Triple Treat
Morgan McLean and Glenn Hilton meet Xonra Gibson at a memorial service for one-hundred-one-year-old MaryAnne Menzies and ask her out. How is she to know they aren’t ax murderers or something? And surely it’s wrong to go on a date after a memorial service anyway?
Xonra is Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd., and she’s seen a lot of delicious-looking men, but none as delicious as Glenn and Morgan. Besides, these two together are an irresistible team and she longs to say yes. It’s just that to do so seems illogical and dangerous. Xonra was busy climbing the corporate ladder when everyone else was out having fun. Suddenly fun seems just as irresistible as these two men. But the date takes them to Berisford Village and everything there is definitely not what it seems to be on the surface.
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 20,205 words
TRIPLE TREAT
Berengaria Brown
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
TRIPLE TREAT
Copyright © 2014 by Berengaria Brown
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-707-7
First E-book Publication: December 2014
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
For Xonra and Lilian. R.I.P. my friends.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
TRIPLE TREAT
BERENGARIA BROWN
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
Xonra Gibson tapped her long, black nails against the steering wheel as she slowly drove down the street for the third time. Still no legal parking spaces. She glanced at the dashboard clock again. Eight minutes to two. Dammit. I’ll go around once more, and if I can’t find anything, I’ll have to risk an illegal parking space.
At five to two, she gave up and fitted her car into a semi-legal parking space at the end of the line. Well, the hood and the front seat are legal! she reassured herself, snagging her purse off the passenger seat, beeping her car lock, and walking briskly to the tiny chapel where the funeral service for MaryAnne Menzies, aged one hundred one, was about to start.
The chapel appeared to have been designed to seat maybe forty. At least twice that number of chairs had been crammed into it, and almost every one of them was filled. With the added height her four-inch heels gave her, Xonra was able to see an empty chair hard against the wall halfway down on the right side.
Apologizing profusely, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, she squeezed her way along the row, sucking in her stomach and clenching her butt in an effort to be thinner and fit through the miniscule gap more easily. She slid into the vacant seat gratefully, her side pressed against the wall, her eyes lowered, as music began to play and the memorial service began.
Xonra tried to concentrate on her memories of MaryAnne, who’d befriended her mother when Mom had been widowed with baby Xonra. MaryAnne had shown Mom the best places to shop, taught her budgeting tricks, and helped her with craft projects and household maintenance. All of that was thirty years ago and MaryAnne had already seemed very old to Xonra.
As Xonra listened to the eulogy, she remembered MaryAnne had grown up on a farm, buried her only child, outlived two husbands, but never lost her joy for life and desire to help others along the way. No wonder so many are here to honor her memory.
Xonra kept her gaze either on the minister conducting the service, or on the floor, but she couldn’t help being highly aware of the hunky man pressed hard against her left side. His shoulders were so broad he was overhanging her seat, no matter how much she leaned into the wall. And his right thigh seemed glued to her left one, sending waves of lusty heat right through her body. Damn, he’s good-looking. Well, what she could see of him through her peripheral vision. Late thirties, maybe forty, faint touches of gray in his black hair, chocolate eyes, tanned skin, six feet tall at least. And those broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Well, yum!
Likely married with six kids! she reminded herself firmly. And you’re supposed to be focusing on MaryAnne, not the hunky guy sitting next to you!
As Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd., Xonra saw a lot of good-looking men, and none of them had ever lit her fire the way Mr. Shoulders next to her did. She pictured herself sliding that crisp white shirt off his arms, leaning into his chest and licking across—Oh, shit, I’ll have wet underwear in a moment! MaryAnne. Focus on MaryAnne. It’s totally inappropriate to think about some unknown hunk at a memorial service!
The service went for an hour, and at the end, they all stood to sing “Amazing Grace.” Xonra’s mother had given her a list of people to speak to and surreptitiously she drew it out of her purse to check and make sure she didn’t forget anyone. Xonra had offered to fly her mothe
r here for the service, but her mother hated flying and there wasn’t time to drive so far, so it was up to Xonra to represent their little family.
She was concentrating on looking around the crowd to pinpoint the people she needed to speak to, so she was startled when a large, hot hand rested on her thigh.
“Glenn Hilton. My grandparents farmed right alongside MaryAnne’s folks. How did you know her?”
Xonra looked up into the most delicious pair of warm, liquid eyes—melted rich, dark chocolate. She felt herself drowning in them, her cunt clenching, and cream soaking her panties. Along with the devastating eyes, there was a chiseled chin, high cheekbones, and black hair just touching his collar, with those enticing little hints of gray here and there.
Hoping she wasn’t drooling, she replied, “Xonra Gibson. MaryAnne was a wonderful help to my mother when we moved here from upstate after my dad died.”
The man sitting beside Glenn leaned forward, his hand out to shake hers. “Morgan McLean, Glenn’s partner.”
Well damn. Not six kids but just as unattainable. Why are all the best looking ones taken?
Because when everyone else was out fucking like bunnies you were sitting in the office accumulating those billable hours and climbing the corporate ladder. Your choice, remember?
Yeah, okay, shut up.
“Did you spend much time on your grandparents’ farm?” she asked Glenn.
For the next few minutes he reminisced about childhood summers on the farm, and once again Xonra saw bright flashes of MaryAnne’s kind and helpful nature in his stories. Those long-ago days still were happy memories he cherished, she could tell.
As the people in their row gradually moved out into another room for cups of tea and coffee, the men stayed at Xonra’s side, talking quietly about MaryAnne and the service. One part of her brain was searching the crowd for the people she needed to give her Mom’s good wishes to, and the other was hoping she didn’t sound like a lovesick teenager, as every nerve ending was alive to their attentions.
When Glenn rested his large hand gently on her back, Xonra’s panties dampened even more. If he wasn’t taken, I’d seriously be considering a one-night stand. “Hot” isn’t even close to how he makes me feel.
Morgan offered to get her a cup of coffee, but Xonra declined and slipped through the crowd to talk to her mother’s friends. It was nearly an hour later that she was ready to leave, and stopped at the table by the door to sign the Bereavement Book and pick up a program to send to her mom.
Glenn and Morgan appeared from nowhere, smoothly moving to stand on either side of her.
“Can we offer you a ride somewhere?”
“Or walk you to your car?”
She stared at Glenn, then Morgan. “I’m only parked a couple of blocks away and I’m fine to walk that far.”
“I’m surprised you found a parking space so easily. We’re about five blocks over,” said Morgan.
“Yeah, well, my hood and front seat are legally parked, the rest of the car, maybe not. Hopefully it’ll be okay. Or I’ll just pay the fine.”
“They’re pretty quick to clamp your car around here,” said Glenn. “Show us the way.”
She set a brisk pace back to her car, and sure enough, it was clamped. She really hadn’t believed them until she saw the fucking clamp on her wheel. Xonra ripped the sticker off her windscreen, pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the number, only to get a recorded message telling her to call back after eight a.m.
Suddenly suspicious, she turned to the men. “Did you set this up? I’ve never met you before and now you’re sticking to me like white on rice.”
“We wanted to get to know you better, invite you out for a coffee or something.”
“I came here to a memorial service last year and got clamped. That’s why we’re not surprised,” said Morgan.
“Also why we parked five blocks over. We didn’t plan on getting clamped again,” added Glenn.
“Okay, whatever. You can both go home now. I’m calling a taxi.”
“Let us take you home, instead. Please.”
One look into the pleading eyes and her bones, and resistance, melted like water. Her belly clenched and her body thrummed with the need to be held, to be fucked, by this man—these men. With her last remaining brain cell, she said, “How do I know you’re not a couple of ax murderers?”
Morgan pulled his billfold out of his pocket and wrote on the back of his business card. Handing it to her, he said, “That’s my sister’s number. She’ll vouch for me.”
“Uh-huh.” Xonra keyed in the number, then turned her back on the men so their delicious figures wouldn’t cloud her brain any further. When the call was answered, she dragged every inch of professionalism she could muster and put it in her voice. “This is Xonra Gibson, Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd. I was given this number to call for a character reference for Morgan McLean.”
“Morgan gave you my number? Well, hell, he must be drunk or in real trouble. He’s my baby brother. He’s a good brother and an excellent uncle to my kids. Um, apart from when he broke my doll’s arm off the year I was five and he was four, I don’t recall him doing anything bad. But I guess that’s not what you want to know. He’s a civic designer for CityPlan. It’s a really good job. He works hard, and has a steady partner. Has he done something wrong? Should I send Jack down to bail him out or something?”
Blocking out the concern in the woman’s voice, and ignoring her question, Xonra asked, “So you’d vouch for his character?”
“Of course. Is he all right? Should I go to him?”
Xonra now felt really guilty at upsetting the woman. So she answered soothingly, “He’s fine. He and his partner asked me out. I just wanted to be sure they weren’t a pair of ax murderers.”
“He doesn’t even watch that kind of movie. Are you sure he’s okay?”
“I’m sorry I worried you. But I needed to be sure before I answered them.”
“Morgan and Glenn asked you out? Oh, wonderful. Wait ’til I tell Jack that. You will say yes?”
“Possibly. Thank you for your help. I’m sorry I worried you.”
“Not a problem, honey. We girls have to look out for ourselves these days. There are plenty of nutters around. But my baby brother isn’t one of them.”
Thanking her once again, Xonra clicked off her cell and turned back around to the men.
“Jayne will be calling you inside ten seconds,” predicted Glenn.
At that precise moment, Morgan’s cell phone rang. All three of them laughed as Morgan answered.
Glenn took Xonra’s arm. “Let’s start walking to our car. I presume you are coming with us?”
* * * *
Glenn fought his dick the entire time he sat pressed against the sexy woman at MaryAnne’s memorial service. The fucking chairs were pushed so tightly together, he had no room to move at all. Leaving his thigh touching hers, while incredibly carnal, caused a highly embarrassing tent in his pants. He had to keep his hands on his lap and the program open over his dick to hide his reaction. He hadn’t fallen so deep into lust so fast since he was a teenager.
But one quick glance at Morgan told him his partner was just as interested in the woman at the end of the row as he was. Although they were exclusive partners to each other, they did enjoy sharing a woman. The contrasts were a total aphrodisiac. Male hardness and female softness. Women approached problems from a different angle and even though they might arrive at an identical solution, Glenn liked following the different thought processes. A woman enhanced his relationship with his man.
Which was all moot, anyway. His cock wanted this woman and wouldn’t be denied. He was thrown off his plans when she refused to have coffee with them, but when she said she’d parked nearby, he was sure her car would be clamped. She’d arrived only just before the memorial service started. She couldn’t possibly have found one of the very rare legal parking spaces. Now, at least he and Morgan could help her and get to know
her better.
Glenn took them to a tiny café he knew where the food was superb and the atmosphere friendly. When Xonra was laughing at his story of learning to swim in the small lake on his grandparents’ property, he caught a glimpse of Morgan beckoning the manager over and ordering food. That was a damn smooth move. The food would arrive before she had an opportunity to say no.
He was right. She was talking about a childhood encounter with a wasps’ nest when the food arrived at their table, and they all began eating almost without noticing it. But the best part was later on when they took turns dancing together. With those fuck-me shoes on, she was the perfect height to hold as they danced. He was only a fraction over six feet, but he hated dancing with a woman when all he could see was the top of her head. Xonra fit perfectly in his arms and he could stare into her eyes as he pressed her soft body against his.
He longed to hold her even closer, to feel her breasts and let her feel the hard ridge of his dick, but he wasn’t stupid. He could wait for that. The evening, thus far, had been amazing. Much better than he’d dared to hope. Now all he wished for was negotiating her into their bed. That would be absolutely perfect.
* * * *
Xonra was never quite sure how it happened, but coffee stretched into supper, which was followed by dancing, and later that night she found herself standing in their bedroom, being kissed witless.
How can I be doing this when I hadn’t even met them twenty-four hours ago? Okay, so instead of being a slut at twenty, I’m turning into one now. But hell, it feels so good.
Triple Treat (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 1