monday’s market opening.”

  “You’re turning into a dull human being,” Julien said. “You need some diversions. Something other than stocks, bonds and hedge funds.”

  “I enjoy my life.”

  “Since your daddy made you president, you haven’t had a day off.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Physically,” Julien countered. “You’ll be there tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “If I see you with a cell phone, I’ll drop it in a vat of champagne.”

  “A vat of champagne?” Reece asked.

  “A fountain, technically. But a vat sounded more serious.”

  “Enough of all this,” Grant said. “I want to drink until I pass out.” After he downed half the beverage in a single guzzle, he sighed. “A little more vodka, this would be perfect. Find I’ve got an affinity for all things Russian all of a sudden.”

  Reece walked to the far side of the court and picked up a basketball. “Who’s first?” It had been years since he’d been this relaxed. There was nothing like old friendships, picking up where you left off. He could count on any of these men, no matter the situation or time of day. They had a genuine concern for each other’s well-being, and he’d be there for any of them, as well.

  “You go ahead and warm up while I finish this,” Grant said. “You need the practice.”

  “Big words for a man who’s spent the past few years in the bowels of the earth,” Kennedy said, bending to tighten his shoelaces. He walked over to join Reece. “Damn, feels like walking on air.”

  Kennedy had an uncanny instinct when it came to picking winners. His insight was courted by the biggest print and online media outlets, and he did an occasional spot on television, offering investment tips. If he said something was good, it was. His insights had doubled Reece’s money over the years. “Send me a pair?”

  “You could buy a pair, you cheap bastard.”

  “I like them, my whole staff will buy them. Size eleven.”

  “You got the Scotch?”

  “Looking forward to sipping it with a fine cigar.”

  “How’s your lady?”

  “She’s not mine.”

  “Looks like she wants to be.”

  “I don’t normally give second chances.”

  “None of us do,” Kennedy agreed, pushing back the brim of his baseball cap. Of course it had his family’s company logo on the crown. “You’re smarter, wiser now. You’ll make the right choice.”

  Reece bounced the ball a few times then aimed and shot.

  “Rim shot,” Grant observed from his place on the bench. “You need to get it in the basket.”

  “Thanks, coach.”

  Reece grabbed the ball and handed it to Kennedy.

  The man took about an hour lining up his shot. Reece wondered if his friend ever made a decision without contemplating all the angles.

  “For fuck’s sake, shoot the goddamn ball,” Julien called.

  To his credit, Kennedy never seemed to lose his concentration. When he was ready, after bouncing the ball a few more times, he released the shot.

  “That’s a swish,” Grant said.

  “You trying out for a job as a sports announcer?” Reece asked.

  “Maybe Kennedy could get me an in.”

  “I might know someone.”

  “You know everyone,” Reece corrected.

  “He’d have to leave the cave,” Julien added. “And my employ. And I won’t give him up easily.”

  Grant crunched a celery stalk. “I don’t know. Having thousands of adoring fans listen to my every word like they do Kennedy’s? I could do play-by-play from courtside. Not a bad way to earn a living.”

  “I’ve got Svetlana on my payroll,” Julien crowed. “She’s at your disposal.”

  Grant dropped his head. “There goes my second career.”

  “Saw a movie once,” Kennedy said. “Russian woman had sex with a man. Then she broke his neck with her thighs.”

  Grant grinned. “I’ll take one for the team.”

  Julien put down his glass and picked up the basketball. He landed a basket on the first try. The ball bounced back toward him, and he tossed it to Grant.

  “I’m drinking.” That didn’t stop him from palming the ball.

  “So am I,” Julien responded.

  In boots and his rumpled dress clothes, still holding the remnants of a cocktail, he wandered over.

  Reece offered to hold the drink.

  Grant shook his head. He set up the throw using the glass’s rim as a guide then shot the ball. It hung up on the rim then tipped in.

  “Fuck me,” Reece said.

  “Man’s a professional,” Kennedy observed. “Not sure if I’m talking about drinker or basketball player.”

  “Lucky shot?” Julien asked.

  “You’ve been sandbagging,” Reece said. “All these years.”

  “Don’t like to brag. Played pickup in high school.” He saluted them with the glass.

  “We should play teams.” Kennedy nodded. “I’ll pick Grant.”

  “And leave me with McRae?” Julien asked. “No fucking way.”

  “Feelings getting hurt here,” Reece protested.

  Kennedy shrugged. “No room for feelings in basketball. Not when it comes to winning.”

  “I’m out,” Grant said. “Play on, gents. I’m headed to bed.” He got a refill from the mini-fridge, then called out. “Will Svetlana be at your party?”

  “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I could die a happy man tonight.”

  “You might,” Kennedy warned. “Remember that movie.”

  “It would be a hell of a way to go,” Julien mused.

  With a wave, Grant strolled toward the hotel.

  Several workers were dragging wooden chaises longues to the areas of the beach that had already been groomed. Others followed with big umbrellas. Several women in bikinis walked past, carrying tote bags and towels. All Reece could think about was the woman upstairs, waiting for him.

  The game of Horse began in earnest. Kennedy took the first shot, a ridiculous underhand throw, wh
ich he landed, but Julien and Reece both missed.

  “Next?” he offered.

  Julien accepted the ball and went for a lay-up. Reece missed. Kennedy nailed it.

  “You’re already an O,” Kennedy noted.

  “Nothing wrong with your powers of observation.” It only took a few more rounds for him to be thoroughly humiliated.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” Julien said. “You still get to wear the big boy condoms.”

  Kennedy helpfully added, “Not everyone can brag about that.”

  “See you tonight.”

  He left his two friends to battle for Horse supremacy. Grant definitely had the right idea. Grab a cocktail and head upstairs to bed.

  As he walked through the lobby, he passed a jewelry store and a women’s clothing boutique. There were a couple of dresses that would look good on Sarah. One, in particular, had an open back and plunging neckline.

  When they’d been together, he’d enjoyed taking her shopping. He loved watching her model for him, turning slowly at times, and other times doing quick pirouettes that made a hem flare. No matter her mood, he’d been captivated by her.

  On the ninth floor, he went to his room, took a quick shower and changed his clothes before going to her room. He knocked on the door and waited. When she didn’t respond, he knocked a second time. Hearing no sounds from inside, he pounded. “Damn it, Sarah!”

  “Looking for me?”

  He turned. She’d just exited the elevator and was walking toward him, wearing a fluffy white robe and slippers.

  “I had a massage,” she said. “I figured you’d be with your friends for a while, and I needed to work out some kinks from last night.”

  He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him. “Come here.”

  Head held high, she did.

  “I’m still here, Reece. You haven’t scared me away.”

  This woman. Damn it. Damn her. He wanted her. Wanted not to want her. “Get dressed.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He refused to admit that she had.

  She fished her key card from her pocket “Do you mind if I shower first?”

  “Make it a quick one.”

  The light on the door turned green, and he heard the subtle sound of the lock releasing.

  “Are you coming in?”

  “Yes.”

  He placed his hand on her hip as she walked through the entrance. Then he slammed the door closed behind them. “Stop.” He took hold of her and spun her to face him.

  “Reece?”

  He backed her against the door. “Undo that belt.”

  Her mouth parted slightly, she did as he had ordered.

  “Now get it off.”

  She shrugged from the robe and allowed it to pool on the tile.

  This wasn’t about submission and Dominance, he knew. It was about them. About what he needed from her. It was more than total compliance, it was about her willingness.

  Seeing it there, in her eyes, he bent to claim her mouth. He’d never desired a woman like he wanted her.

  Instead of standing there, she responded, lifting her arms, wrapping them around his neck, seeking his strength.

  He accepted everything she offered and, with his tongue plunging into the softness of her mouth, demanded more.

  She met him thrust for thrust, giving, offering, yielding.

  When he ended the kiss, they were both breathless. She boldly met his gaze. “I’m still not scared.”

  A tremor shook her voice, betraying her lie despite the brave front. “You should be.”

  “Don’t underestimate me.”

  “All along, Sarah, my mistake lay in overestimating you.”

  “I’m not the same woman.”

  She was better. Stronger. More determined. All the more reason to be wary. “Take your shower,” he told her.

  He stepped aside. As she passed, she trailed her fingers along his arm.

  After picking up her discarded robe, he followed her. He tossed the garment on the bathroom floor, near the soiled towels.

  While she showered, he went to her closet. He selected an ankle-length sleeveless dress with a criss-cross back. He particularly liked the row of buttons up the front. The question was, how many of them would he allow her to fasten?

  In record time, she rejoined him.

  “Leave the bottom three buttons open,” he instructed, handing her the teal-colored dress.

  “That’s one of my favorites.” She slipped it on. “How does it look?”

  “Unfasten another button,” he said. “I want to see your knees.”

  With a nod, she did as he said.

  “Better.”

  Sarah removed a clip from her hair and fluffed the length around her shoulders.

  “Beautiful.”

  She pushed her feet into a pair of sandals and grabbed a small purse. “I take it we’re going somewhere?”

  “We are.”

  “Breakfast?” she guessed, following him into the elevator. “My coffee has about worn off.”

  “After we’re done.”

  She frowned but didn’t question him.

  In the lobby, Julien was holding court.

  “Nice shoes,” Sarah told him.

  “They’ll be available in ladies’ sizes this fall,” he said.

  “Want to be our spokesperson?” Kennedy asked Julien.

  “I’m wearing them, aren’t I? That ought to be worth a million dollars to your bottom line.”

  “It would be if the press were here,” Kennedy lamented.

  “And none of us would have nearly this much fun,” Julien said.

  Reece knew that, except for annual BondStreet corporate gatherings, Julien fought to keep the press away from his life and business. When people sent in an RSVP to one of his functions, they also had to include a signed confidentiality statement, swearing to keep all the event details private. Attendees even agreed not to publish pictures of the festivities on their own social media accounts. Still, rumors swirled, and everyone expected an intrepid paparazzo or two to charter a boat or helicopter to spy on the festivities. “If you’ll excuse us,” Reece said.

  “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t,” Julien said.

  Two women, tanned, toned, dressed in only bathing suits as if they were getting ready to compete in a beauty pageant, walked over and flanked Julien.

  Kennedy shook his head and extracted a ringing phone from his pocket.

  “Last call until you’re back on the mainland,” Julien warned as Kennedy answered.

  “What kind of phone is that?” Sarah asked.

  “You’ll know in about three months,” Julien replied.

  “Prototype?”

  He nodded. “It will be the hottest thing on the market this spring.”

  One of the ladies left Julien and went toward Kennedy.

  “Fickle,” Julien said.

  Shaking his head, Reece guided Sarah toward the boutique.

  “I’ve heard he hasn’t gone on a date in over a year,” Sarah said.

  “Julien doesn’t have time for distractions. He prefers intellectual discussion, or maybe someone to play his latest video game.”

  “Maybe that’s what they want to do,” Sarah said, looking back.

  “I’m sure it is,” Reece agreed. He was certain that was why they’d shown up as close to naked as possible.

  “Are we going shopping?” Sarah asked when they neared the boutique.

  “There’s something I’d like you to try on for tonight’s party.”

  “I brought—”

  He glanced at her, and she shut up.

  A second later, she added, “What I mean is, I’d love to try it on, Sir.”

  Inside the store, he pointed out the dress that had caught his interest.

  “Excellent choice,” the saleswoman said as she eyed Sarah. She thumbed through the hangers to find the right size before leading the way to the changing room.

  Reece followed along.
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  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” the woman said.

  “We’re fine,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

  The woman opened her mouth, but then shut it again. Without any further protest, she left them alone.

  “Really, Reece, I can manage on my own,” Sarah informed him.

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “But you’re not going to let me?”

  “I want to be here.”

  “In that case, I’d love to have you as my lady’s maid.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  She grinned. “What girl wouldn’t want one of the world’s most famous CEOs to take off her clothes?”

  The oversized room was luxurious, as he would have expected. Three full-length mirrors were affixed to the walls. And a padded bench completed the space.

  Reece closed and locked the door before capturing the bottom of Sarah’s dress. He swept it up, pulled it off her then tossed the teal material toward the bench.

  “Took care of that,” she said, voice hardly over a whisper.

  He liked the look of her, naked, except for sandals, only inches from him. Though she’d showered, the faint scent of a floral essential oil lingered on her skin.

  “Bend over,” he instructed. “Grab your ankles. I want to see if you have any red marks from last night.”

  “There aren’t any. I looked. Besides, you saw me naked in the shower.”

  He folded his arms.

  Immediately she bent and took hold of her ankles.

  “Spread your legs a little. Just a couple of inches,” he said, placing a hand on her back.

  When she complied, he fingered her pussy.

  “I like your version of shopping, Sir,” she said with a soft sigh.

  “It’s the hands-on approach,” he agreed. Once he felt her orgasm begin to build, he moved his hand and said, “Try on the dress.”

  He took it from the hanger and held it for her.

  “You really do have a mean streak,” she protested.

  The material skimmed her body, clinging to her curves in all the right ways. It was revealing, yet classy, feminine.

  “It’s…” She turned sideways to glance in the mirror. “Risqué.”

  “Sensational,” he added, drawing a finger down her spine. “I like this part.” The dress she’d worn last night had covered less skin, but this seemed more provocative. “And this.” He traced the V between her breasts.

  “I think you can see my toes.”