Styled (Travesty Book 4)

by Piper Lawson

  “On strong sales projections, I recommended we expand into a new market. I’d done the business plan. My senior director backed me, and so it went right on up the line. Profits were huge the next quarter and when I left to do Travesty, I was a hero.

  “My dad hated me leaving but he couldn’t stop it. I suggested he bring in Colton. Colton and I had kept in touch, and he had always been ambitious, which my dad respected. I worked with him during the transition, but it wasn’t until six months ago that we started dating.

  “I’d been at Travesty for almost a year when I learned the expansion wasn’t turning out well. Not from Colton—he didn’t tell me anything about work, and at first I thought it was because he was being considerate. Turned out he just wanted to keep me out of it. And he lied to me about how bad it was—probably because he thought I’d tell my father.

  “But I got an email from the manager who used to work for me.” She took a breath. “Colton recommended to my dad that Evergreen cut half the staff to stop the bleeding.”

  “What does that have to do with you?”

  Jordan groaned. “Nothing. But he told my dad I supported the decision. That way he looked like the hero, to the board and to my father.”

  Her words struck me. “So you broke up with him.”

  “No. I’d known Colt for years. I assumed there was some explanation for it. I went to his place to talk to him about it, used his key to get in. That’s when I walked in on him on the couch, fucking some girl from his building.”

  That asshole.

  “Colt spent the whole time explaining that it wasn’t what it looked like. But I didn’t care about the sex. All I wanted to know about was what he’d done at Evergreen, whether he’d lied to my father.” Jordan let out a sardonic laugh. “That part, at least, was exactly what it’d looked like.

  “The thing is, I didn’t feel the things you’re supposed to feel when your boyfriend cheats. I wasn’t jealous, or confused, or devastated. I was just…numb.” She reached up to rub her neck, looking young and tired at once. “That’s why I didn’t tell Lex and Ava. It’s messed up, and they wouldn’t understand. But Colt had one thing figured out. I can’t love people right, Ethan. Maybe it’s since my mom died, maybe always. But I don’t feel things the way other people do. It’s like I’ve got a switch in me that’s flipped the wrong way.”

  I studied Jordan, her eyes round on mine. She was fucking serious. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hit something.

  “Listen to me,” I murmured. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Not one damn thing. If you haven’t met someone who makes you happy and jealous and all the other shit that goes along with it? Then he wasn’t worthy. It’s that simple, Jordan.”

  I wanted to make her believe it, to know that she was perfect exactly the way she was.

  But more than that, now that I knew what had happened with her ex, another need sprung up inside me…

  I wanted to make her feel. To show her exactly how capable she was of wanting, needing.

  She hadn’t lied to me. Or disappointed me. She’d just been dealt a shitty hand, and the dick who dealt it to her had the balls to say it was her fault.

  I remembered how she’d kissed me at the club, a little tentative and a lot hungry. How she’d looked beneath me the next morning. The sound of her moaning, her fingers digging into the back of my neck while I devoured her skin.

  Her lips parted, and I wondered if she could read everything going through my mind.

  “Have you ever?” she murmured.

  “Ever what?”

  “Been in love?”

  I swallowed, but I couldn’t escape the questioning look in her eyes. Instead I kept my mouth shut and considered for a minute.

  Then another.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “But…I think there are different kinds of love. I don’t think the kind of love Gia and I had was the only kind.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  I thought about how we’d stumbled through life, making deals, celebrating, bouncing from one thing to the next without really enjoying it, or each other. Without ever really knowing each other. If we had, maybe I would’ve known she was unhappy before I asked her to move in.

  Or I would’ve known that I was.

  “Because I want to believe it,” I said finally.

  Jordan nodded like she understood perfectly. And hell, maybe she did. I hadn’t met someone who saw as much, knew as much, as this girl. “OK. Is there anywhere else we might find pictures?”

  “Yeah. Let’s try the garage.”

  I turned, reluctant to break the moment between us, and led the way down the hall.

  We found the garage as messy as the office was tidy.

  “Shit,” she said.

  “Yeah. How badly do you want this slideshow?” Some of the tension had melted away, and she arched a brow at me.

  “Lex and Ava want it. So I’m going to make it happen.”

  I gestured to boxes on a shelf along one wall. “That might be a good bet. I’ll start over here.”

  A few minutes later, Jordan’s voice came across the space. “Found something.”

  I crossed to her, and she handed me photos from a box she’d pulled off the shelf.

  The first were of the four of us at Halloween. Kate was a doctor, Ava was a princess, Dylan was a firefighter, and I was a cowboy.

  “He looks the same,” Jordan commented, pointing at a photo of Dylan playing in the backyard. She flipped past that one to another. “Oh, no way, is that—?”

  “The dream team,” I murmured.

  Lex and Ava were standing back to back, their arms folded and looks of mischief on their faces. They must have been nine or ten.

  “Amazing,” she said, grinning. I watched her expression as she looked at the pictures.

  “You have a lot of pictures of you growing up?”

  “Not really. Some before my mom died. She was the photographer in our house. My dad just bought the school pictures. We didn’t have anything like these.”

  I wished I could have changed that for her, but settled for watching as she flipped through a few more.

  “Wait. Is that you?” Jordan asked when she found one of me in high school on a sport bike. I was covered in dirt and wore a cocky grin.

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t picture you getting that dirty. You used to ride motocross?”

  “For a few years, until I upgraded my wheels.”

  “To what?”

  I crossed the garage to a tarp and pulled it up. Jordan sucked in a breath as she moved the box of photos onto the table.

  “A Ducati Panigale?” she asked, incredulous.

  It was her turn to catch me by surprise. She crossed to the bike, running her hands over it.

  I suddenly wished she was running her hands over me instead.

  “Let me guess. Your dad loves bikes too?”

  “Just cars. But I love bikes. Can we take it out?”

  “What?” I laughed.

  We were both wearing jeans, though mine cost more than anything I’d ever worn on a bike. But I couldn’t say no when she was looking at me with a spark in her eyes I’d never seen.

  I might not be able to fix what Colt had done, but this was something I could do for her.

  I went to a chest on the side wall and lifted the lid. The jacket inside fit me like a second skin. “There might be a small jacket in that locker,” I said, pointing.

  I pulled my helmet from the chest and searched for a second helmet. Score.

  I turned around to find Jordan zipping herself into a jacket that had belonged to an old ex. It looked way sexier on Jordan, who was taller, her blond hair grazing the black leather collar.

  Lust slammed into me as I took in her curves. The way the jeans hugged her legs, and the jacket squeezed her body.

  “That’ll work,” I grunted, every ounce of blood migrating below my belt. I suddenly remembered her body under mine in Vegas. Her smooth thighs under my fingers
. How her mouth opened under mine on a moan, even as I could feel her fighting with herself.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Jordan said, taking the helmet from me. “I want to drive.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, no.”

  “Ethan.”

  “Jordan.”

  She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and tossed me something. Her wallet.

  I opened it to find her license.

  Oh, shit.

  The last two percent of the blood that had been flowing to my brain diverted south. This girl had a license to ride me, and I was two seconds from lying down on the ground and demanding that she do it.

  My cock was threatening to bust out of my jeans. But Jordan’s attention was on the bike when my phone beeped. A work ringtone.

  Instead of answering it, I said, “you’re not driving.” Then I hit the garage door opener and backed the bike out.

  I started the engine and the roar made something in me growl. Almost as much as when Jordan slid on behind me and wrapped her arms around me.

  We took off down the street.

  I maneuvered easily through the roads I’d taken years ago. Remembering the way it felt the first time I’d done it on this same bike.

  The Ducati might be ten years old but it purred, thanks to Dylan’s careful maintenance—which was the reason the bike was in my parents’ garage instead of my place in LA.

  My brother the engineer was the one who loved engines—the care, the construction. I loved what they could do. The speed, the energy. The way the bike leapt under my hands as I pulled away from the traffic light to take us toward the ocean was the best feeling in the world.

  At least until Jordan’s arms tightened around my body, her thighs pressing into the backs of mine.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket again. For once, I didn’t give a shit. It could’ve been Axe, or Barlow, or God.

  It didn’t matter.

  I drove us out to the ocean, along the coast. The wind whipped at the bike and my jacket. I’d forgotten the pure joy of the wind raking at your body, the road disappearing beneath the wheels of the Ducati. Of the trees and ocean passing in a blur, like you were blazing through time, or back in it.

  “I know this goes faster,” Jordan shout-murmured at my ear. I accelerated and the bike jumped under us and she laughed, the wind stealing her voice.

  I finally pulled off the road at a ridge along the top of the canyon, cutting the engine.

  She got off the bike. I instantly missed the feel of her at my back. “Damn. This is incredible.”

  “Yeah. I used to come here as a kid.”

  She crossed to the edge of the ridge and lifted the helmet off her head, cradling it at her side. Blond hair fell around her face, brushed her shoulders. The ground fell away inches from her feet, but Jordan peered over with anticipation.

  The girl had no fear.

  At least not of physical things.

  “Can we go down there?”

  “No trail here.”

  She looked disappointed, until I could practically see an idea forming in her head. Jordan’s lips curved up at the corner. “I think I know how you can make it up to me.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She crossed in front of me and I admired the way the leather jacket and tight jeans hugged her body.

  Until I realized what she was doing.

  She slid onto the front of the bike, then put her helmet back on. “Ready?”

  I moved to sit behind her, my arms easily wrapping around her waist. I should tell her no. But my mouth wouldn’t form words because suddenly all I could think, smell, and feel was her. All of her, nestled against me. I swore I could feel her heart hammering through the leather at her back.

  “Hang on,” she murmured, her voice laced with excitement.

  I did.

  17

  Jordan

  The person driving the Ducati up the Camerons’ driveway wasn’t me.

  Because this girl wasn’t worried about anything. She was free. And she was alive.

  After cutting the engine, I pulled off the helmet and set it on the workbench next to Ethan’s.

  “That was incredible,” I panted, unzipping the jacket that was two sizes too small.

  “You’re insane,” a low voice rumbled next to my ear. “Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

  I grinned, twisting to look at Ethan. Blue eyes shot with adrenaline bored into mine.

  “My dad’s friend’s country house. It was his friend’s bike, and I was seventeen. Dad chewed me out for taking the bike and driving it all over without a license.” I lifted a shoulder. “So, I went to the DMV and got a license.”

  Ethan’s chuckle warmed me even more than the ride. “You ever get a bike of your own?”

  “Thought about it when I lived in Chicago, but I was close enough to campus it didn’t make sense.”

  “Why do you like engines so much?”

  “Because my mom never did. She was afraid something would happen. To my dad, or to me.” The irony was palpable. “After she died I used to sit in my dad’s garage and run his sports cars. He would’ve killed me for taking one out—I was thirteen—but he never knew.

  “Somewhere along the line it was less about getting back at my mom and more about the cars themselves. And nothing against cars, but this? This is the best seat in the house.” I let my eyes fall closed, my hands caressing the smooth handlebars. Remembered the feel of the wind and the road and nothing else for miles.

  I wasn’t in a hurry to get off the bike. Ethan didn’t seem to be either.

  In fact, he shifted closer. His hands splayed across my thighs, his touch burning through the denim. His hard chest pressed against my back, and awareness prickled down my spine.

  “This seat doesn’t suck either,” he said against my ear.

  The drive had done something to me. I’d been on a slow burn from the rush of the bike.

  Now, new sensations bled into my brain. I’d never ridden with someone else, not to mention someone as distracting as Ethan. The whole time we’d been out I couldn’t shake the feeling of him, but now, his thighs pressing mine felt even more intimate.

  “I don’t think it’s possible to feel any better than I do right now,” I confessed under my breath. We might be back in the garage but in my mind we were still on the road. Experiencing the chemical high from the speed, the wind.

  “No?” Ethan’s hand found its way inside my open jacket, slipping under the bottom of my shirt. His palm flattened over my bare stomach, making my nerve endings tingle. “How about now?”

  I sucked in a breath when he pulled me back against him. I could feel every hard line on his chest, his abs, and it turned my legs liquid.

  Jordan would ask what the hell he was doing.

  But Jordan had left the building.

  My eyes fell closed on a sigh as Ethan’s thumb stroked my skin.

  Ethan’s other arm wrapped around me, a steel band, while his hand moved higher under my shirt. Anticipation jolted through me as his fingers grazed my skin through the thin bra. I pressed my knees together, but the bike held them apart.

  “And now?” he murmured.

  My nipple hardened despite the heat, like it was begging for more. I nodded, biting my lip.

  He was beyond sexy. His voice, his touch, his smell, all of it intertwined in something I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.

  Each brush of his fingers was a tease. He took his time, touching me through the thin cotton bra until I couldn’t think of anything but the feel of him.

  Finally Ethan’s hand moved lower, inching down to the button of my jeans. Lower, pressing against the bottom of my fly just above the seat.

  Instinct had me pushing against his fingers. I would’ve leapt out of my skin if he wasn’t holding me down, grounding me.

  “Shit, Jordan. Feels like you want to ride more than my bike.” His laugh was a groan. “I want that too. So fucking much.”

  Ethan’s words s
lammed into me. I was caught between this desire and the need to remind him—hell, to remind me—that this wasn’t what I did.

  Before I could, my fingers dropped behind my head to graze his chest. They slid up, twining around his neck. Giving permission.

  I heard the metallic zip of my jeans moments before his fingers brushed inside the top of my panties.

  His touch was confident, deliberate, as he stroked lower.

  Slower.

  I was wound tighter than a spring, my body trembling in anticipation. Between my thighs I was aching for his touch. Until—

  “Oh, shit, Ethan…”

  I grabbed onto the muscles at the back of his neck as his fingers slid over my skin. My eyes squeezed shut but I could still smell him. Feel his arms tight around me.

  But most of my attention was focused on his fingers rubbing slow circles over my clit.

  “Are you this wet because you got to drive?” he muttered in my ear. “Or because you like it when I drive?”

  “You always talk this much?” I panted. But my head fell back against his chest as his fingers played over my slick skin, pulling feelings from me I didn’t know I could give.

  I pressed my hips against his hand on a moan.

  It was dirty.

  It was heaven.

  I waited for my reservations to kick in. For part of me to shout stop.

  But the tension in his body, the rasping breath at my ear, said this was affecting him every bit as much as it was affecting me.

  His thumb kept up its torture while his fingers drifted lower between my legs. My nails dug into his skin and Ethan hissed out a breath. “Let me in. I promise, it’ll be good.”

  It didn’t escape me that we were sitting on his bike in his parents’ dusty garage. I could feel the sweat on Ethan’s neck, could see the streaks of dust on the sleeve of his leather jacket while he stroked me higher.

  His lips ghosted over my ear, nuzzling the side of my face. I tried to relax as Ethan pressed inside. But there was no relaxing when I ached like this.

  Ethan groaned his approval as his fingers slid into me.

  My heart was a runaway train, and I could feel it race Ethan’s through my back, his chest. He was everywhere. In me, around me. I wasn’t sure what was left of me, except the fragments he was manipulating.