Finding Herself Page 16

  Alyssa padded off to the kitchen while Emma kicked off her Havaianas and dipped her toes in the warm pool. Mmm, she thought, beginning to relax.

  A loud, banging patter of hard knuckles on harder wood echoed from the front of the house.

  ‘Shit! Em, can you get that?’ Alyssa shouted above a harsh background of ice tumbling into glass.

  Emma breathed out a sigh and wiped her feet with a fluffy beach towel. Someone was at the door, and she instantly became suspicious of her scheming friend’s objective for the evening.

  But there were only two steaks on the grill. Maybe it was a delivery, or a neighbour dropping off a recipe. Right. Emma picked up her pace, reaching the front door just as the knocking resumed.

  It seemed it was a delivery of sorts. Emma was taken aback by two very impressive packages wrapped in washed-denim jeans and polos. Her eyes fluttered and she flushed as she met the gaze of the beaming, square-jawed duo. The shorter of the two was at least a head taller than Emma – the other one, a head taller than the first. Both had thick, short hair, and dark, piercing eyes. Those arms couldn’t be real! A familiar, penetrating warmth flooded her belly. Emma had never met a real superhero before and silently regretted not being a comic book geek. She would certainly have been able to identify these two. Say something, she ordered herself.

  ‘Hi, you must be Emma?’ the taller one queried.

  ‘Yeah … and you are?’

  ‘I’m Jake. This is Cal. Is Alyssa here?’

  So, you’re not here to see me, huh? ‘Sure, hang on a second.’

  ‘Hey guys, you’re early!’ Alyssa announced from behind Emma, tapping her friend’s butt gently. ‘Come in, come in.’

  ‘Sorry, Lyssa. I told you she said eight, Cal.’ Jake shot his buddy a look, like, “you are such a moron”.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK, guys. What can I get you to drink?’

  Emma was confused – sort of. She was sure that in her own way Alyssa was trying to be a good friend. She was like a doting mother, except instead of hot cocoa, her remedy for any sort of funk was a little beefcake. But why couldn’t she have told her these guys would be joining them?

  ‘They’re early,’ Alyssa whispered to Emma. ‘I was saving them for dessert. Be a doll and take the steaks off the barbie for me, would ya?’

  Emma furrowed her brow, daggers firing from her eyes. ‘You plan a nice menu, Alyssa, but do you really think I’m some helpless little girl? No more surprises – all right?’

  ‘Just have fun with it, baby.’ Alyssa winked, then shooed her friend out to the patio with a sharp wave of her arm.

  Small clouds of unsettled smoke escaped in puffs from the grill. Emma hovered over the heat, tongs in hand.

  ‘Can I do that for you?’ Jake startled Emma, sneaking up from behind.

  ‘Hey there. No, I think I can handle this, thanks.’

  Jake edged closer, peering over her shoulder. She assumed he was looking at the grill. With a deep breath, she inhaled a tantalizing amalgam of two meats – one savoury, one sweet. Emma wanted to turn, to look at him again at this range. She visualised his long, well-muscled frame, and fought back lurid images of what was shrouded behind those soft denim jeans. Heat encompassed her, and it was overwhelming. The grill, the man, the aching thrum between her thighs – her heart raced and she wished he’d say something, but he just stood there, close behind her.

  ‘So, how do you know Alyssa?’ Emma turned as she spoke, her eyes even with Jake’s intoxicating chest.

  ‘Just friends. I heard you’re feeling a little down. Maybe I can help.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Alyssa mentioned you were going through some tough times and might need a little … comforting.’

  Emma looked up into Jake’s probing eyes, wondering exactly what he was trying to say. Then she knew exactly what he was trying to say. She stood, speechless. Did her best friend still not know her after all these years? Emma loved Alyssa, but she had zero interest in becoming her: the girl who would sleep with anyone, as long as they were hot – and hung. Why couldn’t she have served cupcakes for dessert?

  Jake smiled, a deep dimple creasing his smooth cheek. He cupped Emma’s tilted head in his broad palms and rubbed his thumbs away from her lips, straightening her frown. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the heat of the grill, leading her inside the house.

  Once inside, it was all about him, not her. Her lips parted from the unsettling, yet stirring display of this man, an illusion hewn of steel and stone, peeling his shirt from his creamy, unimaginable body, all smooth chest and nasty-perfect nipples. He didn’t stop moving, or stripping. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down his crotch. Then, with his thumbs at the waistband, he tugged once towards the floor and stepped out of the denim. There was nothing left to remove.

  Emma was in total disbelief. This man possessed a drool-worthy body but an asshole personality. What a waste. He stood, grinning, waiting for Emma to make the next move. She wasn’t sure what to do. His reckless assumption of her vulnerable state was foolish and wide of the mark, and she refused to succumb to his tactless overture. His hot body was less alluring than it had been moments earlier, yet her eyes remained moored to his sleek skin and inescapable erection. She briefly thought about kneeing him in the balls, an easy target that hung like a sack of peaches between his sinewy thighs.

  While she considered her narrowing options, she spied Alyssa and Cal, hand in hand, moving towards the sofa in the next room. She looked back at Jake, who had bent to grab his jeans and had a hand wedged into one of the pockets. He pulled out a small foil square and ripped it open, a smile still cemented to his beautiful face. Emma shook her head and stood her ground.

  Jake accepted the rejection without a grumble. Leaving his clothes, and whatever scrap of modesty he possessed, on the floor, he tracked down the sounds of pleasure coming from nearby. Emma followed him as far as the entrance to the living room and leant against the opening.

  From her vantage point, Emma could see that her friend was in for a treat – an Alyssa level treat.

  A shirtless Cal was busy bringing Alyssa to the same state, pulling at her slinky camisole, the veins in his flexing biceps swelling as he worked to expose her breasts. Jake was on his knees and had taken possession of her ready legs, one in each massive hand. He began massaging Alyssa’s calves, his thumbs pressing hard into her flesh. One hand broke free and began exploring a thigh, rubbing higher with each pass of his palm.

  Cal cupped the bottoms of Alyssa’s breasts, kneading them gently, firmly. His lips circled her nipples – first one, and then the other. He honed in and started sucking, then flicking, her sensitive nubs with his tongue.

  Emma was sure Alyssa was oblivious to her position at the room’s entryway; she seemed lost in the attention, her eyes narrowing to slits of ecstasy. Emma wanted to leave, but she was too entangled in the storyline. She flushed at the thought of being a voyeur, immodestly involved in someone else’s sex. She had always shuttered doors or looked away under these circumstances. But she was transfixed by the bounty of beauty and sensuality before her. These two men, at least one of them a total bastard, didn’t matter. It was the scene, the complete scene, which had her mesmerised – and very wet.

  Jake’s mouth joined his enthusiastic hands, blazing a path of kisses up Alyssa’s thighs. She squirmed, lifted her hips, and then shimmied her thong down her legs, blindly flipping it to the centre of the room with her toes. Jake responded to her signal by bunching the thin material of her skirt to her waist and driving his tongue further up the path, inch by steamy inch.

  Cal’s clothes merged with the swelling pile in the middle of the room, and Emma pivoted to get a better look at his thick, swollen cock. He grabbed Alyssa’s wrists and, with one hand, lifted her arms above her head. Holding them tight against the edge of the sofa, he went back to work on her breasts, sucking, licking, and kneading. His erection pressed against her soft skin and she reached for it, her small fing
ers struggling to wrap completely around its width.

  A wave of aching whimpers echoed to the ceiling as Jake circled Alyssa’s pussy with his open mouth. His head moved steadily, round and round, finally slowing as his spiralling tongue curled to its target. With her entrance muzzled by his mouth, the whimpers grew to screams of ecstasy. Jake stayed there until Alyssa was finished and her screams had faded to pouty sighs.

  Both Cal and Jake broke from their positions and stood like the Queen’s guard over their charge. Their stiff erections begged for instructions, but Alyssa was unable to move, or speak. Her chest was flushed, spatters of crimson and pink trailing towards her belly. She lifted her right knee so her foot was flat against the overstuffed seat cushion of the sofa. She pushed her left leg away until she could feel the breeze from the ceiling fan whisper to her inner folds.

  Emma had never seen her friend with a grin like this before. She looked so content, yet so hungry.

  Cal wrapped his cock in a thin condom and lowered his body towards Alyssa’s. In one polished move he slid the head inside her and held steady. Then he pressed slowly forward until they were fused together.

  Full, but greedy for more, Alyssa grabbed at Jake’s erection, drawing him close to her. It was a rhythmic engine, the three of them: Cal on his elbows, thrusting his hips with good intent, and Alyssa, pumping away relentlessly on Jake’s ample cock.

  Emma had always treasured a tight, well-distributed ass on a man, and the sight of Cal’s solid butt, rocking back and forth over her friend, was too much for her. She drank in the seductive dance of the threesome one final time, and quietly left the house.

  Chapter Three

  What the fuck was that?

  Emma drove away from Alyssa’s house, or carnal amusement park, or whatever it was, with a surprisingly steady hand on the wheel. She wasn’t sure if she was anxious to talk to her friend the next day, and rehash the oh-my-God can you believe it tales, or if she would just avoid her the rest of her life. She had always imagined Alyssa’s private life to be more … untraditional, but she had not realised how untraditional it really was.

  Wanting to shake the images of her close friend being fucked and sucked, and, God knows, probably anything that could be done to a person sexually, she drove purposely, and directly, to her anytime-I-need-to-left-off-steam gym. She blasted the radio along the way, hoping a little music might distract her. She couldn’t shake the fact that Jake was such a douche, and could only speculate about Cal, but in spite of their shortfalls, they were the most gorgeous specimens she had ever seen. Too brawny maybe, and too stupid, or at least graceless, but, that aside, they were surface-of-the-sun hot.

  Grabbing the small, pink duffel that resided in the back seat of her Volvo, Emma headed into Gold’s Gym. She liked the fact that the place never closed, which fit her retail lifestyle perfectly, and she loved that the gym was almost always loaded with young hard-bodies working diligently on their abs and delts, or whatever they called those splendid, muscly body parts of theirs.

  Tonight though, she wasn’t there to furtively ogle the eye candy. She’d had enough of that for one day. She wanted to sweat a little, clear her mind a little, maybe even work on her figure a little.

  Emma was OK with her body, but understood that if she wanted to keep things where they were, it would take a little effort on her part. She loved to work on her legs, and it showed. They were strong – muscles on parade strong. She worried that her thighs were too thick though, so she did lots of leg exercises to make them stronger – which made them thicker. She cursed the physics that allowed this to happen. Other body parts didn’t seem to respond to exercise in the same way; that’s why she barely bothered with chest workouts any more. But she had made peace a long time ago with this – as well as with her lack of model-requisite height.

  She glanced sideways at the row of treadmills – her preferred cardio machine up until that mortifying incident when she reached for a water bottle and her ass landed in Tucson – and headed straight for the stationary bikes. For five miles of leg-searing pretend hills, none of which seemed to have a downslope, Emma brooded over her day, wishing she had passed on her friend’s invitation.

  Owing to an unexpected epiphany somewhere around mile three, she realised it wasn’t a man, or lack of one, responsible for her recent fit of grouchiness. Emma loved her job, but for three years she had been managing the same store and repeating the same retail cycles over and over: stock new Spring shoes, get rid of old Spring shoes, take an inventory; stock new Fall shoes, get rid of old Fall shoes, take an inventory. She was a good manager, but she was deep in a rut and the shovel just kept getting bigger. Maybe it was time for a change; Phoenix was a great market, and Emma had a great résumé.

  With a pink duffel full of sweaty workout gear and a heart full of resolve, Emma left the gym and entered the warm, moonlit night.

  She could tell something wasn’t right when she spotted her car from a distance. The Volvo was listing to one side, the left rear tyre so flat it appeared to have melted to the ground. Emma glared at the mess as if exasperation alone could fill the flaccid puddle of rubber. It didn’t work. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that the day could only last a few more hours.

  ‘I’m not going to talk about it now, Alyssa. Can we do this later?’ Emma crimped the phone between ear and shoulder, her hands busy organising a thick file. ‘Mr Eastman is supposed to be here any minute.’

  ‘Who? Oh, our new Regional Vice President. I forgot he was in town today. You don’t think he’ll visit my store, do you?’

  ‘Of course not, Alyssa. Why would he drive all the way from Vegas to see both of his Phoenix stores?’

  ‘You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?’

  ‘You figure it out, babe. Listen, I’m just glad to know you’re OK. We’ll talk later about your little orgy. Wait – scratch that. I don’t ever want to talk about it. Oh, and just in case? You might want to tidy your store up just a bit. Gotta go!’

  Emma finished straightening her crowded office, then double-checked the sales floor once more, navigating the labyrinth of fixtures with keen eyes wide, just to make sure everything was perfect.

  She hated how she would chronically blow these executive visits out of proportion, stressing over the smallest details. Especially now that she had decided it was time for a change.

  But it was just the way she was. You hire Emma Green, you get 100 per cent of Emma Green. That’s why all the display shoes looked so irresistible in her store, why the couches were angled just right, and, perhaps her trademark obsession, why try-on peds seemed to vaporise a second after they had been used and abandoned.

  Squatting to wipe a dust bunny from the stone sill of a display window, Emma was struck by a sharp flash of sunlight. It angled off a long, narrow car door, and then abruptly dimmed. Her attention was promptly drawn to the shiny, indigo-blue Jaguar that had been responsible for the disruption. If it weren’t for the no-limit credit card undoubtedly attached to this prospective customer, she would have rolled her eyes. Why do they need a car like that, she wondered, when they could be driving a perfectly good piece of crap like mine?

  Emma stood to get a better view of the driver and perhaps welcome her to Untamed Soles. She looked to the other side of the plate glass window, and noticed a young man dressed in a soft-shouldered dark blazer, open-collared shirt and distressed jeans. Definitely not a woman. He was busy scanning the array of shoes Emma had spent the morning orchestrating. He peered down at the display, so she wasn’t able to get a good look at his face, but she did grab an eyeful of his wavy, dark brown hair, quivering in the light breeze. His face lifted and Emma locked on to piercing amber eyes and a radiant smile. The man tapped on the glass to gather her attention, as if the hook and barb weren’t already firmly lodged, gave her a quick thumbs up, and entered the store.

  ‘You must be Emma Green,’ he declared, offering his hand.

  His warm, comfortable voice was immediately familiar to E
mma. ‘Mr Eastman, it’s my pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘Jason – call me Jason. Your store looks beautiful, Emma. Better than our flagship! Please, I’d love a quick tour, and maybe you could introduce me to some of your employees?’

  Emma almost reached for his hand to guide him around, but caught herself in time. Her new RVP seemed so young, so fresh, and so dynamic. But he talked like he was so much older! What a difference from Robert, her last boss, whose middle-aged, steely eyes and taciturn behaviour made everyone a little nervous, and a lot confused.

  Jason walked the floor like a leopard stalking his prey, or a comedian working the crowd – Emma wasn’t sure which. He was smooth as glass. She suspected he got his steady poise and unmistakable self-confidence from giant containers at a warehouse club. She also sensed a sublime level of intelligence, which, for some reason, gave her an unexpected jolt of energy.

  Jason examined the inventory and studied the staff, clearly taking mental notes. Emma couldn’t recall Bailey, Jan, or Rachel ever so eager to talk to someone, even when a weighty commission was on the line. But who could blame them? He was approachable, quick-witted, and close enough to their age they could have all been high school classmates – recently. The real reason the girls were behaving so palpably unfurled, though, the superficial reason at least, was that this man was tasty yummy from head to toe. His blazer did little to conceal his long, lean, muscular frame. Throw in the five o’clock shadow at ten in the morning, the perfect tangle of almost-messy, medium length, deep brown hair, those honey-brown eyes – he was a magnet, and the girls were helpless, floaty threads of metal.

  ‘I’ve got to tell you, Emma, your store is everything I was expecting – and more. I was given a heads-up before my visit.’ Jason had spent almost an entire afternoon with Emma, and was ready to open up.

  ‘A heads-up?’

  ‘Sure. I went over your numbers myself. They’re fantastic. And corporate thinks the world of you. I hope you know that.’