In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,8
jammies ASAP. “I'd ask for something a little stronger than a kiss.”
“Oookay,” I start, backing up and putting myself against the shared wall between my living room and bedroom. “Are you guys really not going to tell me what went on at that meeting?”
“It's not important,” Windsor says, almost too quickly. He stands up and flashes me a cheeky grin. “We handled it, love. All taken care of. Now, are you going to lunch in those adorable duck pajamas, or would you like to change? Either way, I'm taking you out.”
“Lizzie and I can stay here, so you guys can make a date out of it,” Miranda says cheerfully, standing up from the couch with the most genuine sort of smile on her face. “We can even clean for you while you're gone, as a favor.”
“You don't have to—” I start, but Miranda's already linking her arm through Lizzie's and grinning, almost maniacally now.
“Don't be silly. We'd be happy to. Right, Lizzie?” Miranda glances her way, but she's pretty much cornered Lizzie into accepting at this point. It'd be hard to refuse without looking like, well, sort of an asshole. “Marnye deserves some private time with her guys, especially after a week spent apart.”
“I …” Lizzie starts, glancing over at Tristan. He's about as expressive as a grapefruit right now. He gives nothing away. “Yeah, that's understandable …”
“Let's kidnap her in those pajamas,” Creed drawls, yawning and stretching his arms above his white-blond head. “Quite frankly, they turn me on like nothing else.”
“Shush up, barely-ex-virgin,” Miranda grumbles, letting go of Lizzie and taking my hand. “I will dress the love of your lives up, no worries. Give us twenty minutes.” Miranda drags me from the living room, into my bedroom, and then closes and locks the door behind her.
“That was a dirty trick,” I whisper, but she just keeps right on grinning and ignores me, moving over to the closet for another dress.
“I know. But what's done is done. Lizzie can either back off, or I can make her back off. Now, try this dress on and let's see if we can get five guys to get boners all at once.”
“Oh, well, that's romantic,” I mutter, but now I'm smiling, too.
Lunch with the guys sounds exactly like what I need right now.
On the inside, the bus is more like a mini-mansion on wheels. I'm basically gagging as Zayd gives me the full tour. We've just gotten back from lunch, and I have to say, it felt good to be with the boys again. I missed them so much it hurt. At the same time, there's a lot of tension, all these tangled threads that need to be unwoven.
I just keep telling myself to deal with one thing at a time.
“These are the bunks,” Zayd says, showcasing the beds on either side of the narrow hall. The dark look he gives me says he's thinking of doing more than just sleeping in them. “Plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest.”
“And how many very special guests have you entertained on this bus?” I ask, but he just laughs, that howling, all-consuming sound that makes me smile.
“Oh, Charity.” Zayd pats me on the head and then kicks open the bathroom door behind him. “There's even a tub in here. Again, plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest …”
“I'm leaving now,” I say, turning and making my way back down the hall. Zayd catches me from behind, his arms sliding around my waist, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. My entire body flushes warm, and my eyes close of their own accord. Speaking of tension … There's a definite thread between me and Zayd, one that's been there from the first second I laid eyes on him.
“Don't go, Charity, I was just playing,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my neck. For the moment, we're the only two people on this bus. An impossible heat rushes to my core as I lay my hands over Zayd's. “There's only one special guest I want on my bus from now on.”
“Is that so?” I ask, as he squeezes me even tighter, my back to his front.
“Definitely so. What say you we kick all the rest of these bastards to the curb for the night, and have a little sleepover in here? I'll give the driver the night off …”
“My dad might not like that very much,” I murmur, but I know I'm getting close to turning eighteen. He