“I was wondering what time checkout was,” I said, my voice still hoarse. I’d have to invent some kind of lie to explain it away over dinner — maybe an impending cold. Or talking too long with an old, fake friend, catching up over a meal.
“Checkout is whenever you’d like,” the receptionist informed me. “Mr. Bly has the room through tomorrow, just in case, but he said you did have a dinner appointment. We had a wakeup call scheduled for you in a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours?”
“The room is yours, Ms. Ryan, for as long as you’d like to stay,” the receptionist said warmly. “Can I send up some breakfast from our restaurant? An early lunch, perhaps? Mr. Bly also said that you should have anything you want.”
I had died and gone to heaven. That’s what had happened overnight. I had somehow died, and room service and a hotel room as long as I wanted it was my version of heaven. I’d take it. The bed itself was heavenly — like a soft cloud that held my body perfectly.
“I would love some breakfast, please,” I said. “And thank you.”
There was no better hangover than a pampered hangover. I dressed myself in an oversized robe I found in a closet, treated myself to cable television, and gorged myself on waffles topped with mounds of berries, fresh cream, and a pot of coffee.
And when it was time to exile myself from this paradise so I could get home and get dressed for dinner, I enjoyed one last romp in that heavenly bed, my own hand replacing Peter’s, my eyes squeezed shut to better imagine him pleasuring me, the ache in my groin spreading warmly in my body, one last sweet memory to help mark my twenty-third year.
Chapter 5
Dressed in my most posh outfit, I made my way across the city, precariously perching on the edges of bus seats, hurrying to stand when someone tried to sit next to me, and wishing I’d set aside some money for a taxi ride instead. A taxi would’ve been exorbitant, though. I was traveling to Manhattan proper, running late for dinner at one of the nicest hotels on the island.
It was my fault. I’d told my mother that I lived in a neighborhood not too far from the hotel — a fib that had made her preen with pride.
“Nothing but the best for my Gem,” she’d crowed, making me feel guilty and glad at the same time, a hot mixture of emotions I’d grown used to. If she knew I didn’t even have my own bathroom, she’d probably wither away into an inconsolable mess.
But now that she was visiting me, for the first time since I’d moved to the city, I needed to look the part of the reality I’d peddled to her over the past year. I’d gone over the notes I’d taken in my journal to keep my facts straight, tried to swallow my anxiety, and reminded myself that it could always be worse — I could still be sporting a hangover to go with the vintage pieces I’d arranged into what I considered to be a nice outfit.
I’d found the gray blazer in a bargain bin at a fine retailer, and it dressed up everything I owned. A subtly sequined tank top I’d plucked off the rack of a secondhand shop added some pizazz, and the black tuxedo pants I’d literally pulled out of a dumpster near my night job completed the quirky but surprisingly elegant look. I felt invincible in this outfit, polished off with a topknot and smoky eye makeup. This outfit looked like it belonged to a young woman who was confidently coming into her own in the big city, not a girl frightened of the future and unsure of her place in it.
“Look at you!” my mother exclaimed, making me glow with relief. “Look at my gorgeous girl in her gorgeous threads! Oh, just look at her, Frank!”
“Geez, please don’t let my mother bully you into gushing over my appearance,” I said to the man who stood up from the table with her at the same time. “This is embarrassing.”
“No need to be embarrassed,” he said, his British accent making me blanch, then shake my head at myself. What was this? Was it a British invasion here in the Big Apple? The injustice of the situation definitely wasn’t lost on me — I’d hooked up with a British sex angel last night, and my mother had netted one to marry.
“This is Frank,” my mother said, beaming, and I tried to put my twilight moment behind me. It was good to see her so happy. She deserved to be happy.
“I hope it is,” I said, smiling as I held my hand out for him to shake enthusiastically. “It would’ve been weird if you were just sitting here with a stranger.”
“Oh, Gemma, stop it.” My mother chortled like a schoolgirl, and I allowed a waiter to pull out my chair for me as I gaped in undisguised shock. I’d never seen my mother like this in my entire life — practically giddy with excitement. There were days when she could best be described as dour, other days when she lorded her will over me with precise and exacting cruelty. I didn’t blame her for anything. She’d had tough moments in her life, and she did her best to protect me from them. This was just a side of her I’d never been acquainted with, laughing loudly in public with no concern for appearances, a slight blush covering her cheeks, making her look younger than her fifty-five years.
“I’m going to run out and make a quick call,” Frank said. “I hope you two will excuse me.”
“You’re fine, Frank,” my mother fussed at him, waving him away and giggling as he kissed one of her flailing hands. “You’re impossible. Get out of here. Make your phone call.”
My mother watched him go, then leaned over to me eagerly.
“I have to tell you something, but you have to try not to act weird,” she stage whispered.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
She spluttered into a laugh. “Don’t be ludicrous. You’re my one and only — well, of my body.”
I peered at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means — oh, let it go, Gemma, that’s not what I need to tell you, and he’ll be back any minute!” My mother glanced toward the entrance of the restaurant and then back to me. “Frank is a very rich man.”
“Of course he’s a rich man,” I said, taking a sip of my water. “He’s got you, hasn’t he?”
“You’re not listening to me. I’m only telling you now so, if it comes up, you don’t make a weird face. Or do something foolish.”
“I’ve been around people with money before,” I informed my mother. “I know how to behave myself.”
“Gemma, he’s a billionaire.”
“He’s a what?” I blinked at her. “Is that ‘b’ as in ‘billions?’”
“Sh, here he comes!” my mother hissed, and patted my hand fondly before leaning back. “Well, that didn’t take very long at all.”
“Just a quick call,” Frank said, giving her a peck on the top of her head. I looked at Frank appraisingly, trying to simply convert it into polite curiosity. I’d never been around anyone with as much money as my mother said her fiancé had. I half expected him to look different in some way, perhaps sprouting money out of his hair or pockets, but he just looked like a retiree who had aged well — gotten a little thick around the waist, maybe, but overall still a good-looking man.
“Tell me the story of how the two of you met again,” I said. “How interesting that you’ve connected so well!” I had a strange, passing thought — was my mother a gold digger? Would I fault her for it if she was? She’d never been interested in dating before. Was it Frank’s money that had prodded her back into the dating world?
“We don’t want to talk about us,” my mother said, rolling her eyes. “It’s your birthday, Gemma! Tell us about you!”
“There’s nothing that’s going on that you don’t already know about,” I protested. “Let’s talk wedding. This is so exciting. You two are the ones with the big news. My birthday? No way — twenty-three is just a number, and not even a very important one.”
“Well, you’re going to be my maid of honor, of course,” my mother said, her eyes alight with excitement. “But I wanted to save all that talk for later. Why don’t you tell Frank about your job? I want to hear more about this trip abroad that your company is thinking about sending you on?”
And there I was, tr
apped in my world of lies. I hadn’t wanted to get into this, thinking that I could keep the focus on the impending wedding. I let my muscles go lax, easing into the state of being I needed to sound the most natural, and reminded myself that things could be worse — my mother might’ve demanded to see my apartment.
“Well, my company has asked me to travel to—”
“—France. There’s a reorganization going on at our branch there, and we need our best people on hand to help ease the transition. Gemma, of course, is a gem — well, you already know that. You’re her mother.”
I turned in my chair, hardly believing what I was hearing, until I saw it with my own eyes.
It was Peter Bly. In the flesh. The man who had helped me ring in my birthday last night and into the wee hours this morning.
I was looking right at him, right into those blue eyes, as he repeated things that he couldn’t have possibly known, lies that I’d been feeding to my mother for whole months. What in the hell was he doing here? I was frozen with fear and shock, not sure what was going to happen next, not sure what I even wanted to happen next. There was no good way this was going to end. It was too twisted. Too many tangles of lies. I’d been caught at last, but certainly not in the way I’d expected it would happen.
“I wasn’t aware that there was a branch in France,” Frank put in, frowning.
“Well, it’s not a branch — yet,” Peter said smoothly. “More like an impending acquisition. We’re expanding, you see. Doing very well, thanks to the caliber of people we have on staff, like Gemma. She’s very dedicated.”
“You could’ve told your old man that you were snapping up companies in France,” Frank grumbled, standing to shake Peter’s hand almost resignedly. “Well, Gemma, I see you already know my son. Peter, meet my soon-to-be wife, Lydia.”
“Well, hello, Peter,” my mother said. “I had no idea that yours was the business my Gemma has been working for this entire time. How funny — and what a small world.”
“It certainly is a small world,” Peter said, winking at me before taking the empty chair beside mine. “My apologies for my late arrival. Traffic in this city can be a bear. My car was stuck at a light for what had to be a full five minutes. I don’t know how you deal with all this congestion, Gemma.”
I opened my mouth to reply and nearly yelped. Peter’s hand was resting on my knee, much like the touch I’d given him at Citrus Meridian the night before, the touch that had let him know I was very much interested in having more of him for my birthday celebration.
“I just… It’s just a part of living here,” I said, trying hard not to shudder as his fingers crept up my thigh, gripping it. I thanked whatever merciful deity that had helped me pick out this outfit that I’d picked out these tuxedo trousers. A skirt would’ve undone me.
“Gemma was so eager to leave our small town,” my mother said, giving me a disapproving look before laughing. “Look at her, though. I was so nervous for her, and she is absolutely thriving. I just can’t believe you work for Frank’s son. Is that going to be strange, ethically?”
“Absolutely not,” Peter assured her, his fingers ranging even higher, tickling my inner thigh through the fabric. I fought the urge to squirm, or worse, moan. “It’s like keeping the business in the family.”
I realized with a jolt that, though of course it hadn’t been apparent before last night, I’d had delicious and incredible sex with a man who was about to become my stepbrother. I stared at Peter, and he smiled at me for our parents’ benefit, pressing his finger all too knowingly against the zipper of my pants, just enough pressure to send a spike of pleasure right against my clit. I had to cough to cover a groan.
“I think it’s wonderfully serendipitous that you’re working for the family company, Gemma,” Frank said. “And more wonderful, still, that Pete’s taken you under his wing.”
He had me under a lot more than a wing last night, but neither of our parents needed to know that truth.
“It’s a dream job,” I said, “it really is. I was just so thankful to get it. I’ve gotten a lot of great experience under my belt, so to speak.”
“She definitely has,” Peter said, eyeing me suggestively. If there had been a way to punch him without our parents noticing, I would’ve done it. He was coming on too strong, but if Frank or my mother noticed, it didn’t show. They were too full of each other, too excited by this strange mystery of my career that had made itself apparent.
“Did you realize that it’s Gemma’s birthday today?” my mother asked. “She almost had to miss this little get-together because of an event you asked her to attend.”
“Mother, please,” I hissed from between my teeth as Peter fondled me under the tablecloth. I was torn between squeezing my legs tightly shut or throwing them wide to afford him better access. I was a bundle of nerves and arousal, which couldn’t be a good mix for this reality I had to maintain. This was something I never could’ve imagined happening. Peter seemed to be taking it all in stride.
“I do like to keep Gemma here busy,” he said, “but when I found out it was her birthday, I told her that she should definitely come to dinner instead of the event.” He laughed. “Now, little did I know it would be the same dinner I was attending. It’s much like work, unfortunately, isn’t it, Gemma?”
“A lot of work,” I managed to say as he drew patterns over my upper thighs, kneading the muscles there with practiced ease.
“So, what part of France will you be going to?” my mother asked, her eyes lighting up when our food was brought out and placed in front of us. I didn’t remember ordering, realizing that Frank and my mother must’ve done so before I’d arrived. It was much like Peter ordering my drinks for me last night. In fact, a lot of things were happening now that had happened last night. I was so aroused that my face was flushed red.
“Are you all right, Gemma?” my mother asked. “What’s embarrassed you about that question? I was just curious about France.”
“Nothing,” I yelped. “I’m just — maybe it’s the wine.” I took a purposeful swig of a glass I hadn’t touched yet. “I feel it’s maybe a little dense in here, the air.”
“Let me help you with your blazer, then,” Peter said smoothly. “It is a bit stuffy in here.” His fingers grazed my bare shoulders, down my arms as I had no choice but to oblige him, undressing me right there at the table.
“That’s better,” I said, fanning my face and smiling for effect. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I crossed my legs so that he would be obstructed from continuing to make a fool out of me in front of our parents, and he made a sound in his throat that fell somewhere between disappointed and amused.
“France?” Frank prompted. “You were about to tell us what part of France you were traveling to for the new acquisition.”
“Can you believe him?” Peter laughed, directing the question at my mother. “My old man can’t let the company go. He has to be involved in every single facet. Don’t I have it well in hand, Dad?”
“I was the one who made that company,” Frank said mildly, cutting the meat on his plate. I swiftly remembered such a thing called eating, and moved fast to pantomime the actions so I wasn’t simply sitting there like a dummy.
“Yes, but you retired and put me in charge,” Peter said, jocular, stuffing his mouth with a bite of something I only belatedly realized was filet mignon, which was also on my own plate. “You’ve got to step aside and let someone else earn the billions, Dad.”
As Frank chuckled and responded, a dull roar built in my ears. Why hadn’t I realized it before? What was perhaps even more of a pressing issue than the fact that I’d slept with my impending stepbrother was that I’d slept with a billionaire.
Peter. Was. A. Billionaire.
He’d been wearing nicer clothes than anyone I’d ever encountered at my bar. He’d taken me to one of the city’s newest nightspots and had no trouble getting in — or getting us seated at the nicest table in the place. He�
�d footed the bill for all of our dozens of drinks, the total probably well in the hundreds, judging by the quality of the spirits and the atmosphere of the establishment. And we’d departed Citrus Meridian for a stay in a luxurious hotel, in a room that he’d continued to pay for just to let me sleep in.
I felt duped for some reason, lied to, cheated, but none of those emotions made sense. It wasn’t as if I’d asked him to his face if he was a billionaire. Peter hadn’t been under any obligation to reveal that fact about himself. But I should’ve asked more questions, should’ve at least asked him what he did for a living, but all I could do was blather on and on about my pathetic life, which had somehow become even more of a tragedy.
My mother was marrying into serious money, and I was wearing an outfit that had been put together partially from the contents of a dumpster.
“Gemma?” Peter asked gently. I blinked quickly at him, then looked around to see Frank politely staring at me and my mother all but glaring.
“Sorry, what?” I noticed that I hadn’t so much as cut into my filet mignon, and hurriedly stabbed it with my fork to do so. “I didn’t hear you — I was miles away.” I stuffed a huge bite into my mouth to give myself a little more time to get over my shock at recent revelations.
That I’d slept with my soon-to-be stepbrother, who was a billionaire.
“I think we work Gemma a little too hard,” Peter said, giving a sympathetic glance to my mother. “She is so very dedicated to the job.”
“She’s always flying off to one meeting or another, or an event in the evening,” my mother complained good-naturedly. “She barely has time to call her own mother. Half the time, I can tell she’s rushing around, her mind in some other place.”
“How’s this?” Peter suggested. “A week’s vacation, paid, of course, and I’d love to suggest a wonderful hotel for you, Lydia and Dad, to stay in the city and sightsee with Gemma here. I think it’d be a marvelous way to get reacquainted with one another, and you could think of it as part of my wedding gift to you all.”
LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2) Page 51
