Woman on Top [McQueen Was My Valley 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  “Yes. It’s been occurring to me all day long. Adrian is the only hurdle. He seems to have a giant wall between himself and intimacy with me. He has no problem being intimate with Gabriel, that’s for damned sure. Do your two men touch each other?”

  “All the time,” Xandra answered instantly. “It actually takes a lot of the pressure off me. I don’t mind if I walk in on a blow job in progress, for example. If I’m not in the mood, I can just watch. And I have a feeling that later in my pregnancy it might come in real handy. You know, for times when you’re exhausted, but can appreciate the view.”

  “Oh, yes!” Brooke agreed heatedly. “It’s very exciting to watch them fondle each other, and I can kick back and enjoy the scenery. I’m just worried that Adrian will only ever allow himself to touch Gabriel. Gabriel will always be the filling in the sandwich.”

  Xandra sighed. “That’s why I said what I said, Brooke. Watch out for Adrian. He’s broken, stressed, damaged. The Triple Play Lodge might’ve been named for ménages and not for baseball, but if you’ve got a burned man who is unwilling to play along, it’s not going to be equitable and fair, and someone is going to feel left out in the cold.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You know she’s in love with you,” said Gabriel.

  Adrian scoffed and sipped his dirty martini. They were standing on his cabin’s deck watching the storm clouds approach, low, black, and roiling. There would be no skiing today, and probably none tomorrow. “Well, that’s just too bad for her. I’m not getting involved in any of that mess in the near future. If ever.”

  “Can I ask,” said Gabriel, sipping his own martini, “was it just the Damascus thing that turned you against women? I know you’re not gay. But I fail to see where being tortured would turn you against women, unless one of the torturers was a woman.”

  Adrian found it within himself to chuckle. “Highly unlikely given Syrians’ track record with women. No, it was a garden-variety backstabbing fiancée back home in New Canaan that turned me off permanently to women.”

  “Ah. She cheat on you?”

  “Yes. With her ex-husband. It had been going on for over a year, while I raced through the back alleys of Khartoum and Cairo putting eyes and ears on targets.”

  “You some kind of mercenary? I know I’m not supposed to know.”

  “Some kind. I actually specialize in antiquity identification and recovery of items that have been stolen from US jurisdiction. So yeah, I’ll climb into windows, pick locks, disable alarm systems.”

  Gabriel looked at him with a new appreciation. “You’re a jewel thief.”

  Adrian tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “So when are you going on your next mission? You’ve been here since October, right?”

  “I’m in no hurry. I’ve made enough to coast for awhile, and this is a nice place to coast.”

  “Yeah, but Brooke seems determined to win you. She’s not gonna stop. She’s going to ply you with her lingerie model’s body and seduce you until you crack.”

  “Well, good luck. She can flaunt her incredibly gorgeous and tight model’s body all she wants. I won’t cave.”

  “You’ll only mess around with me.”

  “Right.”

  “Because women screwed you over.”

  “Right. And because you’re unbelievably hot. It’s a good temporary solution, wouldn’t you say?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “It works for me. But you do know that Brooke McQueen isn’t this ex who burned you, right?”

  Adrian went back into the cabin to pour another martini. Gabriel had spent the day driving to Julian’s trailer in Moab to pick up some clothes and other items he might need for the next few days, or however long it took to nab “Thor.” Gabriel had made the warrant request Friday morning, and as it was now Saturday, they didn’t expect to get one until Monday. Before Gabriel left, Adrian had snagged the lingerie catalog from the side pocket of his truck. It had been a long time since he’d snagged anything, and it gave him a rush.

  The thrill of getting away with it must have enhanced his sex drive, for he stood in front of his bathroom mirror shirtless, his hand around his cock, stroking himself. Who was he kidding? He was jacking off to the photos of Brooke McQueen. The slope of her lower back before it flared into her hips, her creamy white ass barely covered by the tiny panties. The seductive, come-hither look in her bedroom eyes, eyes that requested every man to approach her, if they dared.

  That was the thing. He was extremely conflicted when it came to Brooke McQueen. In truth, he was jazzed and turned on to hear that Brooke was “in love” with him. He was incredibly attracted to her—what sane, straight man wouldn’t be? Aside from being a smoking-hot lingerie model, she was funny, bold, fearless, and smart. She was a perfectly pert Swiss Miss in her furry hooded parka, and Adrian just wanted to get close to her. It was a conflict that seemed to have no resolution.

  And he couldn’t. Touching her was like being burned all over again. He couldn’t separate Lyla’s traitorous face from Brooke’s. His mind was just determined to tell him, Since Lyla did that to you, the next girl will, and the next girl, and the next…He just couldn’t get over Lyla’s betrayal that easily, forget, and move on. Maybe if I took a lot of tiny baby steps…He came so explosively, picturing the image of Brooke in her bra and panties, he had had to clean off the bathroom mirror.

  He was about to take his fresh martini back out to the deck when someone knocked on the cabin’s door. Brooke stood there just like in his fantasies, wearing the pink parka with the furry hood, her nearly black hair standing out against the white rabbit fur. This time she had a swishy short skirt over black stockings and fur-lined boots. “Adrian,” she said, chipper. “May I come in? I just got something that may be a lead for you.”

  “For Gabriel,” he corrected her, but let her in. The wind was whipping up out there, and it would start snowing within the hour. “He’s out on the deck.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Martini. Would you like one?”

  Brooke wrinkled her nose, and Adrian thought she’d never looked more adorable. “No, thanks. Vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol to me.”

  “We’ve got wine,” he found himself saying. Why am I trying to please her? I just want her to go back home before the snow hits. He tried to be angry that she was ruining an evening of hot sex with Gabriel, but he really couldn’t muster it. “Red or white?”

  “Oh, red, please. Xandra has turned me on to red. She orders this cabernet from California to serve in the restaurant and lounge, and keeps some in her cabin, too. Thank you. Now, I was over at the psychic faire—”

  But Adrian cut her off. “Let’s go onto the deck so Gabriel can hear your tip, too.” He felt uncomfortable being alone in the room with her. As though women will set you on fire. Dumb shit. Yet he was even more uncomfortable when he brought Brooke onto the deck and Gabriel greeted her with a passionate kiss. The bastard practically swept her low like some kind of smooth dickhead, her bouncy, shiny curls nearly brushing the deck.

  Adrian found himself rolling his eyes and wiping his face with his hand in disbelief, walking in little circles on the slushy deck. In fact, Gabriel kissed Brooke for so long that Adrian was compelled to cry, “All right, already! Jesus! Brooke has some information for us, Gabriel. About Thor’s case.”

  Gabriel finally set Brooke upright, but they stared starry-eyed at each other. Brooke wore an expression that said Gabriel was the best kisser in the history of the universe, and Adrian just wanted to tear her away from his friend.

  “Yes—information,” Brooke breathed, stepping back from the game warden. She shook her head to clear it while Adrian gulped his martini. “Like I was trying to say. I was at the psychic faire—”

  “Yeah,” snorted Gabriel skeptically. “That’s a real good source of information.”

  Now Adrian wanted to punch him, because his words obviously hurt Brooke. An injured look washed over her face, an
d she sort of cringed back into the railing, sipping her wine. “Well. Yes, the information did come from one of the animal communicators. I thought it worthwhile enough to convey to you, anyway. She mentioned we’d have to wade through a river to get to Thor’s house—and it’s true, my stepbrother Doug confirmed this was nonsense because he knows Thor’s house—and that we’d find something inside a guitar case in a shed. Doug said that could be possible because the guy does like music.”

  “Who doesn’t?” asked Gabriel lightly as he put out a palm, ostensibly to feel the snow that had started falling. “I’m sorry to make light of your ‘discovery,’ Brooke, but I don’t buy one atom of that animal psychic crap. There was a psychic faire in Cedar City, where I’m normally stationed. For the hell of it, I paid one to look at a picture of my service dog and ‘interview’ her. Turned out, we knew each other in a past life, right? And get this. She was a kangaroo in Australia, and I was an aboriginal hunter, only I refused to kill the kangaroo and we became great friends.”

  Brooke shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? Who’s to say it couldn’t be true?”

  And, although Adrian had never thought that pet psychic bullshit had any validity, he found himself defending Brooke. “Yeah. How could you refute it? You can’t.”

  “Yeah.” Gabriel snorted again. “Only thing. I had a patch on the day pack I was carrying. Had a map of Australia and the saying ‘love it or leave it.’ I’d obviously been there and liked it, or I wouldn’t have put the patch on my pack.”

  Adrian had to admit, Gabriel had a good point. “True. And can dogs reincarnate into kangaroos?”

  “I think they always stay dogs,” Brooke said earnestly.

  Adrian refused to mock her. “That makes more sense. Like, we don’t reincarnate into gorillas. No interspecies reincarnating.”

  “Yes!” cried Brooke, gripping Adrian by the upper arm. “If dogs reincarnated into cats, they’d have an awfully hard time learning what to do. Like, do I bark, or mew?”

  Gabriel had to shove his oar in. “But can dogs reincarnate into coyotes? They’re closely related, aren’t they? There’d be no question about remembering to bark or howl, because they both do similar things.”

  Adrian glared at his friend. Now he even took Brooke’s arm. “Let’s go inside. It’s starting to snow.”

  As much as he wanted to remain on the deck agreeing with everything that Brooke said, Adrian should not let her stay out on the deck and catch her death. But when they moved back into the living room with its L-shaped arrangement of leather couches, Brooke collapsed into the corner arm of one, patting the cushion next to her for Adrian to do the same. He had no choice but to sit next to her, their knees touching.

  “You do believe me, don’t you?” she asked, while Gabriel took a seat behind Adrian. “I know some or maybe even most of that stuff is hooey, but why shouldn’t it be possible that he’s got a guitar case with some evidence inside of it?”

  “It’s not completely outlandish,” Adrian agreed. “My aunt in Ireland was quite the psychic. She woke us all up one morning at four, calling to say she somehow knew our little cousin in Connecticut was dead. He had no illness. Yet we found out later that day he’d been hit by a hunter’s stray bullet.”

  “Wow,” said Gabriel, behind him. Already he was sitting so close Adrian could feel the heat emanating from his torso. Gabriel brushed his fingertips against Adrian’s bare neck, causing his nipples to stiffen and gooseflesh to rise on his shoulders and chest. “So he was just wandering in the woods and a hunter mistook him for a deer?”

  Adrian felt his eyes slipping shut in appreciation of the touch. He clutched his martini glass so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t break. Gabriel must’ve sensed this, for he leaned into Adrian, took the glass, and placed it on the coffee table. Gabriel resumed his seduction of Adrian, laying light sucking kisses to the back of his neck while a hand roamed past his underarm to finger his nipple through the henley shirt. “I think that’s exactly what happened,” he murmured. “But what’re the odds of her knowing this?”

  “Someone could’ve called her the night before.”

  “No. He was lost in the woods that night, the night of her dream. We didn’t know that. He was shot at daybreak when a duck hunter came along.”

  “Wow,” Brooke agreed, and she scooted closer to Adrian as well. Since he had nothing better to do with his hands, she took them in hers. “I believe you. I’ve seen stuff like that happen before. There’s just no explanation other than a psychic one.” She seemed to frown a little as she looked over Adrian’s shoulder. “It must be a drag being such a cynic all the time.”

  Apparently tiring of the paranormal conversation, Gabriel cupped the nape of Adrian’s neck in his palm and pressed him forward. “Kiss her, you fucking marine.” He swept his other hand across Adrian’s chest to pinch his other nipple, and a rush of lust stiffened Adrian’s prick.

  Looking back on it later, he didn’t think he made any move toward Brooke. It must’ve been Brooke who lunged forward practically into his lap and planted her parted lips on his. But once the initial move had been made, it didn’t seem that large of an emotional jump to capture her jaw in his palms and deepen the kiss. Their tongues slid past each other, tickling, tantalizing, exploring. Adrian was drenched in her snowy vanilla scent.

  As much as he’d dreaded the moment of first contact—or because of his dread—he now kissed Brooke voraciously, as though he’d never have another kiss in his life. They slurped and nibbled at each other’s mouths, Brooke sighing adorably into his mouth. Now Gabriel had moved around to kneel on the rug. It felt as though he was undressing Brooke, and she assisted him eagerly. The pink jacket was flung to the rug, followed by her furry boots, and now her alpine sweater. She hopped into Adrian’s lap, straddling him, pressing her nearly naked breasts to his chest. The breasts that millions of men had jacked off over for the three years she’d been appearing in that company’s catalog.

  Adrian nearly came off just having this angelic vision in his arms. Her skin was so much softer than Gabriel’s. It was as though his hands drifted over clouds, she was that soft. It both pained and excited him at the same time to be wrapping his hand over a woman’s bare waist again. She is not Lyla. Brooke is her own woman. Now Brooke panted against his mouth as she squirmed to rid herself of the bra, and she held Adrian’s face in her hands while loudly kissing his chin, throat, the tip of his nose.

  “Adrian,” she gasped between kisses to his face, “I’ve wanted you from the first second I saw you in the spa. I know you don’t want me. Don’t be afraid. I love you. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  There. She’d said it. It wasn’t just Gabriel’s wild imagination. She loves me. Not knowing how to respond, Adrian lifted her by sliding his hands under her ass and tossed her back onto the cushioned couch arm. She bounced saucily, her pleasing, well-rounded breasts bouncing, too. Hoping to take her mind off the fact he hadn’t said “I love you” back, Adrian fumbled with her skirt zipper. He was determined to give better head than Gabriel, to blow her mind with his talents. Lyla had always told him that he was the best—

  She’s not Lyla. Brooke is her own woman.

  From where he kneeled on the floor, Gabriel assisted Adrian. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of Brooke’s flippy skirt and slid it off. “Go ahead, Adrian. Nibble at these beautiful titties. You know you want to.” Gabriel demonstrated by slurping one of Brooke’s nipples between his teeth. She hissed and gasped like a teakettle, holding Gabriel’s head to her.

  Gabriel had probably bet that jealousy would overcome Adrian, watching him suckle Brooke’s famous breast like that. Well, Gabriel got what he wanted, because Adrian grabbed ahold of his shoulder and yanked him off the woman, snarling, “Keep your hands to yourself, Verona.” He dipped his head to take the nipple into his mouth, lapping away at it while cupping the other neglected one in his palm. Brooke emitted a series of ladylike little gasps and hisses while jerking her naked hips against Ad
rian’s chest. He could feel the delightful little triangle of near-black fur that perched atop her waxed pussy, and he couldn’t resist snaking a hand down her abdomen to tangle his fingers in her pelt.

  “Adrian,” she said in a strangled, high-pitched voice, “Lick me, love me, eat me! I don’t care what you do to me. I’m yours!”

  That inflamed Adrian, that frantic “I’m yours!” This woman had given herself so freely to him when she knew next to nothing about him. She had no idea that his unit’s “peacekeeping” skills were sometimes employed with fatal results when it involved retrieving stolen antiquities. Not only was Adrian trained to appraise the authenticity of Qing Dynasty jade and Homer paintings, he was authorized to use deadly force to get them back for his country, if anyone got in his way, basically. As a private contractor, he wasn’t subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Adrian had once kneecapped a guy in Cyprus because he wouldn’t give him a packet of George Washington’s letters.

  Life was rough in The Circuit, the private military contractor industry. He usually just told people he was an art appraiser.

  So, riled beyond belief, he slurped his way down her rib cage while his fingers strayed to her bulging clitoris. He felt the silky pubic hair give entrance to the slick button that was her clit. Now she clutched his head to her breast almost painfully, as though she wanted to explode his brain between her hands, and her hips shuddered with craving. Gabriel had nowhere to go but to resume his position on the couch behind Adrian. He fumbled with the buttons of Adrian’s 501s while kneeling behind him, murmuring words of encouragement.

  “That’s it, Adrian. Bury your face in her pretty little muff. See how she’s made a neat, tiny triangle by waxing the hair? Isn’t it pretty? Just as pretty as the rest of her.”

  By contrast, Brooke wiggled and growled deeply like an angry animal. “Yes, bury your face, Adrian. I want to feel your nose against my clit. I want to feel your tongue licking me to oblivion. Eat me, Adrian. Eat me!”