Page 118 of Spurred On

The woman yanked her top down farther, until almost nothing was covered, and then she pulled her breasts apart.

“I. There. I see it.” He went in again, bless him, looking diligent and sincere, and finally, pulled out a fairly mashed beetle.

It was probably a beetle.

Kind of hard to tell.

Brandon shook his fingers in an attempt to flick poor-crushed-creature-guts from them.

Sidney leaned in and watched as bits of beetle tumbled to the grass. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a bee,” she remarked.

It was a totally logical observation and probably didn’t deserve an outraged snarl of absolute revulsion.

Then again, Sidney didn’t care. The woman’s glare meant nothing to her. Literally nothing.

Once the creature was disposed of and the pony trail started up again, Sidney rode up to Brandon and said, beneath her breath, “My hero.”

He waggled his brows. “Yeah, you owe me one for that.” And she had to grin.

But her grin faded when, as they rode into the yard chatting amiably, Porsche caught a glimpse of the two of them together and shot her a flaming scowl.

***

There was little time to relax after the rides. Sidney grabbed a quick shower and then reported to the kitchen to help Lisa create the centerpiece for Diane’s birthday lunch. Lisa had planned an elaborate display featuring a cake that seemed to be floating on clouds of spun sugar.

It seemed fairly straightforward from Lisa’s sketch; it was anything but. For one thing, Sidney had never worked with spun sugar and while it was fun to create, the hardened threads were extremely fragile. More than once they created exactly the effect they were trying for, only to have some slight movement make it crack.

They finally got what they wanted and then carried the confection gingerly into the dining room. Once that was done, Sidney set the tables, prepared the buffet display, and helped Lisa carry in the food. While the guests were eating, Sidney headed upstairs to make up their beds and clean up a spill in one of the rooms.

And here’s the weird thing. She enjoyed every minute. Even cleaning the hair extensions out of the bathtub drain in room five. Even changing the sheets in room nine, because the linen was impossibly rumpled and spattered with oil and body glitter. Even cleaning the toilet in four that had been brutally violated the night before.

Even when Claire followed her around with a white glove.

She enjoyed every minute.

The thought stunned her, because she’d never before thought of herself as a servant girl—as Bitchula had called her. She’d never been the type to suffer orders well.

But that was the thing. She didn’t feel as though she was being ordered about. She wanted to be here. She wanted to help. She wanted this place for herself.

She knew it had a lot to do with Cody and being with him and spending time with him . . . but it also had to do with the sense of satisfaction she got from knowing she was really helping out.

Funny, but true.

Beyond that, her job did have definite perks.

In late afternoon, she and Claire headed to the lake to set up the dinner picnic. Once that was done, Sidney was off duty until it was time to clean up, so she sat with her sister and friends and enjoyed the entertainment. Which was: Dismal Karaoke.

It was probably wrong of her, snarking on the guests as they mangled well-known songs, but they were horrible.

That was until Hanna’s friend Amy popped onstage and began singing “Survivor,” by Destiny’s Child. Sidney’s jaw dropped because—seriously?—Amy had pipes. And then—to everyone’s astonishment—Brandon joined her up there and launched into a dance by her side. The crowd went wild when he began executing astounding moves that defied gravity. In addition to being a damn nice guy, he could really dance.

During his routine, Sidney glanced at Porsche. The expression on her face was one of rapturous adoration. And the way he looked at her . . . damn. It was obvious there was something between them.

Sidney’s heart swelled in her chest. She adored Porsche, even though the two of them had been at odds for years. She’d suffered a lot of guilt because of her flings with Cody—though she’d always convinced herself she wasn’t betraying her friend because what she and Cody had was hardly permanent, but a part of her never really bought that justification.

Seeing Porsche so happy filled Sidney with joy. Joy that her friend had found a man, a real man, a nice man—a man who was obviously as besotted with her as she was with him. There was relief in there too, twined with her delight. Because there was no lame excuse left to keep Sidney from exploring what she and Cody had.

A trill of delight wafted through her. Its intensity surprised her.