Between Brothers

by Lauren Gallagher

  I blinked. “Already?”

  He kissed me, pressed his hips against mine, and silently answered my question in no uncertain terms.

  Seven

  A stack of manila folders dropped onto my desk beside my keyboard and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I didn’t need to turn around to know who was responsible for the file folder ambush. Trudy, the purchasing manager, seemed to delight in startling the hell out of me every time she gave me paperwork.

  I gritted my teeth and said over my shoulder, “When do you need them?”

  “Before the end of the day.” Her snappy, impatient tone grated my nerves, just as it had every single day of the long, long five years we’d worked together.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  An irritated sniff. “I need them by tomorrow’s nine o’clock meeting.”

  My chest tightened. Every week, we went through this. Every week, she waited until the day before the meeting to give me the documents to reconcile with our departments’ reports before her meeting with the company’s brass. Every. Damned. Week.

  A million retorts of “then don’t give them to me at the last Goddamned minute” and “piss poor planning on your part is not an emergency on mine” ran through my mind, but I did as I always did and quietly said, “I’ll have them to you by five.”

  “Good.” And she was gone.

  I rubbed my eyes and released a breath through my teeth. Trudy was the office harpy, the one whose sole purpose in life was to make co-workers miserable. That wasn’t entirely true: She picked one co-worker to wreak havoc upon, and for the last five years, I had been the lucky winner. Every time someone new was hired on, in any department, I secretly hoped that Trudy would shift her sights over to that person, but it never happened. Neither of our bosses seemed to care. I was too much of a wimp to take it up with Human Resources, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to confront Trudy herself.

  Dear Santa, please bring me a spine this year. I don’t think I can put up with her for another year.

  I sighed and tried to get back to the e-mail I’d been composing to send to several of the outside sales reps, letting them know I needed their expense reports and several other financial documents before month’s end. I reread what I’d already written. Couldn’t comprehend my own words.

  I yawned and rubbed my eyes again. Trudy’s bullshit aside, I was just too damned tired. I couldn’t complain about that, though. Sure, I’d been up until almost three in the morning, but it was worth it. Well worth it.

  A grin spread across my lips in spite of my fatigue and frustration. I gave the stack of file folders a flippant glare, picked up my almost-empty coffee cup, and went to the break room for a refill.

  From halfway down the hall, I could hear the familiar voices of the gossip mill in the break room. I rolled my eyes. Supposedly, these women—affectionately called “The Millers”—actually had jobs to do, but I swore they were always gathered around the coffee pot, discussing the latest sins of everyone in the company.

  I usually felt more or less invisible to the Millers. I’m sure they’d caught wind of my separation, but maybe they just didn’t think it was worth discussing. As I walked into the break room, though, I suddenly felt uncomfortably conspicuous. My cheeks burned and I dropped my gaze, biting my lip as I walked past the group to pour myself a cup of coffee.

  The rational side of me knew there was no way they could know about what I had done with Darren the night before or the unusual arrangement we’d agreed upon, but in the back of my mind I also knew that these women could sniff out gossip in a church choir. The NSA could have learned a thing or two from them. If there was gossip to be had, they would find it.

  Sure, Darren and I were unattached, consenting adults, but the Millers frowned upon casual sex. Oh, what they would have thought if they found out that I’d spent most of the previous night having sizzling hot sex with my best friend before agreeing to let him take me under his wing like a sexual apprentice, with both of us intending to have copious amounts of wild sex with other people in the foreseeable future.

  I filled my coffee and got the hell out of the break room. I felt more than a little ridiculous even worrying about it; they were certainly not the moral authority of the company, but the reality was that if the Millers found out about something, the whole company would know about it. I had enough crap to deal with without everyone and their mother knowing my sexual misdeeds.

  As ridiculous as I felt, I made a quick exit, avoiding their scrutinizing eyes as I did. It was as if all I had to do was look one of them in the eye for a moment too long, and they’d know.

  The minute I stepped out of the break room, though, I forgot all about the Millers.

  A short distance down the hallway, leaning against a cubicle wall and chatting with one of the receptionists, was Max Gordon. He was one of the regional sales representatives, and only came into the office two or three times a month, usually to meet with one of the brass or—as I realized with a nervous tingle in my gut—me.

  His hips were twisted slightly to one side as he leaned on his elbow on the cubicle wall. His other hand rested on his hip, pushing his leather jacket back and drawing my attention to the way his jeans clung to his gorgeous ass. He obviously wasn’t meeting any clients today if he was dressed so casually, and I didn’t mind at all. When he came to my desk for our meeting, he’d shed the leather jacket as he always did, and I wouldn’t be able to focus. Not with the way his broad shoulders filled out the polo shirt I was certain he was wearing, which they did just as well as they did a dress shirt or a sport coat. What I wouldn’t have given to touch those shoulders.

  His face was turned just enough that I couldn’t see it, but it didn’t make a difference. I’d long since memorized his thin-lipped smile, his rugged and perpetually stubbled jaw line, and his arresting green eyes.

  I walked past him and tried not to trip over my own feet as I caught a whiff of his familiar, mouthwatering smell—a vague hint of cigarette smoke beneath the suggestion of an enticing cologne.

  He didn’t notice me, or at least he didn’t acknowledge me, which wasn’t unusual. I was fairly certain his attention was focused down the front of the new receptionist’s plunging neckline. If the Millers were to be believed, Max had bedded more than a few of the receptionists that had gone through the company since he’d been here.

  And what I wouldn’t have given to be another notch in that man’s bedpost.

  I went back to my desk and tried to stay busy and focused until my meeting with him.

  “Hey Marisa.” His voice raised goosebumps under my clothes as his presence filled my tiny cubicle.

  “Hey Max,” I said, shuffling some papers aside. I caught that familiar scent, along with the hint of leather from his jacket and—oh shit, Max, you’re killing me—the vague smell of mint. You just have to chew gum today, don’t you? I hated when he chewed gum. Well, that wasn’t true. I loved it. I loved the way his jaw moved. The way his tongue played with his gum behind closed lips when he was thinking always drew my attention to his mouth and made me wonder what else he could do with his tongue.

  I loved it when Max Gordon chewed gum. I just hated the fact that when he did, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

  I heard the soft rustle of his jacket sliding off of his shirt, then the zipper bumped the cubicle wall as he hung the jacket on the corner as he always did. I took in a long breath through my nose. Please God, tell me he didn’t wear the white polo today. Please. Please. Please.

  He dropped into the chair beside me, and I sent up a silent “damn it” as I looked at him. He looked good in anything, but this particular shirt was just thin enough—and stretched tight enough—to let the vague shadows of his tattoos show through beneath the sleeves. I loved ink on a man, and I’d been tempted more than once to ask to see them, but I just didn’t have the guts to.

  “Marisa?”

  My head snapped up and I silently cursed the burning in my cheeks. “Sorry. Um. Wh
ere were we?”

  He laughed, rolling his gum around in his mouth and driving me insane. “I think you had a question about my figures for last month.”

  I took a breath, pulled out the paperwork in question, and tried like hell to concentrate.

  Eight

  There is no way in hell I could have ever convinced John to set foot in a lingerie store, particularly one like Undertones.

  Darren, however, strode right past the “This ain’t your Grandma’s bra store” sign without batting an eye, his hand on my elbow just in case I suddenly chickened out and ran. He paused near the entrance and looked around, pursing his lips, then nodded towards the back of the store. “This way.”

  “Darren, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this isn’t the first time you’ve been here,” I said as I followed him past racks of lace and satin.

  He glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. “Never been here in my life,” he said with a grin that told me otherwise.

  “Liar.”

  He laughed. “I’ve been here a few times. My last girlfriend liked to let me pick out my own birthday presents.”

  I snickered. “For her to wear, or you?”

  “I’ve been known to wear a thing or two from here.” He stopped in front of a rack of garters, then glanced at me and laughed. “Not this kind of thing. Over there.” He gestured across the store. I turned and made a silent “oh” with my mouth as I caught sight of a section of apparel made of various types of leather and metal.

  “I didn’t realize you were into that sort of thing,” I said.

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  I glanced at the BDSM section again, then back at Darren. I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Instead, I gestured with my chin towards the garters that had caught his eye. “So, what am I looking for?”

  “Something sexy,” he said, rubbing his chin idly with his thumb and forefinger as he surveyed the racks.

  I rolled my eyes. “Could you narrow it down just a little bit? Everything here is some degree of sexy.”

  He snorted. “Please. I want you to look sexy, not trashy. Ah, here we go.” He pulled a scarlet red garter and matching bra off a rack. “Perfect.”

  I swallowed. “I assume I’m supposed to wear something with that, right?”

  He looked at it, then at me, and shrugged. “Well, you’d want to wear some thigh-high pantyhose with it.” He laughed at the incredulous look on my face. “All of it’s under your clothes.”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I said. “I’ve just, I’ve never worn anything like that.”

  “And you’ll look great in it.”

  He picked out several other combinations for me, then sent me into the dressing room to try them on.

  Alone in the cramped dressing room, I took off my shirt and tried on the first bra. It was black, lacy, and showed more of my breasts than it covered. It looked like it should be uncomfortable as hell because I expected the lace to be scratchy and the narrow straps to bite into my shoulders, but it wasn’t.

  I tried on several of the others, keeping or rejecting various pieces. For a moment, I scrutinized the ones I had chosen. I wondered if I dared wear something like that to work. Of course no one would see it, but I wondered if I’d feel different. Slutty? Sexy?

  Knowing my luck, though, that would be the day I got into a car accident and gave the paramedics an eyeful. I shuddered at the thought. No, I decided I’d keep these little surprises to myself. And Darren.

  I hung the rejects outside the dressing room and walked out to find Darren.

  “Hey, Marisa,” he called from halfway across the store. I turned towards his voice just in time to see him hold a bright purple negligee against his body and strike a pose. “What do you think? Is it me?” He tossed his hair

  dramatically.

  I burst out laughing, as did several other people in the store. Darren snickered and hung the negligee back on the rack before joining me by the dressing room. “So,” he said. “Show me the keepers.”

  I held up the red garter and bra, a similar ensemble in blue, and a couple of lacy bras. He nodded with approval, then gave me a sly grin. “There’s one more thing I want you to try.”

  “I’m not wearing a gimp mask,” I said.

  He pretended to pout. “Well, damn it, there goes my plan for tomorrow night.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

  My joke proved to be well-timed as he led me towards the leather-and-metal section he’d pointed at earlier. “I’m serious,” I said. “No gimp mask.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s not what I have in mind.”

  I was almost afraid to ask what he did have in mind. He disappeared amidst the racks of flogs, harnesses, and more than a few things I couldn’t possibly identify.

  A second later, he returned, holding up two hangers. My lips parted in surprise. “A corset?”

  He nodded. “Give it a try. You’ll look amazing in one.”

  I stared at the black leather corsets for a moment, trying to figure out how I was supposed to put the damned things on, let alone breathe in them. They looked uncomfortable as hell. One was made of a soft, matte leather, the center lined with two rows of silver D-rings through which the leather laces were intertwined. The other was glossy patent leather with a wide zipper running up the front.

  “Just try them,” he said. “If you don’t like them, don’t get them. But at least give them a try.”

  I pursed my lips, then let out a breath and we traded hangers. On the way back to the dressing room, I marveled at just how heavy the corsets were. I couldn’t imagine they were any less cumbersome once they were on, but I’d give Darren the benefit of the doubt.

  I took off my shirt and bra and scowled at the first corset, the one with the laces and D-rings. “Let’s start out simple, shall we?” I muttered. I unzipped the other corset and pulled it around myself. After some circus-worthy contortions and more than a little cursing, I got the thing on and zipped.

  I looked in the mirror and took a breath. Well, I tried to take a breath. It wasn’t the most forgiving article of clothing I’d ever worn, and it didn’t allow for much more than shallow breaths.

  Admittedly, I liked what it did to my figure. There is nothing quite like a corset to add a little curve to a woman’s waist, and it made my breasts look at least a cup size bigger.

  But it wasn’t me. Something like this was intended for the kind of woman who was unashamed of her sexuality, who didn’t care if the neighbors heard her screaming, and didn’t bother to ask for what she wanted: She told her man what she wanted and she damn well better get it.

  I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping slightly, the top of the corset biting into the bottoms of my shoulder blades. No, this was definitely not me.

  I took it off, savoring the first couple of deep breaths I could finally draw before I put my own clothes back on.

  Darren cocked his head as I stepped out of the dressing room with the two corsets still securely on their hangers. “Don’t I get to see them on you?”

  I shook my head. “They’re not me.”

  He didn’t object, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Well, they’re here if you ever change your mind.”

  I smiled. “We’ll see about that.” I nodded towards the exotic lingerie I’d already agreed to buy. “I think that’s enough for me for one day.”

  “We should take them back to my place,” he said.

  I glanced at him as I hung the corsets on the reject rack. “Why? So you can wear them?”

  He put his hands on my hips and kissed just behind my ear. “No. So you can.”

  Nine

  On Saturday afternoon, Darren and I went to a baseball game with his brother, Eric. When we got into the stands—about as far into the nosebleed section as we could get without requiring oxygen tanks—Eric was already there. We exchanged greetings and took our seats, the brothers sitting on either side of me.

  I hadn’t seen Eric si
nce the first time I slept with Darren, and I caught myself casting surreptitious glances at both of them as the game started. I’d been attracted to Eric for as long as I’d been attracted to Darren, and getting into bed with one had only intensified my curiosity about the other. Darren was better in bed than I’d ever imagined, and I couldn’t help wondering how Eric would compare to the Eric who frequently appeared in my fantasies.

  The resemblance between the pair was as striking as the contrast. They were anything but twins, but undeniably brothers. They had the same chiseled jaw and prominent cheekbones, and Eric's green eyes had all the same intensity as Darren's blue ones. Their dark hair was cut almost exactly the same, though Eric’s was never kept quite as meticulously as his brother’s.

  But while Darren struck an intriguing balance between masculine and feminine, Eric was all man. His broad shoulders were tattooed, as were his biceps. Smoking had roughened his voice, but that roughness suited him in the same way his rarely-shaved jaw did.

  He wasn't classically handsome, he wasn't beautiful like his brother, but my God, the man radiated sex from every pore of his rugged body. He was masculinity personified.

  Some men seem to hide a layer of unbridled lust, of filthy, bed-breaking sexuality, just beneath the surface. Their eyes suggest that if the right words are spoken or the right touch is made, a woman can unleash a man so deliciously dirty that he’ll have her screaming in no time flat.

  Eric was just such a man: The way his eyes narrowed when he grinned. The way he lifted his eyebrows when he spoke. He didn’t bother to hide that layer of unbridled lust, though. If anything, he wore it like a badge of honor.

  He glanced at me and I realized I’d been staring. He smiled, sending a shiver up my spine. I bit my lip and tried to focus my attention on the game that went on far, far below us, but all I could think about was the brothers on either side of me.

  Darren had certainly not been a disappointment in bed, and more than ever, I wanted to know what Eric was like. He had to be as good as Darren. Maybe even better. What a cruel joke it would be for a man to be that palpably sexy but a dud in bed. If he was anything like his brother, he would probably make me burst into flames.