Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

An hour later, we have a plan. Several plans, actually.

  First, we’ve decided to rename the restaurant. It’s now going to be called Piper’s. “A bit vain, don’t you think?” I ask Wyatt and Owen doubtfully. “Naming the place after myself?”

  “People are going to flock here for your food, Piper,” Owen says grandly. “Of course it has to be named after you.”

  I giggle, charmed by Owen’s statement. We’ve made significant inroads into the bottle of vodka, and we’re all feeling the effects. I’m tipsy. The alcohol plays a role in my light-headedness, but so does the relief of knowing I don’t have to face this alone.

  I’ve misjudged Owen and Wyatt, the same way they’ve misjudged me. Today feels like a renewal of sorts. New beginnings.

  “Okay,” I agree. “What kind of food should Piper’s serve?”

  “Not Middle Eastern,” Wyatt says at once. “I love Middle Eastern food, but that’s not your strength. Why on earth did your aunt decide to open Aladdin’s Lamp anyway?”

  “It’s a family secret.” I lean forward, lowering my voice to a whisper. I can’t seem to stop smiling. “When she was in her twenties, she had an affair with a man from Egypt, but her parents found out and dragged her back home in horror. Years later, she opened the restaurant as a way to remember him.”

  I reach for the bottle to pour myself another shot, but Wyatt puts his hand over my wrist. “Pace yourself, Piper,” he advises. He gets me a glass of water. “Drink up.”

  I frown at him. “Are you my mother?” I demand, my words slurring. “I’m not a child, you know.”

  “Trust me, Piper. I’m well aware of that fact.” Wyatt’s eyes gleam with an emotion I can’t quite identify. His hand still remains on mine, and my body prickles with an unexpected heat. He’s got nice eyes, Wyatt. The color of dark chocolate. A girl could gaze into them all night.

  Oh. Oh.

  I can feel myself sway toward him. For a moment, he watches me, sharp interest in his gaze, then he stiffens and pulls his hand away. My entire face flushes at his rejection. “So what should I cook, then?” I ask, my voice cool.

  “Southern food,” Owen replies promptly. “Fried chicken. Macaroni and cheese. Ribs. Soul food. That’s your sweet spot and you know it. Why else do you have mac and cheese on your menu?”

  “It’s my most profitable dish.” I stop to consider his words. Oh my God. They’re totally right. I’ve been drowning in the weeds, and I’ve never stopped to think there might be clearer water ahead. “I am an idiot,” I exclaim, shaking my head. “How did I not see that?”

  Owen reaches out and ruffles my hair. “That’s what we’re here for,” he grins. “To give you the benefit of our wisdom and experience.”

  God, they can be conceited. “Of course.” I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Please, Owen,” I mock. “Please tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Will you?” His blue eyes hold mine for just an instant, just long enough for me to feel a spark of heat. My imagination is throwing up one carnal image after another. Me on my knees in front of Owen as Wyatt watches. Owen’s hand tangling in my hair, pulling me toward his crotch. Wyatt unbuttoning my shirt, his expression knowing.

  You’re not attracted to assholes, I remind myself. But that’s precisely the problem. They aren’t being assholes anymore, and because of that, I’m seeing what Wendy noticed right away. They’re two very attractive men, and I haven’t been on a date, let alone anything else, in a really long time.

  Don’t be an idiot, Piper, I scold myself. They’re your partners, nothing else.

  My pulse beats in my neck and I force words out through my dry throat. “You know what I mean.”

  Everything’s frozen for an instant. It feels like anything can happen. The night is alive with possibility. My blood is racing, and my body feels heavy with desire. Do I dare act on it?

  My mother’s voice rings in my ear. Well-behaved Southern women definitely don’t get into threesomes.

  I pull back. “We’ll also need to do something about this space.”

  There’s a brief flicker of disappointment in Owen’s eyes, gone before I even really register it. “I’ll start keeping an eye on the auction lots,” he says. “Let’s see what we can get for cheap. First though, we’ll need a new sign. I’ll arrange for one tomorrow.”

  “I’ll draw up a contract,” Wyatt adds. “And though I’m not looking forward to it, I’ll talk to Maisie.”

  “Why not?” The vodka’s making me bold and curious. “Why don’t you want to talk to her?”

  “We used to date,” he replies, his tone making it clear that I should change the topic. “It’s not a big deal.”

  I don’t know why that bothers me. Guys like Wyatt and Owen are hardly likely to be single. They’re good looking and wealthy. In New York, where women outnumber men by a significant margin, they can pick and choose whoever they want. For all I know, they could be in relationships right now.

  That thought depresses me even further. Time to call it a night, Piper, I tell myself, before I can allow myself to wallow further. Imaging a threesome with them is a pleasant fantasy, but allowing myself to think that it could happen is the most foolish thing I can do. We live in different worlds, and in any case, I have a restaurant to save.

  “I have to go.” I rise to my feet. “Let me know when the contract is ready.”

  They get up as well. Once again, they give me troubled looks. Stupid vodka. It’s making me think of things that I’ve ignored for so many years now. It’s making me realize how long it’s been since I felt the weight of a man’s body against mine, and it’s making me yearn for their touch.

  This is insane. I need to get out of here.

  13

  If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.

  Rene Descartes

  Owen:

  The next morning, my head’s throbbing and my mouth is dry. The room sways and tilts around me.

  And that’s not even the worst of it.

  Nothing happened, I console myself, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Last night, Piper was vulnerable and tipsy. Thankfully, no one had crossed the line, because it would’ve been a huge mistake. We don’t take advantage of drunk women, and we don’t sleep with people we’re in business with. The lines get too tangled.

  I make myself a cup of coffee and call Max Emerson. He picks up on the second ring. “Owen Lamb,” he says, an edge in his voice. “What a surprise.”

  I’m not a fan of Max Emerson. The kindest word I could use to describe him is sleazy. Though he wanted Wyatt and I to invest in his gastropub, he was extremely secretive about his operations, and a couple of times, he flat-out lied to us. “Max.” It takes effort to sound neutral. “How’ve you been?”

  “I can’t complain, Owen.” He still sounds pissed. “Great things are happening for Emerson’s every day.”

  I very much doubt that. Emerson’s is, at best, run of the mill. Max’s chef is mediocre, and the menu is generic. About the only thing the place has in its favor is its location. I rub at my forehead and wish I had the good sense to formulate a plan before I called Emerson. “That’s great to hear, Max.”

  “Yeah,” he continues. “We’re participating in Can You Take the Heat? and we’re going to win. I’m sure you’ve heard of the contest. Yelp is going to put the winner on the front page of its website for three months. You guys are going to regret picking Piper Jackson instead of me.”

  My hackles rise. Don’t mention Piper’s name, I want to growl.

  I have to say I’m surprised Emerson’s is participating in Maisie’s show. Wyatt’s going to want to know that.

  I make a snap judgement. I don’t want to talk to this guy anymore. I’ll find the information I’m looking for in other ways. “I heard the news,” I lie. “I was calling to congratulate you on being selected.” My tone hardens. “Unfortunately, you aren’t going to win, Max. Pi
per Jackson’s taking part in the contest as well. And we all know that when it comes to a contest between her and you, you’re going to lose.”

  I hang up before he can respond, then I shake my head at my impulsiveness. Wyatt better be able to sweet talk Maisie into letting Piper into the show.

  * * *

  After last night, I’m convinced Piper is clean, but I’m not sure about her landlord. Once I’ve showered, I head out toward Aladdin’s Lamp. It’s a little after nine in the morning, and I expect the place to be empty.

  Sure enough, there’s no one about.

  There are things I learned in Dublin that I haven’t let myself forget. I could pick the lock and let myself in, but there’s nothing to see there. Instead, I slip into the narrow alleyway between Piper’s restaurant and the building next door, and head to the back.

  There are three possible ways a restaurant can be mixed up with the mob — money-laundering, drugs, and an illegal gambling ring. I have access to Piper’s books, so I can rule out money laundering. My goal today is to search for any evidence of drugs or a gambling ring.

  The alleyway smells of stale urine and rotting garbage. Though it’s bright outside, this pathway is dim, the tall buildings on either side obstructing all sunlight. I walk slowly, looking for signs of drug activity, but nothing seems out of place.

  Which leaves a gambling ring. I curse under my breath as I reach the dumpsters in the back of the building. Gamblers like the trappings of the good life — fancy Scotch and smuggled cigars from Cuba. If an illegal gambling ring is being run from Piper’s restaurant, there’ll be empty bottles in the trash.

  Fucking Mendez, I think sourly. I hate rooting through garbage.

  Five minutes later, I’ve rummaged through the waste and the recycle bins, and I’ve found nothing. I’m ready to give up when a voice speaks. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I freeze, because the grey-haired man who asks the question is also holding a sawed-off shotgun, and it’s pointed right at me.

  Shit. This must be Piper’s landlord.

  I raise my hands up in the air, very slowly. “Hello,” I say cautiously. “I’m Owen.”

  “Are you now?” His voice remains hard. “What are you doing in my dumpster?”

  “Your dumpster?” I act as if I’ve just realized who he is. “Ah, you must be Piper’s landlord.”

  He relaxes slightly, but the barrel of the gun stays fixed on me. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Owen Lamb. I’m one of Piper’s new partners.”

  He finally lowers the weapon. “Sorry about that,” he says gruffly. “But you can never tell in this neighborhood. I’m Michael O’Connor.”

  What does he mean, you can never tell in the neighborhood? The crime rates in Hell’s Kitchen aren’t high. There’s nothing that warrants pointing a gun at me. What is Michael O’Connor worried about?

  Damn it. Each lead I follow seems to produce more questions than answers.

  “No worries.” I reach forward to shake his hand. “I appreciate you watching out for the place.”

  He nods curtly. “What were you doing back here anyway?” he asks. “This is a strange place to be hanging around in.”

  I search about for an excuse, cursing the vodka for the fuzziness in my brain. My head feels like a construction crew has taken a jackhammer to it. “Food wastage,” I improvise. “I’m trying to get a handle of how much food we throw away.”

  He raises an eyebrow at my explanation. “By poking around the garbage? Odd way to go about it.”

  “Well,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. “I’m a very hands-on partner.”

  Michael O’Connor is staring at me. “You’re an Irishman, aren’t you, lad? I’ve lived here for forty years and I’ve never lost my accent. You neither, from the sound of it.” His face scrunches into a puzzled frown. “Do I know you from somewhere? Your face looks really familiar.”

  Shit. This time, I’m really in trouble. Hell’s Kitchen is filled with Irish immigrants, and Michael O’Connor could be working for the Westies. I’m the spitting image of my father. If he figures out who I am, I’m in danger.

  Not just me. Everyone I care about could be hurt. The Westies demonstrated their ruthlessness seventeen years ago when they killed my mother and my sister as revenge for my father’s betrayal.

  I’ve done something really stupid by coming to Hell’s Kitchen. I’ve put Piper and Wyatt in danger.

  14

  Better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.

  Khaled Hosseini

  Wyatt:

  When the sun streams into the bedroom, I wake up, my dick uncomfortably hard. My head is filled with images of Piper sandwiched between Owen and I, her head thrown back in abandon as we both touch her, tease her, pleasure her.

  She’s not that sort of girl, Lawless.

  I throw off the covers and rise to my feet, anxious to banish the fantasies from my mind.

  I’ve been attracted to Piper since the moment I met her, but until yesterday, I’d been able to dismiss her as a spoiled rich girl who was used to having everything handed to her.

  Now, things are different. She’s had to fight for her dreams, and I respect her for it.

  It makes the attraction that much harder to resist.

  Last night, her eyes were soft and shining. When she thanked us, there had been such a fervent note of gratitude in her voice that I found myself angry at all the people that have made her doubt herself. Piper’s an excellent chef. Sebastian Ardalan would hire her in a heartbeat, and he’s the pickiest fucking employer in the city. She should be ready to kick ass and take names.

  Owen and I had walked her to her apartment. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked her when we got to her front door. “Is your roommate going to be home tonight?”

  She had giggled at that. “If she does come back here, I’d question her sanity,” she’d said with an impish grin. “She’s got two hot men at her beck and call. Lucky Bailey.”

  Her roommate was in a threesome, and Piper wasn’t freaking out? My cock had gone rock hard at that, and Owen and I had exchanged startled looks. Then Piper had swayed slightly, her eyes closing, and that had dashed my hopes of anything happening. “Thank you for believing in me,” she’d whispered. “I won’t let you down.”

  I’d felt like I’d been doused in cold water. I’d been trying to think of ways to get her naked, and she was just grateful she had allies. I felt like a louse. Owen and I had disengaged ourselves as quickly as we could.

  It was probably for the best.

  She needs us to save her restaurant. We can’t make a pass at her under those circumstances. It wouldn’t be right.

  Speaking of saving her restaurant, I need to man up in a hurry. It’s time to call Maisie.

  * * *

  “Maisie, how’s it going? It’s Wyatt.”

  We’ve exchanged a couple of polite emails since our break-up nine months ago, but this is the first time we’ve talked. Maisie sounds surprised to hear from me. “What’s up?”

  I massage my temples as I consider my words. Our relationship ended on cordial terms, so I don’t really need to tiptoe around her contest, but her rejection had wounded me. I should have never got involved with Maisie Hayes. She was too much of a good girl for someone like me.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Sure,” she says agreeably. “What is it?”

  “I saw your blog post about the contest in Hell’s Kitchen. I’d like to enter a restaurant.”

  “Oh.” Her voice is curious. “One of your ventures?”

  “Yes, it’s a small restaurant called Piper’s.” Or will be as soon as we get the new sign ordered. “Owen and I just invested in the place.”

  “All restaurants that want to be on the show need to submit an application,” she tells me. “The deadline has passed, but I’ll make an exception for an old friend. Get me the details today, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.�
�

  “No problem, Wyatt.”

  Maisie broke our relationship off because of my desire for kinky sex. I should have known things wouldn’t work out. She was too concerned about her image, and a threesome would have been bad publicity.

  After the break-up, I made myself a promise. I’m not going to look for anything serious anymore. I’ve tried to keep things casual. My needs are incompatible with anything real.

  An image of Piper flashes in front of me, her blue eyes hazy with desire. Ruthlessly, I dismiss it. She’s my partner. Nothing else.

  15

  Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself.

  Richard Bach

  Piper:

  The next morning, my head still hurting from the vodka, my heart still stinging from last night’s rejection, I call Wendy. “I need you,” I tell her. “You’re the most sensible person I know. Help me.”

  “If you really killed them, you need to give me a retainer,” she quips, her voice amused. “What’d you do, Piper?”

  “Not over the phone.” I bang my head against the wall, once, twice, three times for luck. I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe the way I threw myself at Owen and Wyatt last night. I need Wendy to slap some good sense into me.

  “Do you have time to come by my office before you open?” she asks. “You can buy me a cup of coffee.”

  “Sounds good. See you in an hour.”

  * * *

  “I almost kissed them.”

  Wendy’s perfectly manicured eyebrow rises. “You did?” She sounds more curious than scandalized. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

  “They were nice to me yesterday.” Hearing those words spoken out loud, I wince. God, I sound pathetic.

  Wendy looks intrigued. “Tell me everything, Piper,” she orders. “Start at the beginning.”