Three Men and a Woman: Indiana
Indiana Jones is a writer who lives alone in her mountain cabin near Vail. She can go weeks at a time without running into a handsome man, so it’s an unusual day when it happens twice. Come evening, she’s just a bit regretful that she shot down both J.J. Jackson, who cornered her with humorously hokey pick-up lines in the produce section, and Tyler Lawrence, whom she found stranded in a ditch with his pretty, red pickup.
Then Sigge Ahlstrand shows up on her doorstep with an off-trail ski injury. He’s sweet and just a little too much to resist. But it’s more complicated than she can anticipate when his two buddies come to fetch him. They're none other than J.J. and Tyler. Star NFL players, the three men have been best friends since high school. They know how to get what they want. When they all want her, there’s only one sensible thing to do. They decide to share.
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 67,437 words
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: INDIANA
Rachel Billings
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: INDIANA
Copyright © 2016 by Rachel Billings
E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-435-5
First E-book Publication: August 2016
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: INDIANA
RACHEL BILLINGS
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
Indiana smiled to herself as she tested the organic mangoes for ripeness. Even in February, there wasn’t anything a person with a little jangle in her pocket couldn’t pick up in Vail’s high-end grocery store. And Indy had some jangle.
She was sort of past that being a thing that made her smile, though, for sure, it was sweet. She wrote stories for a living, novels—romantic ones that always had happy endings—and she loved to spend her days exactly that way. By the happiest of circumstances, she’d become a success at it and could now afford a nice, remote cabin up in the mountains of Colorado and organic mangoes in February.
No, she smiled because she was fully aware of the male presence next to her and the way the guy had sidled his shopping cart around her, closing her in between his cart and hers, a completely penetrable captivity.
She let the smile actually curve her lips and turned her head just a bit to eye him, down, and then up—way up. But Indy was five-eleven, so even his six-three or so wasn’t all that far up for her. He was a hot one, though, a very handsome African-American. Built to match his height, fit and muscled. He had a pretty face, cute braids, long lashes, and, when she met them, sweet brown eyes. His jeans and boots and shearling coat were high-end and expertly fitted, definitely not off the rack.
She was pretty sure she knew exactly who he was. And, given who he was, he wasn’t going to be shy, so she didn’t have to wait long for him to speak.
“I’ve always heard you can pick up women in the produce section, but I don’t remember any of the good lines.”
Oh, he was cute. Despite his so very obvious maleness, he managed an almost disarming sweetness. She wasn’t so foolish as to fall for it, but she didn’t mind playing. “What? You expect me to help you out?”
He nodded, encouraged. Approving. “If you don’t mind.”
“Huh,” she said and gamely looked around her. “Maybe you could go with, ‘those tomatoes look so plump and…firm.’”
He gave her a kind of half shrug, like he wasn’t too impressed.
“Or, those melons look…ripe.”
With another disappointed look, he motioned down the row. But he was looking at her. “I bet I could do something good with a peach. I know you have one.”
And so she did—right there in her basket. Suggestive humor sparkled in his eyes, and she chuckled. “It’s probably very…sweet.”
“And juicy.”
Indy laughed, though it was partly a snort.
“I’d probably have it dripping all over my face. Mmm.”
She winced a little, but she was still laughing. “I don’t know. If you think that would work.”
“What’s important is what you think.”
“Meh,” she said, but she was having fun, so she didn’t mind that he walked along with her, both of them pushing their carts, as she headed for the leaf lettuce. She already had the fresh salmon for her salad and the mango, so she just needed some veggies. But he was at her shoulder, tut
ting, when she reached for a cucumber.
“Those all look a little small,” he said.
They weren’t, not at all.
“You’re not, you know, a tiny woman exactly. You deserve bigger than that.”
She looked up at him. Those brown eyes were close and still laughing. “And…you’ve got bigger?” That would be something, if true.
“Oh, yeah,” he said in a sexy drawl. “Way.”
She dropped a cuke that was plenty big enough into her basket and put out her hand. “Indy,” she said. “You have a good day.”
He took her hand in more of a hold than a shake. “J.J. Glad to meet you, Indy,” he said. But he held on to her and tilted his head a little. “Have we met?”
She shook her head and winked. “Nope. I’d remember, wouldn’t you think?”
But he wasn’t playing anymore, just looked seriously at her as she pulled her hand from his.
And then complained when she turned and walked away. “Hey! You really going to leave me here all alone with these…fruits?”
“Yep.” She steered her cart toward the checkout line. She was entirely sure of where his eyes were as she walked away. And…
“Baby,” he called after her. “You must’ve sat in a pile of sugar, because that ass is sweet.”
She’d guessed exactly right. Laughing, Indy lifted a hand in a wave but kept walking.
“The only place those jeans would look better is on the floor. Next to my bed.”
He didn’t stop, even though she was out of his sight now. He had a voice to make himself heard. “You know it’s cold out there—you can use me as your blanket.” And then, “Girl, that body of yours is its own kind of sex crime.”
Indy laughed again and met the smiling, rolling eyes of the checker, Freya, who only worked enough to buy lift tickets. But they were pricey, so she put in quite a few hours in at the grocery.
J.J.’s voice was fading, as he was no doubt moving through the store, but he still didn’t quit. “Don’t I know you? ’Cause you look like my next girlfriend. You see this shirt? It’s made of boyfriend material. Is it hot in here, or is that just you? Stop, drop, and roll, baby, ’cause you are on fire! I’m here now—what are your other two wishes? I know I got one of them right here in my jeans.”
Still chuckling, she had her reusable bags in her hands as she headed out the door. She brushed a couple inches of new snow off her big Jeep and drove out of town. She’d driven a Prius when she first bought her cabin two years before, but she’d had to bow to the practicalities of the long road up to her place. The highway went farther up the mountain to the ski lodges, and, given the commercial base of the area, it was kept well plowed. But the gravel road that curved around the side, deeper into the mountains and to her cabin, could go days without seeing a plow truck. She’d spent quite a bit of time stuck—in her drive or in the ditch off her road—before she caved.
Snow had come down fast, though, this morning, and even the main highway had collected three or four inches since the last plow had been through. She was grateful for her four-wheel drive and the pricey snow tires she’d splurged on in the fall. She was a lot better off than the guy she saw in the ditch about twenty-five minutes out of town.
She stopped and put her window down and took a look.
Both he and his truck were a lot of flash.
The truck was bright red and looked brand-new—big, with a dual cab and long bed.
The guy had much the look of J.J. He was white, but built about the same, though a little leaner—well over six feet and extremely fit. He rested his shoulders back against the truck with good effect. His Luccheses were crossed at the end of his long, designer jeans, and his arms bulged as they spanned his chest, visible even through the slim lines of his black Bogner jacket. He wore a cowboy hat that suited him well, black felt, though it was whited up a bit with snow now. Underneath he wore dark shades—the sun was trying to fight its way through by this time—so she couldn’t see either his eyes or the color of his hair.
She looked him over a bit, and he looked back. “Trouble?” she finally asked.
His lips quirked. “There was a deer. A big one. Lots of…” he circled his hand up by his hat. “Points.”
She nodded and waited, since he decided to walk over in a kind of sexy meander. When he finally got there, she couldn’t keep from pointing out the obvious. “It’s better to just brake, not swerve, for a deer.”
He shrugged, and he was close now, enough for her to know he was damn good-looking, whether she could see his eyes or not. And his hair was dark chocolate-brown. “Yeah, my head knows that.” He lifted his hands, big, in black leather gloves. “But my hands are trained to react”—he pointed up with one finger—“without running things past my brain.”
“How else would you catch all those long passes?”
He used that one finger to slide his glasses down.
Hazel.
“You know who I am?” He clearly wasn’t displeased that might be the case.
“Nope. Just the type.”
Like J.J. in town, he had NFL written all over him.
It was just past Valentine’s Day, and the whistle had been blown on the last game of the season. Some players would end the season and fly off to a beach house in Hawaii or Mexico. They’d spend their time soaking up sun and chilling with their wives or girlfriends. Or both, if they were slick enough.
Others were hard-core athletes who loved thrill and excitement, and a bunch of them came to Vail.
“Do tell,” he said. He slid his fingers slowly out of his gloves, tucked them and his glasses into a couple of the jacket’s many zippered pockets, and then rested his arms on her window opening. His right hand was so close to her sleeve she imagined she could feel the heat from it.
“Wide receiver, I’d guess. First string.” This guy didn’t sit on the bench much when the offense was on the field.
He lifted a brow, looking more impressed than he needed to be. It wasn’t that hard to figure out his role in the game. It would be an important one.
“You must have some kind of experience with my sort.”
“I do. What I don’t know is whether you’re the subtype who’d object to a girl pulling you out of that ditch.”
“A girl with a Jeep and a winch? I think my ego can take it.”
She smiled a little. “If it would be hard on you, you can wait. I’ve got a neighbor, Paulie Greer. He’ll be coming up from town in a few hours, after his shift at the firehouse. He’s got a Range Rover and a winch.”
“Paulie might be an okay guy, but I think I’d rather take my chances with you.”
Indy nodded and unlatched her door, then waited until he stepped back and pulled it open. When she climbed out, he took a good, long look at her. Probably, he was having the same thought about her jeans that J.J. had. There was a lot of appreciation in his eyes.
“So, I’m guessing you gave him the boot, rather than vice versa.”
“Him?”
“The guy with whom you gained the experience to recognize a top-ranked wide receiver.”
She smiled at both the good grammar and the oversharing, and he followed her as she went around to the back of the Jeep. “Yeah. I did. Give him the boot.”
He helped her lift the cargo door. “I’d be interested to know what he did that you didn’t like.”
She looked up at him.
“It’s like watching tape,” he said. “I can learn from the other guy’s mistakes.” He said it with a smile, and he was just a little bit irresistible. He was a touch too close now, too. She was almost under his hat with him, and she took a measured step back.
“He liked to flirt too much.”
“Ah,” he said, probably not as much chastened as he might have been.
She opened her emergency box and took out a couple flares. When she pushed them toward him, he ended up with his hand over hers, and flares and hands pretty much pressed into his chest.
“Flirt too muc
h?” he asked. “Or flirt around? Because I like to flirt,” he went on, with the word nuanced enough that she knew he had a different one in mind. “But I don’t flirt around.”
She nodded dryly.
“I’m damn good at it, too,” he said, with enough humor to make it almost charming. “Flirting.”
“Good to know,” she answered, just keeping from cracking a smile. Or maybe not quite. “Why don’t you run these up the curve? Set one halfway up, and the other the rest of the way. See if we can keep the next guy out of the ditch.”
“Got it,” he said, but he didn’t turn to leave or even let go of her hand. “I’m Tyler.”
She nodded. “Indy.”
“Glad to meet you, Indy.”
* * * *
Sigge Ahlstrand was in a bit of trouble.
Well, it could be worse. And had been, in his lifetime. Hands down, way worse.
This was just a bit of a pickle.
He was on the back side of the mountain from the ski resort. He’d gone off trail, like he knew he shouldn’t do. But there’d been that fresh powder up there, that total quiet and blessed isolation. He’d fallen for it and loved every spectacular minute of it. Until he’d actually, literally…fallen.
He’d done something he hoped wasn’t too bad to his knee.
Thank God the season was over.
Of course, he wouldn’t have gone off trail, wouldn’t have even been on the mountain, if the season wasn’t over. He was a key player on the best defense the NFL had ever seen. He’d known it, his team had known it, and every football fan but the worst blowhards had known it, from the very first game of the season. No one had beaten them, not from the first to the very, very last game.
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