by Jodi Redford
“You’re not the only one.” Despite her attempt to corral it, Steven’s eighteen-year-old with her perfect, cellulite-free body popped to the forefront of Regan’s mind.
Something in her expression must have given away her dismalness, because Nash tipped up her chin before leaning down to meet her eye to eye. “Age is a state of mind. Don’t forget that.”
“Tell that to my body,” she blurted before she could rein the words.
“Baby, there’s a lot of things I’d like to say to your body. But that’s not one of them. How about I start instead with how fucking incredible your breasts are.”
She choked on a cough, earning Nash’s grin.
“You’ll have to excuse him.” His mouth quirked at one corner, Mason passed her the wine glass. “Subtlety isn’t in his vocabulary.”
“And yours?” she couldn’t help asking.
He topped off his own wine glass and sampled it before awarding her a flash of his teeth. “Nah.”
That triggered her laugh. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
“Only way to be.” He sat his glass down and studied her. “He’s dead on, though. And while I’m being honest, you and your amazing breasts have been starring in my dreams from the moment I saw you.”
His admission added to the warmth spreading through her. Warmth that had very little to do with the gulp of wine she took. “And that would be what, two hours ago?” she couldn’t help point out, as much for her own benefit as his. It wouldn’t do to get carried away with this welcome flirtation.
“No. Since Monday.”
That was the first day she’d arrived. He’d noticed her then?
A thought occurred to her. One so outlandish, she almost couldn’t bring herself to utter it in case she was dead wrong. But now that it was implanted in her brain, she was dying to know. “The box—was it an excuse to come over and meet me?”
“Well, it provided us one, if that’s what you mean.”
This had to be the surrealist moment of her life. These two gorgeous men had been looking for an excuse to meet her. That went miles beyond naughty flirtation sparked by miss-delivered dildos. At a complete loss for words, she snatched another cracker.
“How long have you known the Llewelyns?” Judging from his smooth segue, Mason had seen through her flimsy attempt to cover up her discomposure.
Grateful for the chance to collect herself, she finished swallowing her bite of Ritz and washed it down with a sip of the mellow cabernet. “I actually didn’t meet them until after they hired me. I own a pet and house sitting service,” she offered in response to his quizzical look.
“Interesting.”
“Not really.” She chuckled. “But it helps pays the bills and gives me what amounts to mini vacations several times a month. Fortunately I don’t really have to live off the business since I’m also a freelance copyeditor.”
“Ah.” Mason nodded. “No wonder you always had your nose in a book every time I saw you.”
“Yeah, reading is my favorite past time. I can easily burn through five books a week, not including my clients’ material.” Better they find out she was boring as hell now rather than later.
“Impressive. Most I can do is one. Had to cut back a bit when we expanded our boot camp membership and took on a new project, but once things settle down I should be back to the usual two or three.”
She so wasn’t used to a man who enjoyed reading. Steven couldn’t stand it. He’d preferred watching TV. That’s when she could talk him into staying home. Looking back on it now, it was a miracle they’d lasted as long as they did. Who knew? If she hadn’t busted him cheating she’d probably still be tolerating his subtle digs and sulk sessions on the couch. God, why had she put up with that BS?
She caught Mason’s inquisitive eye and sighed. “Sorry, I was just thinking about stuff that is completely unimportant right now.” She helped herself to a shrimp. “What do you read?”
“Mostly thriller and suspense. Anything that has a military bent will get pushed up higher on my TBR pile.”
Embarrassing to admit, but the fact that he even had a TBR pile much less used the term made her panties wet. Forget the gorgeous bod and looks—though they were beyond nice—a man who read was super-hot in her book. No pun intended.
Mason popped a cheese-stuffed olive into his mouth. “How about you?”
“Oh, I’ll read pretty much anything. Though I tend to go through a lot of romances. Safe to say they’re my favorites.”
She waited for him to ridicule her poison of choice, as typically happened whenever she offered up the info, particularly to a male.
“Sweet. You ever read the spicy stuff? That’s all numbnuts over there has on his ereader.”
She sent a disbelieving stare to Nash. He waggled his brows. “I mostly read for the dirty bedroom inspiration.”
“Which explains why you go through a box of tissues a night.”
“Just putting that Costco membership to good use.”
Mason sent her an apologetic look. “Sorry, this is how we tend to talk to each other. Hope you don’t take offense.”
“Uh, no. I’ll admit it’s...enlightening.”
“He’s exaggerating about the box a day.” Nash’s gaze sparkled. “More like half.”
It suddenly felt like the heat had been cranked up a thousand degrees. Possibly something to do with these two incredibly beautiful men and the provocative images swirling in her head. Did Nash actually stroke his cock while he was lying in bed, reading from his kinky stash? Oh, to be a fly on the wall during that masturbatory session.
“We’ll have to compare notes and see if we’ve read any of the same books.” She took another gulp of wine—and almost choked on it as she realized how that could be interpreted.
Wickedness rode Nash’s features. “Indeed we should. Maybe we could recite a few juicy scenes. Or try them out. See if the author did their research right.”
Oh Lord. She wished she could say it wasn’t tempting in the least. But that’d be the biggest lie in history. “So what are we having for dinner?”
Mason guffawed and Nash leaned his hip against the island’s edge, his grin good-natured. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” She blushed as she continued to wedge her foot further down her throat. “I mean... aw, hell. I’m completely out of my element here.”
Moving in closer, Mason stroked her spine. “No need to be, sweetheart. We’re just enjoying your company. And to answer your question, we’re having burgers.” His forehead furrowed. “Shit, I should have thought to ask—you’re not a vegetarian, are you? We can always whip something else up if you are.”
“No, not at all. I’ve never passed down a burger in my life. In case you couldn’t tell.” She patted her hip.
He tracked the motion of her hand and licked his lips. That wordless gesture went straight to her pussy. She squirmed, inadvertently making the situation a thousand times worse when the crotch of her panties pulled tight across her clit.
As if he was fully aware of her predicament, Mason pinned her with a smoky stare. Nash chuckled. “I’m gonna light the grill. If anything sexy transpires in here without me there will be hell to pay.” He directed that last part to Mason before ambling from the room.
Licking her own lips nervously, she fidgeted with her wine glass’s stem. “Have you...” She trailed off awkwardly, uncertain how to proceed.
Mason captured her free hand, his fingertips a distracting graze over hers. “Have I what?” he prodded.
The lazy glide of his thumb along hers stirred tendrils of heat from her nipples all the way to her core. The sensation only intensified when he lifted her hand to his mouth and bit the tip of her finger. Apparently he wasn’t worried about that hell to pay. Then again, maybe he didn’t consider what he was doi
ng particularly sexy. If that was the case, boy, her increasingly damp panties had a thing or two to say about that misassumption.
She swallowed hard, desperately trying to concentrate. “Have you two been with the same woman before? Together, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She’d figured as much, after that parting shot from Nash. But hearing Mason confirm it still left her in a bit of shock. Mostly because he’d actually admitted to it. She was used to her ex’s policy of keeping her in the dark on his sexual proclivities.
“Does it bother you?”
“I’m not sure.” She dissected it for a moment, trying to determine if the shakiness in her belly was nerves or disgust. Then she thought about being pressed between their hard bodies, their sweat blending with hers as their cocks shuttled in and out. In and out. Driving her higher and higher on a wave of rapture. She shivered. “No.”
“Good.”
She waited for him to say something more. Possibly suggest the three of them enacting one of those dirty scenes Nash mentioned. Instead he dropped her hand and topped off her wine glass before clinking it with his.
“What are we toasting to?”
“The holy trifecta—books, burgers, and beautiful babes.”
His toast prompted her laugh and a burst of giddiness at the outrageous compliment. Oh yeah, she could definitely get used to their ego stroking if she wasn’t careful. “All good things come in threes?”
His slow smile added to the already drenched state of her panties. “All night long, sweetness. All night long.”
CHAPTER FOUR
N ash checked the doneness of the burgers before transferring them onto the plate. Ten to one Mason was already strategizing how to be the first one to kiss Regan and gain access to her pussy. Yeah, Mas enjoyed sharing, but it didn’t dissuade him from getting the first taste. And that was fine by Nash. It suited his desire to watch. There was nothing hotter than witnessing his buddy work over a woman before jumping in on the action himself. And he could already tell it’d be blistering with Regan. The way Mason looked at her, damn , he was clearly smitten.
Not that Nash wasn’t suffering a similar affliction. Grunting, he swung open the back door and headed toward the kitchen.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise. He and Mas’s taste had always been in sync with each other. Plenty of times they’d been attracted to the same woman, which accounted for the occasions they’d both taken her to bed. Kept things simple, and competitiveness out of the equation. Difference in those cases, though, was they’d been purely sexual. A one night hookup. But lately Nash had started contemplating the possibility of something more. Shit, he wasn’t getting any younger. If he was going to settle down, better do it soon.
Only problem? Every time he contemplated it, he couldn’t see him doing it without Mason there by his side. Yeah, weird by most folks’ standard, and it sure as hell wasn’t that he was secretly gay for his best buddy. He was and always would be a pussy man, through and through.
That said, he loved Mas. Like a brother. If not for him, there was a good chance Nash would be in prison. Or dead. He wouldn’t sugar coat it. Growing up, he was the living definition of trouble. Likely why his deadbeat dad refused to take him in after Nash’s mother ODed on heroine. Three weeks before his seventeenth birthday, homeless and drifting in his life, Nash decided to indulge in a little B&E. The party store he’d broken into hadn’t provided much cash, so he’d settled for a liter of Jim Beam and a pack of Marlboros.
To this day, he thanked God for him choosing that particular store and his punk ass stupidity that’d brazenly convinced him to drink himself into a stupor right then and there. He’d come to in the morning, the business end of a rifle pressed against his forehead. Mason didn’t let it slip at the time that the weapon wasn’t loaded. Just as well, and something else that saved Nash’s life that day. Instead Mason locked him in the backroom of his dad’s store and set about sobering him up before bringing him a hot breakfast from the fast food joint down the street.
Nash fully expected charges to be brought against him. What he got instead was a surrogate family. One that’d taken him in and given him everything his flesh and blood parents had been incapable of providing. When Mason enrolled in the Army it’d been a no brainer for Nash. Wherever Mason went he would follow. To the death, if necessary. Small price to pay for everything Mas and his parents did for him.
So it was no wonder he couldn’t envision a family that didn’t include Mason. But his best friend had shown no signs of wanting to bring a woman permanently into their lives.
Until now. Maybe. The obvious pull Mas experienced in regard to Regan? It gave Nash massive hope. One that doubled in size when he strode into the kitchen. Granted, they weren’t kissing. Yet. But judging from the major eye-fucking going on, it was only a matter of time before things got hot and heavy.
And if Nash had his way, hot would be an understatement.
He placed the platter of burgers near the condiments. “All but one is medium rare. Pretty sure you can tell from the disgusting piece of charcoal there which one is the odd man out.”
Ignoring the obvious dig at his clearly questionable burger preferences, Mason passed a plate to Regan. Nash couldn’t help noticing the hand Mason kept planted on her back the entire time she loaded her burger with fixings. It was like Mas couldn’t stop touching her. Nash had never seen his friend behave like that with a woman.
Snuffing his grin of happiness, Nash plopped down a bun and flipped one of the edible burgers atop it before adding lettuce and tomato. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and his growling stomach was all too happy to remind him of it. The only thing he possibly wanted to sink into more than that beef right now was Regan. But if he was going to potentially see that opportunity— please fucking God —he damn well needed sustenance first.
They carried their food into the dining room. Regan didn’t comment on their insistence of occupying the seats on either side of her, but according to the small smile playing at the corner of her lips, the deliberate move hadn’t bypassed her scrutiny. He and Mas chomped down their meal before she managed to tackle half of hers. Apparently that was another thing she found amusing because her eyes twinkled as she inspected their plates. “Did you even taste it going down?”
Nash leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly. “Post hazard hardship of dealing with field rations most of your life. You tend to attack every decent meal like there’s a fifty-fifty chance it’ll run off on you before you stab it with your fork.”
“Were they that inedible?”
“The field rations?” Mason shook his head. “They were a feast fit for a king compared to the local delicacies in a few of the countries our special ops took us to.”
Nash grimaced. “Scorpion kebobs and sheep’s head—something I sure as shit can go without the rest of my life.”
Her color edging toward a shade of green, Regan inched her plate away. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”
He grunted. “Trust me, you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t mean just with the food. You guys must have seen some crazy things.” Compassion softened her features. “Thank you for your service. Both of you.”
He’d been on the receiving end of countless handshakes to honor the duties he’d performed for his country, including those from several US presidents, but nothing came close to warming him like the heartfelt gratitude shining in Regan’s beautiful green eyes. Right then he’d gladly fall on a live grenade to protect her from any and all harm. One glance in Mas’s direction confirmed that he was experiencing a similar sentiment.
Nash cleared his throat, disbursing the gravel of emotion residing there. “Yeah, in a war zone things are in a perpetual state of FUBAR. I’d like to say you grow immune to it, but not always.” He and Mas were fortunate. Many of their brothers and sisters in arms came home minus l
imbs or in need of intensive therapy, both for the body and the mind. Oftentimes it was the mental scars that proved the most resistant to healing.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” She took his hand and squeezed it.
Unable to resist the opportunity, he twined their fingers together. “No, I don’t mind. Not all of it was bad. We formed bonds with some of the best soldiers in the field. We saw atrocities, but we also saw incredible acts of human kindness, like a family of Pakistanis giving us shelter despite the imminent threat of Taliban retaliation.” Yeah, to have people who had nothing but chaos raining down everywhere around them risk their lives even further for a platoon of strangers, it’d humbled him to his core. He’d never forget that sacrifice.
He and Mason spent the next few minutes regaling her with stories from the field. They left out the gory tales. No matter how genuinely interested she was in hearing about it all, he doubted she could stomach those. Once the conversation started to meander down, he scraped back his seat and collected the plates.
“Let me help you.”
He shook his head when Regan began to push to her feet. “Nope. As our guest, it’s your responsibility to do absolutely nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Mason stood and grabbed his dish. “Dessert will be ready in two seconds.”
Regan groaned. “Although I’m stuffed I can never pass up something sweet.”
“Same here,” he and Mas piped simultaneously. Going by the heat in his eyes, Mason’s mind occupied the same gutter as Nash’s.
Something sweet, indeed. He could easily eat a serving or two of Regan and come back for more. Or better to say she’d be coming a time or twenty. Although fucking was his favorite pastime, going down on a woman came a close second. Heavy emphasis on the came part. He’d have no problem spending hours with his face buried between Regan’s thighs, lapping up her pussy juice. Sounded like sheer heaven. Maybe she was a squirter. Just the thought of it threatened to cut off circulation in his briefs. Nothing hotter than all that wetness flooding his mouth, or soaking his cock.