Three Men and a Woman_Indiana

by Rachel Billings

  “Yeah,” he said. “Out.” He opened his dress coat and showed her his fly suit underneath. “Dress nice.”

  “Oh,” she said and then seemed to run out of steam.

  He couldn’t blame her if she was dazzled by his splendidness.

  Or even a little daunted. Not every woman had the natural resources to go head-to-head with James Jacob Jackson in his finery.

  “I…guess I should shower.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  She took another moment gazing at him and then nodded on into her living room. “Make yourself at home.”

  But he stayed back to watch her ass as she went upstairs.

  Nothing should be hot about those flannel-lined jeans and plaid wool shirt she’d revealed when she’d peeled out of her snow gear downstairs. But nothing would keep him from watching, either. She stopped at the landing, though, and caught him looking as she made the turn.

  He lifted a brow, backing her down from whatever she was thinking she might say, and she disappeared upstairs.

  * * * *

  Indy hoped J.J. had meant it when he said he’d wait. She wasn’t going into town with a guy who was prettier than she was. She could dress up if the moment called for it.

  She also hoped he meant it when he said he intended to just talk. Certainly, he knew she’d heard him when he’d qualified his promise to not try to seduce her…this night.

  He was who he was…sexy, powerful, and accustomed to having his way with women, no doubt. But she thought she could trust him. And maybe a talk with an interested third…fourth…party was a good idea.

  So she showered, taking her time about it and using some of her girlie stuff. Then she did her hair and applied makeup, skills she’d deliberately set out to master when she’d had enough success with her writing that public appearances became a part of her routine. All her volleyball career had ever demanded in that regard was that she looked good in a bikini.

  Her closet had some options for evening wear, and she chose carefully. She wouldn’t go out looking like his ho, but she wasn’t going to not look good either. Not when she’d have his hot self at her side.

  The guy dressed up great. His long wool overcoat was finished with leather at the collar, cuffs, and buttonholes. The suit under it was highly tailored and eminently flattering to his muscled physique. Not many men looked that good in a suit. He was…dapper, with a muted green shirt setting off the gray tones of the suit, and his tie an unexpected, understated, metallic sea green.

  It was all as neat as a pin, creases pressed and straight, collar and cuffs starched.

  So she chose to complement him with an emerald sheath that skimmed her body down nearly to her knees but had hidden sex appeal with a low back and high slit. She draped a silk shawl over one arm because it was February in Colorado, after all. She wore stockings, too, but they were also silk, and thigh-high, and held in place with lace garters.

  She couldn’t ruin the effect with practical footwear, so she chose foolishly impractical ankle boots in patent leather with stupid-high heels. Lucky she was going to have a big, strong man’s arm to lean on.

  It made no sense to cover up before he got a look at her back, so she carried the shawl and her fake-fur-trimmed wool coat downstairs with her. J.J. stood, wowing her again with his debonair style, and made it clear with his eyes that he hadn’t minded waiting. And she didn’t mind, either, the little grunt of approval he gave when she handed him her coat and turned so he could help her with it. She was a little slow with the shawl so he had a good look before she tucked herself into the coat.

  He held her a little bit by the sleeves before he let her go. “Nice,” he said, his breath warm along her neck.

  “You, too,” she answered with a smile.

  He took her out to the luxury SUV in her drive. It was the same one Sigge had driven the night before, blending in so well in moonlight and snow. Luckily, she’d known to be on the lookout for it when she came back on her snowshoes in the dark. She wasn’t the least surprised J.J. hadn’t been deterred when she’d turned down his first invitation. He’d said he’d see her later. Probably, he usually meant what he said.

  She was tucked onto his arm exactly as she’d expected to be, and he held the door for her.

  Driving conservatively, he took her into town to La Tour and pulled up to the high-end restaurant’s valet parking kiosk. He held the door for her one more time and handed the keys over to the attendant without looking back. When they were inside, their coats taken and the maître d’ leading them to their table, J.J.’s hand was on the bare skin of her back.

  On the ride into town, Indy had wondered if she knew what she was doing. But to her surprise, she thoroughly and comfortably enjoyed dinner.

  She learned the three men had been friends since high school. J.J. had grown up on a small Nebraska farm. He would never have exchanged a word with Tyler, whose parents were a pair of lawyers with political ambitions that would soon outgrow their small town, except for the fact that both boys played football.

  Then the big, bruising Swede had come to town—the coach’s nephew.

  Oddly, the farm had become the friends’ place to gather. They found hard, physical work to do all four seasons, and the trio had no trouble using, building their bodies there. Tyler’s parents were largely absent, but the housekeeper was a constant, eagle-eyed, frowning presence. Sigge’s aunt and uncle were decent folk but not exactly warm, and the aunt knew not one thing about cooking.

  J.J.’s mom, however, would wrap her big arms around whatever strays James Junior brought home and hug them to her generous bosom. She did know how to cook and had a good understanding about the appetites of hardworking, growing boys.

  When Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence’s ambitions took them to the state capital Tyler’s junior year, he moved in with the Jacksons. That left the senior Lawrences scratching their heads, but it didn’t seem to break their hearts, and the Jacksons welcomed him into the family. The three friends scattered for college, J.J. going to University of Nebraska. Still, they all spent the summers of those years on the farm. Even now, they’d meet up there during the off-season and spend some time together. They still had farm chores to do.

  J.J. was working on an MBA. Like Indy, he was essentially self-employed and had a source of income much greater than he needed to live on and that wouldn’t necessarily last forever. He was learning to manage it, to be smart about it.

  And he was smart. They talked about 401(k)s and variable annuities and risk curves. J.J. had an enthusiasm for finance that Indy did not, and she realized he was way ahead of her in money management.

  He had a goal for it, she learned. A reason. James, Senior, wasn’t going to be able to farm forever. And his mama needed to slow down some, too. He had land already picked out for them and a single-floor house plan ready for building.

  J.J. was bright, excellent company. They took their time at dinner, sharing a bottle of wine and working through four courses. Over dessert, he watched her quietly for a few moments.

  “I knew you back when you were married,” he finally said.

  Indy lifted a brow.

  “I mean, I knew of you. Garrison was my QB then, and we all knew about you. My teammates and I, we drank a lot of beers watching women’s beach volleyball.”

  Indy smiled silently. It wasn’t the first time she’d been aware that, for some, watching the sport had as much to do with a love of volleyball as enthusiasm for the swimsuit issue had to do with a love of the water.

  “That’s why I recognized you in the grocery store.”

  “Well, almost recognized me.”

  He lifted an innocent shoulder. “You should have been wearing your bikini.”

  Chapter Six

  J.J. realized he’d put the woman on notice, letting her know he’d watched her with hot interest back in the day. She’d gotten quiet again, like when he’d first walked her to the car and she hadn’t been sure she could trust him to take her to dinner without making a
play for her. She smiled when he mentioned seeing her in a bikini, but it was a small one. The smile.

  Well, the bikini had been itsy-bitsy, too, and the woman in it had featured in a fair number of his fantasies. There was the one where…

  Better to stay on task.

  She was good company—bright and curious and sweet. She had an unexpected interest in finance and didn’t assume she’d have nothing to learn on the subject from a dumb jock ex-farm-boy. She loved the stories about his family and the way his folks had taken his buddies in. Her enthusiasm seemed to border on longing, and he wondered what that said about her own family life. And was pretty much left wondering, because she didn’t talk about it much, even as he probed.

  A race car driver who, if J.J. read between the lines correctly, was about equally as effective a racer as he was a father. There’d been a lot of moves and, he ascertained, a lot of absences.

  A mother who, he guessed it might be generous to say, did her best.

  Too many siblings to manage.

  He gathered Indiana had made a break from them and didn’t look back much. Probably, she’d done what she needed to save herself. And if, since she was able, she helped out some financially, her family didn’t appear to accept it with the same sense of heartfelt gratitude and love that J.J. saw when he made plans for his parents.

  He felt sympathetic toward her over it, and he admired her spirit and the good, healthy life she’d built for herself.

  Driving her back up her mountain, J.J. realized he liked her more than ever. He wasn’t terribly surprised—his buddies also had seemed only to like her more as they spent time with her. The three of them were as close as brothers. Probably, it shouldn’t come as a shock that they might all be looking for the same thing in a woman and finding it in the same place.

  J.J. was a realist, and he figured Indiana Jones had the power to tear the three friends apart.

  He also had a good imagination, and he had an alternative outcome in mind, one in which she would bind them together.

  But it might take a little James Jacob Jackson finesse.

  He was aware she’d gone quiet, sitting beside him again the car. The woman wasn’t stupid. He’d promised not to jump her, but that left a lot of wiggle room. And a fullback with a talent like J.J.’s knew how to work with wiggle room.

  As he took the last turn up to her cabin, he reached over, picked up her hand from her lap, and brought it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and then made nothing of it as she took possession back, twining the fingers of both hands together and sinking down farther into her coat. Like that was going to help.

  He wasn’t surprised, when he pulled up into her drive, to see her reach for the door handle like she’d jump out on the fly. And she shouldn’t have been surprised when he reached over and stopped her.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said, and he had to figure she heard the resolve in it.

  Either way, she subsided and waited like a good girl for him to come around and hand her out. They both had gloves on again, so there was no skin to skin, but he assumed she felt the same little shiver of energy with it that he did.

  She did have those spectacular, goofy heels on, so she could hardly object when he pulled her hand under his arm and walked her up the stairs to her front door. She unlocked it and stepped through then, no surprise, turned to block the opening. As if.

  “You walked me up. Thank you. I enjoyed dinner very much. Good night, J.J.”

  He had a hand on the door, and she wouldn’t be closing it until he said so. “Up and in, I should have said.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “I’m not staying,” he told her. “But I’m coming in.” He could see the refusal forming on her lips, but he forestalled it. “Just for one minute. Not even taking my coat off.”

  She didn’t exactly give permission. She just didn’t fight it when he pushed the door open. Stepping back, she made way for him—a little. When he closed the door, they were standing together on the little entryway rug.

  Passive except for a little huff of breath, she tolerated it as he faced her, standing close, and unbuttoned her coat. “I just need to make one point,” he said.

  “J.J.—”

  “One minute. One point.”

  He’d left his own coat open. When he got to the last of her buttons, he opened hers up, too, and backed her against the door, body-to-body. Given her height and her heels, nose-to-nose. He liked the fit.

  She might have started to shake her head no, but she couldn’t complete the motion. Not when his lips took hers, stilling her movement.

  God, he liked her. Her hands were at her sides and her lips stayed sealed, but he got a lot of contact from the kiss. Her body was warm against his, soft and firm all at once, just right. Her lips were sweet, the bit of pink she’d applied earlier, while he’d sat on her couch nursing a boner and imagining each little tantalizing step of her preparations, had been worried nearly gone now, barely enough for him to taste.

  It was all her.

  She was tense, plastered back against the cold glass of her pretty door, when he lifted up.

  “J.J., what are you doing?”

  “The one point,” he told her.

  “Which is what?” She said it in a breathless tone, but he figured she knew.

  Or if she didn’t, she probably got it when he brought his hand up and used his teeth to remove his right glove. She shuddered, anyway, watching, like she knew what was coming.

  Holding her gaze, pressing his chest against those spectacular tits, he took the glove from his teeth and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he kept going south with that hand. He nudged back a little, just where it counted, and put his hand between them. Moving fast, so she wouldn’t have time to object before it happened, he reached under her dress and shoved his fingers up. All the way up, past a little scrap of panties and to her. Into her.

  She cried out, her hands coming up to grasp at his biceps, her breath rough. Before she found words, he pulled his fingers out. He pressed against her, containing her, letting her feel his erection. Her breath was still unsteady when he brought his fingers up and brushed them against her lips. Then he went in, his mouth open, tasting her. Her.

  “You’re wet,” he said. “For me. And you taste great.”

  She closed her eyes and turned her face away, but he brought her back with his fingers on her cheek. The scent of her was there between them. Like the brave little soldier she was, she opened those pretty blue eyes to his.

  “Good night, Indy,” he told her.

  * * * *

  Sigge paused as he followed Tyler through the door of their suite. J.J. was waiting for them, sitting on the couch and dressed nearly as nicely as Tyler and he in their tuxes. Closing the door behind him, he read the intent in J.J.’s eyes and knew they were about to tackle the issue he and Tyler had been avoiding the whole day. With a deep breath, he shrugged out of his coat. Tyler was already at the little entry closet, so he handed it over to him and kept his attention on J.J.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, like he couldn’t guess. It was late. Sigge had driven them back from Denver after the fundraising gala. Tyler had had a couple drinks and slept most of the way, which had suited Sig fine. He really hadn’t wanted to talk about what it appeared they were going to talk about right now.

  J.J. waited until Ty was done in the closet and brought his attention around, too. Ty looked from J.J. to Sig. The man might be a bit dense about these things, but even he picked up on the tension. And likely he knew the cause.

  When both men faced him, J.J. said, “I was out with Indy.”

  Sigge took a deep breath and tried to remember what his friend meant to him. He had to work pretty hard at it. “Did you…?” He took another breath. “What did you do to her?”

  J.J. looked at him steadily. “No, and…not nearly as much as I wanted to.”

  Which didn’t mean “nothing,” and so Sigge had to hold back from wanting to slug the guy. />
  J.J. kept up that calm gaze. “Sit down and let’s talk about this.”

  Sig looked into J.J.’s dark brown eyes and recognized, more than he ever had, his resemblance to his father. No doubt, that had been J.J.’s intent. “Sit down and let’s talk about this” was one of the senior James Jacob’s go-to phrases. The man had the heart of a preacher in his chest, and he could put the three boys around a table and solve any problem with a come-to-Jesus intervention. Whether it was about the stash of condoms he’d found hidden in the barn or a game plan for taking state, James Senior could bring them all together.

  It was respect for the old man as much as his friendship with J.J. that had Sigge hopping on his crutches over to one of the big chairs across from the couch. He took his jacket off, removed the studs from his cuffs and at his neck, and settled in. Tyler did much the same, taking the other chair so the three friends faced each other in a circle.

  J.J. had brought them to the table, so Sigge waited for him to speak. He could always use his fists later.

  Jage had gone only so far as unbuttoning his suit jacket. The man sat as though he was posing for GQ—again. He took a moment, looking from one buddy to the other. When he spoke, he aimed his gaze at Sigge. “I know you like Indy a lot, Sig. Probably you think it’s more than that.”

  Yeah. He did think that. He thought he was in love with her, in fact, so he didn’t really know what they had to talk about. Tyler went through women like water, and J.J., well, he was discreet, pretty circumspect about it all. Sig had always attributed that to the guy’s respect for his parents’ values and high standards for their son, and so Sig realized he didn’t really know. Jage wasn’t the player a person might think he was, given his looks and success.

  He’d glanced over at Ty, but was looking at Sig again when he went on. “Tyler likes her, too. More than he’s admitted to himself would be my guess.” They both looked over to Ty, who opened his mouth in what was probably a knee-jerk objection. But he closed it, which kind of said it all.