by Jodi Redford
“Fuck, dude. If you’re not interested in sharing, all you gotta do is say so.”
Mason frowned. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly. But your I’m-gonna-rearrange-your-fucking-nose expression did all the talking. Feel like I need a mouth guard and a protective cup.”
“No, I was just thinking.” He tore his focus from the road long enough to slide his gaze to Nash. “But now you mention it, I don’t think she’s going to jump at the chance of being the tasty filling in our sandwich.” He caught his buddy’s smirk and shook his head. “I’m not saying that so I can have her all to myself, asshole.” Realistically, who knew if there was a shot in hell of that happening anyway. “It’s a hunch I have.”
“Hundred bucks says your Spidey senses are wrong.”
Shit, that was a bet he’d gladly lose.
They spent the remainder of the drive to Harsens discussing their plans to provide a fitness club for the local VFW. The program had been specifically designed to benefit the older members and those with special health or rehab concerns. It in no way resembled the ball-breaking boot camp they normally ran, but it was something both he and Nash were hugely excited and proud to be a part of. Giving back to their brothers and sisters in arms had always been high priority for them. It was good to finally see this particular venture fall into place.
By the time they debarked the ferry, Mason felt not only in need of a navy shower, but a nice frosty longneck or two. All that damn yapping dried out his mouth. Yeah, must be that and nothing to do with the five buckets of sweat he’d lost this afternoon. He pulled into their drive and automatically glanced in the direction of the Llewelyn’s cottage. Ms. Luscious was a no show.
Disappointment arrowing through him, he climbed from the vehicle and grabbed his pack from the backseat. He followed Nash to the porch and frowned at the package parked in front of the door. “What’s that?”
Dropping his gear, Nash stooped and snagged the box. His mouth hitched at one corner and he straightened. “Been shopping at the Giant Dildo Factory again, I see. What did I tell you about that?”
Mason’s gaze fell on the bold-as-you-please words scribbled across both sides of the box with a black sharpie. Unable to contain his laugh, he angled his head for a better view. “What the hell ?”
“Clearly someone’s playing a joke on us.”
He arched a brow. “Ya think?”
“Lemme see if there’s a return address so we can determine whose punk ass we’re gonna have to annihilate.” Nash flipped the container sideways. “Ah, here we go.” His forehead scrunched. “Wait a sec, this is made out to someone named Regan Wallace.” He recited the rest of the address. “Uh, isn’t that the Llewelyn place?”
Their attention simultaneously veered toward the cottage in question.
“Holy hell.” Nash scratched the back of his head. “Think it could be her?”
If it was, man had he read her wrong.
Then again, maybe this was great news for them. A woman who received express shipments from the Giant Dildo Factory might not be as against a wicked hot threeway as he’d originally assumed. He cleared his throat. “There’s only one way for us to find out.”
CHAPTER THREE
T he doorbell chimed and Buzz and Woody immediately went bonkers. Apparently they hadn’t gotten the memo that they were guinea pigs, not dogs. Sighing, Regan padded to the atrium. The breeze blowing in off the south channel had been too tempting to resist, so she’d left the door open but the screen locked. Back home she wouldn’t have done anything remotely risky like that. Precautions of living in the city. But she’d figured on this tiny island she didn’t have too much to worry about.
Glimpsing the two men standing on the porch, she thought better of that theory. They were freakin’ giants. Well, at least compared to her diminutive five foot three they were. She was fairly certain if they stepped forward their heads would hit the top of the doorframe. But it wasn’t only their height that made them impressive. They were big all over. With possibly the fittest, muscular bodies she’d seen in the flesh.
No, not possibly. Without a doubt. They could easily bend her in two if they wanted to. Heat flushed her from the inside as her brain took that thought to an entirely inappropriate place.
The one with the close-cropped ink black hair spotted her and smiled.
Crap. Busted. Now she couldn’t slink away and pretend no one was home. Not that she could have anyway, what with the door being wide open. Damn her insatiable love of fresh air.
Gusting a resigned exhalation, she crossed to the door. “Can I help you?”
“Regan?”
She blinked at his use of her name. “Err, yes...?”
His grin widened. Holy crap, he’d been good looking before, but that smile put him in the territory of total lady killer. Hopefully not literally. “We’ve got a big package for you.”
“Um, come again?” Her brain had reached the point where nothing was safe from sounding dirty. She cruised her focus to the other man. Equally gorgeous, with slightly longer and shaggier sable brown hair and the bluest eyes in existence. It was an enormous struggle, but she somehow tore her focus from his serious case of arm porn and inspected the box in his hands. Even with the few feet separating them, it was easy to make out the words written on the cardboard. Giant Dildos.
What? She wasn’t entirely sure if she’d choked out the word, or if he’d intuited her shocked confusion.
“We have a delivery for you from a Harper Tremaine.”
Harper? Why in the world would she send two oversized men with a box of dildos to...
The thought petered off as Regan finally registered the cargo pants and combat boots the strangers wore. Right on cue, Harper’s voice floated through her conscious. “You never know, a visit from G.I. Joe might be in your future.”
Oh my God.
She was going to kill Harper. Plain and simple. “Look, I appreciate you coming out here and all, and I’ll make sure you still get paid for doing your job. But there is no way in hell I can let you strip in my client’s house. It’s completely unprofessional.”
Both men stared at her. The short-haired one broke the awkward silence first. “Strip?” Bafflement laced his tone.
Why was he acting so confused? Was it part of their act? “Yes, I know it’s why you’re here. Sorry to blow the surprise.”
Mr. Blue Eyes frowned. “You think we’re here to strip?”
“Why else would Harper send you? Not to sing me happy birthday, I’m sure! At least not clothed.”
Black Hair broke into another of his panty-disintegrating smiles. “It’s your birthday?”
“Oh please. You can knock it off now. I know damn well Harper set this up. When you return to the club tell her I don’t find it the least bit funny and payback will be a bitch.”
Blue Eyes handed the box over to his comrade and approached the door. “Regan, I think we have a case of mistaken identity here. Whoever you think we are, we’re not. We don’t even know Harper. I just got her name off the box. Mine is Mason, by the way. Doofus there is Nash.” He pointed to his friend. “We live in the house next door.” He inclined his head to indicate the cute Arts and Crafts style bungalow to the right of the Llewelyn’s property.
She ping-ponged her focus from their house to the box Nash held. “I-I don’t understand. How did you get the package?”
“Mail carrier accidentally delivered it to the wrong house.”
Nash chuckled. “Honest mistake, given Mason’s obsession with giant dildos.”
Reminded of the incriminating scribbles penned on the carton, she groaned. “It’s not actually dildos. My friend has a twisted sense of humor.”
Both men’s expressions remained unconvinced. Heaving a resigned breath, she unlocked the screen and stepped out onto the porch. “I�
�ll open it and show you.”
Mason frowned as she took the container from Nash. “Regan, you don’t have to do that. We don’t care if you like big dildos. Nothing wrong with that at all.”
Oh my God. Were they seriously having this conversation right now? Half convinced she might be engaging in a weird dream after that wine cooler she indulged in, she gestured with her hand. “Do either of you have something I can cut with?”
Nash freed a wicked looking knife from a utility clip on his belt and unsheathed the blade. “Let me do the honors. She’s pretty sharp.”
“Your knife is a she?”
“Yes, because it’d be awkward having a he that close to the Vincent family jewels.” He made short work of the tape sealing the box and returned his knife to his belt.
She flipped the lid open and waved her hand. “See.”
Mason scratched his chin. “Looks like giant dildos to me.”
“Me too,” Nash piped.
“What?” She tipped the container so she could better scan its contents. Sure enough, three huge rubber vibrators sat inside. One flesh colored, another purple, and the last one black.
Death would be too good for Harper. Mortified beyond belief, she snatched the package and tossed it inside the house. Cheeks burning, she returned her attention to Mason and Nash. “Well, this has pretty much been the most awkwardly dirty introduction in history.”
Nash took her hand and squeezed it before lifting it to his mouth. “The best ones always are, darlin’.” Winking, he kissed her knuckles.
Oh lord.
Once Nash released her hand it was immediately claimed by Mason. He kissed it in a similar fashion as his friend, but he lingered a fraction longer and the extra dose of intensity in his eyes stirred butterflies in her tummy.
These two men were their own brand of dangerous.
She swallowed hard. “Well, it was very nice meeting you. And thanks for bringing...the box over.”
“Likewise, and no problem.” Rather than take his leave, Nash propped his broad shoulder against the doorframe, looking the very picture of a Greek God with mythical strength. “So how long you in town for?”
Wow. That’d sounded rather pickup line-ish. Only it had to be a figment of her imagination. Because men like Nash and Mason definitely didn’t hit on women like her. “Only through the weekend. Why?”
“Hm. Pity. Doesn’t give us much time to get to know you better. Or work up a strip routine.”
“Clearly I’m never going to be able to live this down.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can stop teasing me now.”
“Who says we are?” There was no mistaking the challenge in Mason’s expression and tone.
“A-aren’t you?”
“Like Nash said, we’d like to get to know you better. You should have dinner with us tonight.” Smooth persuasion encased Mason’s suggestion. She was willing to bet that he rarely heard the word no. Particularly from horny, red-blooded women with functioning eye sight.
It would be oh so easy to be another statistic notched onto his bed post. If she was the sort of person who did that sort of thing. Sadly, she wasn’t. Much as she wanted to be wild and impetuous like Harper, she wasn’t. She was—
“You’re boring, Regan. Jesus Christ.”
She shoved Steven from her head before he drilled deeper into her subconscious.
“What time?”
~*~
W hat the heck did you wear to a Get To Know You Date with two drop dead hunks? She had no damn clue. Riffling through the few suitable items she’d hung in the guest closet earlier in the week, she settled on a sky blue sundress. It wasn’t overboard sexy, but it also wasn’t frumpy. It’d suffice.
She freed it from the hanger and pulled the garment on over her matching bra and panty set. Those at least were definitely feminine and pretty. Not that anyone would see them. But they’d go a long way in giving her much needed confidence tonight.
This seriously couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Before Steven, she’d barely dated one man, much less two. At the same time. Absolutely nuts.
Chewing her thumbnail, she eyed her cellphone. Harper would have plenty of advice. No doubt she’d indulged in a ménage á tois or two.
Woah, not that it’s what she planned to do. Having dinner with two men was far enough out of her comfort zone as it was. Getting her freak on with them? Oh, who was she kidding? She didn’t even have any freak to get on. This is why you need to go to the experts.
Momentarily setting aside her payback plans for Harper, Regan winged a quick message to her friend.
Are you free?
Several seconds passed before Harper’s response lit up the screen.
I’m neck deep in banana hammocks. What’s up? Besides all these dicks. Heheheh.
Like that was a visual she needed swimming in her head.
Not important. I’ll catch up with you later. And thanks for the dildos, jerkoff.
Harper’s reply pinged a moment later.
LOL. They arrived fast! BTW, totally ironic that you’re pet sitting Buzz and Woody. Clearly my gift choice was kismet.
Grunting, Regan punched in her thoughts on that matter.
You’re a sick woman. I’m returning the dildos so I can buy you therapy.
The cellphone chirped.
No refunds or exchanges due to hygienic concerns, naturally. Sorry, dem’s the breaks.
That bitch. Regan tossed the phone aside, her lips twitching despite her attempt to stay furious at her friend. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her kitten-heeled pumps before journeying into the bathroom. Her makeup case was woefully understocked. Pretty much just concealer, pressed powder and bronzer, two eyeshadow choices, mascara, and lip gloss. She freshened up her face best she could and fluffed her hair. Well, that was about as presentable as she’d get.
After telling Buzz and Woody to keep their tiny claws crossed for her, she ventured to her hunk neighbors' house, her nerves dancing a jitterbug. Mason met her at the front door. He’d ditched the camo and boots in favor of khakis and a dark charcoal short-sleeved button-down. Despite her slight disappoint at seeing her fantasy accoutrements go, there was no denying he looked positively yummy in his civilian gear.
His magnetic gaze intense as ever, he swept her from head to toe. “Damn, you are a walking wet dream.”
She blinked. “ Me ?”
“You act like it’s the first time you’ve heard it.”
“Uh, because it is.”
He frowned. “How is that possible?”
Before she could answer, Nash appeared in the doorway behind Mason. Like his friend, he’d replaced his G.I. Joe ensemble, but he wore jeans and a white crew neck that accentuated his tan and lick-worthy biceps. Gaze sparkling, he clapped his buddy on the shoulder. “Bro, might want to invite our beautiful guest in before she kicks you to the curb for being a rude ass.” He winked at Regan. “Then again, that’ll convince her I’m the true prince here.”
“Prince of toads.” Snorting, Mason grasped her hand and escorted her inside. His attention skipped to Nash. “We were discussing the fact that she’s never been called a wet dream before.”
Nash’s eyebrows arched. “How is that possible?”
“Precisely what I said. I’m guessing a shortage of functioning vision with these so called men she’s encountered prior to us thankfully arriving on the scene.”
“Sounds logical.”
She couldn’t contain her laugh. They were too good for her ego. Exactly what she needed after everything with Steven. “You both are too much.”
Mason rubbed her arm, the simple gesture warming her in embarrassing places. “Don’t worry, we’ll eventually grow on you.”
Nash leaned forward to offer a stage whisper near her ear. “Like a fungus, in Mas’s case.”
Something told her he wasn’t talking about the box of dildos. With massive willpower on her end, she kept her gaze from dropping to his fly. She distracted herself by inspecting her surroundings as they led her into the bungalow and gave a short tour. The living room contained the requisite enormous flat screen and leather sectional and Lazy Boy. All of the furnishings were masculine and oversized. Fitting for bigger than life-sized, highly alpha men.
For being a bachelor pad, the place was immaculate. Not that she’d expected to walk into a disaster zone of discarded jockstraps and mountainous piles of old pizza cartons. But she’d heard enough horror stories to be pleasantly surprised by their tidiness. Then again, the whole image was in line with how they carried themselves. Well-groomed and an overall vibe of discipline.
Her thoughts tracked to the earlier camo and boots they’d worn. “Are you both in the military?”
“Retired. Eight months ago we started a fitness boot camp based on basic Ranger training principles. Hence our apparel earlier.” Mason left her at the large kitchen island overloaded with cheese, crackers, a shrimp cocktail, and a platter of raw veggies and accompanying dips. Either they were starved or expecting a hundred more people to join them.
She selected a Ritz and nibbled its crimped edge. “You guys look too young to be retired.”
Nash chuckled. “I’ll take that’s as a compliment or a subtle inquiry into our ages.”
“I wasn’t trying to be rude. Honest.”
“Honey, I don’t think you could be if you tried.” Mason returned with a corkscrew and two bottles of wine—one a Pinot Grigio and the other a cabernet. “Wasn’t sure if you prefer red or white.”
Still a little flustered at him calling her honey, she gestured to the cab. While Mason worked on opening the bottle, Nash made himself at home beside her and loaded up a cracker with a slice of cheddar. “Back to your observation. Mason and I joined the Army straight out of high school and served twenty. That probably gives you a good estimate on our ages. Not quite old geezers, but a few seasons past spring chicken.”