The Playboy's Ménage (The Billionaire Bachelors Series)

by RG Alexander

  And he had been happy. Maybe for the first time in his life.

  “Holly?” he called down the stairs. “Henry?”

  No one answered.

  Where were they? He took the stairs two at a time and headed for the living room, looking for dishes or signs of life. “What the hell?”

  They weren’t in the kitchen either.

  Peter walked toward the front door, and that’s when he saw it. The envelope with his name and Henry’s scrawled in shaking script. It had already been opened.

  He pulled out the folded piece of paper and saw what the envelope had been covering. A page from his sketchpad with an image of Holly’s profile and the question he’d written beside it months ago.

  Ms. Anonymous?

  “Fuck.” His heart started pounding, breaking, as he read the letter.

  For Peter and Henry,

  I thought writing would be the best way to do this, but now I’m not sure. How will you know by looking at a flat piece of paper that I’m sincere when I tell you that these were without question the best two months of my life? Being with you gave me more joy than I will ever be able to express. Everything was perfect, so perfect it scared me. Maybe that’s why my vain peek through Peter’s drawings last night had to happen, so I could remember that nothing is the fairytale we wish it could be. Fairytales are overrated anyway.

  Don’t be upset, Peter. I don’t blame you at all for wondering. It makes sense that you would think I was Ms. Anonymous. For the record, I’m not, though I did discover a few weeks ago that one of my friends was a source for her column. In a way, you weren’t wrong to be suspicious.

  Finding it did give me the push I needed to make my decision. Another month would only make this harder for me, and since it already feels impossible to walk out those doors, I don’t think I can keep my promise to stay.

  What we have is special, but things like this don’t last. They can’t. I know I said this seventeen years ago, but it’s still the truth. I was lucky enough to know what it was like to love both of you, to know what it felt like to be yours. That’s more than most people get in a lifetime.

  I hope you understand.

  Holly

  He crumpled the note in his hand and forced himself to keep breathing. He’d done this. One stupid question he hadn’t thought about since that conversation with Henry. He hadn’t fucking cared one way or the other.

  She was gone again. Running again. Giving him the same bullshit line and disappearing from his life again.

  Not this time. Peter wouldn’t let her go without telling her how he felt, how they both felt about her. There was no way in hell he was going to let this letter be their goodbye.

  They all deserved better than that.

  He looked for his keys but they weren’t where he’d left them. Peter heard his angry shout as if from a distance, watched himself throw the small table across the foyer. Saw the legs crack against the wall.

  He studied the carnage and took a deep breath. Henry had taken his car, which was fine since he had three more in the garage, but it still felt good to break something.

  He walked barefoot over the gravel and opened the garage, grabbing the first set of keys on the wall and climbing into the black jaguar. He turned on the music to drown out the silence, reminding himself not to speed, not to do anything that would delay seeing Holly face to face and making her look into his eyes and tell him what was between them wasn’t real.

  Peter could feel himself wanting to shut down. The pain was too intense, bringing all his insecurities to the surface and making him want to run again. Logically, he knew this was about her issues, not his. Emotionally, he couldn’t help but wonder what there was about him that was unlovable. That ensured he would be alone.

  Didn’t he show her how he felt? Had he done it wrong? He wasn’t as open as Henry. It wasn’t as easy for him to share his heart. But she’d seen that room. Been surrounding by the evidence of his emotions. Surely, she knew.

  When he turned on her street, his bright yellow sports car was parked in front of her house. Peter parked beside it in the middle of the road. Let someone complain. He wanted them to. He’d never been in a street fight with hipsters before.

  Her front door was open. As he walked toward it, the two men standing on the porch next door stared at him with matching expressions of shock and recognition. He looked down at himself, realizing for the first time that he was in nothing but a pair of wrinkled, unbuttoned pants.

  “Fuck it,” he growled, not giving them a second thought as he walked up the steps.

  He stopped before he went through the door. Henry was talking.

  “I’m the one who suggested it, Holly. He didn’t believe it. Especially after I told him about your mother.”

  He heard her gasp. “What the hell do you know about my mother, Henry?”

  “Most of it,” he responded. “I know what happened right before winter break. I’ve heard things since, but that’s not important.”

  “But it is.” Her voice was ragged with unshed tears. Peter wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, then shake her until her teeth rattled for putting them through this. “Don’t you see it, Henry? Look at what I want. Not one man like a normal person. Two. My mother was never satisfied with any one man or any amount of money. And I haven’t been satisfied, either…not with any of the men I’ve dated.”

  “You were satisfied with us.”

  “For two months, with no obligations or awkward introductions or photographs of the three of us showing up in a magazine. It wasn’t real life.”

  Peter had heard enough. He banged on the door as hard as he could and stepped back, looking over at Holly’s neighbors. “You know me?”

  They nodded.

  He forced his most charming smile in their direction. “I’m assuming from your interest that you’re friends with Holly and, I believe, one of you also knows Ms. Anonymous. Is that right? You can tell me. I’m unarmed. I’m not even wearing shoes.”

  The shorter redhead pointed to the man with the goatee beside him.

  “Good. I’d like to send her a message. Do you think you can help me with that?”

  “Peter?” Holly walked out onto her porch, disbelief in her eyes. “What are you doing? Where are your clothes? Come inside.”

  He ignored her, looking at the redheaded man instead. “You strike me as a romantic. Do you believe in love?” He nodded and Peter continued. “Then you should be able to give me an informed answer. Say you fell in love in college. Madly in love for the first time in your life, and then for seventeen years—even after your lover left you because they claimed what you felt wasn’t real—you kept on loving them. So much that you went with the obvious ruse of research to have them back in your life again, if only for a few months. And it worked, and those months were glorious, but then your lover disappeared again, still doubting what you had could survive in the harsh light of reality. Imagine how crushing it would be to receive a blow like that a second time, all those years later. To wake up thinking everything was finally right with your world, only to find they’d slipped out the door and left you a Dear John. But you still picked yourself up and drove across town without shoes to declare your feelings to anyone who would hear you. Would you be a jackass, or a man in love?”

  Goatee man put his arm around the redhead. “Is there a difference?”

  Peter pointed at him. “I still need to give you that message.”

  He felt Holly’s hand on his chest and tensed, arming himself for the pity he would see in her eyes.

  It wasn’t pity. She was crying. He swore, covering her hand with his. “Holly—”

  She shook her head. “Stop, damn it, just stop. You love me?”

  “What gave me away? And yes. Unconditionally. Hopelessly.” Peter raised his voice. “Henry does too, by the way.”

  The redhead gasped and covered his mouth. “Hold on. That’s who you were in love with in college? That was your three… Oh my God.”


  Holly muttered under her breath. “Chaz, don’t start. And if Bill says anything—”

  “He won’t,” Chaz insisted. “Pretend we’re not here.”

  Henry laughed behind her. “Too late for that.”

  Peter squeezed Holly’s hand. “That was a stupid letter.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t think she did. “I heard you two talking. You are not like your mother. You’re independent, strong, and loving. You’ve climbed mountains and gone swimming with sharks. You don’t need anyone to give you validation. You’re not her.” His throat tightened. “And I’m not my parents. I don’t want to be like them, Holly—stiff and loveless and alone at the end because they were too concerned about how things looked to experience life. Too concerned with what other people would say about them to love their child.”

  “I can’t say anything bad about my parents,” Henry murmured, almost apologetically. “They taught me that love is all that matters, whatever form it takes.”

  “Hear, hear,” Bill cheered before Chaz shushed him.

  She sobbed, staring up at Peter with something that gave him hope. He kept talking. “I don’t know why you keep saying this isn’t real, or it can’t last. We’ve loved you for most of our lives, and knowing you now? I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you more.”

  “Betty Boom-Boom or Holly,” Henry agreed, moving closer to cup her shoulders. “Whatever hat you’re wearing, you’re the missing piece of our hearts.”

  “I think Broken Heart Baby is about Holly, Bill,” Chaz said in a loud stage whisper.

  “Everything is about Holly, Bill,” Henry confirmed without taking his eyes off Holly’s. “It always has been. It can’t get more real than that. Don’t make us wait another seventeen years before you finally give us a chance. A real chance.”

  Holly reached up to touch Henry’s hand while still clinging to Peter. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Chaz whistled, drawing their attention. “Holly, I adore you, but get your cute head out of your ass. When something like this happens…and it never happens outside of the movies, so pay attention…you say yes.”

  Holly smiled through her tears. “Yes.”

  One year, three weeks and two time zones later…

  “I can’t believe you really did it.”

  Peter glanced lazily over his sunglasses at Tracy’s wife, Alicia. “Did what?”

  The blonde leaned back against her giant of a husband, cradling her rounded belly protectively. “Bought a whole island so Holly could do research for a book by that reality show survivalist.”

  Henry handed him a beer and sat down in the lounge chair beside him. “It’s her last hurrah as a ghostwriter before her debut as Betty Holly, author of the already-bestselling women’s fiction series, The Dominatrix Detective. I came up with that title, you know. And her penname.”

  “Everybody knows,” Peter sighed. “You’ve told them all fifty times since we got here.”

  Sara laughed, tilting her head when Dean started rubbing her shoulders. “He’s proud of your girl, Peter. We all are. And she knows how to do everything. After she saved my wedding? I’m in her debt for life.”

  “Don’t forget how she rescued my first flailing attempt at putting together a fundraiser. I don’t know what I was thinking. A New York girl trying to wrangle rodeo clowns?” Alicia blushed and Tracy kissed her cheek tenderly. “Holly is a good woman to keep around.”

  Dean stopped massaging his wife long enough to reach for his glass and lift it. “Definitely worthy of the island, as well as the house and runway you built so we could join you.”

  Tracy nodded. “Especially when it gives us all a chance to enjoy a private vacation and celebrate the end of an era. Speaking of, do you have another copy of that column? I want to read it again before I toss it in the fire.”

  Peter reached under his chair, grabbing one from the top of the pile. The last Ms. Anonymous column. Peter and Bill had several long talks and participated in one or two plots to bring that about. In the end, they’d managed to convince her that setting her sights on greener pastures might be the way to go. There were a couple of bachelors causing a lot of mayhem in California. Granted, they were only millionaires, but they were fresh meat and they didn’t know who she was. They hadn’t discovered anything about her that might embarrass her if it were made public. Peter had.

  He’d also erased the evidence from existence in front of her with a simple computer virus, letting her know that he would never stoop to that level. And then he’d asked her if she believed in love. She assured him she didn’t, but to her credit, she’d agreed to put a stop to her snooping and get her hair done at another salon. She’d also found a way to exit gracefully.

  The Billionaire Bachelors Bow Out.

  That’s right, dear readers, the country’s most eligible bad boys have hung up their No Vacancy signs and announced to the world that they are bachelors no more. Our rocker, rancher, rebel and reformed rogue have all found their special Cinderellas and been living in marital, or at least conjugal, bliss for long enough that even I must admit defeat.

  Since there can be no Ms. Anonymous without her boys, this will be my last column. You can use it to wipe your tears or line your child’s hamster cage, but either way, this goose is cooked.

  Will our handsome heartbreakers really live happily ever after? Only time will tell. But since this is my last hurrah after years of following their every wild escapade and doomed romance, I feel like I should give you my honest opinion on the matter.

  I sure as hell hope so.

  Peter smiled and pushed himself to his feet. “I think Holly should be done making fishing nets out of coconut husks by now. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  Henry stood too. “I’ll go with you.”

  As they walked away from the beachside gathering and into the shade of the palm trees, Peter glanced at Henry. He’d been acting strange for days. “What’s going on with you? Was it a bad idea for me to invite them to join us?”

  “Of course not.” Henry shook his head. “It’s been a while since we’ve had this much time together. And Holly loves Sara and Alicia.”

  So did Dean and Tracy. Those were two happily married men. Thanks to Alicia, in a few months they’d all be honorary uncles to a baby cowgirl. Peter and Henry were already planning to spoil her rotten…and protect her from lewd playboys and lustful musicians until she was old enough to protect herself.

  Henry still had something on his mind. “It’s okay that they’re here. But?”

  “I think we should do it, Peter. What we talked about? The timing couldn’t be better.”

  A knot formed in his stomach and he finished off his beer in one, long gulp. “Are you serious?”

  “I am. We’re a family, Peter. We fit. She knows that now.”

  “But what if she says no?”

  “She won’t. She’ll say yes and then we’ll tell her what we’ve agreed on. You’ll marry her legally, then we’ll have another ceremony at home for the three of us, only family and friends allowed. And they lived happily ever—”

  “Shut up.”

  Henry chuckled. “No jinxing. I forgot.”

  Peter rubbed his neck. “You really are a sensitive musician. Aren’t you?”

  “Fuck off. It’s not just me. You know how much my mother loves weddings.”

  And they loved Holly. Their bachelor days were over for good, and Peter couldn’t be happier. He also couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than he wanted to marry her.

  A sudden image of Holly holding his baby appeared in his mind. Okay, he could think of one more thing.

  They saw her on the small beach before she heard them approach. She was cussing like a sailor and throwing coconuts into the sea.

  Peter laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.

  “Hey honey?” Henry called. “You shouldn’t do that. That coconut could be the only thing between you and dehydration.”

  Holly whirled ar
ound, her nose sunburned a bright red and her bikini making Peter’s mouth water. “Is it dinnertime already?”

  “Almost,” he responded, striding up to her and pulling her into his arms. “But first, we’re hungry.”

  He kissed her, tasting salt and sea on her lips and moaning when she pressed her breasts against him. When she went for the button on his shorts, Peter lifted his mouth. “Holly, wait, we wanted to talk to you.”

  “Sex now,” she demanded. “Talk later.”

  “Being stuck on a deserted island just got hotter,” Henry murmured, leaning against a nearby palm tree. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Pocket,” Peter growled. “In my pocket.”

  She reached into his pocket and pulled out the condom, pushing down his shorts and rolling it onto his hardening erection in a way that made him grit his teeth. She drove him crazy.

  Holly wiggled out of her bikini bottoms, still in his arms.

  He fell to his knees and she wrapped her legs around his waist, crying out as his cock filled her. “Yes.”

  “Baby, slow down,” he groaned. “Let me love you.”

  “You do love me,” she gasped. “I’ve been lost on a desert island. No one to touch me. No one to fuck me. Oh God, Peter, fuck me.”

  He dug his fingers into her hips and gave her what she wanted. Hard and raw with a desperation he couldn’t contain. He dipped his head to bite her nipple through the red bikini top, making her shout in surprised pleasure. Holly arched her back, taking everything.

  Giving everything.

  “Love you,” he moaned against her breast. “I love you, Holly.”

  “Yes. I love you so much. Fuck, I’m coming. Peter!”

  He felt her orgasm take her and, like a moth to a flame, he joined her in the blaze. She was irresistible. His Holly.