Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,47
“Not what I was expecting,” she said in a quiet voice.
That would make two—or possibly three, Josey couldn’t tell—of them. These women acted like they knew her—like they knew Ben.
“So, you and Ben, huh?” The black-haired one circled around Josey on her way to join the redhead. Before Josey could answer the not-quite-a-question, the black-haired one slipped an arm around the redhead’s waist and kissed her neck without taking her eyes off Josey.
Josey made a snap decision that she needed to be as brazen as these women clearly were. Otherwise, they might eat her alive. “Yes. Ben and I.”
“He likes you,” the redhead volunteered, leaning back into the black-haired woman’s arms.
She didn’t even know how to respond to that. So she went with, “Oh?”
Both women smiled. The redhead’s was warm and friendly. The black-haired one’s was mercenary. “I’ve always wanted to know—is he good?”
“Excuse me?” Josey couldn’t help it. She took a step back.
“If I had to pick one of the Bolton boys, I’d pick Ben.”
“Really?” The redhead turned enough to give the other one a funny look. “I’d totally do Bobby before Ben. But not Billy. He’s a little too scary.”
“Of course you’d pick Bobby,” the dark one said. “But I like Ben. He’s serious, intense. I bet he’d be great in bed. Is he?”
Both women turned expectant gazes back to where Josey was edging away from them.
“Well…” She wasn’t one to kiss and tell, and this felt a hell of a lot like telling.
The redhead turned back to her companion. “I’m not disagreeing with you. But Bobby—he’d be all over a ménage à trois. If I were going to sleep with a man, I’d want you to be there with me. And Bobby would totally get off watching us go at it, baby. He’d think he’d died and gone to heaven. Ben would never go for that—he’d consider it cheating or something ridiculous. He’s a one-woman kind of man.”
“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet of you.” The black-haired woman kissed the redhead—on the mouth!—and although Josey was trying not to look, she was pretty sure the redhead was giving as good as she got.
This situation was so far out of her control as to be laughable. Bailing was the only sane option. Girl-on-girl—with or without a Bolton watching—was not part of her plans for the evening. Or her life. She took another step backward—and ran into something hard and warm and slightly damp.
Long arms circled around her waist, and light stubble scratched at her ear. “You made it,” Ben said, pulling her back into his chest. “Did you meet the girls? Oh.” He sighed in frustration. “Hey, knock it off!” he thundered, right in her ear. “Sorry.”
“Oops.” The redhead giggled. “Our bad, boss.”
Boss? What the heck?
“So you’ve met the girls?”
Both of the “girls” shot her a smarmy smile. Met? No. Been menaced by? Yes. “Only just.”
“Josey White Plume, this is Gina Cobbler,” he said, indicating the redhead, “and Patrice Harmon. They’re the artists-slash-maids I was telling you about.”
“You seriously forgot gourmet chef?” Gina rolled her eyes. “Men.”
The artists. Slash maids. And chef. The overwhelming relief that these women weren’t manifestations of Ben’s kinky side but merely eccentric employees made Josey’s knees knock together.
“You okay?” Ben whispered in her ear as his arm tightened around her waist a little more.
“I think so.” Better than she’d been ten minutes ago. The artists—she’d assumed it was a man and woman. Not two women.
Who’d never slept with Ben. Who believed he was a one-woman man.
“Good. Will you be okay for a few minutes? I’ve got to shower.”
“We’ll be fine,” Gina told him. “Go, before you stink up the joint. We’ll give her the tour.”
Ben came around to kiss her on the lips before he headed for the glassed-off bathroom. “I already gave her a tour,” he shouted back over her shoulder. He peeled off his shirt and dropped it on a sofa.
“Men,” Gina repeated. “He probably told you the obvious—he’s got a gym and a movie room and a kitchen, that sort of thing.” She spun around to peek in on something in the oven.
“Well, yes,” Josey admitted, taking a cautious jump back into the conversation. She still wasn’t sure about Patrice, but Gina seemed mostly friendly. “There’s more?”
“If you’re going to spend any time here—which we’re all assuming you are, as he’s already given you the key codes—you need to have the real tour.”
Getting the key codes was a big deal?
Josey suddenly realized that Gina—and Patrice—were Ben’s personal versions of that receptionist