My Guilty Pleasure

Her throat constricted when he crossed the room. Those pleasure-giving hands settled on her upper arms, sending tiny tremors of delight chasing over her skin.

“Stay with me today.”

She bit her lip. The man was temptation personified. And trouble, with a big fat T.

She shook her head and looked away. “I can’t,” she said, hating that she had no choice but to deny him. Hating even more the regret so blatantly evident in her voice.

He tucked his fingers under her chin and gently turned her to face him. “Another time, another place?”

No truer words, she thought sadly. “Yeah,” she whispered in agreement. “Another time.”

He dipped his head and kissed her. Deeply, tenderly. Fool that she was, she kissed him back, enjoying this last parting moment even though her heart suddenly ached. Because there’d be no more kisses for them? Ever? Or because she’d already started falling for him?

She refused to even consider the answer. Regretfully, she ended the kiss. “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

She spun on her heel and left. By the time she hit the pavement, her hopes that the next two days would be long enough for her to convince herself that making love to Sebastian hadn’t been a monumental and earth-shattering experience were practically nonexistent.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’ve been calling you all morning.”

Joey didn’t appreciate the accusation in Brooke’s tone, but figured it was her guilty conscience making her feel mildly agitated. “I turned off my cell.”

“Since when don’t you check for messages?”

“Gee,” she said, standing back to let her older sister inside the small foyer of the carriage house, “nice to see you, too.”

Brooke set a large shopping bag with the Worthington logo on the front on the antique bench. She worked at the department store as a window dresser. “These are for Reba,” she said, unwinding a wool scarf from her neck. “I thought she might like them.”

Joey peered into the bag, but the clothing items were all carefully wrapped in delicate tissue paper. That was so Brooke, she thought. “Didn’t we go through all of Mom’s things a couple of months ago?”

“We did.” Brooke hung her scarf on the hook by the door, then shrugged out of her wool coat. “I found those in the back of Mom’s closet.”

“And you brought them here because…?”

“Because you said you were taking Reba to lunch next week.”

Since their mother’s passing, she, Brooke and Katie had taken to looking in on Reba, their mother’s oldest and closest friend. Joey managed a weak smile. “Ah, yes,” she murmured. She’d forgotten, primarily because her mind had been elsewhere. Like on Sebastian.

“I was about to make some tea. Want some?”

Brooke rubbed her hands over her upper arms. “Perfect. It’s freezing out there today.”

“Amazing how that happens every January.” Joey flashed her sister a saucy grin, then took off for the kitchen. She had the kettle filled and on the stove by the time Brooke joined her.

Joey reached into the cabinet for a teak serving tray, then carefully brought down a pair of delicate china cups and the matching teapot. “Are you coming to dinner next week?”

Brooke shrugged and looked away. “I’m not sure.”

Joey let out a sigh, although she understood her sister’s reluctance to walk inside the lion’s den. “The Admiral keeps asking about you.”

Ever since Brooke had dropped the bomb on her grandparents that she wasn’t a Winfield by birth, her relationship with their grandmother had been strained at best. Joey suspected the tension in their relationship stemmed not so much because of Brooke’s parentage, but because of the scandalous photos of a topless Brooke and Boston’s bad boy, David Carrera, that had shown up in the tabloids. Heaven forbid a Winfield should cause tongues to wag.

“I’ll think about it,” Brooke said, but Joey doubted the subject was usually far from Brooke’s mind. Familial duty had always been high on her elder sister’s list of priorities.

Brooke crossed her arms and leaned back against the ceramic-tiled counter. “So, where were you?”

It was Joey’s turn to shrug. “Nowhere important.” She aimed for nonchalance but ended up closer to high-pitched and guilt-ridden. What was she supposed to say? That she’d spent the night boffing her new boss’s brains out? And enjoying every glorious second of it?

She added tea leaves to the strainer before sliding a quick glance in Brooke’s direction. Her sister gave her one of those looks, the kind only an older sister had the secret password to. The kind that said she knew Joey was full of crap.

Brooke offered one of her more irritating smiles. “So? Who is he?”

Joey concentrated on cutting into the leftover crumb coffee cake she’d pilfered from her grandmother’s cook. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“That all depends on how you might define ‘seeing him again,’” Joey answered cryptically. Technically, she’d be spending a great deal of time with Sebastian, but not in the way Brooke meant.

The teakettle started to whistle. “Saved by the whistle.”

“Bell,” Brooke corrected.

“Whatever. A distraction is a distraction as far as I’m concerned. I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re not getting off that easy,” Brooke said with a laugh as Joey poured the steaming water into the teapot. “Now I really want details. Who is this guy?”

She refused to make a big deal out of her one-time-only, never-gonna-happen-again night of sexual bliss with Sebastian. What was the point?

“Joey?”

Joey popped the crumb cake slices into the microwave and pressed the reheat button. “You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

Brooke’s irritating smile widened. “Nope.”

The microwave dinged. Joey arranged the dessert plates on the tray along with the items for tea.

“He’s my boss,” she said in a rush. She picked up the tray and hurried into the cozy living room, as if that would be the end of the conversation. With her sisters, not gonna happen.

A fire burned in the stone fireplace. Molly lay curled on the arm of the chintz chair near the leaded glass window overlooking the winter dormant garden.

Brooke joined her, concern evident in her soft brown eyes. “Define ‘boss.’”

“Oh, no, not any of them.” Joey shuddered, knowing Brooke was thinking of one of the three middle-aged senior partners of the firm. “The new guy they hired to head up the litigation division.” Last night when she’d met her sisters for dinner, she’d mentioned the new guy the partners had recruited from a Miami firm, and how she’d been relegated to second chair in Gilson v. Pierce. One thing sleeping with Sebastian hadn’t changed—her disappointment and irritation over having the lead counsel position on the Gilson matter taken away from her.

Joey shooed Molly from the chair, while Brooke poured tea. “My new boss,” she admitted, taking the teacup Brooke held out for her. “Sebastian Stanhope.”

“Stanhope?” At Joey’s nod, Brooke asked, “Is he any relation to Emerson Stanhope?”

The Stanhopes were one of Boston’s oldest and most prominent families. In fact she was fairly certain Emerson and her father had once had some sort of business dealings. “Uh…” Joey hedged, “I don’t know. That’s a subject that never came up.”