Taking Turns (Turning #1)(71)

“I get it. I’m just looking forward to more time with you.”

“We still get to go out. We have two parties this week. That’s why I called tonight. No time for dinner tomorrow, so you can order room service or take the car somewhere. I have a few things to take care of during the day. But I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Is Smith coming on our date?”

“Nope,” I say, feeling kinda smug that I hear the dread in her voice. “Just us. So that’s our alone time. Will it be enough for you?”

“No sex with Smith unless I’m with you—”

“No,” I say. “No sex with Smith at all until you’re with all four of us. And I’ll warn you now, it takes him a while.”

“It… does?”

“Smith likes to watch, Chella. He’ll participate in the quad, but he’s slow to join in. So be prepared for that.”

“Hmmmmm,” she says, dragging the sound out as she thinks this over. “OK… No sex with Smith at all. No sex with you, unless Smith is watching. But all the sex I want with Quin. I guess we know who’s getting lucky on his two days.”

I laugh.

“It’s really not funny,” she says.

“It’s fair,” I say. “You’ll see that soon. So… tomorrow at seven. Be ready. A dress and some accessories will be delivered sometime in the afternoon. I hope you like it.”

She sighs into the phone. “See you tomorrow night.”

We hang up and I sit in the Black Room, Smith staring at me from across the table. “She took it well?”

“I think so,” I say, lifting my glass of Scotch to my lips and taking a swallow. “She seemed a little disappointed that you won’t be f*cking her tomorrow night.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Maybe we should give her what she wants?”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

We laugh after that. Marcella Walcott might never be the same after tomorrow night. She has no idea how well we play this game.

But she’s about to figure it out.





The next day is filled with planning for the parties coming up, a mundane meeting with the Club staff, and of course, going over my plans with Chella tonight in my head. By the time seven o’clock comes, I’m ready to ditch the party and get down to the real point of the evening.

That is… until I see her in that silver dress.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, mouth open, eyes on the low-cut slit down the front of her floor-length sheer silver gown, because almost half of each breast is exposed.

It looks better on her than I could’ve ever imagined.

“It came with tape,” she says, looking down with a frown. “Two-sided tape so that I don’t have a wardrobe malfunction tonight at your stuffy party.”

I smile at her characterization of tonight’s party. “Don’t worry, Miss Walcott. This party is not as stuffy as the last one.”

“I really hope not, Bric. Because this dress is… movie-premiere-red-carpet party. Not we-want-your-money-for-medical-research party.” She bends over to stare between her legs. “Is my * showing through this lace?”

I chuckle again. I cannot remember having so much fun giving a girl a dress before. “Quin is right about you.”

“What’s he say?” She crinkles her nose, but it doesn’t last. Her eyes are smiling as she envisions that conversation in her head.

“He says you’re funny.”

“Funny?” Her nose crinkle is back. “Is that all? Not f*ckable? I mean, good God, I’ve given him the best three weeks of my life and all he has to say about me is that I’m funny?”

I lean down and kiss her mouth, my hand sliding behind her neck to keep her close. “And f*ckable,” I whisper into our kiss. “One day soon, maybe by the time next Monday comes along, we’ll both f*ck you together at the same time.”

She draws in a deep breath. “I can’t wait.”

Me either. “Are you ready?” I ask. “Do you have your purse?”

She grabs the evening bag off the side table in the foyer. “Oh, this old thing?” She laughs. “I do have to give you guys credit. When you decide to give a girl a purse, you give a girl a purse. I know how much this Jimmy Choo clutch costs, Mr. Bricman. I shop at Saks as well.”

“Then you know it’s not good enough for you, Miss Walcott.” I open the foyer closet and take out a black wool shawl coat and drape it around her shoulders. “Not nearly good enough. And I will do better next time.”

“Oh, man.” She laughs. “I could get used to this.”

“That’s the idea,” I say. “Ready?” I place my hand into the small of her back.

She smiles up at me. “Mmmm-hmm,” she says softly. “I think so.”

But underneath all her jokes is real apprehension. I’d be worried about her if she wasn’t apprehensive. Especially when I know what Smith and I have planned for later.

When we get downstairs she places her hand over her heart as we walk to my car. “No driver tonight?” She laughs. “I know what we’ll be doing in the car then.”

“It’s a special night,” I say, opening the door to my silver Mercedes AMG GT S. “You’ll never forget anything about this night, Miss Walcott.”