Dare Me (A MFM Ménage Romance)

by Vivian Ward

  She grins at me, admiring me as I devour the dinner that she prepared.

  “That’s why you got the invitation instead of the others. I bet Mr. Ford won’t withdraw your invitation at all. It’s probably just a ploy to scare you,” she says.

  She sounds so confident, and I wish that I had the same confidence, but she doesn’t know Ford like I do. When he doesn’t get his way, he’s not a happy man.

  And I know why he wants her to attend the party. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her plump lips, those soft eyes, and her long beautiful hair. Who wouldn’t want to look at her? She’s every man’s dream.

  That’s why she’s mine.

  “As much as I’d like to believe that, I don’t think so, Pipes.”

  Ford has a reputation for flirting with all the ladies, including the wives of the other partners. It’s like a conquest for him to see how many women he can take to bed.

  “I think you’re wrong,” she says.

  Pouring us another glass of wine, she plants a soft kiss on my cheek and smiles sweetly at me.

  “What time do you think you’ll be home tomorrow?” she asks after topping off my glass.

  “Hard to say,” I take a drink. “I have to meet with Whitlow, the other attorney working against us, and then I’ll have to talk to our paralegals to make sure they can get us what we need before we proceed with the case.”

  “Do you think you’ll be home early or late?” she presses.

  I’m not sure why she’s so worried about what time I’ll be home. She hardly ever asks.

  “Um, I really can’t say,” I tell her, finishing off the last of my dinner. “I know it won’t be early at all. That’s completely out of the question. I’ll be lucky to make it home on time, honestly.”

  She pushes out her bottom lip and makes a sad face.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Oh, no reason. I was just wondering.”

  I watch her clear our plates and rinse them at the sink before loading them into the dishwasher. It’s a mundane task that she does every evening but I never get tired of watching her. The only thing that would make it better is if she were to put on a skimpy maid outfit and prance around the house while she does chores.

  I’ve fantasized about that a lot. I love it when she wears lingerie and dresses sexy for me. She has an amazing body, and I love looking at her.

  I really lucked out with her, and I remind myself of that daily.

  “What are you looking at?” she asks me, coming to sit on my lap.

  “Just my amazing fiancée. You’re so beautiful,” I stroke her face with the back of my fingertips. “You make even the dullest chores seem so exotic.”

  She tosses her head back and laughs, her cheeks blushing a slight crimson. It’s the same color her face flushes when we’re having sex, and I love it. The color suits her well.

  “Whatever,” she says, playing with the buttons on my dress shirt. “You’re so crazy.”

  “No, I know a good thing when I see it,” I say to her.

  Pulling her fingers to my mouth, I gently kiss each one of them.

  “I love you,” I say to her. “I’m the luckiest man in the world. Do you know that?”

  The blush on her cheeks glows a little brighter.

  “No,” she says. “I don’t.”

  “Let me show you,” I kiss her neck.

  She snuggles up to me, allowing me to inhale the smell of her body spray. I love the scent she’s wearing. It’s a mixture of flowers with a hint of vanilla.

  “More,” she says. “I like it when you show me.”

  Her eyes look deep into mine, and I swear I can see trouble clouding them.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” I ask, pulling back from her for a moment.

  Piper is always so fun and carefree, but the worry is written all over her face. Something isn’t right; something is off.

  “Nothing,” her eyes pop open. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem like you’re nervous or anxious about something. Is everything okay?”

  Staring straight ahead as though I’m not there, she bobs her head.

  “Everything is fine,” she answers.

  “Are you sure? If something is on your mind, we can talk about it,” I tell her.

  “Nope, nothing is on my mind. I guess I’m just a little stressed about my bridal shower and the wedding and our honeymoon. You know how it all goes,” she reassures me.

  With a hint of a smile spreading across her face, I briefly think about all the stress that she’s probably under and I’m sure I’m not helping any. Come to think of it; I’ve not helped much at all.

  I’ve let her handle everything and make all of the arrangements. I tried to help her in the beginning, but it’s like she has this perfect wedding in mind that she wants to play out and I didn’t want to interfere. I want her to have the wedding that she’s always dreamed of so I stepped aside to let her do whatever it is that she wants to be done.

  Now I sort of feel selfish for not taking on more of the tasks. I’m sure she needs help, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do or where my role fits in all of this. I have no idea what kind of flowers, or what color they’re supposed to be.

  Everything is lavender-this and gold-that or pink lace-this and floral white-that.

  While it’s our wedding, it’s her big day, and I want her to be happy, so I’ll let her make all of the arrangements, so they’re exactly what she wants, and I’ll just make sure she’s very happy on the honeymoon.

  “I’m sorry that I haven’t been much help in all this, Pipes. I’m just not sure how you want things so I figured I’d let you do most of it but if you need help, I’m here. I’ll do anything you need me to,” I assure her.

  “Oh, I know,” she says. “But I really just wanted to know about your schedule tomorrow.”

  This is really strange. She’s never been this obsessed with the work hours that I keep.

  “What’s going on, Pipes? Why do you keep asking? Isn’t tomorrow Wednesday? What’s so special about tomorrow?”

  “Nothing,” she says, getting off of my lap. “I was just curious. You know how I like to plan ahead and have dinner ready when I can.”

  She’s acting so strange, but I’m not sure why.

  “Where are you going?” I ask as she begins to make her way out of the kitchen.

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll go put on my jammies and call it an early night.”

  Watching her walk out of the kitchen, my gut tells me that she’s keeping something from me, but I’m not sure what it is. She’s never kept a secret from me in all the years we’ve been together, but it’s just a feeling I get.

  On the other hand, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all of the wedding details getting to her and she’s overworked, overstressed and needs a break. I hope that’s all it is.

  Chapter 8

  Piper

  Pulling up to the curb, I park in front of The Indigo Room and glance at the car clock. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Ford inside in the next 15 minutes, but I don’t know if I can go through with it.

  I felt so bad lying to Logan last night. We don’t keep secrets from each other, and I know he knows that I was keeping something from him. It makes me feel so bad, too.

  Ever since I concocted this crazy plan, I keep reminding myself that this is a good secret. It’s for his benefit.

  If I can help him out, I’ll do anything I can. For better or worse, right? That’s how I’m looking at things. Sometimes a woman helps her man and has his back whether he knows it or not.

  And since Logan is too proud to have my help, I have to do it in secret.

  Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s worked too damn hard to earn this partnership with Ford and Associates, and I’m not going to let it slip away.

  Checking my makeup in the mirror, I wipe away a smudge of eyeliner and straighten my hair by running my fingertips through it. I decide that it makes my hair look too flat so I scrunch it back u
p, making it appear fuller and bouncier.

  I hope that when I talk to Mr. Ford, he realizes that I’m only trying to help my husband and doesn’t view me as a pathetic soon-to-be wife who does her husband’s groveling. I’m not like that at all. In fact, that’s the complete opposite of me. I almost never ask for things and love a good challenge.

  My entire life has been based on challenges.

  When I was growing up with my brothers, all they did was push me to my limits. They tested me in every way imaginable. My brothers also taught me how to survive and showed me how to get my way, on occasion. There’s nothing like being the baby of a litter of four.

  I’m not sure why my parents were so insistent on having a little girl, but I’m glad they did, or I wouldn’t be here. You’d think after three boys, they’d give up and decide not to try again, but my dad was determined to have a little girl that he could show off to all of his friends.

  He loved playing ball with my brothers, but his eyes twinkled like stars at every ballet recital and dance rehearsal. He loved spoiling me with lots of attention, and there were definitely more daddy/daughter days than mommy/daughter days.

  And that’s not to say that my mom doesn’t love me as much as my dad because she does, but my dad always put me on a pedestal. Mom liked to show me how to do “womanly things” as she called them. They were all mundane things like cleaning, baking, and how to curl my hair.

  Of course, all of those things came in handy later on down the road, but we didn’t really spend much time together just hanging out. Not like Dad and I did, anyway. And daddy made sure my brothers looked after me and protected their baby sister, but my brothers were naturally protective of me without daddy having to tell them to be.

  Those boys might have given me hell when we were growing up and dared me to climb the tallest of trees—and then make fun of me when I got scared and stuck halfway up—but they also taught me how to let loose and not be so serious.

  They taught me a lot about life, and how to get to the top. I think they’re a big part of what has made me so competitive. I never had to compete for love from our parents. I had plenty of love, but they were my rivals, and we did everything together from playing games and making dares to fighting with each other and sticking up for one another.

  I also viewed academics as a challenge and worked my ass off for every A and advanced class that I took. My second oldest brother, Matt, was always on the honor roll and was in the National Honor Society. I always liked that he was my biggest academic competitor out of all of my brothers because I learned a lot from him.

  The way mom and dad lit up and beamed at him when he showed them all of his A’s made me want that same attention. Sure, it was nice to be the baby and the cute girl in the family, but I wanted everyone to know that I was more than a walking baby doll, which is how I sometimes felt.

  Ironically, Matt never knew that I saw him that way. Instead, he embraced my studying and helped me when I needed him. He’d probably laugh at me if he knew the real truth about how I viewed things and looking back at it, it was pretty silly. But, it did bring us closer together and gave us something to bond over.

  Our oldest brother, CJ, he was the ring leader of all of us. He made decent grades, but he was our prankster, and he loved to play games. Actually, he taught the rest of us how to play cards and how to gamble. Mom used to always catch us betting our allowance money on a card game or over a game of dice. She’d always yell at us, and we’d pretend to stop, but we never did.

  We waited for her to walk back up the basement stairs and throw all of our money back in the pile and continue playing until winner took all. When we got older, we invited our friends to play and usually took all of their money in games. We always had a lot of fun.

  Ian, the youngest of my brothers and the last boy before I was born, is probably the most spoiled out of all of us. Being the last baby boy, mom and dad gave him a lot of breaks when it came to the rules. They also let him get by with a lot more than the others because I was born right before his second birthday. Most of their attention went to me, and as we got older, mom and dad had certain expectations of me.

  He grew into a successful businessman, though. Ian went into sales, which is actually what made me major in marketing. Without him, I might not be where I am today and would have never met Logan. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that.

  When it comes to relationships, I’ve always viewed them as a challenge too. How can I make him happy? What can I do to keep things fun? Where would he like to go? Will he like it if I wear a particular outfit? What makes him tick?

  My challenge has always been to keep my man as happy as possible and figure out what he likes. And while I’m a man-pleaser, I’m also a Piper-pleaser. Logan completes me; he’s what makes me tick and he’s what makes me a happy woman.

  He’s so good to me. When I hear my friends complaining about their man and how he doesn’t do enough for them, I can’t imagine that. If I’m sick, Logan runs me a hot bath and fixes me chicken noodle soup. When I’m tired and fall asleep on the couch, he carries me to bed. If it’s my birthday or our anniversary, he has candies or flowers and a card waiting for me.

  So, me meeting with his boss and keeping this secret is worth it to me. I want to make him happy, and his success is my success.

  Applying a thin layer of lip gloss, I place the tube back inside my purse and exit my car. We’ve still got almost 10 minutes until our meeting, but his secretary called me today saying that he’ll be waiting on me at the bar. The last thing I want to do is keep the man waiting; she reminded me of that when we ended the phone call yesterday and I intend to keep this man happy so that Logan makes partner.

  A tall man wearing black slacks and a maroon vest with a white undershirt pulls the tall, heavy door open for me as I approach the building.

  “Hello, ma’am,” he says. “Are you joining someone tonight or will your party be here soon?”

  “No, I’m joining Oliver Ford,” I say, peeking around the man as I try to spot Mr. Ford.

  “Oh, Mr. Ford. Yes, he said that he was expecting company. Please, follow me,” he says as he leads me inside.

  It’s no shock that the doorman knows exactly who Ford is. Everyone in the city knows him.

  The place is nice; more than nice, actually. The tall ceiling makes it feel roomier than it probably is and the dark blue floor accentuates the shiny, marble blue countertop where patrons sit facing the neatly stocked bar. The low-hanging ceiling lights reflect off the surface which almost illuminates the bar, giving it an electric blue glow.

  Surprisingly, the place doesn’t smell at all like a bar. It has a fresh, citrus scent and feels so relaxing. The soft music playing in the background is a nice touch, though it’s barely audible.

  Following the man through The Indigo Room, we pass the open bar area and continue past all of the tables and booths where guests are sipping cocktails and enjoying appetizers while partaking in conversation.

  We begin walking down a hallway, and when we reach the end, he opens a door to my left where there’s a private sitting area. Mr. Ford is sitting in a booth, casually sipping his drink when the gentleman shows me to the table.

  “Piper, have a seat,” Mr. Ford pats the black leather seat beside him.

  Taking him up on his offer, I sit beside him and lay my purse on the table as I nervously smile at him. It’s been about six months since I last saw him, but even then it was a quick hello, and I was right back to talking to Diane, Mitch’s wife.

  “Can I get you a drink?” our hostess asks me.

  She’s a tall, slender blonde with resting bitch face. I’m not sure if the bags under her eyes are from lack of sleep or from crying, but either way, I feel bad for her. She doesn’t look happy at all, almost like she’s miserable.

  “No, thank you,” I tell her.

  “Oh, come on. Get a drink,” Mr. Ford says. “What do you like?”

  The waitress waits for my answer, and she
seems more annoyed that I didn’t just order something right off the bat when she asked the first time because now she has to stand there and wait, taking up more of her time.

  “Um, I guess I’ll take a tequila sunrise,” I finally say.

  She nods with a curt smile and disappears, leaving me alone with Mr. Ford. Suddenly, I wish that she were back here because it feels weird for me to be with Logan’s managing partner with not much to talk about besides the favor I want to ask him for.

  “I pictured you as more of a bourbon girl,” he says, with a smile plastered on his face.

  “Sometimes I am, but why would you say that? I mean, what would make you guess?”

  “Call it a hunch,” he winks at me. “You seem like a classy girl, but a tequila sunrise? That tells me something else about you.”

  “What does it tell you?” I ask.

  God, he’s so handsome. His black hair is beginning to go a bit gray at the edges, and his strong jawline has just a bit of stubble.

  He’s every woman’s dream when it comes to the older man, younger woman fantasy and he can totally play that role with the amount of money he has.

  His suit probably cost a grand and judging his expensive black leather shoes; I’d say those were another few hundred dollars.

  Everything about him is perfectly groomed and tailored. His eyebrows are neatly trimmed, his nails are nicely manicured, and his clothes fit him like a glove. The expensive scent of his cologne tickles my nose and acts as an aphrodisiac. I’d love to buy Logan whatever this man is wearing because it’s practically disintegrating my panties.

  “That you like to cut loose. You’re laid back, and that you like to have fun. It also tells me that you’re a bit of a drinker.”

  I’m impressed. He’s not wrong, and I find it fascinating that he’s able to pick up that much about me from a drink order.

  “Here you go,” the waitress says, placing my glass on a cocktail napkin.

  The tall glass is filled with the prettiest mix of orange and red, and is garnished with an orange slice that rests next to the floating black straw. Eager to taste how delicious it is, I give it a slight stir and take a sip.