“You should know,” Marey finally snorted mockingly. “Wasn’t he James’ little buddy that first time?”
Ella cleared her throat, a light flush working over her cheeks at Marey’s reply.
“If I had known you—”
“Oh, shut up.” Marey waved the small guilt-ridden sentence away. “I don’t have a problem with it. I just need solutions here. How do I get rid of him?”
She poured a half glass of wine, considered the amount then filled the glass. She needed definite liquid courage here. She smacked the bottle to the counter, lifted the glass and took a healthy swallow. She needed the strength right now, not to mention the balm to her nerves. The balm to her nerves was a definite must-have.
“Wine is for sipping, whisky is for swilling,” Ella said mildly, watching her warily. “So why don’t you care if I f**ked Sax?”
Marey was in the process of sitting her glass back down. She paused, glanced at her friend and lifted it for another healthy swallow. Ella’s timing sucked.
“Just don’t let it happen again,” she muttered as she refilled the glass moments later. “I might not be so forgiving now.”
That was an understatement. She would be damned pissed, but she knew that Ella would never consider it after suspecting the feelings Marey had for him. Marey could confidently pat herself on the back that she had hidden her feelings for the man from even her closest friends. Ella had no idea until several weeks after she returned from her honeymoon. During one of Marey’s late-night let’s-consume-a-bottle-of-wine visits, Ella had revealed that Sax had been the third in the Trojan ménage James had set up.
Marey flushed uncomfortably at the memory of what she said in reply.
Touch him again and I’ll rip your tonsils out! she had informed her friend haughtily. James wouldn’t find you near as attractive then.
She sighed wearily. She had f**ked herself there. Ella had tried to throw her in Sax’s company ever since.
“But you don’t want him?” Ella lifted a perfectly shaped brow with mocking inquiry.
“Don’t start lecturing me, Ella,” she snapped, pushing her fingers restlessly through her hair and wishing she had taken the time to confine the long, blonde strands to a braid or something. Anything to keep it out of her face. It was aggravating her, and she didn’t need the additional frustration.
“Who’s lecturing you?” Ella shrugged as she poured a half glass of wine, refilled Marey’s then picked up her glass and gestured to the living room. “Let’s at least argue in comfort. Why do you always have to come here looking for a fight? I have better things to do than fight with my friends.”
Yeah. Like f**k James Wyman with Saxon Brogan as a third in a ménage that made Marey crazy to think about. Not that the past exploits bothered her. Ella was her friend—more like a sister—and really, if she had to share a man in such a situation, then it would be Ella she would choose, she thought whimsically.
Damn, that wine must strong.
Sighing, she plopped down in her favorite leather chair, wiggled a bit and then cast Ella an accusing stare.
“James has been sitting in my chair,” she sniped. “He’s messing it up.”
She watched Ella smother her chuckle. No one was taking her seriously anymore.
“Well, sometimes, we share it.” Ella wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as Marey gaped back at her.
“Eww.” She jumped from the chair. “You f**ked in my chair?”
“Well, I cleaned it later.” Ella was definitely laughing now. “Don’t worry, there’s no evidence left of the event.”
Marey shuddered and moved to the less comfortable recliner. “Have you f**ked here too?”
“Honey, every square inch of this house has seen action this year.” Ella leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with laughter as Marey grimaced in distaste.
“I guess even the floor is grotty,” she sighed as she collapsed back in her favorite chair. Dammit, she didn’t want to think about sex right now. Didn’t want to hear about it or know about it.
“Yup, even the floor is grotty,” Ella laughed at the description. “Now tell me, why would it bother you if I f**ked Sax now, if it didn’t bother you before?”
Marey shot her an evil look. She deserved it. She was so damned confident and sexually wicked now that she should be burned at the stake.
“Women like you were stoned a hundred years ago, Ella,” she reminded her with aloof distain.
“That was two hundred years ago, dear,” Ella pointed out, toasting her with her glass. “Aren’t you glad we were born during a much more sexually aware time?”