Chapter Nine
Late January
Lauren grinned at the really cute, college-aged server who lined up six shot glasses filled with premium tequila in front of her. “Thanks, sweetie. You’re the best. I’ll make sure George here leaves you a really big tip.”
The server, whose name badge read Riley, blushed a little but returned Lauren’s deliberately flirty grin. “Anytime,” he told her with a wink, as he set down the salt and lime wedges she’d also requested.
George glared at her as she prepped and downed the first of her shots. “And why am I leaving the tip?”
Lauren regarded him as though he was a three year old child. “Because you’re picking up the tab tonight, Georgina,” she told him in a falsely sweet voice. “Or have you already forgotten the bet you made – and lost – on our last night in Melbourne?”
“Crap,” muttered George. “I did forget.”
Lauren arched a brow. “Which just goes to prove my point all over again – I can drink any one of you under the table anytime, anywhere. And especially you, Georgina, since you were evidently too wasted to remember you even made such a foolish bet.”
George groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “And aren’t those shots of Patron Gran Platinum you ordered? Damn it, Lauren, those probably cost twenty bucks each!”
Karl chuckled as he took a long swig from his bottle of Stella Artois. “And she’s just getting warmed up, buddy. I’ve seen her put away a hell of a lot more than six shots. Hope your AMEX card has a big credit line.”
Lauren winked at Karl before taking her second shot. “Sure it does. After all, George is a trust fund baby. Daddy and Mommy are from old New England stock, and own something like half of Newport, Rhode Island.”
George gaped in shock. “Who told you that? That’s confidential information, so if someone in HR is gossiping - ”
“Dude, you told us that stuff yourself,” interjected Chris with a shake of his knit cap covered head. “You really can’t hold your liquor, can you? Maybe I should videotape you the next time you have a couple of drinks. You’d be shocked at how loose your tongue gets.”
While George was busy grousing about how much this bar tab was going to set him back, Lauren very calmly took her third shot. God knew she needed the booze after the past ten days. Fortunately, she was flying home to California day after tomorrow, and could finally stop pretending to everyone for a little while – herself included – that Ben Rafferty meant nothing to her any longer and was simply her boss. Lauren excelled at many things, but acting had never been one of them, and it had been a real test of her limited skills to maintain the façade.
When she’d arrived at her Aunt Madelyn’s luxurious apartment earlier this month after learning that Ben was her new editor, she’d been grateful to see that her aunt hadn’t returned from work yet. Especially since Lauren had been a mass of quivering nerves by then, visibly shaking from the shock of having seen the man who’d broken her heart four years ago. The man she still loved – the only man she’d ever loved.
She had taken a long, blisteringly hot shower, trying valiantly to stop her tremors and get herself under control before meeting Maddy for dinner. But even the shower that was supposed to clear her head had brought back memories of Ben, and how they’d showered together every single day that he had stayed at the cabin. She had rested her forehead against the smooth granite wall, shutting her eyes tightly, and trying to banish the memories of Ben’s large, capable hands soaping up her breasts, belly, buttocks, before his fingers had slipped inside her body, opening her, pleasing her, until he’d brought her to a stunning orgasm. And then she’d returned the favor, washing his heavily muscled chest and arms before working her way down his body to the thick, hard swell of his penis. And when he’d come in her hands, pumping out thick spurts of sticky white cum, she’d wickedly whispered that now they would have to get him clean all over again.
With the help of two pre-dinner drinks, Lauren had composed herself enough that her aunt hadn’t noticed anything amiss. And after that first day, Ben had very fortunately been caught up in meetings with other employees under his supervision, enough so that Lauren had only seen him briefly in passing.
She’d had a reprieve during the two-week assignment in Australia, time to get herself under control and come to grips with the fact that, like it or not, Ben Rafferty was back in her life. Once the initial shock had worn off, she’d been overwhelmed with all the anger and bitterness and pain that she’d once sworn to never let herself feel again. But she hadn’t been able to hold it back, and had spent a lot of sleepless nights in Australia fighting back tears and scolding herself for still caring about the bastard. The only thing that had helped to calm her was going through the familiar, comforting ritual of her martial arts practice. Just as she’d done as a child while trying to control her ADHD, Lauren had used the exercises to quiet herself down and gain the upper hand on her wayward emotions.
She had returned to New York with renewed confidence that she’d be able to handle this very unwanted situation with Ben, could treat him in a casual and professional manner, and think of him as simply her boss and not her former lover. But all of her good intentions had been shot to hell the moment she’d seen him again, especially since he’d been more casually dressed – in black jeans and a dark gray Henley – and looked much more like the Ben she’d once known. He had owned a shirt very similar to that one back in Big Sur, though Lauren was willing to bet this new one had cost a hell of a lot more money.
That gray Henley had brought back a very erotic memory, since he’d been wearing that particular shirt on one of the first evenings he had spent with her. She had made an admittedly potent batch of margaritas to go with the fish tacos they’d had for dinner, and by the time the entire pitcher had been consumed they were both way beyond tipsy. She had never seen Ben as playful or lighthearted as he’d been that night, laughing and joking and thoroughly enjoying himself. And he had also been far more amorous than he’d been thus far, his kisses and caresses more aggressive and demanding, and she’d thrilled to see this more dominant side of him.
She had helped him strip the shirt from his beautifully muscled chest, her hands roaming over every inch of his hard, tanned torso before Ben had unzipped his jeans and shoved them past his knees, freeing the intimidating length of his cock.
“Suck me,” he’d urged, threading his hand into her long hair and pulling her forward until her face was even with his crotch.
“Mmm. With pleasure,” she’d murmured huskily, just before licking him up and down like a very satisfied cat.
“Fuck, yes,” he’d hissed, the profanity not something she was used to hearing from him. In general, he’d been a man of few words, one who always held a little something back, even in bed.
But he’d been wild that night, whether from the extra alcohol or simply from the passion she had incited in him. He’d barked out guttural, gasping instructions to her as she had given him a particularly enthusiastic blow job.
“That’s it, sweetheart, oh, God, yeah! You have the sweetest mouth, babe, you suck me so good,” he’d panted. “Keep that up and I’m going to come harder than I ever have before. Fuuuck, yesss!”
Lauren squirmed a little on her padded bar stool, suddenly aware that her panties were soaked simply from the recollection of that night. Ben had kept at her for hours, his hunger for her seemingly insatiable, and she had given every bit as good as she had received. They had made a mess of the bed, the sheets wrinkled and untucked and reeking of sex, of too many mutual orgasms to count. And after finally succumbing to an exhausted slumber near dawn, she had thought that a man couldn’t take a woman that many times, and with such savage, unrelenting passion, and not be as crazy in love with her as she was with him.
But apparently her instincts about men hadn’t been nearly as good as she’d believed, because Ben had walked out on her as stealthily as a fox. And had taken part of her with him when he’d left – a part that was still damaged, still missing a vital, working piece.
Lauren blamed the way she was feeling now on that damned gray Henley he’d been wearing on her first day back from Australia – the day when he had looked more like his old self – more L.L. Bean than Banana Republic. And even though he’d reverted to his new wardrobe of khakis and button-downs after that, the twin images of him in jeans and Henley – both from four years ago and a few days ago – continued to taunt her.
“Oh, hey, look who just walked in. The boss,” announced George cheerfully. “And that must be his girlfriend. Hey, Ben, over here!”
Lauren glanced up after belting down her fourth shot at George’s words, and wished it wasn’t too late to kick him in the shins with her pointy toed Bottega Venetta boots. Jesus, the last thing she needed tonight was for Ben to join them, as though they were all just a bunch of pals getting together for a few after work drinks and laughs. No, she corrected herself with a grimace, the very last thing she needed was for Ben to arrive with his girlfriend in tow. But evidently fate had decided this was a good night to fuck with her a little, and she hastily reached for the fifth shot as Ben and the mysterious Elle approached their table.
The woman clutching Ben’s arm in a rather possessive manner was so completely unlike what Lauren had been expecting that she could only stare at her in bewilderment. Lauren’s own sister Julia was dainty and feminine and adored high fashion – just like their Aunt Maddy – so she was certainly used to refined, elegant women. But Elle Kimbrough reminded her of royalty, as though she were a modern-day princess of some tiny European principality. It might have been her perfect posture, or the way her sleekly coiffed raven hair rested on her long, graceful neck. Lauren knew quite a lot about fashion, even if she eschewed most of it herself, and recognized Elle’s deceptively simple cream cashmere sweater, black wool skirt, and low heeled black leather pumps as Prada. The discreet diamond studs in her ears, and the slender gold Piaget watch also shrieked money and class – lots and lots of both.
Elle was almost ethereally slender, with small, neat breasts and boyishly slim hips, but was still unmistakably feminine in every limb of her body. Her Anglo-Indian heritage was evident in the light coffee tone of her skin, dark brown eyes that were almost black in the bar’s dim light, and the smooth ebony hair that was arranged in a tidy knot at her nape.
And she looked as out of place in this boisterous corner bar – the one the team tended to frequent after assignments so they could let loose for a couple of hours – as Karl and Chris would look at the opera. Lauren just guessed it had been Ben’s idea to come here and join them for a drink, and that he’d had to do a real sell job on his girlfriend to convince her to even walk through the door.
“Hey, guys,” greeted Ben with a smile, evidently including Lauren in his casual greeting. “Karl told me I’d find you all here, thought it would be a nice opportunity to introduce Elle to you. That is, if you don’t mind us joining you for a quick drink.”
Elle’s aristocratic little nose seemed to twitch just a bit as she glanced around the homey but hardly upscale interior. “We’re due to meet some friends for dinner at Tao at seven, but we did want to stop by for a few minutes,” she added.
Her voice was melodious and soft, and Lauren easily picked out the very upper crust British accent. She knew without asking that Elle must have attended some real hoity-toity girls school in England to have acquired that particular style of speech.
Ben quickly made the introductions, with Elle giving Karl and then Chris a brief, polite smile. George, the ultimate kiss-ass that he was, practically slobbered over himself as he shook Elle’s hand enthusiastically, telling her what a pleasure it was to meet her. Elle smiled at him much more warmly, evidently finding his wool slacks, argyle sweater, and leather loafers a more pleasing sight than Karl’s jeans or Chris’s knit cap.
“And this is Lauren McKinnon, our photographer.”
There was no trace of recognition in Elle’s serenely lovely face as she heard Lauren’s name, so evidently Ben had yet to inform his new love about his old one. The devil inside of her that she allowed to surface at will longed to shout out something entirely inappropriate at this moment, making sure that the prim, regal Elle knew that Lauren had fucked her boyfriend’s brains out too many times to count over a very memorable ten day period.
But to do so would not only alert her co-workers that she and Ben had a history, but also piss Ben off to no man’s end, enough to cost Lauren the job she loved almost as much as she’d once loved him.
So instead, she put on a bright, cheery, and completely false smile, and merely said, “So nice to meet you, Elle. Please, have a seat. And,” she added with a mischievous wink, “order whatever you like to drink. George was foolish enough to make a bet with me while we were in Australia, and the loser has to pick up tonight’s tab. Which reminds me.”
As Elle stared wide-eyed, Lauren quickly bolted down her last shot and then beckoned Riley over to their table.
“Hey, sweetie, we’ve got two new additions here,” she said, indicating Ben and Elle. “And I don’t know about my boys here, but you can definitely line me up with six more of the same.”
George’s mouth tightened in annoyance, but he didn’t reply as both Karl and Chris ordered another beer.
“I’d like a glass of the Joseph Phelps Sauvignon Blanc, please,” said Elle as she folded her slim hands in her lap.
“And for you, sir?” Riley asked Ben, who took his seat slowly.
Ben hesitated for a few moments, glancing from Karl’s near-empty Stella to George’s pretentious martini. His brow lifted as he spied the six empty shot glasses lined up neatly in front of Lauren.
“Corona, please. With a lime wedge. Can’t have one without the other, can you?” he asked softly, as though daring Lauren to look his way after the subtle reminder of what she’d offered him to drink the first time they had met.
But Lauren looked at Elle instead, and wasn’t all that surprised to note the look of mild distaste that crossed her refined features when Ben ordered a beer. Lauren guessed that Elle rarely let that tightly coiled-up hair of hers down – figuratively or literally – and had probably never tasted something as common as beer in her whole life. No, Elle would definitely be the white wine, champagne, or occasional girly drink type.
‘Christ,’ thought Lauren with mild revulsion, ‘even Jules lets her bad girl take over once in a while and ties one on. And I thought my baby sister was uptight. Elle makes Julia look like one of those chicks from the Girls Gone Wild videos.’
Elle’s big eyes widened as Riley cheerfully plunked six more shot glasses down in front of Lauren. “Those aren’t all for you, are they?” she asked in disbelief.
Lauren gave her an impish wink before going through her little ritual of licking salt off her palm, bolting the shot, and then sucking on a tart lime wedge. “Of course they are,” she grinned. “But I’d be happy to share if you want to try one.”
Elle shuddered, not even trying to conceal her distaste. “No, thank you. I’m afraid I never acquired a taste for hard liquor. Especially tequila. It’s, well, a little too raw for me.”
Karl laughed. “Not this brand. Her Majesty here likes the good stuff when it’s available. That’s Patron Gran Platinum she’s bolting back like it’s iced tea. Thirty bucks a shot. Good thing it’s Happy Hour here,” he added mischievously, inclining his head towards a bug-eyed George. “Otherwise they’d be full price.”
While George’s flushed face grew even redder with outrage, Elle arched a perfectly plucked brow inquisitively. “Her Majesty? Why do you call Lauren by that title?”
Lauren’s spine stiffened as Elle cast a discreet but haughty glance at her jeans, boots, and long sleeved, hip length white T-shirt. The outfit was admittedly much more casual than Elle’s own sophisticated garb, but Lauren guessed that the cost of her 7 for All Mankind jeans, James Perse tee, and the Bottega boots were at least in the same ballpark as the Prada ensemble. Even though Lauren wasn’t the fashionista her twin was, their Aunt Maddy made sure that both of her nieces wore high quality attire in their preferred styles of dress.
Chris chimed in with the story of how Lauren had come to be known as the Queen of Confrontation, and how that title had eventually been shortened to either Queenie or Her Majesty. And since Lauren’s family had once owned an Australian Shepherd named Queenie and she had refused to be called by a dog’s name, it had been the latter title that had eventually stuck.
Elle gave a little shake of her head, and a vaguely apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t get it. But then I’ve never watched this Seinfeld program you referred to, so perhaps it would make more sense if I had.”
Chris, who was a diehard fan of too many TV shows and movies to count, and who could recite full scenes of dialog from certain episodes, was appalled that Elle had never watched even a single episode of his all-time favorite series. He began to describe it to her in earnest, either not noticing or not caring that she clearly wasn’t interested, and continued to regard him with barely concealed impatience.
Lauren fought the urge to smile – or worse, to laugh out loud – and picked up one of her tequila shots instead. As she set the glass down, she happened to meet Ben’s gaze and frowned at the somber expression she saw there. But before she could contemplate what might be troubling him, a familiar voice sounded behind her and two large hands squeezed her shoulders.
“Lauren, bella. You bad girl, not telling anyone you were in town. Why didn’t you let us know?”
She grinned, half turning on her barstool as the tall, swarthy man with shoulder length black hair, gold hoops in both ears, and a myriad of assorted tattoos covering his brawny forearms bent and kissed her full on the lips.
She gave Franco a fond pat on his heavily stubbled cheek. “Sorry, caro. I’ve been busy at work. You remember Karl and Chris, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. How are you both? Keeping my little bella here out of trouble?” joked Franco as he shook the others’ hands.
Karl guffawed. “We’d need a whole army to do that. And she’s usually the one keeping us out of trouble, Franco.”
Franco Di Nardo had grown up on the same block where her grandparents had lived, in the house he had shared with his parents and siblings, just two doors down from the Benoits’. Whenever the McKinnons had visited, Julia had played with Franco’s sisters and female cousins, while Lauren had followed him, his brothers, and other boys in the neighborhood to the corner schoolyard where they had played soccer, basketball, and baseball. She had kept in close contact with the family over the years, and had attended Franco’s wedding to the fiery Brazilian girl he’d married a few years ago. She continued to visit Franco, Aricella, and their two small children as often as possible when she was in New York. Franco had always treated Lauren and Julia like they were his own sisters, even if he did tend to flirt with them a bit too much for it to be considered brotherly behavior.
Franco gave a quick glance around the table, his handsome mouth quirking up at the corners as he and Ben appeared to size each other up. “Introduce me to the rest of your friends, bella.”
“Of course. This is my co-worker George, our new boss Ben, and his friend Elle. Everyone, this is Franco Di Nardo, whom I’ve known forever.”
Franco nodded at George, gave Elle a wicked smile, and regarded Ben oddly. And then, as his gaze fell on Ben’s forearm, a knowing expression crossed his face, and Lauren only hoped her childhood friend would keep his big Italian mouth shut.
“Interesting design,” he commented, nodding at the tattoo that was mostly exposed by Ben’s rolled-up shirt sleeve. “In fact, it looks oddly familiar. Don’t you think so, bella?” he asked Lauren in a deceptively innocent voice.
Lauren gave Franco a not so nice smile, silently warning him to knock it off, especially when she glimpsed the mischievous expression in his dark eyes. “You know how it is, caro,” she replied lightly. “After awhile most tattoos look the same.”
Franco chuckled, not in the least bit fooled, and Lauren knew her secret had been exposed. “Not in this case, bella. I’d venture to say your boss’s design is one of a kind. Or maybe two of a kind, hmm? Which reminds me – I’ve got some new designs in at the shop. You should stop by, maybe pick out lucky number seven.”
Aware that five pairs of eyes were watching this exchange between her and Franco with great interest, Lauren shook her head with regret. “Not this trip, I’m afraid. I fly home in two days, and after work tomorrow I’m having dinner with my aunt. But I’ll definitely stop by the next time I’m in town, okay?”
“Okay. Say hello to your Zia Madelina for me, will you?”
Lauren nodded as he gave her a farewell hug and another peck on the lips. “I will. Give my love to Aricella and the kids, not to mention the rest of the family.”
Franco raised a hand in farewell to the others. “Enjoy your evening.” He gave Lauren a little chuck on the chin. “Ciao, bella.”
Elle was staring in mingled bewilderment and shock as Franco sauntered off with that tall, long-legged, and supremely masculine stride he’d possessed since the age of twelve. Lauren smiled a little to herself to note that even the buttoned-up Elle wasn’t immune to the overtly masculine charms of the brawny, tattooed Franco.
“Is that your boyfriend?” asked Elle after Franco had left the bar, her brown eyes still wide with both disbelief and unwilling attraction.
Lauren shook her head as she took another shot of tequila. “Not in the least. Franco is happily married with two small children.”
Ben’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, and there was a tight, rather unpleasant set to his mouth. “He’s happily married and still goes around kissing other women on the mouth?”
She shrugged, telling herself that Ben couldn’t possibly be jealous, and especially not with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. His family lived near my grandparents on the upper East side, and my sister and I would play with him and his siblings when we visited. He’s always been like a big brother to me.”
Ben didn’t appear to be mollified by her explanation. “That didn’t look like a brotherly kiss to me. And I can’t imagine his wife would think so, either.”
Lauren chuckled as she prepared another shot. “Considering that Aricella and their kids all kiss me on the mouth, too, I’d say she doesn’t give it a second thought. The Di Nardos have always been a very affectionate family, and Aricella fits right in with them. Besides,” she added with a wink, “Franco knows she’d gut him like a fish if he ever looked seriously at another woman. Not to mention the fact that he’s more than got his hands full keeping her happy.”
Elle looked distinctly uncomfortable at this topic of conversation, and subtly changed the subject. “What sort of designer is he? I must say he really doesn’t dress the part, so I’d have to guess he designs jewelry. Or maybe shoes.”
Lauren choked a little on the shot she’d just swallowed, and raised a grateful, watery gaze to a smirking Karl as he patted her on the back. “Uh, Franco isn’t that sort of designer,” she told Elle in a hoarse voice. “He actually owns a tattoo parlor. Those were the new designs he was referring to.”
“Oh.” Elle’s distaste at this revelation was obvious. “I suppose that makes more sense, given his appearance and all those tattoos on his arms. But what did he mean about lucky number seven? Do you have tattoos, Lauren?”
“Six of them,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Here. I’ll show you a couple.”
She proudly displayed the Gemini mark on her left wrist, explaining about her twin sister. “I have another tat on my left ankle – the Japanese letters for bravery in honor of my first judo teacher. Then there’s a little seahorse on my right foot to remind me of the ocean no matter where I might be in the world. And this one I got as a congratulations present to myself when I landed this job.”
She slid off the barstool and casually lifted the hem of her long T-shirt before presenting her back to the others. The shooting star tattoo at the small of her back was easily visible above the low-rise waistband of her jeans.
“That’s only four,” reminded Chris as Lauren slid back onto her stool. “And Karl and I have seen those dozens of times. How come we never knew you had two others?”
Playfully, she pinched his cheek. “Because those are private ones, Christina,” she teased. “Or at least they’re in private places. Places that no one at this table is ever going to lay eyes on.”
She drank down another shot just as she caught Ben’s eye, the expression on his handsome face downright ferocious. In response, she merely wrinkled her nose at him and glanced away, satisfied that he’d gotten the message loud and clear that he would never get so much as a glimpse of those other two elusive tattoos. And especially not when the lovely Elle was sharing his bed.
George seemed oddly fascinated by the subject all of a sudden. Karl and Chris also had a couple of tattoos each, leaving him as the only member of the crew without one.
“So has this Franco guy done all six of your tats?” asked George. “Even the, um, private ones?”
“Yes. Franco’s one of the best known tattoo artists in the entire city. And when I had the so-called private ones done, his wife was in the room both times.”
Ben sipped his beer quietly but couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from edging into his voice as he inquired, “Is she a tattoo artist as well?”
“Nope. Aricella does piercings. In fact, that’s how she and Franco met. His shop wasn’t offering piercings at the time, so someone referred him to Aricella. He walked into her place, told her he wanted his dick pierced, and the rest is history.”
“His – what?” breathed Elle in disbelief, the shock evident on her face.
“Lauren.” Ben shook his head in admonition.
“Oops, sorry,” she apologized sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Elle. I guess that’s what comes from working exclusively with men for more than four years.”
“Yeah,” agreed George with a guffaw. “Lauren’s spent so much time us with that she’s practically one of the guys now. Little wonder she has no idea how to act like a lady. In fact, some of the really raunchy things that come out of her mouth have made me blush.”
It took a few moments before George realized he was the only one at the table laughing. When he did, he stopped abruptly and glanced around the table in confusion. Chris was staring at him in wide-eyed horror, Karl in disgust, while Elle gave him a tiny smile, and Ben’s displeasure was more than a little obvious. And then George’s gaze shifted cautiously over to Lauren, whose expression was surprisingly but still terrifyingly impassive.
“Well, Georgina,” she said in her most scathing tone as she slid off her barstool, “that’s because you’re a fucking pussy. And now, before I say anything else to offend the ladies at this table, I’m going to take off. See you in the morning.”
Karl grabbed hold of her arm before she could storm off. “Hang on a sec, kiddo. You’re leaving two shots behind. Not like you to waste top shelf booze.”
Lauren shrugged as she pulled on her quilted down coat in preparation for the near freezing weather outside. “Give them to Georgina. Maybe having a real drink will finally help him grow a pair. And you should know by now, sweetie,” she added smugly as she gave Karl a farewell kiss on the cheek, “that I won’t have any problem at all getting as many free drinks as I want. In fact, think I’ll go find myself one now.”
She stepped out of the way before Karl could take hold of her arm again, ignoring the pleading look on his face, just as she didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to the way George sputtered and twitched with outrage, or the way Elle’s mouth was gaping open in shock. And she especially didn’t let herself speculate as to why Ben looked so furious as she turned and walked out of the bar without a backwards glance.