Layla shrugs. ‘They won’t hear it from me.’
‘Okay, okay.’ I take a sip of my drink, then place it down on the table. ‘I met this guy on the first day and we spent the holiday joined at the hip—literally.’ I shrug.
‘Zara Beckett!’ Ivy squeals. ‘It’s always the quiet ones!’
‘What’s his name? What does he do? What does he look like?’ Avery demands, bouncing with excitement.
‘Never mind that shit.’ Ivy swats her hand in front of her face again. ‘Did he have a big dick? And more importantly, did he know what to do with it?’ She waggles her pristinely plucked eyebrows salaciously.
I snort and reach for my drink again. Looks like I’m going to need it. ‘Yes—and yes. And don’t get me started with what that man was capable of with his fingers—and his tongue.’
They wanted details. So, I’m going to give them details.
It’s a good job I’m not shy.
I bite my lower lip to stop myself grinning like a fucking maniac at the mere mention of California. A stupid warmth spreads through my stomach even thinking about him.
‘Oh God, don’t talk to me about talented tongues,’ Rebekka arches closer again. ‘Rian does this thing where he?—’
‘Ahh!’ I put my hands over my ears. ‘Bekka, please! That’s my brother!’
She catches herself. ‘Oh. Right. Sorry. Ha.’
‘That’s clearly a conversation for you guys to compare notes on.’ I sweep a hand around my brothers’ women.
‘And one I’d LOVE to sit in on!’ Livvie squeals.
The Beckett women stare at her. Silence descends. Eyes narrow. Apparently, it’s not just my brothers who are possessive when it comes to their partners.
‘Just joking!’ Livvie raises her pink palms in a silent surrender. ‘Now, let’s get back to California.’
A long beat passes.
‘I thought you were in Punta Cana.’ Layla shifts in her seat, smoothing her hands over her dark designer dress.
‘California is what she called him.’ Livvie interjects, knowingly. ‘They didn’t exchange real names.’
‘Please tell me you at least got his phone number!’ Ivy demands. ‘Good sex is hard to find. Great sex is even harder—no pun intended.’
‘I don’t even think it’s just about the sex,’ Rebekka muses. ‘I think it’s when you find that connectionwiththe great sex. Like when you find a partner who knows what you need, before you even know, because he can somehow see your soul.’
‘Yes!’ Avery exclaims.
They’re right.
That’s exactly it—that connection was what alerted me to his presence anytime he entered my vicinity. Why my body vibrated every single time he was near. Why it ached for him every time he left me. And why I categorically couldn’t give him my number. Because it would be like giving him a lifeline to my heart. And billionaire or not, that’s something I can’t afford. Not when I have work to do.
Avery’s intelligent eyes roam over my face. ‘You like him.’
‘Oh no! Don’t start your psychology psychobabble on me!’ I take another sip of champagne. Avery is not only a formerglamour model, but she also has a doctorate in psychology, which was why ELEGANCE, the most exclusive women’s magazine in the US, was so quick to snap her up for a regular feature.
‘You do, though.’ Avery insists, reaching out to touch my hand. ‘It’s written all over your face.’
‘It doesn’t matter either way,’ I remind her. ‘I’ll never see him again. And I’ve made my peace with that.’
It’s a lie.
I’ve accepted it—but it’ll take a while longer to make peace with it.
