Thinking about, wanting, three men was beyond the pale.
It was enough—more than enough—to consider how she’d let herself fall into that wild, sexual debauchery. But that was in no way the end of it.
She’d felt the loss of it when Clay had walked away from her, leaving her fucked to hell but still, somehow, needy for him. And then Jace had touched her, kissing her sweetly as he left, generating an urge in her to grasp at him and ask—beg—him to stay.
Even that was nothing in comparison to the effect of Quinn’s sweet caretaking, as he’d shown her his home, offered her food, done all but tuck her in. She’d wanted to wallow in it like the most forlorn, pathetic, helpless woman ever. She knew without doubt that if he’d taken a step toward her instead of away, she’d have welcomed him into her bed.
That wasn’t who she was. It wouldn’t be who she was.
Determined to take charge of her life, to heal herself, she slid into bed. But it was more than an hour later, tucked in Quinn’s sweet Hudson Bay blanket, curled into the teak chaise on his deck, looking at nothing but stars and city lights, before she slept.
* * * *
A week later Clay was at Mach One, parked on his usual stool. Quinn sat across from him, nursing his one beer, and they both pretended they were talking to each other more than watching Gemini handle the far end of the bar. It was more crowded down there than right at Clay’s either side. Both stools were empty, though one had just been vacated. Jace had been there, sucking down a quick one on his way home. He had court in the morning.
He’d finished his beer and nodded good night to his buddies. But before he left, he’d walked down the bar and, just like she wasn’t in the midst of a crowd, or her job, he leaned across the bar, reached for her, and took her in a kiss. It wasn’t just a damn peck, either. He took his time about it, and Clay was dead certain saliva was exchanged.
Bugger the man. He didn’t even quaver at the look Clay gave him as he passed by on his way out of the bar.
“It’s just been a few days, and she already has her own crowd,” Quinn was saying, drawing his attention back. “Old guys, young guys, women. Everybody likes her.”
Clay studied the room. “Except the young, single women looking to hook up.”
Quinn could spot them, too, no problem. “Yeah. They just watch her.”
“And pretend they don’t.” He was drinking Kilkenny and took a long pull. The cool, slightly bitter taste of it felt good on his throat. He met Quinn’s glance somewhat ruefully. “Pretty much like what we’re doing.”
“Yep.”
“She’s going to cause us trouble, isn’t she?”
“Maybe. Are you going to keep your hands off her?”
“Not too likely.” It didn’t look like Jace was going to, either. Quinn probably had, so far, Clay figured. He was a pretty honorable sort, and would hold himself back for minor nuisances like a marriage and a recent history of abuse.
Clay wasn’t that decent a guy.
Quinn sighed and gave him a look. Resignation, most like—Quinn knew what kind of man Clay was. He tended to take action while others sat around and considered the consequences.
But he wasn’t a total asshole, either. And the friendship of the man facing him meant something. “What do you think we ought to do?”
“I think we ought to let her be for a bit. Let her get her feet under her again. Then, maybe something will just happen naturally. Something that will make it clear.”
Clay knew what Quinn meant, but he didn’t buy it. They all three wanted her. Every damn one of them wanted more of what they’d had that first night. Sure, it was possible that, over time, she’d give the nod to one of them and the other two would have to back off. But he knew it wouldn’t go down easy. Not if she chose one of the others, and probably not if she chose him, either.
This woman was going to be hell on their friendship.
He set his empty on the bar. “Yeah. That could happen.”
Then, just like she wasn’t in the middle of a crowd and her job, he walked down, shouldered his way in between a couple of her fans, reached across the bar, and cupped her face.
She looked way better than she had the night they’d first seen her. She was less gaunt, her face filled out a bit with the food Quinn had been pushing on her and the sense of safety she was living in now. She had a little bit of makeup on, and her hair was free, a riot of sunny curls around her shoulders.
Those big browns met his. She looked a bit wary, but she didn’t look scared. So he leaned in and took her mouth. He gave it some time and attention. Saliva definitely was exchanged.
His mad skills must have shown, because there was dead silence around her when he let her go. He could feel her gaze on him when he nodded and backed off, then walked out the door.
* * * *
Gemini was out on the deck when Quinn finished closing the bar. She liked it out there. He had a significant container garden—tomatoes and peppers, herbs, and some ornamental stuff. Small trees and shrubs enclosed the space, making it feel more like a quiet back yard than a downtown alley. He’d seen that she’d taken to tending the plants some.
She was doing really well at the bar. She worked every evening, through the busy happy hours and a little after that. He didn’t want her staying to close, though, so he sent her up early every night. She’d seemed so fragile when she’d first come to them, he didn’t want her working too hard or for long hours.
It took her a few nights to start objecting about it. And she was right, to an extent. She’d recovered pretty well from the stress she’d been under. In just a couple of days she looked better—rested, happy, strong. Still, he didn’t want the job to be a burden to her, so he stuck to his guns.
Nonetheless, she waited up for him every night. Usually out here, on the deck, wrapped in his Hudson Bay blanket, a book in her lap. As often as not, like now, she was asleep.
The first night he’d bent to lift her, intending to carry her to her bed. But she’d startled at his touch, waking in such a panic that he felt like a predator. Since then, he’d taken to just pulling up a chair and sitting, lifting his feet to share the foot of the chaise with her, and waiting. She always woke within a few minutes.
They’d talk, out there in the dark—sometimes about their pasts, sometimes about Cap, and sometimes about nothing significant at all. At one point, on the first night they’d sat together, they’d clasped hands, and they’d done it again every night after.
Not this night, though. This night, she’d been soundly kissed by his two best friends.
He realized he’d spent the week spinning a little fantasy.
There had been some awkward moments, like the night he’d woken her, and the first morning he’d walked out of the bathroom with nothing on but a towel slung around his waist. No surprise that she was skittish, given that she was an escapee from an abusive marriage, that she’d run to her dead brother’s best friends for protection and ended up getting gang-banged in a bar. He was pretty sure that was good reason for her to be leery.
In fact, he was pretty sure she’d been skeptical about ever feeling comfortable with a man again, about ever trusting, about ever wanting to have sex again.
But they’d bumped along okay together in his apartment. On Thursday, he’d taken her out for her license, then to the post office and bank. Her anxiety had clearly risen while they were out. He’d pushed her a bit and took her shopping—she really did have nothing but a single change of clothes—but she hadn’t been happy about it.
She appeared to feel safe only in his place or in the bar. She hadn’t left again once he’d gotten her home.
He figured she was like a wounded animal burrowing into its den. He let her have it—picking up a few more clothes for her once he knew her size, doing grocery shopping himself. They shared the chores pretty informally. She was a good cook, knowing what to do with the herbs from his garden, but he could handle himself in the kitchen, too. So they more or less took turns
with the meals they shared. Since he hated housework, he had a cleaner come once a week, and so that part was easy.
By the time the weekend passed, she was showing the effects of being housebound. He caught her one morning on the deck in an intense bodyweight workout. It turned out she was a runner, so they got her outfitted and went out together. She liked scampering up tough trails like Blodgett Peak and St. Mary’s Falls, but she was also happy with a good lope around the reservoir in Palmer Park.
They acted together like they were close, friendly. He touched her pretty often, like when they held hands out on the deck. He kissed her every night at the door to her room, just as he had that first night. In that same way each night, he held himself back from taking more.
She needed him too much. She still hadn’t left the apartment or the bar without him. Even while they were working, he was aware that she watched when he left to check something in his office or fetch another case or keg from the storeroom and waited for him to come back.
It wasn’t that she liked it. He could tell she chafed at it, frustrated with her own dependence. He’d seen her dress to run, make more of her stretching routine than it needed, then pace, glaring at the door, until he finally, gently, asked her if she wanted him to go out with her. She’d looked haunted as she’d silently nodded yes.
He wanted more, but he hadn’t taken it. He’d been biding his time, waiting for her to get stronger, feel safer. Waiting for his buddies to forget what it had felt like to be inside her.
Pretending to himself about that last, it was now obvious. Jace and Clay had both just made clear they hadn’t forgotten a damn thing.
Well, neither had he.
So he didn’t sit down this time, waiting for her to wake like he was her damn puppy. He stood over her, using the pent-up energy of a week’s worth of sexual frustration to rouse her. It didn’t take long.
She no longer woke with a start. She was curled on her side and opened her eyes gently, looking to the chair where he normally sat. When she didn’t find him, she gave a little sigh and tilted to her back. It was then that she caught sight of him—looming. In the midst of a sexy, cat-like stretch, she stilled.
Her eyes grew round as she took him in, but he swore—swore—it wasn’t in fear. He put out his hand, and, with just the smallest hesitation, she placed hers in it and let him help her up. He kept hold as they stood face to face. With a step forward and a little pressure on her hand, he backed her up against the cedar shakes that sided his building. He tucked a hand under her hair to cup her head, using his thumb along her jaw to raise her face to his. Fully pressed against her, he let her feel his erection, and then he leaned in to kiss her.
Her mouth was sweet—her lips lush and soft, the taste of her heady as brandy. She let him take what he wanted, opening to him, accepting his tongue. She didn’t give back the way he might have wanted, but she wasn’t entirely passive, either. She drew on him a little, like he was where she wanted him to be.
Having her backed against the wall, he could get a little feel of her breasts against his chest—enough that it was obvious her nipples had formed hard points. He brought their clasped hands between them, rubbing his rigid cock against her fingers and knuckling up against her clit. She’d lifted her free hand to his arm, sliding along his bicep and then grasping hold of the sleeve of his Dub Squad T-shirt. A good grasp, like she needed grounding.
The hell of it was, he still couldn’t have her.
With Superman-ly effort, he pulled himself back. He lifted just enough that their mouths separated and their gazes could meet.
“I’ve been wanting you,” he said. His voice was gravelly, his breath unsteady. “Every minute that we’ve worked together. Sat together. Run. Every minute. Do you get that?”
Her breathing was just as tight as his. She nodded. “Yes.”
“But you’re not ready for this. Are you?”
She didn’t answer right off, stalling long enough that he moved back in for more. But she turned her head, avoiding his mouth. “No,” she panted. “I’m not. I’m not.”
He nodded and pushed himself away, arms straight now, hands pressed to the wall at either side of her head. He felt cold without the heat of their bodies pushed together. She did, too, apparently.
“When you are, I’m going to still be wanting you. I’m going to be waiting. Get it?”
“Yes.”
“Good night, Gemini.”
“Good night.”
* * * *
Gemini learned the three men played in a basketball league that had games on Saturday mornings. Quinn had skipped the previous Saturday, when she’d just arrived at the bar and he’d apparently thought she was too fragile to be left alone. He’d likely been correct about that.
He went this week. It had taken the two of them a while to get back to their relative comfort with each other after that blistering kiss—and all—out on the deck. She’d tiptoed around him that next morning, but by evening time, as they worked together behind the bar, they were too busy to remember if things were awkward. She stayed at her station until closing time, avoiding the whole issue of whether she’d sit out on the deck and whether he’d join her. They closed up together, walked upstairs, and said good night at her door as they always did. She was pretty sure he’d have foregone the usual gentle kiss there. She thought she could have turned away and closed the door, and he’d have accepted that.
But it really wasn’t what she wanted. Apparently, she liked playing with fire. Because she stood there, looking up at him, waiting, until he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t like what had happened out on the deck, but it wasn’t nothing, either.
Quinn kissed her goodbye when he left for the game, too—just a peck this time, like a married couple who actually liked each other might do. In some ways, that was the most touching of the exchanges they’d had. He said the guys usually worked out together after the game and then went for a late lunch. She could join them for that, he’d said.
They’d both been aware that they were talking about her first real time alone since she’d come to Colorado. When he’d told her his plans and invited her for some of them, he was tentative enough that she knew he would easily stay with her if she wanted.
She decided it was time to pull up her big girl panties, so she sent him on his way, with both of them pretending that she’d done a convincing job of it. After poking around the very quiet apartment for a few minutes, she resolved that she would take a run on her own.
It was extremely depressing, knowing that she’d sunk so low that walking out of the apartment alone for the first time should be any kind of a challenge. She used the delaying tactic of stopping by the bar on the way out. But it was also a reinforcing tactic.
Mach One opened at eleven-thirty every day except Sundays. Quinn employed Emma Scott, the wife of one of Clay’s partners, as a part-time bartender. She worked around her husband’s hours and, since they had small children, she was glad to move out of the late shifts that Gemini had taken. She was happy to do the lunch shift and now opened the bar three days a week.
Once Gemini, dressed for running, had stopped to chat with Emma, she’d feel compelled by pride to walk through the door into the world. Alone.
The urge to delay was strong, though, and so she offered Emma a hand. Emma wasn’t as naively innocent as she looked, however. They talked while Gemini rolled silverware up in cloth napkins, but it wasn’t long before Emma nodded to the door, instructing Gemini to go enjoy her morning off.
If a run was the best she could do, Emma had said with a smile.
It was a start.
Quinn had offered her the Outback he kept parked in the alley under the deck. But she’d declined—the Air Force Academy was near enough and a nice spot for a run, tucked up against the mountains as it was and with that crazy, cool chapel.
The runs she’d taken with Quinn had felt therapeutic. He was in spectacular shape and paced alongside her practically without breaking a sweat. She’d p
ushed herself, woefully out of condition, frustrated yet again that she had allowed Bryce so much control over her. He’d liked squash and body-sculpting work-outs at a chichi fitness center where deals were made and one was seen by the right people. To please him, she’d given up running.
Now, she was getting adjusted to the altitude, had her legs and her wind back just a bit, and she ran purely for the pleasure of it. She did a couple circuits at pace, then added in some parkour moves. She’d learned parkour from her best friend in high school, a guy named Max who’d gone on to graduate school in physics. It was one of the friendships she’d let go during her years with Bryce.
The campus was a great spot for it, and she wasn’t alone in enjoying a sweet summer day this way. She eventually blended in with a group of cadets and other civilians at the obstacle training course.
By the time she got back to the bar, she’d been gone for three hours. She’d cooled down at the Academy, spending a long time with stretches and gentle, meditative breathing. Feeling better—calm, centered, happy—than she had in years, she ran up the back stairs to Quinn’s apartment.
And burst in on a trifecta of exquisite maleness.
They were all three there, unloading grocery bags in the kitchen while they worked on Phantom IPAs in brown bottles. To a man, they paused what they were doing to look up as she came through the door.
“Oh,” she said, coming to a stop. As three gazes skimmed heat over her, she began to feel decidedly underdressed. Her shorts were short and her sleeveless top hung loosely over her sports bra. The very same outfit had felt all the way different when Quinn had been running alongside her. Though even then, there were times he fell behind that she’d had to wonder just what view he was taking in.
“I didn’t think you’d be back yet.” She said that to Quinn. She hadn’t been expecting the other two at all.
He pulled his hand out of a reusable shopping bag and walked to her. “Hi,” he said, putting his hands at her shoulders and giving her a kiss. “Yeah, we decided on lunch here. Lobsters, corn, and salt potatoes. It’s a summer tradition.”
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