Victoria's Secret Wish

by Piper Denna

  Britt tipped his head and gave her a wry grin. “Very well. We’ll be outside if you need us.”

  She pretended to ignore Peyton, and read the handwritten page:

  FCS unloading? Can’t be right!

  She’s not due at port until tonight.

  She docked in early morning,

  So Paps would get no warning.

  Yep, you read right–FCS Aphrodite snuck into port nearly nine hours ahead of schedule this AM, giving the passengers and temp crew the drop on any media out to nab some sweet deets about the trip. And it was totally planned. In fact, our prince helicoptered out last night to avoid all the hubbub. Passengers were welcome to stay aboard ’til the scheduled docking time, but it sounds like most of the “somebodies” bugged out via chopper at the buttcrack of dawn.

  And Gritty Gossip Girl has some disheartening news to report: Victoria and Brett are quite disgustingly unified in marriage, business goals, and yes, even sex. It’s an impressive couple who can stay together and not be tempted to play separately when working amid intense sexual stimulation.

  In some ways, this ship is very much the Love Boat–at least for the Grants and their friends, as well as several other couples whose hookups on this cruise became deep and lasting–at least for now.

  Alas, not for G-G-Girl. I’ll leave here alone, the way I arrived.

  With that, I’ll leave you and go pack my glittery vibrators, myriad of Lay-Techs condoms and lube tubes.

  Until tomorrow,

  G-G-Girl

  Victoria continued on, pretending to read while sneaking a peak at Peyton. Squirming. Good. That meant her nerves had kicked in. Maybe she’d be more willing to talk.

  Laying the paper on the table, she asked calmly, “Who talked you into this?”

  Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. “What, you don’t think I could do this on my own?”

  She stared back at her. Active listening. It would work.

  Peyton shrugged. “It took some planning, but after meeting you at the interview, all that talk about confidentiality, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  “And how would you benefit from blogging about this cruise?”

  “Followers equals advertising, equals dollars. College isn’t free, you know.”

  Advertisers might be attracted and pay in the future, but they weren’t a sure thing. Somebody had to have given her money upfront to do this. “If you told me who helped you get the iPad onboard, I could have this contract modified. Say…drop the clause where you owe us for the cruise.”

  Peyton’s face wasn’t nearly as cute with a sneer. “I already avoid paying for the cruise by signing the gag agreement.”

  “So what would make it worthwhile for you?” If a crew member had set Peyton up to blog, they’d set up someone else on the next cruise, too.

  Peyton seemed to think it over, but eventually shook her head. “Look, can I just have my iPad so I can do the upload and go?”

  Her iPad? Not bloody likely. “You can do the upload, but we’ll be researching the device’s ownership. If it turns out to be yours, I’ll see that it gets back to you.” And she hadn’t denied there’d been a helper.

  “Whatever.” Peyton dragged the iPad across the table and began pressing icons on the screen. “So where’s your friend the gold medalist?” That little edge to Peyton’s question hit every nerve.

  “He had an early flight to catch.” Shut up and type, you nosy little bitch.

  “Oh, I see. So he was privy to the early arrival. Nice.”

  Victoria stood and glared down at Peyton. “I hope it was nice for our clients who prefer anonymity. One day, if you achieve the sort of celebrity status you’re aspiring to–which you might delude yourself you’ve already achieved–you’ll understand why somebody would want to sneak away someplace like a cruise with no reporters.”

  “You’d like me to believe he’s just some friend of yours, who came here for privacy, and not a boytoy, for either you or your husband, although I’m not sure which.”

  “I don’t give a Goddamn what you believe.” Victoria put her hands on the table and leaned toward Peyton. “All I care about is what you tell other people, and we both know what that will be, don’t we?”

  Peyton’s lower lip trembled, then she looked down at her notes and went back to work.

  Chapter 24

  “Set me up with one of those frozen drinks you make so good.”

  Griffin’s swimmer-surfer-swinger friend slumped from a bar stool to put his head in his hands.

  “Uh, sure. David Roman, right?”

  He jerked his head up. “Yeah. Whatever. Keep that on the downlow, huh?”

  “Trouble in paradise?” He poured a glass from the blender–he’d started wondering whether the whole damn batch would go to waste, since nobody was stopping by for drinks.

  “Guess I could ask the same. Cabana Girl was a traitor, huh?”

  “Guess so, bro. What about you? No flying off into the sunset in a helicopter with the Grants?”

  “Fuck, no.” David tipped his glass and gulped. “No. And I need a shot of something. This thing’s gonna freeze my fuckin’ brain.”

  Griffin chose to assume David’s watery eyes were caused by brainfreeze, not whatever else had gone wrong for him. The guy had obviously gotten too much tangled up with the couple, and it hadn’t ended well, which was just sad.

  “Looks like this definitely ain’t the Love Boat.” Although he’d noticed some of the crew members leaving with happy endings. “Not for us, anyway.”

  * * * *

  Gil set the empty chopper down and powered up his phone–again. He’d check the Gossip Girl blog–again. Something was wrong, very wrong. She always posted late at night, and now…nothing. What the fuck had happened? He’d tried calling her when he offloaded the last bunch of Beautiful People in LA, but her phone still went straight to voice mail. Which meant she was either still on the ship, or on a flight somewhere.

  There. There! New text on her blog site. Fuck, yeah. Whew. He scanned the words…disgustingly unified jumped out at him, but otherwise, nothing derogatory about Grant at all. Goddammit. She must’ve had a reason for changing the tone in this post. Why? Fuck. If she got outed, that meant she’d probably out him too. Not only would he lose a peach of a job, but he’d lose access to Victoria. Couldn’t happen. He deserved Victoria.

  If he could get hold of Peyton, maybe he could bribe her into keeping his name out of everything.

  What if she’d been arrested?

  He had hours before he’d know–still two more trips from here to LA, and then he had to leave this chopper here, catch a commercial flight back to Salt Lake and get the other chopper ready to fly Victoria and Brett back to the Mountain. Maybe somewhere along the way, he’d get hold of Peyton.

  * * * *

  “Hello?” Gil’s phone rang while he waited for the business class boarding call. He fucking hated flying on planes now, dealing with crowds and waiting while uptight uniforms ran the show.

  “Hey. It’s me–Peyton.”

  He knew–didn’t take a rocket scientist to read fucking Caller ID. “What the fuck happened today?”

  The lady next to him glared, but he didn’t give a fuck whether she liked his language or not. She could suck it.

  “I–this guy–he found the iPad in my room, and he told the Grants, and–”

  A guy. And she didn’t have the sense to hide the fucking iPad? If brains were dynamite, the bitch couldn’t blow herself up. “So what’s the deal?”

  “Look. I didn’t out you. They think I was working alone. I took all the blame.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Because, stupid. I still want my five thousand dollars.”

  Stupid? She got busted, but called him names? And fuck if she’d be getting paid now. “But you didn’t meet your objective.” Damn lady next to him was eavesdropping. Victoria was still with her sap husband, and he hadn’t looked much worse for the wear at the
press conference when Gil had flown away last time.

  “Let me put this in terms you’ll understand, Gil.” Peyton’s girlie voice suddenly sounded much older, more serious. “You are going to pay me the five thousand this week, and another five next grand month. Or I’ll tell the Grants exactly how I got hold of a web-enabled device and the WiFi password for the ship. Got it?”

  Just what he needed. A loose cannon in the form of an emotional, horny, broke, immature college student. Not quite what he’d planned on.

  Chapter 25

  Brett put his arm around Vic’s shoulder, taking care with her sunburn. She laid her head against him as the helicopter became airborne. Almost home. They’d taken a private jet from San Diego to Salt Lake after one bitch of a day with the press, and only just rendezvoused with Gil here for the final leg of their journey.

  Contrary to Mark’s opinion, Brett hadn’t noticed any malevolence from the pilot–a bit more frank interest in Vic’s ass than he’d prefer, but it was an ass worthy of interest. Even to a gay man. Gil had gone about loading their luggage in his normal matter-of-fact, almost too-patient manner, and given Vic a sympathetic smile upon looking at her weary face. No, he wasn’t too in-tune; he and Vic had always shared a sort of connection stemming from their mutual losses in that horrific crash. Not to mention, women simply interpreted signals better from gays, and vice versa. Mark must be…off the mark.

  He’d not worry about Gil a moment longer. Vic was already sound asleep, and a nap sounded divine.

  * * * *

  “Vic, love. Why don’t we have somebody bring our bags up later?”

  She stood resolutely waiting for Gil to unload their things, shaking her head. “I don’t want anybody showing up at the apartment with it later. I really want to just go home and relax.”

  She had a point. Any employee would want to chat about the cruise, and probably give her updates on the resort’s performance in her absence. Vic certainly needed some downtime. So he waited with her for their cumbersome bags.

  She’d held herself together like a champ today, but breakdown was imminent. How he dreaded seeing her fall apart. Her pain was his doing. Christ, what a clusterfuck. On their way to the Press Conference from Hell, he’d spied David at the Lido bar, talking with that fireman bartender Griffin. David had looked miserable, a healthy stack of empties on the bar before him. Brett had been torn between popping him one in the nose for all the trouble he’d caused Vic, and offering him a comforting arm and some mature advice about not letting happiness slip away, regardless of the cost. But who the hell was he to give such admonishments? He’d done a fair job of buggering his own wet dream of a marriage this past week. Besides, David deserved to be fucking miserable.

  Vic, however, didn’t. He’d pressured her into things she never would have pursued, badgered her into taking risks, and look what it had come to. He should’ve been content. She’d healed after losing her first husband, and loved him. Returned to normal. But he must’ve wanted more, for some reason. Why?

  He hefted the big bags, and Vic grabbed two small ones. Without a word, they started their trek to the main building.

  Why was the obvious part. He’d wanted Vic wound up, crazy with the pleasure of her fantasy. So he’d meant well. But then David had happened along. David, who’d fitted seamlessly into their lives, was able to help clarify his and Vic’s feeling and thoughts, balance them without taking sides. He’d been so damned comfortable to have around. Fuck, after last night…his stomach fluttered, his balls ached. He’d considered doing more. If he was honest, he’d wanted to do more, with David, with Vic. A happy little trio, taking and giving pleasure, loving…

  Which had clearly been their mistake–expecting David to feel any level of commitment.

  Well, it wouldn’t bloody happen a second time. He’d kill another man before he let him get close enough to hurt Vic again.

  At their door, Jake greeted them, jumping, slobbering, his tail wagging.

  Vic knelt and gave him a big hug. Thoughtful of Roger to bring the dog back to the apartment so he’d give them a big welcome home. “Ah, good boy, Jake. Good boy. We missed you, too.” She sighed and looked up. “I bet he needs to go out. Could’ve been hours since Roger brought him home.”

  “Let me.” He reached for the leash on its hook by the door. “Why don’t you get your shower and change, love. But no unpacking. We’ll go to bed straightaway and unpack tomorrow.”

  Her lips twitched into a little half-grin. “Deal.”

  * * * *

  She’d slipped into bed in her favorite silk teddy by the time Britt returned with Jake, turning off the living room lights on his way to the bedroom. God, being home felt good. And silent. After the noise of the helicopter, and before that a jet, and for days the barely-there hum of the ship’s motors all around them…the quiet was bliss.

  Jake flopped into his usual position out by the front door, letting out a sigh of contentment.

  Britt stripped naked and eased into bed beside her, his breath warm on her neck as he settled. “Nasty sunburn you got. Hurt much?”

  The sunburn did, but otherwise…not as much as she’d expected. “I put on some aloe gel after my shower.”

  He searched her face. Probably expecting evidence of tears. But none had come, not since her little meltdown in their suite before Peyton had arrived. Maybe the day had been too damn busy, maybe now she was too damn tired.

  “Vic. I take full responsibility, and I am sorry.”

  She could easily fire off some quip about him not being responsible for her sunburn, but it’d only delay the conversation she’d like to prevent. Poor guy looked like he carried the weight of the world. She cleared her throat. “We’ll be fine. What we have is great. We don’t need anything else, right?” Or maybe he did. Maybe he’d discovered there was something missing in his life–

  “Right.” He let out a big breath. “Christ knows I’d rather not discuss this, ever, but I want you to know, I’ve not got some sort of gay streak. Last night was a one-off. Honestly.”

  How funny. Of all men, she’d thought Britt would be more secure about his sexuality. Not that she minded, either way. “One-off or not, you two were fucking hot.” Her heart raced with the memory.

  “You liked that, eh?” He scooted closer and his cock nudged her hip. “What else did you like, Vic? Did you like him trying to get in your back door?” His hand gripped her hip and turned her to face him. “You were ready to try it, hmm?”

  She’d be lying if she said no. The thought–the urge–had definitely been there. David was smaller than Britt, and she’d thought maybe… But that window had closed. Still, remembering those hot spurts jetting from David into her… “God.” She reached for Britt’s cock while he nudged her legs apart. “Please, now.”

  He obliged and slid inside her, his hands against her back pulling her closer.

  Yes. She still had Britt, and they still had all they needed, in each other. She pressed her face against his shoulder, her lips against the mark there.

  Definitely all they needed, plus a bunch of really good memories.

  * * * *

  David slurped the head off another icy cold beer–his fourth? Fifth?–and checked the score on the TV in the corner. Padres were slaying the Diamondbacks, and the sports bar crowd was crazed. Griffin seemed more absorbed with the beer pong game going on in the corner.

  “You gonna play?” he asked Griffin.

  “Me? Oh, hell no. ’S more fun watching.” Griffin grinned and slopped beer over the side of his mug on the way to take a drink. “You?” He licked his lips and set the beer down, half empty.

  “Nah. I’m good.” Kicking back and being a watcher sounded better, especially after Griffin had talked him into playing eighteen holes and staying over in San Diego tonight instead of driving up to LA. Chasing that white ball all afternoon had meant a ton of walking–Griffin had kicked his ass all over the course. “Need to get back on the course more often, I guess. Can’t let old
dudes like you show me up and make me too tired to party.”

  “Party, shmarty.” Griffin curled his lip. “Hey, bartender. How ’bout a couple double shots of Cuervo over here?” He nodded. “Bro, tonight’s about drowning our troubles.”

  The bartender set their shots in front of them, made a note on their bill and walked away.

  They each picked up a glass and a lime wedge. Griffin tapped their glasses together and cleared his throat. “Fuck it.”

  “Fuck it,” David echoed. The tequila burned going down, made his throat close, pretty much like it had when he’d shut the door to Vic and Britt’s suite. “Let’s order another round.”

  Hours later–what the hell time was it? Did it matter?–they staggered across the street toward their hotel. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I shouldn’ta flipped off that guy with the camera,” David muttered.

  “Fuck him. He shouldn’ta asked if we were homos.”

  “Those chicks we ignored put him up to it. I’m sure.”

  “Still.” Griffin staggered, then caught himself and leaned against David for support. “Bros before hos. Every guy knows that. Just ’cause we didn’t want no pussy, doesn’t mean we’re gay. Shit. Fuckin’ pussy, anyhow. Nothin’ but trouble.”

  “Shh. Don’t say that too loud–there might be more paps around.” All he needed was that sort of quote showing up on the tabloid shows.

  “Dude. Sorry.” Griffin slapped him between the shoulders, made him stagger back. The hotel lobby was quiet and cool. “Hey. There’s a pool table in the bar. Wanta play?”

  Pool. He played all the time at home with Dan. He’d whip Griffin’s ass. “Sure, yeah.” Why waste a bitchin’ buzz?

  They had the bar to themselves, aside from a hot little number serving drinks–who let them know from the get-go that she was into chicks.

  “California girls,” he muttered. “Boob jobs and fish tacos, that’s what they all want.” Enrique played on the jukebox, screaming about a dirty, dirty dancer.

  “Yeah, well.” Griffin paused to rearrange the pool balls in the rack. “Unless a chick needs pulled out of a fire, I’m not goin’ near one anymore. Fuck ’em all. Go ahead and break.”