I find that he isn’t in when I pop my head in so I place the documents inside a sealed envelope and leave it on his desk with his name on it. I’m not worried about anyone nabbing the file. After what I saw in that dark den of sin, I have enough dirt to start a dust storm on Mars. We’re all in the same boat here, and I feel oddly confident that these walls are pretty silent after last year’s debacle.
I’m turning back to my room, deep in thought about the decision I’ve just made, and contemplating where we go from here, when I nearly take someone out while rounding the corner.
“Oh! Excuse me,” I stammer, but I’m only met with a deep, throaty chuckle.
Of course. Of course, this would happen now.
“Heidi,” Ransom smiles, one corner of his mouth reaching higher than the other.
“Ransom. Hi.” I clear my throat and touch my hair nervously. “I hope all is well. Enjoying your stay here?”
He nods. “I am. Thank you.”
I take in what he’s wearing right now—board shorts, flip-flops, and a sleeveless tank. There’s a towel draped over one arm, and a very familiar navy blue robe on the other.
“Going for a swim?” I ask, trying to school my voice into something that resembles nonchalance.
“That’s the plan. I heard there was a spa around here with an indoor pool and a couple different specialty rooms. Thought I’d check them out. Should be fun.”
My mouth drops and my eyes grow in size. I mean to respond but no sound comes out. Not even a peep.
Ransom is going to the spa. And he’s got that terry cloth robe with the Oasis insignia on it. It could be innocent fun or it could be something else. And if it is—if he is going back there for more than just a massage and a mud mask—it won’t be just to watch. Ransom is going to play. And I can only imagine that he’d be the shiniest, most enticing new toy on the playground.
Chapter Twenty-four
Things are in motion.
The contracts have been approved. The questionnaires have been evaluated. And Tucker seems to grow more and more excited by the prospect of going through with this. The mixer is tomorrow night and that’s where we will meet other couples and singles that are like us. So I’m not surprised when I receive a text from Justice, asking me to meet him in his office. Maybe he’s had a change of heart. Or maybe he can see through my bullshit, and is ready to call me out on it. Part of me hopes for the former, but is more confident in the latter.
When I arrive, he doesn’t look angry or annoyed, which totally puts me on guard. Justice Drake without a sneer screwed onto his face? This must be serious.
“I wanted to ask you something, and I need you to be totally honest with me,” he says as soon as I sit down, not even bothering with pleasantries. “Do you have feelings for Ransom?”
I almost choke on my own saliva, so completely caught off guard by his candid inquiry. “What? Why do you ask that?”
“Because I need to know before we go any further. I need to know that your heart will be in this one hundred percent.” He leans forward, digging his elbows into the tops of his knees and steeples his fingers in front of a proud, prominent chin smattered with a thin dusting of stubble. “So tell me, Heidi . . . Is there something there with him? Other than physical attraction?”
I think about what he’s asking me, taking a beat to let the question permeate my initial, guarded reaction. Do I care for Ransom? Well, of course I care about him. He’s my client. And I’m not so cold that I can’t feel for someone I’ve shared such intimacy with. But beyond that—if sex were never that magnet between us, drawing us to each other on the most basal physical level—would I want him? Would I feel the same yearning inside me that keeps me up at night, imagining my hands are his hands as I touch myself while lying beside my sleeping husband?
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I’d feel for him.
“No,” I answer, knowing that is as close to the truth as I’m going to get. It’s necessary. It’s a lie, yet a necessary one.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. It’s not like that between us. Sure, that night we shared was hot, but I love my husband. And I want to make sure this works with him. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Justice nods and sits upright. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Because he’s coming to the mixer.”
“What?” This time, my disbelief is much more evident. “Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a young man with a crazy libido. Because he’s single. Why not? He’ll be here for the next week at least. You think he hasn’t got an itch that needs scratching? Especially when he’s surrounded by sex every damn day? Besides, I’d rather him get his rocks off in a safe, consensual environment than fucking around with one of the wives on the low.” His eyes narrow just a fraction, making those dark aqua eyes look downright villainous.
“But I thought the program was for couples only. How could you possibly allow him to engage in . . . whatever . . . with other married people? He’s not a professional. He’s a musician. Surely, this can’t be healthy.”
Justice shrugs as if my words have just hit an iceberg without so much as a shiver. “My house, my rules. Besides, I think this will be a better solution, considering . . .”
“Considering what?”
I can see him weighing his words in his mind before simply shrugging again. “He’s agreed to it. He’s even looking forward to it.”
I bite down the urge to label him a liar along with some very colorful adjectives, and I shut my trap. Ransom agreed to this? He wants to go to this mixer? To meet other couples to potentially play with?
I feel sick to my stomach. This can’t be right. Ransom wouldn’t do this . . . to me. He knows I’ll be there with Tucker. How does he expect me to just stand there and watch him charm and flirt his way into some other couple’s bed?
I know it’s ridiculous of me to feel any type of possessiveness, but fuck that. He came here with us. He knows us. And if he’s going to screw anyone, it will be us.
Us.
Shit.
Why didn’t I see this coming? If Tucker is interested in exploring his sexuality, and if I’m going to try to support him in that, could I really consider Ransom as a possible candidate? I mean, shit, I don’t even know if he swings that way, but I know plenty of musicians that do. Artistic souls are different. They’re all about feeling with their whole body, without labels or restraints. I could name a dozen rock stars that live totally normal, hetero lives but have swam in the male pond a time or two. It’s no big deal. But when it comes to Ransom and my husband? It totally fucking is.
“Heidi? Hey, you all right?”
I startle at the sound of my name and focus my dazed eyes on Justice’s face. “Huh?”
“I asked if you were okay with that. With Ransom being there, and potentially coming down to the playground.”
What could I say? No? After just telling him that I have no feelings for Ransom? Yeah, I could chalk it up to a conflict of professional interest but he’d know that’s bullshit, considering he’s my client too. And hell, what if Ransom has already been down there? He said he was going to the spa. Was that code for something else entirely?
“Sure. Of course I am.” Liar. I am such a fucking liar. “Whatever he wants to do, it’s none of my business as long as it doesn’t make any waves in the press. Other than that, we’re good.”