Three Part Harmony

by Holley Trent

  His focus drifted from one breast then the other, working both nipples to stiff peaks before moving on to explore other swathes of her body.

  The bends of her neck. Her cleavage again. Down her quivering belly to her navel. He paused just beneath there, rolling his gaze up to her as his lips caressed and hands slid down her bare hips in the slowest of signals.

  She closed her eyes and put her head back once more. She wasn’t going to let herself think about angles and whether the one he was viewing her from was unflattering. If he were going to act like it didn’t matter, she could be confident in the shapes she carried around.

  He went lower, his stubbled chin pausing at the crease of her bikini line and hot tongue searing a teasing line across the tender skin of her belly. And then his thumbs found her, lightly touching the most responsive of her flesh and making goosebumps all over her stand at alert.

  In spite of all the encouragements she might have given him, deep down she knew that what they were doing wasn’t a thing friends did—not even the strangest of friends. They didn’t stick their thumbs into their mouths and use that acquired wetness to greet clits. They didn’t bend low and experimentally tease the tips of their tongues around those tender buds, trying to unlock certain sounds in their partner.

  Bruce must have heard the one he sought, because suddenly there was more of his mouth on her and fingers teasing into her, and her body was going tense. Not because she was frightened, but because she needed the release so badly.

  It didn’t make sense to her—his worship of her—but she was trying to allow it.

  She deserved reverence, rather than being aggressively ignored, for a change. More, she to be wanted the way she was without conditions.

  Connections like that didn’t last, though. Those men always went off exploring the next shiny, better thing, and of course Bruce would, too. He was an artist. His head was in the clouds where it belonged and where, if he were smart, he would choose to let it stay. He’d drift.

  She’d remain.

  It was what it was.

  Still, in that moment, she wrapped her legs around his back to keep him in place. She shoved her fingers into his hair and guided him lower, not that he needed the help.

  In that moment, she just needed a little control.

  She needed to lie to herself that having someone stay would be a possibility. She’d lost her agility in making wishes as an adolescent, but she thought she remembered how they worked.

  Lie to me and tell me someone wants this with me.

  He slid more fingers into her and sat up on his shins, dividing his attention between her face and the fingers he was thrusting into her. There was something like wonderment in his expression.

  She couldn’t guess why.

  She could feel the grimace of overwhelm on her face and see the way her body was contorting away from, and then toward, his probing fingers.

  “Your whole body blushes,” he said in a low rasp as he settled low again. There were no timid licks and shy kisses. He devoured her. Spreading, tasting, supping, and working her with fingers and thumb until she moaned in that frequency he liked.

  “God, your hands.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he had to have known, anyway.

  “You like them?”

  She couldn’t speak. He was rocking those long fingers into her and tapping her self-destruct button. Words were out of the question. Groans were possible, and also squeaks, apparently when he pressed the meat of his palm against her clit.

  “I’ve always been a quick study when it came to instruments,” he murmured against her thigh.

  He was certainly playing her like one. If he’d told her he hadn’t meant to make her whole body tremble and teeth chatter, she wouldn’t have believed him.

  “You have a place?” Bruce asked after he’d brought her to a hard crest and pulled his body up atop of hers.

  She closed her eyes. Swallowed. Tried to coordinate brain with body so she could drape an arm around his waist and keep him there. So lovely after being so unwanted.

  His face was nuzzled in her hair, his hard cock a rigid distraction against her leg. He didn’t seem to be looking for gratification at the moment, though.

  “Do I have an apartment, you mean?” she managed to exhale.

  “Or a house. I always wonder how people live.”

  “You wonder how people live right after you’ve had your tongue in them?”

  “Sometimes during. Do you have a brownstone? Or an apartment in a high-rise where a doorman watches your comings and goings?”

  “The latter.”

  “Ah.”

  He didn’t say anything else. He nested himself half atop her, hooking his leg over hers and slinging an arm across her neck.

  Apparently, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Apparently, some wishes came true.

  * * *

  In the morning, he was still there, half on her, reluctant to move even when her phone started to continuously ring.

  “Bruce,” she whispered, snaking a hand down his bare back.

  “Don’t run away from me now,” he said in a tone of false petulance.

  She laughed, because the idea that she would hurry away from the first person in ages to seed joy in her was patently ridiculous. “I’m in no condition to run, but that’s probably Lisa asking about breakfast. I can’t see the time.”

  He sighed. “I suppose you must be responsible.”

  “I should be, yes, but you can come if you like?” She hadn’t meant for the invitation to come out sounding like a question, but her confidence got tangled up somewhere between her brain and mouth. “If you don’t mind being seen,” she added in a hurry.

  “Seen? Huh.” He swirled his fingertips in the short hair over her ear. The sweet touch made her whole body tingle.

  She hoped that feeling never went away.

  “You’d hold my hand?” he asked. “Prance me about?”

  She snorted. “I do all my prancing in private, and I’ll only hold your hand if you want me to.”

  “No one ever shows me off.”

  The statement was gut-wrenchingly matter-of-fact, but she remembered what he’d said about people fucking and going home. About never connecting. She could make a safe inference from that—that he wanted to be showed off. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why no one had. He was a gem.

  “I find that hard to believe that no one would parade you around,” she said.

  “It’s true.”

  “Then they must not have known what they were missing.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yes. And if you want a miniature spectacle—with me, I mean, I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  “Not necessary. Just hold my hand. Act like you want me for something other than my money.”

  “I have my own money.”

  “The fame, then.”

  “I’d rather crawl into a hole and die than be famous. I’d prefer to be a flawed human being in anonymity where the stakes are lower.”

  He went quiet again. He kept fondling her short hair. His breathing was slow, body supple against hers rather than tense.

  And then, after a minute, he said, “I’d very much like an omelet.”

  Apparently, they were going to have a little parade. A smile crept across her face in spite of her effort to subdue it. It was as though the universe had finally decided to cut her some slack and give her something good to counterbalance all the years of mistrust and micro-aggression.

  And perhaps the universe was telling her to stop barking up certain trees, in spite of how alluring those trees were. Sometimes, nature made its creations becoming as a warning that they were too toxic to touch.

  Warning accepted, Mother Nature.

  She didn’t need to chase after Raleighs when there were B
ruces, and the Bruces gave her so much joy simply for being.

  “Omelet it is, then,” she said, smiling even bigger. “And maybe you can figure out where your luggage ended up. Can’t help you with that.”

  “Because people would know you spirited me away last night.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’d lose your job?”

  “Oh.” Her smile fell away and she pushed herself erect. “I wouldn’t get fired. It’s not that simple. I’m Everley Shannon. I’m supposed to be the one doing the firing one day.”

  There was a twisted irony in the fact that she might one day be tasked with letting people go from Athena when she was the one who most wanted to be gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I feel like I haven’t really had a decent conversation with you in weeks,” Stacia said. “What have you been up to since that ridiculous party? And why’d you lock down your social media again?”

  She opened her napkin on her lap and let the restaurant host push her chair up to the table. She let out a little yelp when her sternum touched the edge.

  Somehow, Raleigh managed to suppress his laughter.

  They always did that. Short woman. Big chair. Aggressive scooting.

  Stacia glowered at the host’s back as he departed.

  When he was out of earshot, Raleigh said, “I set my social media accounts to private because I needed to cull some followers. I had a little spike recently and took it in stride, figuring it was people who’d followed me over from your account, but then I realized it was something else. Political staff, not just from my father’s camp, but his associates’ and his opponents. He must be gearing up for some kind of party leadership shit again.”

  Stacia cringed. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing to be done for it. I’ll keep my head down like I always do and let my brothers run interference.”

  “Your brothers?” Stacia’s voice took on an elevated pitch of befuddlement. “I thought you guys only talk about sports and weather.”

  “That’s generally the case, but I think they’re being proactive.” All of the McKean spawn had made a pact a decade prior to support each other’s continued existences by keeping the fighting words out of their mouths. They didn’t discuss religion, politics, or sexuality, and they most certainly no longer encouraged Raleigh to call their father and “patch things up.”

  There wasn’t a patch big enough to repair that rift, and they all knew it.

  “Anyhow, they’re going to do what they can to make themselves a little more newsworthy than usual, so I get relegated to the boring category.”

  “Good for them. I’d always hoped they’d lighten up some day. I’m sure your nieces and nephews would love to see more of you.”

  “I know. I feel like shit that I have to avoid them as much as I do. Anyhow, besides that, I’ve been busy. You know how it is in publishing when we get near the holidays. Place turns into a zoo and everything is go-go-go. Did I ever tell you that Tom Shannon tried to attach that Outward Reaction book to me?”

  Stacia raised a brow over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses. “And you said no?”

  “Not quite. I’ve been at Athena long enough that I’ve learned how to duck and dodge commitments when necessary. Because Tom tried to buck the system with this particular book, procedures haven’t caught up with it. No one knows what to do or when.”

  “But...wouldn’t Everley know?” Stacia’s voice had relaxed down, back into its usual timbre of husky cynicism.

  Everley.

  He scoffed.

  Little Miss Two Can Play That Game.

  He avoided her. She went out of her way to ignore him.

  Moving around each other in the office’s so-called Publicity Row upstairs had turned into a comedy of errors. If they happened to be heading toward the break room at the same time, she’d about-face and mutter something about “Better things to do.”

  Hell had no fury like a publicist scorned, it seemed, and he found himself surprisingly offended.

  “I mean, hasn’t... Everley been there long enough that she would know how to put together a marketing plan, even if it’s for something outside her usual comfort zone?”

  Raleigh ground his teeth. “You don’t need to whisper her name as though it might activate a curse that would unhinge one of the layers of hell. I’m not that sensitive. And I don’t know if she would or wouldn’t, to be honest with you, Stacia. She may mind other people’s business but I tend to mind my own.”

  “She’s still at it?”

  “Well, no,” he admitted reluctantly. “She’d been in the office, obviously, but she’s pulled back on the team-player help-me-help-you bullshit. Has she contacted you or Dara again to ask if you needed anything?”

  Stacia shook her head. “Nope. Maybe she learned her lesson.”

  “Or maybe she’s super swamped with rock stars,” he said acidly.

  The assholes showed up whenever they wanted to and completely disregarded normal business operations. They all had ideas on ways to showcase the book—DJs Athena could send it to, and talk show hosts who’d certainly like to have them on.

  When they showed up, everyone from reception all the way up to executive staff humored the disruptions.

  Raleigh didn’t. He stayed in his office, put on his noise-cancelling headphones, and whispered pleas to the god of petty prayers that Bruce wouldn’t turn up.

  He hadn’t yet, but certainly, it was only a matter of time. He’d want his piece of the fame pie just like the rest of them, and he’d already proven that he wasn’t above using whoever he had to get it.

  “You could always pitch in,” Stacia said. “Get the project out of everyone’s hair that much faster.”

  “Fortunately, the English language hasn’t yet shifted in such a way that the definitions of could and must overlap.”

  They went quiet again when the waiter came over to fill their water glasses and inform them of the soups. Raleigh chose egg drop. Stacia chose hot and sour.

  “I want no involvement with it,” Raleigh said.

  “Is New York an at-will employment state?”

  “Hush.”

  “You can’t just pick and choose which books to work on.”

  “Tell that to Everley.”

  “Why are you so hung up on her?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. You literally just said that she’s minding her business now.” Stacia twined her fingers beneath her chin and gave him a speaking glare.

  “Don’t start.”

  There are few people who could get into his head well enough to psychoanalyze him, and the one who was best at it was right in front of him.

  Maybe he was a little hung up on Everley. It wouldn’t be so strange if he was. He’d always gravitated to lovers who were bad for him. Lovers with unusual quirks and who had fresh things to say.

  “You hold a grudge like no one I’ve ever known before,” Stacia said.

  “It’s not so much grudges but having a long memory for the sake of self-preservation. Growing up the way I did, I had to develop a talent for making quick judgments about people. Obviously, I didn’t always get it right. I made poor calls with people and invited them into my confidences and my bed, but for the most part, I think I manage to avoid a hell of a lot of drama.”

  Stacia’s dark eyes slitted rightward and her smooth brow creased. “I suppose we’ll be testing out that theory.”

  “What are you talking about?” He started to turn but she kicked his shin under the table.

  “Don’t.”

  “Who is it? One of my father’s aides?” He groaned. “That’d be just my fucking luck that I’d manage to avoid them online only to run into them on the streets. A few of his old ones work in local politics here or at the UN.”

  “I wouldn’t recognize an
y of them. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t even recognize your father if I saw him in person. Everyone says you boys look like him, but I don’t see more than a passing resemblance. Maybe I know you too well.”

  “Someone from Athena, then? Staff from the publishing house swarms this place.”

  The Golden Duck was, in fact, situated in the ground floor of the building Athena and other major publishing institutions had offices in. By no stretch of the imagination could the fare be defined as exquisite, but the restaurant could get away with charging what they did because of their location. Publishing reps held working lunches and dinners there because it was so convenient.

  Stacia probably wouldn’t have minded going elsewhere, but Raleigh happened to like the soup.

  “Yeah.” Stacia pushed her glasses up her nose and studied her menu. “Someone from Athena. And they’re headed this way. Brace yourself. Be nice.”

  “Hello, Stacia,” Everley purred, extending a hand across the table for her to shake.

  Fuck.

  Because Stacia actually did have some home training, she shook it. She should have known better than to expect Raleigh to put on a cheerful face, though.

  “Ms. Shannon. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. I just wanted to tell you that I got a sneak peek of your next book and I thought it was amazing.”

  “Thanks!” Stacia said in a bright tone.

  Raleigh rolled his eyes. She’d evidently forgotten yet again that the two of them were supposed to be a team.

  He wouldn’t forget.

  “I never get tired of hearing that,” Stacia said.

  I see how it is.

  Raleigh sipped his tea. He told her that all the time and she waved off the compliments.

  “I’m sure it’ll do very well. I was at ninety-seven percent before I guessed who the murderer was. I didn’t see that coming, but it made so much sense.”

  “Hopefully no one will leak any spoilers about the ending like last time.”

  “I know, right? I was so annoyed about that! I’m pretty sure Raleigh did a hard cull of the reviewer list right after that, though, and whoever’s left should know better.”