to watch the blond, it dawned on him that he resembled Stacey in a lot of ways. Both long-legged and lean, they also shared the same shade of hair. While Worthington’s eyes were green instead of gold, they also had the same angular features.
Whatever.
Mason shivered as he sipped the new bourbon the waitress had dropped at his table. A life on the streets followed by four years of exposure to the opposite end of the spectrum as a scholarship student at Harvard had left him with a very cynical view of society. There were dregs rich and poor, and their economic status had very little to do with the content of their character, to steal a line from a great American. Justin Worthington might not be the dregs, but he and Jace Winchester were hiding who and what they were. He wasn’t sure yet why, but he had a very strong suspicion–one making him half sick. When Worthington left a half-hour later, Mason slapped a couple bills on the table and followed him. From the shadows outside the Winchester brownstone, Mason watched the other man quietly let himself inside. Mason sighed heavily.
Maybe he was being paranoid. Hell, maybe he was turning into some kind of sick Stacey stalker because he sure as shit couldn’t get her out of his head. And now he had to wonder exactly what Justin Worthington was doing staying there.
* * * *
Stacey sat in the hot tub on the back deck, determined to keep the mood going. Jace had made love to her as usual. He had seemed to get satisfaction from their coupling, but she couldn’t say the same. Not that he would know. Stacey had gotten very good at making him think she was climaxing even while her mind detached from what was going on. He had his arm around her shoulders now, so Stacey snuggled a bit closer to his side. He rubbed her shoulder.
“Would you like a drink, darling?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “that would be nice.” He rose from the hot tub, not bothering to wrap a towel around his slender hips. He had a pleasing build, lean, not muscular like Mason, but still handsome.
Stop. Stacey didn’t want to think about Mason right now, but she realized every time her husband made love to her, she fantasized, remembering what it had been like with Mason. It was the only way she could make her “climaxes” realistic. With a sigh, she stared off into the darkness. This wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be thinking about another man, a man she hadn’t been with for nearly two years. There must be something wrong with her. Jace certainly seemed to find their married life satisfying, so what was her problem?
Maybe she should consider seeing a therapist. Her mind cringed from the very idea. A Barlow-Barrett always keeps her private life private. Somehow, Stacey doubted seeing a shrink went along with that particular maxim from her mother.
She looked over at the French doors leading to the deck as she heard Jace return, then quickly sank lower in the hot tub, her eyes widening in shock. Behind her nude husband was Justin Worthington with only a towel tucked around his hips. Stacey’s glance darted from Justin back to Jace. She couldn’t very well ask what the hell was going on.
“Justin just got home, darling,” Jace told her with a smile. “I knew you wouldn’t mind him joining us. After all, we’re all friends, all adults.” There was an underlying tone telling her more clearly than words she was not to contradict him. And of course, how could she anyway? Doing so would create a scene.
Stacey swallowed and tried to smile. She wasn’t a prude by any means, and the bubbles hid a lot. She did, after all, owe Justin for his help. “Of course I don’t mind.” She hoped she didn’t sound as uncertain as she felt. “Please, join us.”
Justin eased in on her other side before stripping the towel from himself and letting it slap onto the deck. Now he was naked too. With her. With her husband on the opposite side–and her in the middle. Stacey swallowed, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable and not liking the situation Jace had forced on her.
“Thank you, Stacey,” Justin murmured. “Did you have a nice evening?”
Chapter 3
“Yes. Thanks.” Justin’s question served as a reminder, whether he meant it that way or not, she owed him for giving her some time alone with Jace.
“Here, darling.” Jace handed her a drink. “I made you a Cape Codder. I know how you like cranberry juice.”
She took the highball glass and drank. He eased back in beside her, leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Don’t be embarrassed, darling. You’re lovely, but you’re my wife. Justin respects our marriage. He would never do anything we didn’t want him to.”
What an odd thing to say. Still, she nodded and took another gulp from her drink. She wanted to tell him how mortified she was that he would simply bring Justin out here without giving her a chance to put on any clothing. Screwing up her nerve, she opened her mouth to say so.
“Stacey has been such an incredible help,” Justin leaned forward to tell Jace. “We’ve got almost everything picked out for my place, so once the drywall is in, we can begin painting. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
She smiled, feeling a tad sick. This must be some alternate universe because it surely wasn’t the life Stacey Barlow-Barrett had been reared to live. She could almost picture the look of horror on her parents’ faces–probably all of her siblings as well–if they could see her now. When the two men tapped their glasses against hers and toasted her, she drank once again.
God, how could she protest when they were both being so nice? She would come off like such an uptight bitch. Instead, she listened as Justin told them where he’d gone to eat and the movie he’d seen. She continued to sip her drink, but then feeling a bit woozy, Stacey reached behind her to set the glass on the edge of the tub. When she nearly missed, Justin caught the glass and grinned at her.
“Oops! What did you do, Jace, make her drink a bit too strong?”
Stacey turned her head to look at her husband, who raised his brows. “I didn’t think so. You okay, Stacey?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m tired.” Maybe this was the way to escape.
Jace smiled at her. “I’ll help you to bed. Be a gentleman, Justin. Look the other way. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Her husband wrapped her in a towel and tucked one around his own hips, then settled his arm behind her back. “You sure you’re okay, darling?”
She nodded but regretted the action as her head swam a bit. “Yes. Maybe I had a bit too much to drink between dinner and in the hot tub. I’m so sorry, Jace. Don’t mean to embarrass you.”
“Shh. It’s all right. We had a good evening together. Just get some sleep.”
He dried her off and tucked her in. He’d never been quite so solicitous, and she was touched. Stacey stroked his cheek. “Did you enjoy the evening?”
He kissed her forehead. “It was wonderful. You’re wonderful.”
She smiled as she drifted off. Maybe she was worried about nothing.
* * * *
Stacey awoke the following morning with a hangover almost as bad as some of the ones she’d experienced in college when she had sown a few cautious wild oats. And God! She had dreamt the most bizarre things. She shook her head. A little sex and a little alcohol and she was absolutely done in. With a board of directors meeting at Barrett Newspapers on her agenda, she couldn’t do what she truly wanted, which was to take a couple ibuprofen and bury her head beneath the blankets. After showering, she felt a bit better, but was still vowing never to mix the variety of liquors she’d drunk the night before–wine with dinner, sherry afterward, and then the vodka in the drink Jace had made.
After wrapping her damp hair in a towel, she began slathering moisturizer on her legs, her movements slowing as she looked at the bruises on the inside of her thighs. She didn’t remember Jace being so rough while they’d made love. Fingertips brushing the marks, she shook her head. They didn’t hurt, and she supposed it had been