His eyes darkened at her answer, making her pool with wetness between her legs. Resting his forearm between her breasts, he tilted her chin upward. “It’s all in your head, honey.”
Her voice came breathy. “What?”
“The idea of it being forbidden. It’s just something society taught you, but it’s not real, it doesn’t mean anything. And if you want it, you should have it. I want you to have it.”
“Why?”
He slid his knee between her thighs, pressing warm against her cunt through the jogging pants. His large bulge pressed hot and hard at her side, giving her the urge to turn toward it, to take that between her legs. “I want to give you the ultimate pleasure, something most women just fantasize about but will never have.”
“Oh.” Her voice came too light, barely there. As always, she wondered how he managed to make such things sound almost normal. And was she truly considering this—two men, at once? She had to catch her breath as the thought—and the images in her head—struck her anew. Stung with harsh temptation, she swallowed nervously. “And you want to do this . . . tonight?”
“Yes.” Spoken plain and simple and quietly commanding—classic Braden. He clearly knew it worked on her, made it easier for her to acquiesce and give in to her baser desires.
She bit her lip, peering up at him, still agonizingly aware of the stiff erection at her hip. “I know this shouldn’t matter, because in a few days I’ll probably never see you again, but . . . wouldn’t you think of me differently afterward? Because when this is over, I want you to . . . remember me fondly.”
His eyes softened, peering down on her. “There’s no other way I could remember you, snowflake. Sweet. Sexy. Exciting. Brave. Nothing bad. I promise.” He ended with a deep, tender kiss, his tongue twining with hers and making her pussy cream further.
She found herself lifting her hands lightly to his face, her fingers grazing the dark stubble there. Her breath came short. “What if . . . what if we were to . . . to start this . . . and I suddenly realize I just can’t do it?”
Only a few inches separated their faces. “Then you take my hand, look into my eyes, and tell me you just can’t do it. And we’ll stop.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” He sounded a little surprised. “Laura, you may think I’ve made you do things you never would have otherwise. But I’ve never really made you do anything. And I never would—not if you truly didn’t want to.”
She nodded softly, instantly. It was true. She might like to think he almost forced her at times into the wild things they shared, but he never really had. He just knew exactly how to persuade her. And she feared he was frighteningly close to persuading her again right now.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he whispered, his dark eyes connecting deeply with hers.
She nodded automatically.
“Then you’ll do this for me.”
She almost nodded again, but this time caught herself. “I’m . . . I’m still not completely sure. Part of me wants to, madly, shockingly, but . . . part of me just . . .”
“Just what?”
She drew in another long, deep breath. “Part of me worries how I’ll feel afterward. Part of me isn’t sure I can be that wild, even for you, Braden.”
Now it was he who let out a labored sigh. “I can tell you how you’ll feel afterward, honey. Well-pleasured. Phenomenally well-pleasured. That’s all.”
“You’re so sure I won’t have any regrets?”
He cast only the slightest of smiles. “This is your Vegas, Laura.”
She tilted her head against the throw pillow, confused. “Huh?”
“What happens on the mountain stays on the mountain. It doesn’t change your life or change who you are. It’s just about pleasure.”
She’d never believed that Vegas saying. Everything you did affected who you were. And Laura knew that if she gave into this temptation, this desire that burned deeper inside her with each passing moment, it would change her. She just wasn’t certain if it would be a change for the better or the worse.
And yet, Braden had taught her so much about pleasure. He’d never asked her to do anything that didn’t turn out to be an experience to savor. He’d shown her greater delights than she’d known she was capable of. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should simply turn off all her usual worries and let herself sink even deeper into the sensual world he’d built for her since coming here.
To her surprise, he sat up on the couch, the departure of his firm thigh leaving the spot between her legs woefully empty. He patted her knee and said, “Tell you what, snowflake. Tommy has a couple of new computer games he wants me to try out, so I’m going to head up to his place for awhile and let you work—and think. I’ll set out some steaks to thaw before I go, and I’ll bring Tommy back with me for dinner around seven. You can let me know your decision then.”
She blinked, then sat up, a bit taken aback. He’d stopped pressuring her, persuading her, was truly putting it into her hands, letting her decide. “Um . . . how will I let you know?”
He cast the sexy grin she’d grown used to. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Braden puttered around the house a bit before leaving, and Laura tried to write—but who could write now? She sat at the computer, staring out at the peaceful winter setting, trying to let it calm her—but her emotions ran wild.
The truth was, no answer seemed the right one.
Did she want this? Braden and Tommy, both of them, touching her, fucking her?
God help her—yes, she did. Her every nerve ending turned inside out just thinking about it. And God knew that the deeper she sank into this affair with Braden, the more she wanted to please him, the more she wanted to keep showing him she could be the exciting woman he wanted her to be.
And yet . . . this was a big line to cross, at least in her mind. Even Monica hadn’t been with two guys at once. And what if five years down the road she met Mr. Right and felt compelled to tell him she’d done this and it made him think badly of her? No, Braden was wrong—once you did something, you couldn’t take it back.
Of course, if it were a guy like Braden, she’d have no worries. She’d felt the need to ask, but had totally believed him when he’d promised he wouldn’t think of her differently. She knew that about him now somehow—knew that he sincerely liked her, utterly respected her, no matter what. Maybe only a guy like that should qualify as a Mr. Right.
She let out a sigh. She had a feeling guys like Braden—truly free and forward thinking, truly into the deeper, more intense sorts of pleasures he wanted to bring her—were few and far between. Most men, deny it though they might, still lived by a double standard—they would probably think it was A-okay if they indulged in a threesome but wouldn’t want to marry a woman who admitted the same.
Just then, her lover came trotting back down the stairs. “I’m taking off,” he told her, approaching from behind, then squeezing her shoulder as he bent to lower a kiss to her neck.
She looked up at him. “Have you ever done anything like that before?”
“A three-way?”
She nodded.
She thought he almost looked a little sheepish as he said, “No,” shaking his head lightly. And in all honesty, she was surprised, had been almost certain he’d had a long history of multiple partners.
“Then why do you seem so sure about it, so positive you want it?”
“I don’t shy away from my desires, Laura, never have. I just never wanted this before. But now I do. With you.”
Her stomach churned. He wanted to experience something with her that he’d never wanted with another woman. It seemed like . . . an opportunity to be special to him, to give him what he’d given her so many of: a memory of something new to take with him when this was over.
As he walked to the door, he paused to look over his shoulder. “Tommy has, though, just so you know.”
“Oh?”
“He’s been with two women before. A couple of times.�
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She gave a slight nod. She’d just started thinking they were all virgins at this only to find out Tommy was not. “Snow bunnies gone wild?” she asked.
He grinned, his eyes softening. “Something like that.”
Another nod on her part, then she spoke quietly. “I’m more than a snow bunny, you know.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I know that, snowflake. I know that very well.” With that, Braden threw on a rugged-looking brown jacket, and Laura listened as the door closed behind him, leaving the house in silence.
Whew. She was still trying to wrap her mind around his suggestion and the fact that she’d almost actually agreed to it. Images still floated in her head. The two men taking off her clothes, touching her at the same time. Her body, between theirs, being buffeted by masculinity from both sides. And then, of course, the specific thing Braden had mentioned—two men equaled two cocks. At once. Her whole body tingled at trying to imagine what that would feel like, or if she could even handle it physically.
She still didn’t know if she could do it. And she had no idea what would help make up her mind. Part of her knew she simply couldn’t do anything so risqué. Yet another part of her knew she couldn’t let Braden down, and that she couldn’t pass up an invitation to what sounded like such overwhelming pleasure.
But it was early in the day, hours before anything would happen. And God knew she couldn’t afford to waste half a day of writing on worries about what might or might not happen tonight. And if nothing else, work would provide a good distraction. Thinking about Riley’s fictional affair with Sloane Bennett was considerably easier than dealing with her real affair with Braden. And possibly—gulp!—Tommy.
Which was when she realized that something big needed to happen in Riley’s world—and she knew exactly what it was! Pulling her gaze back from the window, she focused on the screen and began to type.
As Riley and Sloane rounded the last bend before reaching the garden, he hefted the old quilts higher in his arm and took her hand. But as they reached the entrance—a white latticed arbor draped with hummingbird vines and bracketed by the tall, well-groomed walls of green shrubbery on both sides—Sloane pulled to a rough halt, jerking Riley back a step.
“What?” she asked, dumbfounded.
Sloane didn’t look at her, but she could sense the darkening of his demeanor. “Wait here,” he said and started inside.
“Why?” she asked, following.
He turned on her, his gaze serious and menacing. “Wait here, Riley—I mean it.”
Riley drew in her breath, incensed. How dare he? She watched as he strode through the arbor into the garden, wondering what on earth was going on. Which was when she saw it: a foot! She gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. A man’s lone foot stretched into her line of vision through the hummingbird vines—she spied the hem of simple dark blue pants, a black laced work boot sticking out from the bottom.
Just then, Sloane reappeared, scowling when he saw that she’d been peeking. “Who is it?” she asked, stunned. “And is he . . . ?”
“Hawthorne is dead,” Sloane told her plainly.
“Oh my God!”
“You can say that again.”
Riley had never cared much for the Dorchesters’ gardener—in fact, he was generally quite surly. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see him dead.
“Tell me it looks like a heart attack or something natural,” she demanded. Because discovering stolen items in the garden was one thing—but a dead body was entirely another. She didn’t want to find out they had a murderer on their hands.
“Well,” Sloane said, “I’d love to. But given that the guy has a big knife in his chest, I don’t think it’s likely.”
Riley gasped again. “A knife?” She found herself leaning closer to the arbor, trying to peer around it. The move revealed more of Hawthorne’s leg, and the other, bent at an odd angle.
Sloane pulled her back. “Multiple stab wounds, Riley, and a lot of blood. Not something you need to see, honey—okay?”
She drew in her breath and knew she must have looked panicked as Sloane took her into his arms. She couldn’t believe this! In all the cases she’d worked on, no one had ever been murdered!
“He was kind of mean,” she whispered into Sloane’s shoulder, echoing her thought from a moment earlier, “but I never would have wished him dead.”
Sloane drew back slightly.“Mean how?”
Oh, she’d forgotten—Sloane wasn’t here often, so he hadn’t known Hawthorne well.
“He was just the grumbly sort. Just recently, in fact, he had several run-ins with Aunt Mimsey, yelling at her for parking her car over the edge of our driveway, getting one wheel in your aunt and uncle’s yard and creating ruts. But she’s getting older—her driving isn’t what it used to be. And it’s only one wheel, for heaven’s sake—trust me, if you knew Aunt Mimsey well, you’d know it could be a lot worse.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “How many times has this happened?”
Riley thought about it. “Three? Four? I’m not sure. I just know he was quite blustery about it, and she got very upset. Aunt Mimsey doesn’t get angry often, but Hawthorne had her in quite a state.”
She stopped blathering on when she caught the worried look in Sloane’s gaze. And she understood what he was thinking even before he said it.
“Riley, honey, I’m sorry, but you know where this all points, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. The very notion was too horrifying.
“You know your aunt is starting to look guilty.”
Riley sucked in her breath. Aunt Mimsey was such an important part of her life, and had been like a mother to her ever since her own had died.Yet her aunt had slowly become more addled over the years. And she had coveted Mrs. Dorchester’s broach, as well as that Hemingway autograph. In fact, Riley feared that if she thought long and hard, she could find a connection between Aunt Mimsey and every item that had been stolen from the Dorchesters’ home. What if she’d been hiding them, thinking to come back for them later, after their disappearance had been forgotten? What if she’d thought it too dangerous to have them all in her possession until the Dorchesters gave up on finding them and this all died down?
All silly speculation, she assured herself. And she found it impossible to believe Aunt Mimsey was capable of murder . . . except for one terrible thing that even Sloane didn’t know about, because Riley had shut up before spouting it out. Aunt Mimsey had been so upset over her last row with Hawthorne that she’d said to Riley, “If that man yells at me one more time, I’m going to make him sorry.”
What if that time had come? What if Hawthorne had pushed Aunt Mimsey too far?
“Sloane, make love to me,” Riley pleaded, her voice rough with desperation.
He still held her but gently pulled back. “Riley, we need to call the police. We need to tell my aunt and uncle what’s happened. And you and I need to put our heads together to figure out who’s responsible.” He glanced toward the arbor. “Besides, the garden’s a little . . . occupied at the moment.”
“I don’t care—about any of that. Not right now. Just make love to me, Sloane—I don’t want to wait! Make me forget everything bad for a little while.Take it all away. Make it so there’s nothing but you—you inside me.”
She watched as Sloane’s eyes darkened—then began surveying the space around them. Taking Riley’s wrist, he pulled her hurriedly away from the garden’s entrance and into the shade of a large, sprawling maple tree, all green and billowy with summer. He threw the blankets to the ground, then pushed her to her knees, joining her there in a hard, urgent kiss.
This sex would be different than anything they’d shared in the garden, Riley knew. He’d taken her to heights unknown in that pristine setting, but this—outside the garden, in the tall grass, the heavy tree limbs dripping over them, swaying madly now in a sudden, warm breeze—would be something much wilder still.
Braden lounged comfortably on a
sofa in Tommy’s office, a laptop balanced before him, while Tommy sat behind his desk, manning a larger computer. They took turns in a two-player quest game involving medieval castles and damsels in dungeons. Braden was down to his last of five swords, and unless he slayed the dragon guarding the moat on this try, he lost the game. But he wasn’t even sure they’d finish the game, given the topic he’d just broached with little warning. He’d just asked Tommy if he wanted to have a threesome with him and Laura.
Tommy stared at him around his screen. “Dude—you’re sure you want this?”
Braden gave a short, definite nod. “Do I ever do anything I’m unsure about?”
Tommy shrugged in concession. “Nope—I’d say you’re the most decisive guy I’ve ever met. But this is a little different than what ski run to hit or what you want on your pizza. Hell, it’s even a little different than buying out a company, for God’s sake.”
Braden tilted his head. “This from the guy who’s the official expert on three-ways. I thought this would be nothing to you.”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not me I’m concerned about. I just have to make sure you really want to share her.”
“What I want is to give her more pleasure than any man ever has—or ever will again. And this is how.”
Tommy drew back. “Whoa—this sounds serious.”
Now it was Braden who shrugged. “She’s opened up to me in ways she never has for anyone else. I just want to take that further, keep that momentum going. I want to see her experience ultimate pleasure—I want to see her take both our cocks.”
He watched Tommy draw in his breath. “Damn,” he said, sounding more aroused now than concerned.
“Is that a yes?”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think I’m strong enough to pass this up even if I wanted to.”
“Good. And besides, I figured it would end your sex drought.”
Tommy nodded. “Hell of a way to end it, that’s for sure.”
“Just remember what I told you—we’ll need to feel her out over dinner. I know she’s into it—she just hasn’t quite talked herself into thinking it’s okay yet.”
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