Random Acts of Fantasy (Random Series #3, Invitation to Eden)

by Julia Kent

“Yep. The hating…that I can chalk up to nerves. And I know the idea that you’re a better lover is a joke.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He chuckled without actual laughter. “But she just ignored what I said. So…”

  I got it.

  Message received.

  Nobody was ready for it yet.

  Least of all Darla.

  Darla

  We got ourselves together, showered, and put on what we were told was “mandatory formal attire” for all dinners. That meant something close to a ball gown for me and tuxedos for the guys.

  The resort had called ahead and asked for everyone’s measurements, and just like our luggage magically appeared in our respective suites, full black-tie outfits appeared for Joe and Trevor, and I was given a choice of five extraordinarily amazing ball gowns to choose from.

  Guess it was time to shave my legs, huh?

  I gave the guys a fashion show, and by gown number three Joe declared, “Can’t you just get Amy in here to choose?”

  “She left—remember?”

  He winced.

  “Poor baby,” I said, caressing his cheek. “Having to watch me in gowns.”

  “It’s not that!” But he skedaddled as fast as he could, like a Jets fan who accidentally stumbles, drunk, into a Pats bar after a loss.

  I chose on my own, a sleek, sea-green gown that matched my eyes. Five pairs of shoes were delivered in my size, too, and I picked these little silver, shimmery strappy-heeled things that looked more like earrings than footwear, but what the hell do I know? I buy almost everything on color-dot sale day at the Salvation Army.

  This was more Tim Gunn than grunge rock, you know?

  The phone rang. A woman cleared her throat. A smooth, cultured voice made me shrivel into nothing. “Ms. Jennings? This is Simone, from the spa. Your reservation is in ten minutes.”

  “My what?”

  “Your appointment for your work.”

  “My work?”

  Simone cleared her throat again, her tone of voice nasally to my midwestern ears. “According to the reservation, you’re to have a cut and style, waxing, a mani-pedi, and a facial. See you in ten minutes, and we look forward to working with you.” Click.

  That was perfunctory.

  “Hey, Trev? Joe? You guys schedule me for a bunch of spa stuff?”

  Two distinct “no” responses.

  Hmmmm. Must be part of the resort deal.

  Waxing? What do they wax? Legs and pits, right? Maybe my upper lip and eyebrows. I know some women wax the nibbly bits and the brown starfish, but they wouldn’t do that…here. Right?

  My mind flashed back to the naked women I’d seen this week, and there had been plenty of ’em. Hmm.

  Waxed clean.

  Smooth as a…

  Blowfish.

  “Who was that?” Trevor came out of the bathroom, clean shaven and smelling of shaving cream and aftershave. Uncle Mike always had that scent exactly once a week, on Sunday, right before he’d go to church. Sometimes. Now that I think about it, he never came back talking about the sermon, but sometimes Mama would ask how Miriam was.

  Hmm. The only Miriam in Peters was the woman who ran the florist shop. Two plus two hit me and I realized Uncle Mike had a girlfriend.

  Hot damn.

  Trevor was watching me as I muttered under my breath, and I looked up to find him wiping his neck and face with a hot, wet cloth. “What are those gears doing in there?” he said, tapping his own head.

  “Figuring shit out.”

  He kissed me on the cheek. “Go get beautified. Not that you need it.”

  I snorted. “You want a hairless taco?”

  “Anything but a blowfish.”

  Joe

  I watched from around the corner at the easy way the two of them talked to each other, a hot, throbbing, jealous zing shooting through me as Darla left.

  Talk to her, my mind told me.

  Don’t even try, said my heart.

  I’d tap that, blowfish and all, my dick added. And I wonder what she’d be like with a full Brazilian.

  Shut up, cock. You’re not helping.

  Trevor and I killed an hour riffing and goofing off with our guitar and bass, just keeping the fingers limber. Finally, he set his instrument down and went to the bedroom area.

  “You worried?” Trev asked, starting to dress in the tuxedos the resort provided. He needed help with his cuff links, and I figured what the hell? We were practically each other’s bitches anyhow, and with Darla gone…

  As I fiddled with his wrist I said, “About Suzy? No. What could she do?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You really want to be found handcuffed to a bed again with a tunnel butt plug up your ass and a ball gag in your mouth?”

  “You promised you wouldn’t talk about—”

  “By your mom?”

  “Shut up!”

  “Suzy is fucking scary, man. Darla took out part of her hair. She’s going to rip out Darla’s heart and make it dance at the next VMAs on live TV.”

  “But Suzy can’t…the master has a purpose for her.”

  “The what?” Trevor froze and yanked his wrist away from me.

  “The master.”

  “The master?”

  “The guy who runs this island.”

  “And he has a purpose for…Suzy being here?”

  I nodded.

  “You been dropping acid?”

  “It sounds crazy. I know. I was talking to this guy. He told me there’s some guy called the ‘master’ of the island, and all the people here are by invitation only.”

  “Even the workers?”

  I raised one eyebrow. “We’re here by invitation.”

  “And so is Suzy?”

  I nodded. None of this made sense. Not one detail. But talking it out with Trevor was helping, even if we couldn’t solve anything.

  The phone next to the bed rang. Trevor poked his chin towards it, a silent request for me to answer. I saw him affixing that tiny little patch to his wrist as he finished putting on his shirt, then he went for his socks and pants.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Mr. Ross? Your dinner assignment is in the Nin ballroom.”

  “Nin? As in Nine Inch Nails?”

  The man cleared his throat and sounded like he was smiling. “As in Anaïs Nin.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I felt like a preschooler in the presence of doctoral students.

  We finished dressing and stared at each other. Trevor and I cleaned up nicely, and it felt like prom night all over again. A tap at the door and Liam and Sam appeared, all spiffed up as well.

  “We look like a Vegas act,” Liam quipped.

  “If Vegas had naked croquet. You see those bruised shins? No thanks,” Sam said dryly.

  “We ready?” Liam asked.

  “Where’s Darla?” Sam asked, looking mopey. His chick was gone. Too bad. I had to live without mine for three and a half months. Boo fucking hoo for a couple of days.

  “Getting,” Trev said, jazz hands around his face, “a bunch of spa treatments and hair and makeup stuff.”

  “Amy would have loved that,” Sam said.

  “She’s having Christmas with her family, Sam, not joining a convent.” Liam’s comment stung and Sam shut up.

  “Ready?”

  We were.

  Naked crotch shots on the hallway walls aside, the walk through the labyrinth of hallways was uneventful, until we reached the grand ballroom and navigated to the doorway marked Nin. A tall marble staircase, the kind with two sides that curled inward, was across from the ballroom’s entrance, and crystal chandeliers that weighed more than the building hung in the foyer, making everything glittery and diamond-like.

  But that wasn’t the shiniest object in the room.

  I saw her bare shoulder first, then the sweep of hair across her back, the blond locks coiffed into perfect, silken waves that were half up, half down, the glamour making my breath catch in my throat, my exhale a ragged s
tretch of amazement.

  Her dress was the color of her eyes, a sea green only found in nature, with a shimmery effect that made her curves stand out, her body lush and welcoming. Beckoning. The cloth looked molded onto her, from neckline to ankles, as if the finest designer in Italy had hand-stitched it just for her.

  Darla rarely wore makeup, and normally I wouldn’t have liked it, but the look was one of a 1950s glamour girl, like a movie stunner who graced posters. Her face was porcelain smooth, lips lush and red like cherries. Ripe, round, sweet ones. Cheeks pink with excitement, her eyes stood out, clever and promising.

  Long lashes fringed those sea-foam irises, eyeshadow bringing out the planes of her face, giving her an ethereal, solid beauty. An old Norse goddess come to life, in Hollywood form. I half expected her to reach out for a cigarette and slide it into one of those long holders from the old black-and-white movies, and for twelve men to rush over with gold-plated lighters, flints at the ready to spark up and light her fire. In more ways than one.

  Darla looked like an earlier generation’s version of Marilyn Monroe in a pin-up poster, minus the nudity. There was a sensual grace to her as she walked to us with small steps in high heels I wanted to feel digging into my back, legs wrapped around my waist as I made love to her with Trevor eliciting cries of pleasure from her, the three of us—

  Stunning. Elegant and ideal, she pierced my heart and made it grow.

  She caught my eye, then Trevor’s, and looked us up and down twice, her eyes taking us in and clearly liking what she saw. We were a dapper pair, and this time, wearing a tux made me feel like the man I am, and not the man I wanted to be.

  Like this, I saw a part of Darla that I wanted to cleave to, a future we could share with her graceful beauty and grounded reality blending with my own sense of self and path for the life I could live if I were with her. The synergy between who she was, who she could be, and who we wanted to be together was complete and waiting.

  Those ruby-red lips parted slowly, showing me the tip of her pink tongue. A wave of possession ripped through me, my hands itching to wrap around her waist, to bury themselves in her coiffed hair, to kiss her until her knees went weak and she clung to me.

  But, instead, I listened as she leaned forward, the scent of something timeless and heady overwhelming me, making me want her even more.

  “They waxed my hole,” she whispered when I got close enough.

  She really knew how to make an entrance.

  Chapter Eleven

  Darla

  I…it takes a lot to make me speechless. A lot. As in, it mostly takes ripping out my vocal cords or watching naked high school boys pushing against the back of a cow they were trying to get on a Ford F-150 to take to school as a homecoming dance date back in Peters.

  Like that.

  The sight of Liam, Trevor, Sam, and Joe walking to dinner made me feel like I was in a fairytale. An offbeat, unconventional fairytale, but a delightful one. My eyes were only for Trevor and Joe as they surveyed me, and I knew that all the treatment at Simone’s spa (a.k.a. Torture Monkey) had been worth it. Simone had been an interesting woman, with the kind of bleached-blonde hair and dark tan plenty of women back home adopted, but with a kind of not-quite-male, not-quite-female sophistication that left me in awe.

  Unaccustomed to spa services, I’d deferred to her. The eyebrow threading, the lip waxing, and getting naked on all fours for purposes that did not involve sticking a penis inside me, but instead involved hot wax and a scream that peeled paint…

  Was worth it.

  Their eyes roamed over my face, my hair, my body, and my heart as if they were painters memorizing me in fine details, forever holding this image inside. Love and lust blossomed in their eyes. Trevor’s broad shoulders and fine hands made the cut of his tuxedo serve him well, the tan he’d acquired from a handful of hours these past few days outside a lovely contrast to the crisp whiteness of his shirt. I wanted to slowly unwind the bow tie, unbutton his shirt with a lingering anticipation, and run my French-tipped fingernails down the delightful groove between his pecs, lower and lower until he inhaled sharply and I knew I had him.

  Joe looked like a model from GQ, the same Greek-god looks that caught me unaware and by storm in Ohio now on triumphant display. His strong jaw and cheekbones with sun-darkened skin stretched across under eyes that glittered like dark gemstones made butterflies take off en masse in my chest. The cut of his tuxedo nipped at the waist, leading up to compact shoulders, the tie under a chin stretched by a small, intimate smile. Aimed at me.

  When he showed teeth, he looked like a wolf. I wanted to be prey. Hunted. Those animal eyes certainly took me in. A whirlwind of sophistication took all the air in the large foyer and made time stand still. I felt worldly. Polished. Elegant and, as Mama would say, “All done up nice.”

  All the guys had shaved and cleaned up nicely, and I was completely flustered, a jumble of emotions that whirled and swirled inside as my two men ate up the floor between us and I found myself enveloped by them, the scent of aftershave and them consuming my senses.

  So what do you say when you’re in that state?

  “They waxed my hole.”

  They waxed my hole? Did I really just say that? My hand flew to my lips with a smack, as if spanking them for being so stupid.

  Way to ruin the moment with my big mouth. Not that it was a change from the usual…

  “Which one?” Trevor murmured, laughing. Joe just shook his head, eyes flitting about, suddenly a bit nervous, as if I’d broken some magic spell.

  “You look great, Darla,” Sam said, giving me a hug. The dress was tight in all the right places, which meant I could barely move. Simone had said something about sacrifices we have to make to be beautiful, but I hadn’t realized that meant I’d have a hairless butthole that felt like I was walking around with my lip turned inside out in a blizzard.

  Liam gave me a hug, too, and my God, that man had muscles. He was bigger now, I noticed, than Trevor—more filled out. Some lucky woman was going to sweep him off his feet, though from what Trevor and Joe said, this week he’d had more than his fair share, horizontal and all.

  Trevor’s hand on the small of my back felt like a claiming. Joe did the same with my bare shoulder, the touch soothing and confirming.

  “Shall we?” Joe said, gesturing to the grand dining hall.

  A woman approached us, holding a notebook. “You’re Random Acts of Crazy?”

  Liam stepped forward. He ate this up. “Yes. I’m Liam, the guitar—”

  “Liam McCarthy!” she said in a clipped, knowing voice. And then she pointed. “Sam Hinton, Joe Ross, Trevor Connor, and you must be Darla.”

  We all pulled back, a bit surprised. So far, we’d been pretty much unknown here, just doing our thing and getting ready for the performance. Most of my day had been nothing but detail work, making sure the guys were taken care of right. This was the first bit of fame for us.

  “Yes!” Joe said, turning on the charm. Oh, and once he did, it was magnetic, so hard to step away from you almost needed a stronger magnet with a bigger pull to get away. “And you are…?”

  “Noelle Davis. I’m a reporter,” she said. Blond. Curvy like me. Our features weren’t similar, but seeing Joe smile at her like he wanted to fuck her made something in me go tense.

  “Reporter?” someone behind us murmured, practically running away.

  “I’m covering the band and noticed,” she said, eyes on Trevor and Joe’s hands on me, “you three have an unusual arrangement. So the rumors are true?”

  “Rumors?” Joe quickly withdrew his hand from my shoulder. It felt like a punishment.

  “Oh,” she said, waving her hand. “It goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

  “What does?” Trevor said, tightening his hand on my waist.

  Noelle ignored him for a few beats as she jotted something down on a small notebook. She was good. Knew how to be vague and direct at the same time. Nothing about this bothered me, except
Joe’s reaction. And then she just sauntered off with a little wave, leaving a pool of confusion in her wake.

  “I can’t have that reporter figure out that we’re in a threesome. It will be all over the news and…no way. My legal career, my family…fuck no!” Joe said in a tight, low voice. Liam touched Sam’s shoulder and jerked his head toward the dining hall. They left us alone, standing near a giant flower display. Irises, of course.

  I gave Joe a steely look. “I hear you. Loud and clear. You might as well have a bullhorn pressed against the side of my head.” My heart rate shot up and fireworks blasted through me. “So what do you suggest we do?”

  “How about we lure her into thinking you’re not with me? That you’re just with Trevor?”

  “She’s long gone, and who cares?” I said, matching Joe’s tone.

  “Someone already told her you’re with more than one guy,” Trevor said.

  Joe’s face fell. “That’s right. Shit.” He frowned and thought for a bit, giving me a chance to really look at him. Lines formed in the skin around his eyes, indentations that weren’t there even last summer. He looked weary and a bit worn. His brow creased all the time with tension.

  My Joe had always been a bit intense, but being this tense was different.

  “I know!” His face lit up with a smile that made me return it. Ah! Now this was the Joe I wanted to see more of.

  Eyes excited and hands animated, he said, “How about you hit on a few of the men here, in front of the reporter, so she’ll think you’re with a bunch of guys?”

  Trevor looked at him like he’d just suggested we bomb North Korea.

  “Say what?” I asked, not quite believing my ears.

  His hands flew into the space about his head, fingers splayed in a grotesque version of jazz hands as I reacted to what I thought he’d just said. My stomach was like a cattle fence combined with sriracha sauce, all in a buzzing blender.

  “It’s genius! You come on to a bunch of guys and make her think you’re a fun girl looking for a lot of action. Throws her off the scent. And then she won’t suspect we’re a threesome.”

  Trevor cocked one eyebrow, pulled his hand off my body, and folded his arms over his chest. Eyes pinging between me and Joe.