Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (11 page)

I should run. Instead, I watch for an extra second. Logan grins wider, and it’s like he knows what I look like when I’m alone, when I’m naked, when I touch myself the way he’s touching her.
 

I’m sure — suddenly
positive
— that Daniel’s many dropped hints weren’t just said to freak me out. Tony is taking us on this tour, but I get the feeling that room was indeed waiting for our arrival. Holding back on something until we did. And that if we leave the tour too early, we might return to see things that aren’t normally permissible in public, but that are encouraged here. Or maybe expected.

I watch Tony’s massive back. I’ve never been with someone remotely like him. He’s not my type, never will be. But thinking about it and knowing what some of the others will be doing as we leave them behind … I’d never admit to the itch percolating inside me.
 

“This is the formal dining room, where you’ll eat meals for as long as you stay,” Tony says. We barely peek in, but I see another large room, another amazing view of the twilit mountains. The table is set, and there seems to be a dozen or more settings. At the room’s front is a shorter head table, raised on a slight plinth. The chair at the head table’s center is larger and more ornate than the others.
 

“Is our … host … around?” I feel stupid saying anything more specific. This is all so surreal.
 

“Of course. Eventually. But Trevor’s like the headliner at a concert. He doesn’t show up until the crowd is warm.”
 

I don’t know what to make of that.
 

We move into what looks like a second living room. A second fireplace. Only this room is subtly different, and it takes me a while to figure out why. It’s the cameras: large, broadcast-type cameras spread around the room.
 

“I’m not sure what you’d call this room.” Tony looks around. “A den? But it’s way too big. For a den. We just call it the playroom.”
 

Erin asks what the cameras are for.
 

“Don’t worry,” Tony says. “You have to sign a release before they can use any footage.”
 

Erin smiles and nods as if this is a sensible answer.
 

“A few times a day, there are people in here,” Tony says. “You can go in whenever. Same for most of the house, except certain reserved rooms I’ll show you later. But the formal sessions are after dinner. Participation of some sort is required, but
participation
is generously interpreted. Really, you can do whatever you want as long as you’re here.”
 

“Like play solitaire in the corner?” I ask.
 

Tony laughs like this is the funniest joke in the world.
 

Down a long, wood-paneled hallway. We pass a few fountains and a lot of art, but this place is decorated with a consistent eye. The mansion’s exterior struck me as contemporary without being overly modern, extravagant without being stuffy. The same is true throughout. The fountains are chrome and natural materials, not pretentious, but surely worth more than the house I rent. The art is probably original, but I don’t know enough to have a clue as to the surely impressive host of artists.

He pushes open a door almost at random then extends his arm for us to enter. It’s a bedroom, with the largest bed I’ve ever seen right in the center. It’s probably twice the size of a king, both wider and longer. There are four posts at the corners and about a thousand pillows atop the extravagant comforter.
 

“I won’t show you every room because they’re mostly the same. Or more accurately, they’re different but same in the ways that matter.” He points. “Bed.” He points again. “Fireplace. It’s wood burning; you can use those logs there if you want to fire it up.” Another swing of his huge, slab-muscled arm, as big around as the largest man’s thighs. There’s a private veranda. You can see all of the balconies from the grounds, of course, but not from the other balconies. There’s a second bed out there. For variety.”
 

I don’t need a lot of variety to sleep.

“Bridget, this is your room, but yours,” he says, turning to Erin, “is almost exactly the same. I’ll show you to it later.”
 

“I have a bag,” Erin says.
 

“It’s already been brought up.”
 

“I did too,” I say, realizing I lost track of it in the confusion.

Tony points. I see my pathetic little backpack beside the luxurious bed.
 

“But there’s not much in it,” I admit.
 

“That’s fine. Trevor has specific tastes.” He opens a drawer I didn’t realize was there because it’s brushed steel and appeared to be part of the wall. It’s filled with clothing I could never afford. “The closet’s full as well. You’ll be given guidelines for what to wear for which events, but they’re only guidelines and you’ll find plenty of flexibility.”

I touch a second drawer. It pops open two inches, and I see it’s filled with fine lingerie. The kind I might buy for myself because it’s cute and comfortable while remaining sexy, and also plenty I’d never wear. The kind men buy women as presents for themselves. I shove the drawer closed.
 

“You’ll find the room fully stocked,” he says. “You’ll want for nothing here.”
 

“I’m diabetic,” Erin blurts.
 

“We know,” Tony says. “There’s a full array of your normal testing supplies in your bedside end table and insulin in your room’s mini fridge.” He points at a spot beside the hidden chest of drawers. “The fridge is in the wall. Took me forever to find mine. Bridget, you have one too, but it’s full of Coke Zero and Zone bars.”
 

Just like my fridge at home. What the hell is going on here?
 

“Every bedroom has a private bathroom.” He heads toward it, and Erin follows. I hang back a little, looking around.
 

You’ll find the room fully stocked.
 

I spy the end table, which in Erin’s room apparently contains diabetic supplies. I open the drawer. Inside I find a copy of
Catch-22
, which I’m reading at home. It’s not my copy, but it’s the same book, and there’s even a bookmark inside it.

Beside the book is a silver vibrator exactly like mine.
 

My face is suddenly hot. I shove the drawer shut, and the sound turns Erin’s head. But Tony’s voice lures her back around as I come forward to join them.
 

“Jacuzzi, dual-head shower, toilet with all but jeweled toilet paper, motherfucking
bidet
. I have no idea what to do with mine. Am I supposed to wash my dick off every time?”
 

Erin giggles nervously.

“You don’t normally live here?” I ask.
 

Tony shakes his head. “No, we’re on the job. All three of us. We usually work as a unit, but this is the first time for Mr. Ross. But Mr. White knows Mr. Ross, and … ” He shrugs to convey the sense everyone can relate to, about how sometimes silly billionaires have to share what I can only assume are studs for hire.
 

“You’ve worked for Caspian White?” Erin asks.
 

“Relax,” Tony says, laughing good-naturedly. “He’s not as interesting as everyone seems to think, trust me. And I get the feeling he’s taken anyway. Or at least has his eye on someone.”
 

“Oh,” Erin says. I almost want to smack her, even though I like her. I’m not sure why either of us is still here after all we’ve seen and heard, and I certainly don’t know why we’re both acting like it’s all so normal and expected. But wetting her panties like a teenager for GameStorming’s darling? It’s so trite I can barely stand it.
 

We leave the bedroom, and Tony shows us a dozen other places in the mansion, each more impressive than the last. There’s a massive outdoor pool with a vanishing edge, heated. Several hot tubs. An indoor pool and an indoor/outdoor pool. A game room with five full-size bowling lanes. Two theater rooms. A glass-ceilinged atrium. A rooftop deck larger than most parks I’ve visited. A small pool that turns out to be an enormous and presumably sharable bathtub, fillable not by faucets (“that would take forever”) but from a tank-and-pump system under the floor that fills it in thirty seconds. A fully-stocked gym. A dedicated video game room (home systems) and a proper arcade (freestanding game machines). Two grand pianos, tops propped open, on opposite ends of the house. We don’t enter the kitchen because all the food will be prepared for us, but Tony assures me there’s a fully appointed one two or three floors down if any of us feel like cooking or baking for ourselves just because we enjoy it.
 

The absurdity of staying is suddenly replaced by a fresh insanity:
staying and baking
. Maybe they’ve stocked the kitchen closet with little French maid outfits so we can bake with our asses out.
 

It’s too much. I shake my head, and Erin is staring before I so much as open my mouth.
 

“Stop,” I say.
 

Tony turns to look at me.

“Just … stop. No more. I want to leave.”
 

“Really?” Tony almost laughs. “I want to stay here forever.”
 

“Not me. This is stupid. I shouldn’t have come. I want my ten thousand dollars. The ten I was promised for showing up. And then I want to get the fuck out of here. Fly me, drive me, get me to an airport. I don’t care. Just show me the way.”
 

“What’s bothering you?”
 

Something snaps. “Are you kidding me?”
 

Tony looks honestly baffled. I almost feel sorry for him, as nice as he’s been. He’s incredibly handsome. Erin probably doesn’t even realize she’s done it, but she’s threaded her arm through his, as if he’ll protect her. She looks so tiny beside him. Like he could break her in half if he wanted to.
 

“What is this, some sort of a fucking sex ranch?” I blurt. “Who are you people? Why do you know so much about me? How did you know about her insulin? The end table with … my
book!”
 

Now I’m split, equally angry and flushed. My mind flashes back to the main room, to the blue-eyed guy with his hand casually on the girl’s pussy beside him, as if it was the most pedestrian thing in the world. I get an unwanted vision of him fingering her wet folds, of him making her come. Of the girl on his other side unzipping his fly and sucking his cock while everyone watches, doing lewd deeds of their own.
 

Is that what they’re doing right now? If we went back there now, would we see an orgy? Would we be expected to join in? Was that what it took to
win
this, to attract the favor of some rich asshole by proving we’re the biggest whore? Well,
FUCK. THAT.
 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, you know.” Then lower, more confidentially, he says, “Trust me, this is a pretty sweet deal.”
 

“Says the man hired to fuck me!”
 

“Only if you want,” Tony says.
 

I hate that the words send a shiver down my spine.
 

“This is wrong. Twisted. Fucked up! Come on, Erin, tell the man I’m not crazy, will you?”
 

I slap Erin on the arm for emphasis, but she’s quiet. Still holding Tony’s enormous upper arm, straining the fabric of his large white shirt, its front still open, displaying abs you could scrub laundry on.

“They’ve been spying on us, Erin. And now that we’re here, they expect us to perform. For cameras.”
 

“Only if you sign a release,” Tony reminds me, his voice eminently reasonable.
 

“And in front of everyone. Just like that. It’s what they expect of us, after Daniel
tries us out
like we’re fucking
appliances.”
 

The old Bridget is back. Her power feels good.
 

“What do you mean, about Daniel?” Erin asks.
 

And just like that, I know Daniel didn’t do the same with her that he did with me. Only I was slutty enough. Only I needed a tryout, it seemed.
 

I back toward the door, away from Tony. I hold out both hands to Erin.
 

“Come with me,” I tell her.
 

Her small hands on his big arm. The look in her eyes. Scared. Wary. Like a doe.
 

“Come on,” I repeat.

But now it’s me Erin seems unsure about. Because something happened between me and Daniel, and Erin’s just putting two and two together. We were equals, until now. Both confused. Both brought here unknowing. Except for me. I can see it in her eyes. She’s no longer sure about the one person she’d been counting on.

“It’s disgusting,” I tell her. “The things they expect us to do for their amusement.”

She’s just watching me.
 

I back the rest of the way out, my head slowly shaking. But I strike the wall, even though I know I’d lined up with the door.