Trio

by P. F. Kozak

  Nick grimaced at the use of his teenaged moniker. “Guilty as charged. Remember me now?”

  Dismay flooded her. “You used to jack off an awful lot,” she mumbled.

  Nick laughed, shaky and unsure. “That was your fault, neighbor. You were so damn hot, even if you were only fourteen. God, I wanted you. I lusted after you, but a nerd like me wasn’t your style.”

  She handed back the photo. He’d obviously worked very hard to get in shape. He had every right to be proud of his accomplishment. She chose to ignore his self-deprecating comments. “My dad wanted to kick the shit out of you for ruining his little girl’s virgin eyes.”

  Nick tucked the picture away. “I went to college, but I meant to come back, Lara. I always swore that I was going to come back and get you, make you mine.” He toyed with his wallet. “I did make it home, but you’d gone. Your mom didn’t know where you were. She said all she knew was that you married some guy named Donnie Green and moved to Nevada.” Raw pain simmered beneath his words. “I’d almost given up finding you again.”

  His words warmed her, but Lara didn’t let herself react. Her mind still spun from his revelation. Something about him had always niggled in the back of her mind; he was familiar, but not recognizable. Now she understood why.

  “You really came to Nevada just to find me?” she asked.

  “Don’t be mad, but yes, I did.” Nick paused, then rushed on. “All these years I’ve had a fantasy that you and I would be together, you know, in a relationship. I’ve never had sex with another woman. I’ve always wanted you.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. She stared at him, trying desperately to sort through the myriad emotions running riot through her skull. It seemed a dream she’d soon have to wake up from, a fairy tale too damn twisted to be real.

  Vision suddenly blurring, Lara felt the sting of unbidden tears brim in her eyes. The seven years they’d been apart melted away like plastic under hot flames. The urge to fly back into his arms pulled at her like a dangerous undertow.

  Crossing to her, Nick pulled her into his embrace. “Will you stay?”

  Her gaze met his. Looking up at him, she felt tenderness tug deep inside her heart. At the same time she imagined him spreading her thighs and sinking his cock deep. She didn’t have to be asked twice. “Yes.”

  Jared’s voice broke through. “There’s a problem here, you two.”

  They both looked his way. “What?” Lara asked.

  Jared acidly arched an eye-brow. “Don’t forget I’m part of this deal.” He nudged in between Nick, pushing him out and capturing her in a tight hug. “You don’t get Nick without me.”

  Clapping Jared on the shoulder, Nick gazed fondly at his two lovers. “And you don’t get her without me, bud.” He winked at her. “Think you could love us both?”

  Lara closed her eyes, feeling her answer solidify. And she knew. She’d always known. “I don’t think it.” She smiled even though tears blurred her vision. “I know it.”

  Somehow they all came together, all three of them embracing, touching, enjoying. Clothing slipped off, naked skin making contact with naked skin. Two sets of searching hands explored her body. Jared stood behind her, brushing her hair away from her nape, and then nibbling her neck. His hands found and kneaded the cheeks of her ass.

  Cupping her breasts, Nick teased her sensitized nipples with his thumbs. “This is how it should be.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “The three of us together.”

  Lara let out a long shuddery breath. Desire swept through her in shimmering waves. She’d never felt so swept away. For the first time in her life she needed not one, but two men. Their touch, the feel of two hard bodies pressed against hers. She needed both of them as much as she needed oxygen to breathe. As much as her heart needed to beat.

  “I agree completely,” she said, tilting back her head for his kiss. The circumstances that had brought the guys into her life didn’t matter anymore. Somehow the three of them had found each other. It only seemed right that they belonged together.

  Forever.

  BRING IT ON

  JANE LEDGER

  1

  A nother ticket. Nancy Roman didn’t want to believe what she was seeing, but she had to. A rookie was making her quota with new-girl-on-the-job zeal. The chick lifted up the windshield wiper of Nancy’s dented Toyota and stuck the damn thing under it. She would have banged the window down but it was already stuck in that position. Then Steve Karan showed up.

  Save me, Stevie.

  He talked to the rookie while he removed the ticket and inspected it. Then he jabbed a finger at the paper.

  “Looks like you made a mistake, honey,” he said cheerfully. The rookie shrugged and ripped it up when Steve handed it back.

  Oh, yeah. My hero. Gotta love those shoulders. And that thick, dark brown hair. Even from three stories up, Steve Karan looked good. He wore his usual off-duty Average Joe jeans, linen shirt, and scuffed sneakers. Perfect fade on the jeans over the quads. The muscle in those legs just didn’t quit. Nancy watched him slap the rookie on the back, then swing around to the parking meter.

  She owed him. Big time.

  He walked down to another car that was so nondescript it screamed undercover cop car. He opened the door and placed a white cardboard box in his arms that was almost as long as he was, carrying it lightly. A mystery package. Long-stemmed roses?

  Interesting. Maybe he was her secret admirer. Ha ha. She had known him since high school.

  She tried to lift the window so she could call to him but it was stuck shut. Humidity. Everything swelled in June.

  Steve took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into the vestibule of her apartment building. Nancy buzzed him through the downstairs door before he pressed her button, knowing he’d come all the way up without waiting for an OK. Working at home meant you got to know your local cops. Of course, she already knew him.

  Her publicity business was doing all right. Her clients, creative types and minor celebrities who had gigantic egos and ambitions to match, had not one clue about how to manage their careers, let alone their seriously screwed-up lives. Rather than maintain an office, she had them send in their publicity materials in bulk: head shots, glowing reviews of productions that their mothers hadn’t even seen, and highlighted clippings about their pathetic lives.

  None of which arrived in pristine white boxes. Not what Steve was bringing up. She went to the door when she heard him thunder up the last flight of stairs and opened it before he knocked.

  “Hiya, Nancy. Package for you.” He held it out, holding it at either end with strong, long-fingered hands, but she didn’t take it, only looked at the shipping label.

  “From Racks, huh?” She knew the name from one of her clients, who liked to give his girlfriend ultraexpensive, super-sexy evening gowns, which she, a temperamental Russian model, liked to rip up, just to show him who was boss. “That’s a dress company. I didn’t order a dress.” She hitched up her baggy gray sweatpants.

  Steve winked. “I know that. This was a gift from the store. We just broke a big shoplifting ring for them.”

  “So they gave you a dress. What does that say about your sexuality, Steve?”

  “That I’m good at my job. Seriously, Nancy, they sell dresses, not suits. The store manager said I should give it to my best girl.”

  “I’m not your girl.”

  “So? Bet you’d look good in this dress.”

  “Aw, shucks. Bet you say that to all the slobs.”

  “Only the beautiful slobs like you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Nancy said. She cast a glance into the hallway mirror by the apartment door, just in case there was a grain of truth in his friendly compliment. No surprises there: blond hair with thick bangs that needed trimming. Round eyes, greenish. Full lips, glossed, but otherwise no makeup. Pretty good boobs and small waist, concealed under a beige sweatshirt with a peeling logo that said Almost Famous.

  A re
lic of her brilliant career at Frieder & Ripkin, publicists to the stars. Former publicists. Playing switcheroo games with a couple of celebrity clients’ wives got Eddie Frieder beaten up and his office trashed. Bob Ripkin got off a little easier, being totally ignored by Variety and Entertainment Tonight.

  Kudos for the uninvolved: Nancy Roman got a pat on the head from a famous columnist who praised her integrity.

  “I’m being honest,” Steve said nonchalantly. “We’re friends, right?”

  “Sure are,” Nancy said. “Since forever. Especially since I started working at home.” How long had it been since Frieder & Ripkin had gone under and she’d struck out on her own? “Which is why you’ve never seen me in anything but sweats. Take me as I am.”

  Steve looked her up and down with an amiable leer. “I like to be comfortable myself.”

  Nancy glanced down at his mighty, jeans-clad legs. Amen to that. And how good it felt to be looked up and down in sweatpants that didn’t do anything to advertise her curves. She could count on Steve to cheer her up.

  “At least you get to run around all day,” she pointed out as she walked with him into the kitchen. “I get to sit and mail out head shots for the hopelessly untalented.”

  He slid the long box onto her kitchen table, bumping a big wooden bowl that usually held bananas, occupied at the moment by a comatose cat.

  “Sorry, Frisky.”

  “His name is Lump. For obvious reasons.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” He scratched lightly between the cat’s ears. The Lump raised his head and gave a huge, tongue-curling yawn, then went back to kitty dreamland.

  “So c’mon,” Steve said. “Open the box. Your name’s on it.”

  Nancy shook her head. “Is this your way of living vicariously?”

  “Yeah, I wanna see you naked.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He grinned at her wolfishly. “Me and Jack hung on the gym wall like ivy during senior year, trying to.”

  Jack Ginnis. Steve’s best friend and fellow cop. “I’m still curious,” he added.

  “But I can’t fit into anything from Racks.”

  “You could be wrong, Nancy,” he said patiently. “Anyway, it’s a gift. Is it your birthday?”

  Birthdays. Nancy loathed birthdays. Annual reminders of the march of time and the downward pull of gravity. She didn’t celebrate hers and no one outside of her immediate family knew when her birthday was. And it was weeks away. Anyway, no one in her family would ever give her something from Racks.

  “No,” she said finally. “But I’ll open the box if it’ll make you happy. You’ll probably have to take it back, though.”

  He patted the box with a proprietary air. “Nah. I’ll give it to the rookie who was giving you the ticket.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nancy stuck a fingernail into the thin tape that sealed the box and ran it lengthwise. “Wouldn’t want to use a box cutter. Don’t have one anyway, come to think of it.”

  The top flaps separated and she could see tissue paper underneath, folded neatly over a black something adorned with a gold Racks label.

  Steve looked inside the box, interested.

  “Drum roll, please,” she intoned. He obliged, beating the table on the side. The cat, startled into offended life, uncurled himself from the banana bowl and jumped off the table onto the floor with a thud, waving his tail.

  Nancy lifted a big piece of the tissue paper, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it on the floor in front of her cat. Lump ignored her attempt to placate him and stalked off.

  She parted the rest, revealing a voluptuous heap of what appeared to be shirred black velvet.

  “Wow,” said Steve. “Nicer than I thought.”

  Nancy stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “You haven’t seen it yet. Did you know what was in here?”

  He held up his hands. “I confess. There was a Racks catalog with it. I compared the product code on the shipping label and so—yeah, I did know.”

  Nancy touched the velvet without removing the dress. “I’ve seen that catalog. The parent company is unreal. Kinda like Neiman Marcus. For people who can drop $10,000 on an impulse buy. You know, gem-encrusted pet dishes and stuff.”

  Her cat sauntered back into the kitchen with a now-you’re-talking look on his face. He jumped up on the table again and stuck a paw into the box, patting the velvet.

  “Quit it, Lumpkin,” Nancy said, shooing him away. “This is not your new nest. Don’t get cat hair all over it.”

  “Hold it up,” Steve said eagerly. “Let’s see what it looks like.”

  Nancy only shrugged. “Not as if I’m going to wear it.” But she reached into the box, found the straps, and lifted the dress out of the enfolding tissue. She held it against herself, striking a glamorous pose. Steve’s eyes lit up.

  “Wow. Fantastic. You have to try it on. Black has got to be a great color on you.”

  “Ya think? Better than boring old beige?” She looked down, taking in the details of the dress. Spaghetti straps. A fitted, very low-cut bodice carefully designed to give boobs a lift without the wearer needing a bra. Subtle shirring down the front seam and bias-cut side panels that flared over the hips without clinging. It really was a movie star’s dress, like nothing Nancy had ever seen. She didn’t want to let go of it.

  “You know, I think you’re right about the black. To hell with beige. My sofa is beige. My life is beige.”

  “You need some excitement,” was all he said. His voice was lower and a little rough around the edges.

  Still holding the dress against her body, she walked over to the hallway mirror and inspected herself, blowing her bangs out of her eyes with an upward puff. She caught Steve looking at her pouted lips and smiled at him.

  “You said it all, Steve. Wow is right.”

  He kept his distance but his gaze was riveted to her, almost as if she were really wearing the dress.

  Nancy turned this way and that, marveling silently at how alive the dress seemed and feeling a flash of chagrin at how shabby her sweats looked. She didn’t have to wear them every day—they were just there in the morning, easy to pull on without a second thought. Undemanding. Able to accommodate a few extra pounds without her even knowing she’d gained a little weight.

  She looked in the mirror once more. And she looked at the man standing behind her. Keeping his hands on his hips made Steve’s shoulders look larger and his waist leaner. His wide-apart stance was totally male and his long, strong legs were well worth a sneaky look at what was between them, barely restrained by the soft denim.

  “Okay,” Nancy said offhandedly. “I’ll try it on. Labels and all. Prepare to be dazzled, o humble law enforcement professional.”

  “I’m a cop. A fucking cop.”

  “Whatever. Have a seat.”

  Steve nodded, and pulled a chair out with a hasty scrape against the floor, sitting down and leaning back against the table, gently scratching Lump’s head again. The cat got into it, rubbing its whiskery cheeks against Steve’s fingers for an added-value petting experience. “Ready for the show, pal? I am. Even if she did call me humble.”

  Nancy laughed and headed down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She hung the dress on a high hook and stripped quickly, kicking the ugly beige and gray sweats and the balled-up socks she’d had on into a corner. Her practical white briefs joined the pile next.

  Naked, fluffing her pubic curls, she looked at the dress one last time. Then she took it off the hook, positioned it over her head, and let it slide down her body. Just putting it on was erotic. It fit like a…body glove. And speaking of, wouldn’t it be nice if she had a pair of long gloves to accessorize it with? Diamond earrings, too. Mink eyelashes. And a couple of gigolos. Or a matching set of hunky cops. Her favorite fantasy was two men, when she had time to fantasize, which was hardly ever.

  She stepped up onto the edge of the bathtub to see more of herself in the mirror over the sink. Wow wow wow. What it did f
or her boobs and her butt was nothing short of amazing.

  Nancy stepped down carefully, inspecting her face critically. A little eye pencil wouldn’t hurt. Just a dab of powder blush—but only a dab. The black velvet made her fair skin glow. When she got done with the makeup, she grabbed a brush and did a major fluff on the hair. Good to go. Then she scrabbled in a little basket of cosmetics that she hadn’t used in way too long, finding a lipstick in a come-hither shade of red.

  Nancy uncapped the tube, parted her lips, and put it on with precision. The result was overwhelmingly sensual. She blew herself a kiss, gave her bangs a final fluff with the brush, and opened the bathroom door.

  “Don’t be shy,” Steve called.

  “It doesn’t fit,” she called back, smiling to herself. Might as well play him.

  “Awww.” He sounded utterly disappointed.

  Barefoot, Nancy walked down the hall. Under the flared sides, her thighs brushed together in a way that was erotically stimulating. And the dress cupped her ass almost like…a man’s hands. She thought of Steve’s strong hands holding the box and the eager look on his face when he’d asked her to open it. Nancy took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen.

  Steve almost fell off his chair. He rocked back, righted himself, and stood up. “You look—so beautiful.”

  “Think so?” Nancy asked innocently. She strolled around the kitchen, flipping the skirt with one hand and running the other through her hair. That lifted her bosom even higher, and Steve looked hungrily at her breasts.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “So…” she breathed. “How much time do you have left on the meter?”

  “What?” Steve just gaped at her.

  Nancy threw him a flirty look designed to melt belts. Maybe it was the magic of the dazzling dress, maybe it was the months she’d gone without a date, maybe it was Steve’s friendly but totally male vibe and all that healthy energy he radiated…but she had suddenly decided to seduce him.

  No second-guessing herself. No filling out Glamour quizzes on whether he was Mr. Right or just Mr. Right Now. No calling a girlfriend and discussing it in advance. Her inner vixen was in charge, and inner vixens did not think twice, especially when she was pretty sure there were condoms in the nightstand drawer.