Getting Dirty: A Second Chance Menage Romance (Hard n' Dirty Book 1)

by Aubrey Cara

  Madeline was a beautiful girl when we were kids, but, now... she’s stunning, even, roughed up from her roll in some bushes. I can’t take my eyes off her. Her hair’s not a deep red, but not quite strawberry blonde, either. It’s all soft curls I want to get my hands in and mess up. And her body? She’s filled out in all the right places. She was kind of a bean pole back in the day, but she had the same heart-shaped face and expressive eyes.

  My gaze sweeps down her long, curvy figure. She wiggles her toes as if self-conscious. Her bare feet are slender, her toenails painted fire-engine red.

  They’d look good on my shoulders. Her long, shapely legs stretched up between us. Hell. Yeah.

  Her skin is creamy and pale, and I pray to all that’s holy she’s kept at least a landing strip down below of that natural red hair. I’d happily go on an exploration of her body to discover all its hidden treasures.

  Aaaannd, my chub comes back. I blow out a breath, willing it away.

  Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I was this attracted to a woman.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks. I honestly don’t remember what she sounded like in high school, but I’m sure it wasn’t like this. I would have remembered. Her voice is like sin. Cultured and husky. I want her to whisper shit in my ear while I pound inside her.

  I cough choke. “Everything’s fine. My brother is a jackass,” I explain.

  “Ah, sorry?”

  “Never mind. Are you going to be okay without shoes?” I scan my office, even though I know there’s nothing here she could wear on her feet.

  She gives me a wry smile. “Better than with them on.”

  “Right.” I stare at her for a moment more before shaking myself out of whatever spell she’s cast over me. “Once we get out back, you’ll have to watch your step.”

  “Okay.”

  I hold my hand out, and she stares at it like it’s a foreign object. I’m about to draw it back when she reaches out and laces her slender fingers with mine.

  It feels like a win.

  “Let’s go get your car.”

  Madeline goes through a curious transformation after we get to the truck. If I wasn’t so focused on her, I might have missed how her back stiffened when I held the door open for her. I could practically see her beautiful little ass pucker in distaste as she climbed in, looking around the cab with her nose wrinkled. Gone is the relaxed woman who eye-fucked me while we were in my office.

  Now, she’s still making conversation, but it’s stilted. Polite.

  Her hands are primly folded in her lap, her back ramrod straight like she’s got a stick up her ass. She’s looking out the window with such focus, you’d think she’d catch something if she acknowledged her surroundings.

  She’s uncomfortable, and it’s not because of anything I did.

  I hit a pothole, making her luscious tits bounce, but she otherwise keeps herself rigidly in place.

  My brother’s words are getting to me. I’m starting to think maybe he was right. And I really don’t like to think Jace was right.

  “It’s not going to give you syphilis, you know,” I tell her because part of me wants to call her out. Tease her out of being honest-to-God prissy, since pulling over and spanking the frigid bitch out of her is likely not going to get me a high rating on Yelp. Well, maybe…

  She jerks at my words. “What?”

  “The truck. It’s not diseased. You can touch it.”

  “I know that,” she says, but a guilty flush spreads over her gorgeous face.

  “Do you?’

  “Yes.” And to prove it, she lifts one hand from her lap and places it on the door rest so slowly and carefully I can’t help but crack up.

  “Wow. You wild thing.”

  Her hand jerks back, and she crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to look at me.

  Call me a glutton for punishment, but once we drop her dad’s Pontiac off at the shop, I volunteer to take her to the car-rental place in the bigger town of Shelbyville.

  Her eyes flare when I lead her over to my mint 1968 Shelby Cobra. It’s red like her pretty little toenails. Her reaction takes a little of the sting out of the hit my pride has been taking. I’m not just some grease monkey, dammit.

  Now that she’s situated, I’m trying not to think about how good she looks in my car. She’s running her fingers over the custom black-and-red leather seat and looking around as if impressed but hasn’t said anything other than, “This is a nice car. Loud, but I like it.”

  From the gleam in her eye and the electric charge her body gives off when I rev all eight cylinders, that is an understatement, but I have a feeling Madeline Fitzpatrick is always understated. Refined. Like good whiskey. Top shelf.

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the Daddy Fitzpatrick tree. And you’re still a dirty little no-good Wallace brother.

  Shit. Screw Jace for putting his crap on me. I never had a problem with Mr. Fitzpatrick. And I never thought we were no good.

  “Jess, did you hear me?” Madeline’s looking over at me, and I realize I spaced out.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” I shrug a shoulder. “My brother said something, and I’m letting it get to me.” Damn. I didn’t mean to confess that.

  “Did you want to talk about it?” she asks in a hesitant way that makes me think she’s horrified I might actually do just that.

  “Nah. Thanks.” I give her a wink I hope comes off more charming than forced.

  Then she does something very unexpected. She slides her slender hand over my thigh and gives a squeeze as if in support.

  That little move sends a jolt straight to my dick and I blurt, “I’m tired of the asshole thinking about himself before anyone else.”

  “Whoa.” Her eyebrows go up. “Okay, we’re doing this.” She removes her hand to stack it on the other on her lap, which is probably a good thing. Her touch is like truth serum.

  I give a dry laugh. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize—being a twin must be difficult.”

  “We’re not actually twins.” Though we might as well be. “We’re what they call Irish twins. We were born eleven months apart. Jace is older. Our parents held him back and started us in school together.”

  “I wouldn’t have ever guessed.”

  “It’s okay. Everyone assumes we’re twins.”

  “I don’t have siblings, but you two always seemed close. Back in high school, I mean. Like you weren’t just brothers but good friends.” She sounds wistful. “It must be difficult to lose that.”

  It is. We always did everything together. Shared everything. Then our lives changed, and it felt like we were on different pages.

  Instead of all that, I say, “We’re not fighting. Jace is doing his own thing, and I’m...”

  “Bitter?” she guesses.

  My eyebrows go up. “Dealing. Jeez, woman, I’m dealing with it. He’s been building custom bikes, and I’ve been running the shop.” Alone. But not bitter.

  “And you don’t like running the shop?”

  Who is she, Dr. Phil? “No, not at all. I love it.”

  “But you wish he loved it, too?” Her shrewd gaze scrutinizes.

  I scrub my neck, uncomfortable. “Yeah. I guess I’d always thought it was something we’d do together.”

  “So, Jace’s has been building custom bikes. Why don’t you combine his side business and Wallace & Sons?”

  The thought has crossed my mind. “I’ve actually been thinking about asking him, but... I don’t know.” Things between him and me feel so complicated right now. Weighted. And if he didn’t go for it…

  “You need to take your tampon out, pull up your big girl panties, and ask. I would think it’s a good business move. If he says no, it’s time to get over it.”

  “Did you just tell me to take my tampon out and pull up my panties?”

  “Someone obviously needed to.” She waves a dismissive hand as if she didn’t
bust the shit out of my balls.

  “Well fuck.” Without blinking, this woman not only cracked me like a nut, but was casually crude about it, and I find it as hot as I do annoying. Makes me want to rip down her painted-on jeans and work her ass over. Then work her over my cock.

  “There anything else you think I should be doing?”

  She purses her very kissable lips, her emerald gaze tracking over me in a leisurely way that kicks my pulse up. “Jess Wallace, I didn’t peg you as the type of man who likes to be told what to do.”

  “Did you just threaten to peg me?”

  Her rich, throaty laughter fills the car and shoots straight to my dick.

  I narrow my gaze at her, letting her know she’s playing with fire, and she gives me a sassy smirk full of challenge.

  I’m tempted to pull over right here, right now.

  This woman is asking for it. I’m nobody’s bottom, but that doesn’t stop me from picturing her in a full-body dominatrix getup. Or even better, a strappy bustier that would prop her rack up, along with crotchless panties. The slit would get all glossy with her juices... Fuck she’d look good in patent leather. Or out of it.

  I reach over and roll the window down a bit. It’s suddenly very hot in the car.

  “You up for drinks tonight?” We’re a quarter mile from the car rental place, and I don’t want this to be our last interaction. Not by far.

  I can practically see the wheels turning. I doubt this woman ever does anything spontaneous.

  “Drinks? Tonight?” she asks.

  “Yeah. Tonight.”

  “Where?”

  The question catches me off guard. It’s not a sure, where do you want to go? It’s like her answer is contingent on mine. I should take her up to Ridgeline Bar and Grill. It’s off a resort and the nicest place in the area. Even the new Mexican place one town over, La something or other, would be good. Their tacos are amazing, and I overheard Sue Ruthers saying their margaritas are to die for. Instead I say, “The Den.”

  A well-known biker hangout also frequented by locals like myself, a picture of this place could probably be found next to the definition of dive bar. The imperceptible curl of her lip tells me she’s familiar with it. But then her features smooth, and she nods. “You know what? Sure. Drinks sound good. I’ll meet you there at eight.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re the one who suggested it. Change your mind?”

  “Right, no. Eight is good.” Excitement zips through me. I’m not going to focus on the fact she hesitated, or the fact no other woman has ever hesitated after I’ve asked her out. She said yes. She’s going to have a good time. I’ll make sure of it.

  At The Den…yeah right.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  Madeline Fitzpatrick wouldn’t even stop to piss in a place like The Den.

  I pull up to the front entrance of the car rental place, about to suggest we meet somewhere else, but Madeline’s out of the car before I can turn it off or get out to open her door. I lean over to ask her for her number or to tell her mine, but she gives a little wave and shuts the door in my face.

  “Bye then,” I tell the door. “And you’re welcome.”

  Tonight may be disastrous, but one thing’s for sure—Madeline Fitzpatrick is already proving to be different than anyone I’ve ever met.

  The Den.

  I don’t know why I chose this place.

  Damn. Yes, I do.

  Jace’s words got to me. I don’t even have to close my eyes to remember how her lip had curled slightly in distaste before her expression wiped blank. She smiled and agreed as if coming to a decision not to be a bitch. To not care I was dragging her to a nasty dive bar.

  Having arrived early, I’ve been making conversations with Eddie, the owner of the butcher shop on Main, before claiming a table and glancing at the door every fifteen seconds. I still miss her entrance, but I know the second she arrives. All my senses prickle, and a sort of hush goes over the bar before things pick back up again.

  Glasses click. Feet shuffle. The balls on the pool table smack together. Someone laughs too loudly.

  It’s all background noise.

  Even in jeans molded to every inch of her long legs and a sweater that drapes off one shoulder, she looks higher class than anyone here, including me.

  “What’s she doing here?” The question comes in the form of a low growl at the my shoulder.

  Jace. How the hell did I miss his entrance? Dipwad must have come in the backway. Madeline smiles when she finally spots me, but her steps falter when she catches sight of my brother. I don’t blame her. The asshole is staring daggers at her.

  “I invited her, jackass. Now fuck off.”

  Jace slides a stool out from under the pub table I’ve claimed and plops his ass down.

  “Seriously? You’d better not be planning on staying longer than to say hello.”

  “And miss our little date?” Jace’s brow goes up as he swigs his beer. “I don’t think so, brother.”

  Shit. “I don’t remember inviting you, Brother.”

  Jace’s eyes take on an evil gleam that doesn’t bode well. “Since when do we not share our toys?”

  He knows damn well we haven’t been “sharing” in over a year. Hell, it may be closer to two years. Still, an unbidden image of a naked Madeline writhing between us pops into my head.

  I have to wonder if she’d go for it. If she’s ever experienced or fantasized about the kind of pleasure two men at once could bring her. Hell, I’m not sure I want to share her. Maybe I want to keep her all to myself.

  I will the image away, but, like my brother, it lingers.

  “We’re not having this conversation right now,” I grit out low because Madeline is at the table. Her gaze bounces between the two of us.

  She’s rightfully confused.

  “Jace was just—”

  “About to get a round of drinks,” he finishes before I can dismiss him.

  My jaw ticks, and I give him a glare promising retribution later.

  “What’ll you have, princess?” he continues, unfazed by his unwelcome interloper status. “Some white zin? Chardonnay? Not sure if they carry that shit here, but I can ask.” He winks. The jackass.

  “Bourbon neat, actually. Thanks.” Her smile is tight, but her eyes spark with defiance. It’s a hella turn on.

  Jace stares at her for a few seconds longer, a challenge in his eyes. She meets his glare and tips her head as if to say, game on. I cover my mouth and choke down a laugh. Jace may have met his match.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her the second Jace gets out of earshot. “I don’t know what he’s playing at. We can go somewhere else.”

  She shakes her head and glances at Jace’s back. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of men like him. Retreat is never advised. Besides…” She steps into my space and insinuates herself between my spread knees. Her hands rest on my chest. “I just got here. And I could really use a drink.”

  Shock holds me immobile for a second before I grip her waist and pull her in further, so she’s nestled right up against me. I had expected Madeline to be uptight. At the very least as guarded as she’d been in the truck earlier today, if not downright uncomfortable. I’m not sure what to make of this naughty temptress rubbing against me, but my cock would like an introduction.

  “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re okay with this place.”

  “Oh, I’m not.” She gives me a cheeky grin, leaning in until her lips hover over mine. “This place is a disgusting shithole.”

  I pull back a little. “Then why’d you agree to come?”

  “I don’t back down from a challenge. And that’s what asking me here was, right? Some sort of test?”

  “Fuck,” I mutter at being called out. She pushes off my chest, but I don’t let her go far. “I’m sorry.”

  “Honestly? It was a dick move. Normally, I would have said no, but…”

  “But?”

  “There is something abou
t you, Jess Wallace. I actually believe you weren’t trying to be a dick.”

  I spread my hand in supplication. “I wasn’t. I swear. And we really can go somewhere else. This place is a shithole.”

  She laughs. “We’re already here.” Her gaze flicks to Jace at the bar. “Might as well have a drink.” She places her hand on my thigh, and I notice her nails. Red.

  “You got your nails done,” I say more as a statement.

  “Yeah, after this morning I decided I deserved a little pampering.” She raises her hand as if for my inspection. “You like?”

  I take it and gently bite the pad of her index finger. Her eyes dilate, and her breath goes shallow. “Red looks good on you.” And now they match her little toes. Why is that so hot?

  Jace slams the drinks down on the table hard enough my beer sloshes out.

  “Jeez, man, what’s your deal?” I bite out.

  Madeline smiles serenely, turns so her back is pressed to my front, and picks up her drink. “Thanks, Jace.”

  He grunts in reply and sits down, a menacing scowl on his face. I internally groan, noticing he has switched from beer to bourbon. “So, what is it you do for a living, princess?” he asks.

  She stiffens imperceptibly at the question.

  “I’m chief risk analyst of a corporate hedge fund,” she says as if he’s not being the biggest dickbag.

  His eyebrows go up. Mine do, too. “I don’t know what that means,” he says.

  Her phone pings from her purse. She pulls it out, giving a cursory glance, and her lips pull tight, but she has a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “It means…” She shoots off a quick text and turns her phone off before continuing. “It means you’re not even close to being the biggest asshole I’ve dealt with today.”

  I choke on my beer.

  Jace pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth. “So,” he says and takes a sip. “You’re kind of like a proctologist?” He’s acting like an undeterred douche, but I know she’s rattled him.

  She laughs, sending tingles down my spine and right to my dick. She meets his gaze levelly. “Yeah. But without the lube or bedside manner.” She has a killer sense of humor.

  Jace slams back his drink, his throat working, and clunks the glass on the table.