Sarasota Revenge: BBW Contemporary Menage Romance (Level 69 Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Evan bent her over a padded low-table, where he fastened her legs wide apart, kissed her pretty pink ass, and then pushed three fingers deep inside her. His opposite hand unzipped his pants and pulled out his erection. Lucky bastard that he was, he could swing that thing anywhere and women would fall to their knees and worship the length with their mouths.

  “Shake it off,” Drake said, clapping Avery on the shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to shake off,” Avery replied, shrugging away from Drake’s touch. Surprisingly enough, Avery’s carnal darkness hadn’t reared its ugly head once with Payton, and he still felt no bleak stirrings. In fact, her virginal touch had washed him clean in more ways than one. “I hunted you two down, because I want something positive done about Payton’s firehouse.”

  Trey laughed. “Then you’ve wasted your time.”

  Avery crossed his legs at his ankles. “The two of you will back off, or I’m calling a board meeting.” He hated threatening family, but Payton was more important to him than anyone.

  Drake looked appalled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “Good luck calling that board meeting, A,” Trey muttered.

  Avery was born playing hardball. “Might I remind you that Dylan owns fifty-two percent of The Easton Company, and with my shares, both of you are outnumbered? We want Payton happy. So it’s up to you, if you want us coming at you full force.”

  “Over a woman,” Trey said dejectedly.

  “It’s a yes or no question,” Avery stated, watching Evan glove up for the Lovely’s ass. “Are you going to drop this shit, Trey?”

  “Yes.” Trey leaned his upper back against the wall. He couldn’t see what was going on in the next room, nor did he seem to care. “I’ll handle it in the morning, but you’d better watch your threats, A. I won’t be polite the next time you charge me.”

  “If you were in love, would you charge me to protect what was yours by right?”

  Trey swung back his head, knocking his hair from his eyes. “How do you know I haven’t already done so?”

  Avery paused, considering. “You wouldn’t keep the woman you love in the palm of your hand, Trey. That’s how I know you’re not in love.”

  Trey turned to him but his focus was somewhere over Avery’s shoulder. He looked as drained as Avery. Both dealt with physical pain almost daily. “The woman I loved, the only woman I ever loved, put me in the palm of her hand first.” He held up his big fist, squeezing his fingers until his knuckles turned white. “She crushed me past the breaking point.”

  Drake shook his head. “Watch it, Trey. Calm your ass down, you know agitation ratchets up your pain.”

  Avery nodded. “Be careful. That grudge you’re holding over your partial blindness might ruin your future far more than you bargained for,” he said gently. If anyone knew grudges, it was Avery. But he’d forgiven Dylan long ago, and there was no looking back.

  Trey asked wearily, “Did I ask for your advice?”

  Avery held up his hands. “So long as we have an understanding, I’m out of here.”

  Trey’s lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile. “I think we understand each other.”

  Chapter 2

  Libby had one hand on the steering wheel, the other in a death grip on her Porsche’s gearshift, her eyes blinking against the noonday sun. Behind, her car kicked up dirt on the gravel road leading from her firehouse to The Easton Hotel. Tears streaked her face. Her shirt smelled like perspiration and desperation. Eight nails were broken. And her hair was all over the place, since she’d nearly torn it out.

  In the rearview mirror, she spotted a blacked-out SUV openly following her, leaving no pretense of his assignment, but did she expect anything less of Easton security? Paparazzi had been camped out around the firehouse for days, waiting for Payton Calloway to emerge or for her so-called fiancé, Dylan Easton, to make an appearance. Neither had happened and Payton had refused to tell Libby what was going on, but she was for certain Noah knew everything. So as soon as Libby made sure their roof would stay over their heads, she intended on dissecting Payton’s situation and getting to the bottom of things.

  Libby detoured past the construction entrance and, in the flagrant heat of her anger, headed straight for the fairytale porte-cochere fronting the lobby. She left her Porsche running, took the ticket from the valet, and asked for some paper towels. In typical five- star efficiency, an attendant handed her several towels with careful discretion.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her glistening face. She tossed them in the trash, not caring if mascara skid marks marred her from cheek to chin, secured her purse over her shoulder, and marched through the mammoth glass and steel doors. When the second set of doors parted, a rush of cool air stroked her skin and it couldn’t have come at a better time. She stalled a moment, drawing a deep breath, right as security flanked her. Libby looked to her left, then right. “All of us standing here know why I’ve come. I’ve spent my morning arguing with a paid-off code inspector. So either kick me out or take me to Trey Easton.”

  A woman in a navy blazer wearing an earpiece delivered the kindest smile Libby had seen in a long time. But her words were brooking when she said, “Mr. Easton is in a meeting, Miss Bailey. Perhaps, one of his assistants can meet with you.”

  “Well, I did arrive unannounced.” Libby smiled just as serenely, nodding in agreement, and acting as though her entire life hadn’t been scattered across all corners of the earth for the buzzards to nibble. “Just give him a message from Elizabeth, would you? If his schedule permits, watch Sara2 at six tonight.” Libby’s smile dropped, her eyes narrowing when she boldly lied, “Trey may have taken every cent my family has, but we still have friends in high places…and very, very low ones.”

  Navy Blazer kept her smile, however, changed her tune. “Allow me to escort you to his private offices, Miss Bailey.” Since no, one wanted to start publicity wars. “I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

  Libby nodded and quietly followed the woman through a corridor filled with one gift shop after the other. None were the typical gift shops found in affordable hotels, either. All were filled with Italian and European treasures untypical in this neck of the woods. Their heels clicking on the glazed tile, Libby and Navy Blazer passed hand-stitched clothing, commissioned art, and jewelry so bright the diamonds resembled flashes going off at a celebrity gala. Funny thing was that Libby missed none of this pompous appurtenance for the wealthy; she only wanted her parents to keep what they’d worked so hard to accomplish. The same went for the firehouse, and there wasn’t any way she’d allow Trey Easton to stomp her dreams. Payton and Noah didn’t deserve the backlash of whatever vendetta Trey had against her, and she’d be damned if he was going to continue his unforgivable harassment.

  She followed Navy Blazer to an adjacent building, walking through a wrought iron tunnel covered in flowing vines and budding roses. Imposing gaslights paralleled the magical walkway every two feet, where lovers walked hand in hand on their way to the beach side’s private cabanas. Before they hit the next set of doors, Navy Blazer looked over her shoulder, her smile still in place.” We’ll take the elevator in this building to the fifteenth floor.”

  She opened the door for Libby and then they entered a less decorative elevator. The doors slid shut, and Libby grasped what she truly looked like in the mirrored walls. Her camel-colored peep toe pumps were caked in mud. Her stockings were snagged and lined with two prominent runs. Her beige above the knee skirt seemed all right, but her cream silk shirt looked as though she’d slept in it for days. Libby hurriedly ran her hands over the wrinkles and dots of perspiration, though it was no use. Giving up, she curled her blonde springs behind each ear and stared at the pale face in her reflection.

  The doors opened.

  Marching out with marked determination, the first thing she spotted was the Gulf of Mexico. “Wow,” she was momentarily derailed.

  “It’s spectacular,�
� Navy Blazer agreed, gesturing for Libby to have a seat in a vast reception area filled with butter leather furnishings and stark original art. Nothing in this room was intended to compete with the view, and yet it still screamed money.

  Libby knew better than to get comfortable. “I’ll stand.”

  Navy Blazer conferred with someone named Barbra, who was situated behind a round desk with The Easton Company written in protruding, blocked script high above her head on a bamboo paneled wall, the dimensional letters backlit in gold. Their hands were going back and forth, a look of total dismay crossing Barbra’s features. Finally, at Libby’s raised brow, a complete look of dread painted the receptionist, when she picked up her phone and spoke inaudibly. She nodded a few times and lowered the receiver.

  “Mr. Easton is still in a meeting. If you were to wait approximately half an hour, he would then have five minutes to spare for you.” Barbara appeared genuinely apologetic. “He insists I order your lunch from one of The Easton’s restaurants below, complimentary, of course.”

  “Of course,” Libby said with a sigh. “I’ll wait for Trey, though I’ll pass on lunch.” She dug the valet ticket out of her purse, refusing to give another twenty dollars to any Easton. “Can you do something about this?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” A hand reached over, lightly brushing her fingers, and took her ticket. “I believe we’re always meeting over valet tickets, Miss Bailey.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m here to see Trey.” Libby pivoted on her heels and faced Drake Easton. His hair was as black as Avery’s, his eyes so fiercely amber she’d swear he was a jungle cat in another life. However, his incredible looks would never sway her unfavorable opinion of him. His signatures littered the court documents claiming The Easton Company owned a tight circle around her firehouse, a circumference preventing parking for art patrons or residents leasing her apartments. “Or should I say Travis Henderson,” Libby added.

  Travis was her first true boyfriend, and he’d disappeared within months after she’d admitted her love for him. After his startling reappearance into her life a few nights ago at the firehouse, Travis had explained the benevolent Gilda Easton had adopted him, changing his life of poverty as well as his name. Now he was Trey Easton, the man who very recently turned her successful father into a penniless and nearly broken man. Trey had tormented Libby, Payton, and Noah for months by preventing the firehouse’s opening.

  “Lucky for Trey, you mean,” Drake replied, dismissing Navy Blazer with a pointed look. “Barbra,” he addressed the receptionist while locking his tiger’s gaze on Libby, “double my lunch order and have it sent to my office, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” To Barbra’s credit, she seemed relieved when Drake cupped Libby’s elbow and ushered her down a short corridor, much in the same way he’d led her to the parking garage, when she left Hytel Plume’s fundraiser.

  “My office is at the end,” he prodded, dropping his hand at her lower back.

  “I’m not having lunch with you,” she whispered fiercely, as they passed two sets of lacquered, double doors flanking the hallway, before reaching the third and final set positioned at the end. He gently pushed her through the threshold.

  “You look like you haven’t eaten, and I’m starved.” The door shut softly yet ominously behind them.

  Libby didn’t like the way he emphasized starved. But he was right, since she hadn’t truly eaten a meal in days. “I’m sure you know what Trey’s done to ruin my family…and me, since you’re involved.” She sank into a long leather sofa.

  “Ruin is an overstatement.”

  An overstatement? Her life had turned into sudden hell. “Did you hear an unknown lunatic sent poisoned food to my home?”

  “I did.”

  “Shortly thereafter my best friend and business partner, Noah Wyatt, nearly died. The police have no clues, by the way.” She scathed him with a censuring glare. “Oh, and I can’t discount all the paparazzi camped around my property — sorry, scratch that,” she amended with a slightly delirious laugh, “your property, waiting days for my dearest best friend, Payton, to make an appearance because Dylan Easton claimed she was his fiancée. Big news that, particularly since Dylan really didn’t ask Payton beforehand. He simply told the world first and expected her to follow along…like a puppy on a leash.”

  “He wouldn’t want Payton on a leash,” Drake said flatly. “However, if Dylan wants her for his wife, he will have her.”

  Libby tossed her purse next to her, breathing deeply to slow her thundering heart. “Thanks to him, it’s nearly impossible for Payton to leave the property without overzealous paps practically knocking her down or running her off the road.” Though they were sneaking out tonight. “Mainly, Payton is forced to stay indoors, finishing up small details on the firehouse and our apartments, even though your company is determined to ruin us before our doors open.” She took another deep cleansing breath. “So tell me, Mr. Easton, should I have an appetite for lunch with you?”

  “Such fire,” Drake said, staring at her a hard moment, his tongue tracing his lower lip. He held up his finger and then disappeared behind a single ebony door. She glanced at his desk, where millions were surely made daily, and then smelled something utterly delicious. A knock sounded right before a rolling tray made its way through the door. A man around Libby’s age dressed in The Easton Hotel livery asked her where she wanted him to setup. Libby opened her mouth to tell him to take it away, when Drake emerged from the bathroom with two white hand towels, one damp, one dry.

  “The table will be fine.” He gestured to the low-lying granite and ebony table in front of Libby.

  She rolled her eyes but said nothing as the server pulled silver covers from steaming delicacies. Unlike Payton, Libby was familiar with cuisine of the affluent. And she easily recognized caviar éclairs made with salmon, oysters on the half shell with a side of shallot sauce and raspberry vinegar, Mai Mai baked with mustard and apples, mixed herb greens topped with hearts of palm, and a simple dessert of lime mousse. All mouth watering temptations, Libby’s stomach howled in anticipation when the server left quietly.

  Drake had the nerve to sit next to Libby, brushing his thigh against her stocking covered leg. She scooted over several inches, and he stopped her by loosely manacling her wrist with his long fingers. “Allow me.” Slowly, as if she were a cornered animal, he lifted the dampened cloth to cleanse the mascara tracks from her face.

  She stiffened, twisting her wrist until he released her. “I refuse to be washed by you.” Carefully, she made use of the towels. If she were honest, she would admit the damp sheen left behind on her skin was a welcome relief. Libby tossed the cloth on the floor next to the table, shaking her head no when he offered her a glass of Pinot Blanc. “I’m not lunching with you. I’ve come here in a…” Could she say plea? An act of desperation? Libby always credited herself with an inner strength she depended on daily, but, at this moment, she hadn’t a clue what to do. She clenched her fists on her knees. “I can’t understand why Trey wants to toy with me so cruelly.”

  Drake speared the fish with his fork. “Sorry, but Trey will have to address his personal issues with you.” He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and wiped his mouth with a crisp linen napkin. “Foremost, I want you to understand how concerned we are over Mr. Wyatt’s poisoning. I was with Trey when he received the news, and he placed extra security around your establishment, even calling the commissioner.” Picking at his salad, he continued, “Trey found the local authorities’ response unsatisfactory. Therefore, he, Avery, and Dylan have compiled a worthy security team, and they’re handling the situation as we speak. Meanwhile, extra guards in place will tamp down the paparazzi, somewhat. However, the story of Payton and Dylan’s engagement is hardly foreshadowed by Mr. Wyatt’s poisoning or anything else actually newsworthy.” He curled his lip, his eyes dropping briefly to her breasts. “A billionaire playboy bridled suddenly by an unknown fiancée is significant fodder for headline scavengers. In other words, t
he only reason Noah’s story came in a close second was due to Payton’s involvement in his life.” He raised a dark brow. “You won’t be accepting any parcels, I’m sure, at least, refusing those containing food.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she snapped, pushing his hand away when he tried to feed her a forkful of fish. “When Noah was poisoned, you and Trey were the first culprits who came to my mind.” He choked, literally. Libby refused to hand him a drink. Instead, she tapped an impatient toe on the tiled floor.

  He tossed his wine back, quickly, resettling himself like a pro. “You thought” - His amber eyes widened impossibly —”Trey would poison you?” Drake laughed in earnest. “You of all people.” He shook his head, black hair gleaming under a ray of sunlight. “Ah, darling, Trey would never hurt you, much less kill you.”

  “He would never hurt me?” Heat scalded her cheeks, and she had to unclench her fists before she drew blood with her two remaining fingernails. “My city inspection came this morning, three days early.” Her left eye twitched but she didn’t care. “The bastard is on your payroll. Hell, half the city is on your payroll. Trey never bothered to deny it.” When he opened his mouth, Libby pointed an index finger at his nose. “The inspector was shaking his sorry head before he left my first apartment, didn’t even make it to the downstairs galleries. He just signed a few papers and hightailed it to his next appointment, leaving me with the scraps of my future swirling around my feet.”