Embraced By Passion

by Diana DeRicci

  “Nice to see you again, Brigit.” Slone greeted her with a smile.

  She halted on the threshold. “Look, I really appreciate this, but I can’t let you do this. It was bad enough when I thought you two were paying for my flight. This—” She swept an arm to encompass the plane. “This is beyond anything I can repay.”

  “Repay?” Ja’Rol asked, squeezing in then moving to the side to give her space. Both men were broad next to her, but neither seemed intent to crowd her. “We’re all going to the same wedding, are we not?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Then join us.”

  She glanced from one to the other. Patient expressions on both. Would it be so bad to spend a few hours in luxury with two of the sexiest men she’d ever had the luck to know? Nothing said she had to stay with them. They’d offered her a way to get to Las Vegas, that was all. She could figure out the rest there, talk to her mom. Brigit relented, though it pained her to do it.

  “Okay.”

  “Mr. Wilkes, the tower is hailing us.” A man dressed in a pressed and creased uniform stood at the cockpit door.

  “We’re settling. Give us five minutes,” he informed the captain.

  Ja’Rol slid her bags into a compartment and asked for her hand. “Let me show you the plane before we take off.”

  Slipping her hand into his larger one, a curl of warmth twined up her arm instantly. A physical reaction like nothing she’d ever known. She barely registered Slone reaching for the hatch lock to draw the door in to secure it, all her attention sucked into the wave of need that crashed over her.

  Brigit followed Ja’Rol’s gentle lead as he showed her the length of the cabin, though little stuck. She couldn’t get past the building heat in her palm. Almost her entire hand was lost in his. She wasn’t a petite kind of woman, but next to these two, she felt utterly frail.

  “And that’s the lavatory.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, clawing through the fog of lust. Breathe, she commanded herself. It almost helped.

  “The restroom,” Ja’Rol clarified.

  “Oh. Right, right.” Brigit felt it more than anything when he settled her into a plush leather seat, looping the belt over her lap.

  “We all have to wear them, but once we’re at altitude, you can move around.” The clasp and hook clicked into place under his hands. He wasn’t trying to do more than fasten her belt, but every touch of his hands or fingers sent a new screaming wave of need through her bloodstream. She wanted to be touched so much, her skin burned.

  The thrum of the engines began to hum louder, their torque building as the plane prepared for takeoff.

  Ja’Rol took a seat ahead of her, and Slone sat at his side. Then together, they swiveled their chairs. Brigit stared.

  “Relax,” Slone said soothingly. “Our pilots are among the best. The weather will make it a bit bumpy, but it’ll clear soon enough.”

  Then they were moving.

  Was it so wrong that the vibrations of the plane speeding down the runway were traveling through her system, making her thighs clench as her body ached with need? Her fingers flexed into the wood accented armrests. She purposely unclenched them twice, then gave up trying to relax. The pavement hummed and skipped beneath the jet, then there was a feeling of weightlessness—for about two seconds, right before her stomach tried to fill her shoes.

  She moaned. Bending at the waist, she clutched her stomach. Her vision blurred, watery as pain sliced through her middle. She lost track of which way was up.

  “Brigit?” Hands caressed her shoulders and another swept her hair out of her eyes. “Breathe.”

  She sucked in air, hit with the worst case of nausea she could ever remember. Closing her eyes, she waited for it pass, diving into the black calm that rushed toward her.

  * * * *

  “She’ suffering,” Ja’Rol told Slone. Anxiety was woven through the thought.

  Slone lightly shaped his palm over Brigit’s forehead and closed his eyes, seeking into her physical being.

  “She’s starving.” Worry for her health, and anger that she wasn’t taking care of herself, made his tone brisk.

  “What?” Ja’Rol continued to massage her back, rubbing her unconscious form as Slone supported her in his strong arms. Neither felt the tilted rise of the plane.

  Slone frowned. “Carl did take her to a hotel yesterday, right?”

  “I didn’t ask, but she gave us those phone numbers, and a room number.”

  Slone shook her head. “She stayed at a shelter. She hasn’t eaten in days, at least two.”

  “Why?”

  Disregarding her privacy, knowing he’d likely pay for the indiscretion, he sought her memories.

  The deeper Slone dug, the harder his expression became, images of her father in the forefront, the cause of her misery. Verbal abuse, malicious control, a man who thrived on cruelty. The most recent fight had been emotionally horrific and brutal. Both doubted Traci had any hint of a clue of the man’s behavior toward his daughter. Brigit had told the truth. She’d just returned stateside from a trip to Paris, as in right before she’d shown up on their doorstep, seeking Traci from the plane. She’d come home early to escape her father, leaving him and her stepmother behind in France. Her hope to find her mother to recover and lick her wounds had put her instead, in their care.

  “Never again.” Ja’Rol’s statement was steel.

  Slone agreed with Ja’Rol. She would never be left with that man again.

  “We’ve overwhelmed her, but she’s more like her mother than her father,” Slone pointed out. Releasing her belt, he scooped her easily upward to take her seat, settling her on his lap to cradle her in his arms. She folded into his chest like a kitten.

  Ja’Rol opened a compartment and grabbed a blanket, covering both Brigit and Slone. “I’ll warm up something light for her to eat.” Turning for the kitchen, Ja’Rol found cups and filled two with water, and another with ginger ale, giving all three to Slone.

  Subdued over their woman’s health, neither said much for the next thirty minutes, until she began to stir.

  “Easy, pet.” Slone stroked her back, soothing her when she stiffened on his lap. “You’re safe.”

  “How?” Blue eyes widened as color flooded her cheeks, discomfited at finding herself on his lap, and searching for a way to put space between them evident in her tension.

  “You fainted.” He narrowed his eyes at her, sensing her need to flee. Ja’Rol may know her thoughts easier already, but Slone did recognize her reactions to her situation. He wasn’t about to let her move an inch. “Don’t even think it. Not until you eat and drink something.”

  She looked away, her blush spreading.

  Ja’Rol crouched next to them, directly in front of her. “Why didn’t you tell us? We would have taken care of you.”

  “Because I don’t know you,” she whispered, her voice dry.

  Slone picked up the ginger ale, holding it for her. “Drink, then we’ll figure this out.”

  “Her father has used food to manipulate her most of her life. She’s used to going without.”

  Ja’Rol’s growl was silent but clear to Slone. “No more.” Then he gave Slone a broad, toothy grin. “If we meet, can I breathe on him?”

  Slone chuckled, hiding it in Brigit’s hair. “Bad boy.” Ja’Rol only shrugged.

  Inhaling by her ear, her scent filled his lungs. “She is sweetness and caring. I am already discovering feelings for her.” He couldn’t restrain the awe in his heart, and he didn’t try to hide it.

  “She will need lots of love,” Ja’Rol said, his warming gaze drifting over the blonde in Slone’s arms. “Brigit has not had many male role models. I think that is why she is so happy for her mother finding Gene. She sees him as the exception to the rule, someone her mother deserves after being with Brigit’s father.”

  Slone caught the other man’s honeyed gaze. “She doesn’t believe she deserves the same?” It had been a different era the last time
Slone had a female mate. How could she not know she deserved every courtesy?

  Ja’Rol sadly shook his head. “One of the female mental beliefs I’ve seen over the years. They become conditioned into believing they are unworthy, for any number of reasons. She will be resistant, because her father has taught her she is unworthy.”

  Slone sat in silence for several minutes, letting her sip at the ginger ale at her own pace, his mind a whirlwind.

  Glancing over her head, he told Ja’Rol, “I will let you breathe on him, but only after I do.”

  Ja’Rol spun to hide his laughter, his broad shoulders shaking with his mirth.

  Slone noticed she’d almost finished the ginger ale, and handed her the water, taking the one she’d drained. “Drink.”

  “I don’t want anymore.” She refused to grasp the cup.

  “You’re dehydrated and weak. You fainted because the take-off made you dizzy and nauseous.” He brought the cup to her lips. “Drink,” he told her tenderly. “Please.”

  Her lips molded to the cup rim and his gaze locked on her soft mouth. He grasped with a fleeting will to restrain the heat stiffening his cock. She was beautiful, a waif in comparison to them, but lush of body.

  “Slone,” Ja’Rol warned. “Control.”

  Slone drew a long breath and closed his eyes and mind to the bewitching creature on his lap.

  “Easier said than done, my friend.”

  A mental touch of commiseration and understanding helped to ground him more. “I know, lover. She is something unique, is she not?”

  “Unique and fragile, and wonderful.”

  When that cup was drained, he wrapped his arms around her and rested her head on his shoulder. Moments later, the tantalizing scents of chicken soup filled the kitchen and the rear of the plane.

  Ja’Rol walked over with a tall, steaming mug and spoon. “Take this, Brigit. It will help calm your stomach.”

  She eyed him warily. “Why are you being so nice?”

  He smiled indulgently, his gaze locking with Slone’s. “I believe that is what they call a loaded question.” With his attention on her, he replied, “Because you are the daughter of a close friend, a woman who worked with us for more than a decade. Because it is the way we are, and because at the moment, you need someone to look after you.”

  “I’m almost thirty,” she retorted, implying that she was fine by herself. Then she tipped her chin away with a firmness to her jaw.

  Slone’s laughter was deeply hidden. “Independent streak? I think your assessment of her being a livewire is all too close to the truth.”

  Ja’Rol’s lips twitched in response to Slone’s statement, though he remained focused on Brigit. “Yes, you are, and no matter the age, we all need a little tender care in our lives,” he said. Offering the mug again, he waited for her to accept it. It looked like it was going to be a battle of wills to Slone. “I have more patience than you have resistance.”

  Muttering incoherently, she palmed the mug, shifting marginally on Slone’s lap to drink the hot liquid. He had to swallow the gasp as she rubbed her derriere over his cock.

  Ja’Rol stood and took over the closest chair. Both watched in silence, letting her eat the soup in peace.

  “Does your mother know how your father treats you?” Slone asked quietly when she’d drained the mug and devoured the last noodle.

  Ja’Rol took the mug and set it in the kitchen, returning to listen.

  When Brigit tried to extricate herself, Slone held her fast.

  “I’m too heavy for a lap,” she scolded him.

  “I’ll judge that, and no you’re not.” Slone tucked the blanket around her tighter, her ploy to avoid answering not working in the least.

  She stared at the plane wall for several minutes. Finally, curling a little closer, maybe even only subconsciously to the warmth and protection of the man beneath her, she told them, “No. He’s gotten worse since Mom left him. I did the back and forth routine for years, staying mostly with Mom. Then when Dad got remarried, he offered to let me come and stay with him and Bianca in California. She was okay, but she’s a floor mat for my Dad. He could wipe his shoes on her favorite dress and she wouldn’t say a word. I think that went to his head and he transferred it to me.” She popped up, staring at Slone. “Wait. How did you figure it out? I just met you.”

  “I don’t want to lie to her,” he quickly pleaded with Ja’Rol, seeking over the woman in his arms to his best friend. “But we can’t tell her yet. This must be dealt with first.”

  Ja’Rol leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together, his expression solemn. “Brigit, Slone and I have talents. Some call them supernatural, or gifts. One of them is being able to see into a person. When you fainted, we had to know how serious it was, if you needed to be taken immediately to the hospital. Forgive us for trespassing, but it was necessary.”

  “Well, that’s definitely not telling her.” Slone mentally smacked Ja’Rol.

  Ja’Rol’s golden gaze darkened at the reprimand. “Hiding anything from her at all will only create more doubts. Deeper explanations can come later.”

  “Fine.”

  Silently, Slone waited for her reaction, but he wasn’t happy with Ja’Rol’s judgment.

  “Seriously?” Disbelief and doubt were prominent in her tone. “What can you do?”

  “What we did do was see your memories to what caused your spell, and your father’s actions toward you,” Ja’Rol stated.

  She slumped. “Oh.”

  “We know you didn’t go to a hotel, and that you’ve had problems with your father.” Slone waited, not sure how she would react, or how to continue. “Have you ever told your mother?”

  Brigit shook her head. “No.” She played with the blanket, her fingers nudging it from underneath. “I haven’t lived with him for some time, but I needed a place to stay when I lost my job. To help me forget my situation,” sarcasm had crept into her voice, “he offered to include me on his vacation to Paris. I had no other plans. Unfortunately, being that much farther from home made his behavior intolerable. So I came home.” Brigit smirked. “And I found you two instead of Mother.”

  “What do you do?” Slone discovered once he began, he wanted to know more.

  “Office work, mostly. Not high paying, but it kept a roof over me.”

  Slone quieted the internal cheer. If they should be so lucky… No matter their needs, Brigit came first.

  Setting her up on his lap, knowing she was becoming more self-conscious of their position, he allowed her to glide to her feet, but he promptly sat her back down and tucked the blanket around her, giving her no chance to argue.

  “Well, you found us, which we’re glad of,” Slone told her. He sensed the frown before it became real on Ja’Rol.

  “And before you believe it, you’re not a charity case.” Ja’Rol crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow. “I can also hear your thoughts.”

  Brigit gasped. “Well, stop it!”

  “It’s not intentional. Right now, you’re emotional.”

  “I am not!” Brigit glared at them both.

  Ja’Rol chuckled and glanced at Slone with a smirking grin. “She’s not? Could have fooled me.”

  “Rest, and finish that other water.” Slone lifted a hand to halt her protests. “Anything and everything.”

  Her mouth popped open, her fingers clutching the blanket as she grasped for words. “But I wasn’t thinking!”

  “Pet, you didn’t have to,” he replied, chuckling warmly, wanting to do nothing more than feel her in his arms again. “It was in your eyes. Your every wish, from here on out.” Leaning forward, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Because you are worth it to us.”

  Ja’Rol also gave her a kiss, then both men sauntered to the front of the cabin to give her space.

  Chapter Five

  Brigit unobtrusively stared at the two wills of iron sitting not fifteen feet away. They were talking quietly, a few spreadsheets and a lapt
op on the bleached maple table between them. The cabin was redolent in rich green and ebony accents with white carpeting that softened the interior, as well as maple wood on the sidewalls and insets. The luxury was just like their offices, crisp, but not ostentatious. It would seem if they did the designing, they had an idea of what they wanted to convey. Studying the inside of the cabin gave her a chance to catch her breath. It was taking time, but her world was slowly righting itself again. The last thing she’d expected was to come to cradled in strong arms. She didn’t even realize she’d blacked out.