by Fiona Archer
From behind her, Noah ran his hands over the swell of her hips, pressing the cheeks of her bottom against his own hardness. Flynn’s lips captured her answering moan of pleasure at the sensation of being kissed by one man and touched by another.
Bending down so his mouth was mere inches from her ear, Noah’s voice, rich like melted chocolate, filled her consciousness. “That’s what it’s like, sweetheart, when you have two men hell-bent on giving you pleasure.”
Flynn lifted his head and released Chloe’s hair. With gentle strokes, he coaxed the soft strands back into place. She blinked, lowering her eyes then stepping sideways. Space and distance, remember?
She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to theirs, undisguised hunger obvious on their faces. Were they seeing the same need in hers?
“I have to go,” she managed, her voice a choked whisper. She ran her hands up and down her arms. Her shivers had nothing to do with the chill of the night air.
Flynn moved away from the driver’s door, giving her access to her car. When she settled into the driver’s seat, he leaned down and reached across to fasten her seat belt before dropping a quick kiss on her mouth. All too soon, he stepped back, making way for Noah.
Noah bent down and rested his hand on the driver’s headrest. His eyes locked with hers.
“Chloe, this isn’t over. We’ll give you some time, but we’re not going to back away, not after tonight.” He kissed her firmly before continuing. “Consider yourself warned.”
Declaration made, Noah moved aside, shutting the driver’s door. As quick as her fumbling fingers allowed, she started the engine and reversed out of her space, refusing to let her eyes stray in their direction.
The drive home—all of five minutes—seemed forever as every emotion and thought in her mind went haywire. Once in her house, she flopped down onto the sofa and contemplated Noah’s warning. She didn’t need to be a genius to work out just how big a pot of hot water she’d landed in.
Noah and Flynn were hunting Chloe, and they weren’t going to stop until they’d caught and tied their prey.
Chapter Three
Noah dragged a hand through his hair and glared at the tiny blue circle on the screen of his laptop. It glowed and twirled. File update in progress. Seconds later, a beep signified the successful update of the monthly accounts. About bloody time.
Between his computer having a hissy fit and him screwing up his own data entry, he’d taken two hours to knock out a one-hour job. Dammit. The skin around his denim shirt collar itched with exasperation.
He pushed back against the heavy oak desk. The ancient springs of his great-uncle’s swivel chair creaked in protest. He rose, walked over to the window of his study then extended his hands well above his head. The tight muscles along his back stretched and loosened. His grunt of approval punched the air. Too damn long confined in a chair.
His mouth spread wide as he gazed out past the rich brocade curtains to watch Jeb Stewart, the ranch’s longtime trainer, put a newly arrived mare through her paces. The chestnut quarter horse showed a smooth gait and a sweet temperament under Jeb’s calm instructions.
The cowboy stepped close to murmur to his charge. The horse’s ears flicked back and forth, its head nudging Jeb’s shoulder. No denying the man had a gift. Noah respected the fact the old trainer coaxed out the best in a horse with his gentle encouragement and relaxed methods of control. A Dom could learn much from this man.
“What put that smile on your face?”
Gretchen’s question cut through Noah’s musings. How had she managed to enter the room without him hearing her approach? Jesus, he must be losing it when a sixty-year-old could get past his defenses.
“Seeing your husband weave his magic on our latest addition. She’s a real beauty.” Noah turned to smile at the woman who’d taken him and Flynn under her wing, whether they’d liked it or not.
Gretchen moved up beside Noah. Her gaze centered on Jeb and his new charge. “She is a beauty, just like the fine filly you spent all your time with Saturday night.”
So it begins. Through narrowed eyes, Noah studied Gretchen. “That so?”
“According to Penny Gordon, you and Flynn have claimed the gal, and she’s off the market.”
He shook his head in wonder. “Crikey, the woman saw us together two days ago. How quick does she work?”
“Humph, you’d be surprised.” Gretchen stepped over to the desk and collected Noah’s used coffee mug. “So, you boys gonna take this woman on a date or just corrupt her with your rope and spanking sex games?”
Hell, no! He wasn’t having this conversation.
“Gretchen, I don’t—”
“Oh, hush and stop twisting yourself in more knots than those ropes of yours can manage. Just because I’m old enough to be your mother doesn’t mean I don’t know how things roll in this household. Like that special room you keep locked upstairs, where you have all your devious toys hidden away.” Gretchen lifted one eyebrow, her lips fighting a smile. “I’m a married woman and have lived in this town all my life. Plus, I kept house for your great-uncle Duncan, and he sure earned his ‘wild colonial boy’ reputation.”
“So I keep hearing. I wish I’d had a chance to meet him.” Talk to him, share family stories. That was a bold move, old man, choosing me. Do you regret it? Self-doubt flashed for a moment before Noah pushed it aside.
“Duncan and his brothers burned their bridges years ago and were too proud and stubborn to mend fences. Men can be fools.” Her face brightened when she gazed up at him. “Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question.”
Like he’d forgotten. Mother figure or not, he’d let Gretchen get away with enough during this conversation.
His plans for Chloe weren’t up for approval by anyone other than him and Flynn. If he was feeling generous, that might include the little teacher herself. Right now, he was in a selfish mood, so that answered that question.
Noah kept his voice low but calm as he fixed Gretchen with an intent stare. “The lady’s well-being is foremost in our minds, Gretchen, and that’s all you need to know.”
Hazel eyes shone brightly as a delightful blush stole over her cheeks. For a moment, Noah spied the young country girl Jeb had fallen in love with over forty years before and still adored to this day. “Well…all right then.” Clutching the coffee mug to her chest, she bustled out of the room with more haste than usual.
He turned back to stare out the window. The beautiful chestnut lifted her head to the sky. The proud tilt of her head had him thinking of another filly with hair the same color.
Chloe.
In the two days since Saturday night’s shindig, he hadn’t been able to get the sassy schoolteacher out of his head. Simple everyday things had him wondering how they fit into her life. This morning as he’d showered, he remembered the light floral scent that had enveloped her and driven him crazy all night long. Did it come from her shampoo?
He rolled his eyes. Twelve years as a SAS Commando. All of them as a Dom. Now he was obsessed with a woman’s shampoo. Fuck. How the mighty have fallen.
Discovering she was a sub—he’d bet the ranch she had never worn a collar—was like stumbling upon an unclaimed treasure. Her unguarded physical responses—the butterfly-winged pulse, kitten licks of her lips, and the downcast eyes—to his and Flynn’s prompts had chafed at his control, testing his commitment to not push her further.
She was feisty, funny, and intelligent. An irresistible mix in a woman. Their woman.
She was uneasy with the idea of a ménage. Sure, he could understand that. Unless you’d grown up in a town like King’s Bluff where the unusual was the norm, then of course a woman would be skittish. Christ, even he and Flynn had never publicly admitted their penchant for sharing until they’d settled in King’s Bluff.
However, Noah and Flynn had explained how the town worked, how she’d always have their respect.
No, there was a level of desperation in her refusal tied to…something.
>
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow, measured, deliberately announcing their presence. Talk about perfect timing. Now he might get some fucking answers so he and Flynn could move forward with their plans for Chloe. He turned toward the doorway.
“Morning, Quinn.” Noah’s smile disappeared under the watchful stare from his friend. He headed back to his desk and sat down.
“Noah, you need to see this.” The lazy southern drawl did little to mask the urgency behind the words. Noah’s senses went on high alert.
Quinn Sullivan. Ex-SEAL, investigator, resident at King’s Haven, and all around scary SOB, walked into the study and wedged his massive black-T-shirt-and-jean-clad frame into one of the leather guest chairs.
“Fuck, Noah, when are you going to get new furniture? Were all your relatives jockey sized?” Quinn’s frown added to the harsh planes of his face.
“No, you miserable bastard, they weren’t. Nor were they six and a half feet tall and three hundred pounds.” He held his body stiff, resisting the urge to shift for his own comfort. New chairs. On the list. “What have you got for me?”
“Your lady has secrets, my friend.” Quinn slid the manila file closer to Noah. “Took some wrangling to pry open Pandora’s box, but we got there in the end.”
“Anything’s possible with the right connections and the right price.” His mouth tightened at the truth behind that statement.
“True.” Quinn stared from across the desk. Cool detachment filled his caramel-colored gaze.
Noah breathed deep, oxygen flushing out the tightness building in his chest. His fingers inched toward the file, the lacquered oak surface cool under his fingertips. No, he’d wait for Flynn.
He grabbed the phone on his desk and dialed Flynn’s number.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Flynn’s easygoing tone grated on Noah’s patience like steel wool on a sunburn. His irritation was unwarranted, but that didn’t stop him from snapping out his reply.
“How far away are you?”
“Walking through the front door. What’s crawled up your arse?”
“Quinn’s finished his report. Apparently there’s a surprise, a nasty one.”
“On my way,” Flynn said before ending the call.
“Flynn will be here in a sec.” Noah rubbed his right thigh above the four-inch scar bestowed by a pissed-off Afghani insurgent. The bitch of a thing always ached when he was tense. “I want to hear everything you’ve got. Don’t spare the details.”
“That makes two of us.” Flynn stalked into the room and closed the door with a calmness that didn’t fool Noah one bit. He sat in the chair next to Quinn, his shoulders stiff and his eyes giving nothing away.
Quinn nodded, picked up the folder, opened it, and scanned the front sheet. “Chloe Elizabeth Morgan. Thirty-one years old, qualified teacher with excellent references. Born and bred city girl, daughter of Pamela and Charles Morgan. Both parents deceased, father from a car accident when Chloe was a baby, mother from cancer when she was fifteen. Before that, mother remarried when Chloe was eight. Add in stepfather Hank Young and stepbrother Trent, six years her senior.”
Quinn tapped a finger against the report. “Moving to present day, Chloe had friends, but no boyfriend. Volunteered at an animal shelter one weekend a month and paid her bills on time. During the summer break, she put in her notice at her previous teaching position, where she was a valued member of the staff. Moved to King’s Bluff after having successfully applied for the vacant teaching post. Left no forwarding address with neighbors.” He lifted his gaze from the report to meet Noah’s stare. “Strange when you consider she was so involved in her community.”
Noah stretched out his leg, his thigh throbbing. “What else?”
“When Chloe was sixteen, Hank Young was killed during an accident in the family home. Fell down the stairs. Cops weren’t sure, but they figured either Chloe or Trent was responsible.”
“Fuck,” Flynn cursed softly. His fingers dug into the arms of his chair, their tips white against the polished wood.
Noah’s gut clenched tighter than a steel fist. Murder? He battled to keep the panic out of his voice. “Since there’s no conviction, I take it they didn’t pursue it further.”
Quinn kept his gaze steady. “Detective Fillmore’s case notes stated Chloe was in deep shock. They questioned her later, but between the stepbrother and her aunt riding interference, that was that.” Quinn closed the folder and once again placed it on the desk. He swept both men with his gaze before continuing.
“Guys, whatever happened in her past, something or someone frightened this city girl enough that she moved across three states to a new teaching job in a small Wyoming town. I’m positive we can rule out the mystical call of the wide-open spaces.”
“What’s the latest intel on Trent Young?” Flynn slapped a hand on the file and flipped open the cover.
Quinn’s mouth twisted in a sour curve. “A real piece of work. Low-rent con artist. He deals with some nasty people well above his weight ratio. Twelve years ago, he married Anita Hayes. Her father is a few steps up the criminal food chain. Guess Young wanted to further his connections.”
“Christ, she could pass for Chloe’s sister.” Flynn lifted up a copy of Anita’s driver’s license for Noah’s perusal.
The woman was older than Chloe, sure, but the resemblance was uncanny.
“Yeah, I noticed. Creepy. Guys, Detective Fillmore didn’t mince words. Trent was their prime suspect in his father’s death, but without Chloe’s testimony to back it up…” Quinn shrugged.
“The bastard got away with murder.” Noah bit out the words through clenched teeth. Feelings of protectiveness toward Chloe swamped Noah. He wanted to snatch her up and lock her in a room and never let her out unless she was with him or Flynn. That worked just fine.
“Seems that way. Then again, they could have been in it together. According to Detective Fillmore, Trent was protective of Chloe, handled whatever possible without involving Chloe’s aunt. That worked in both their favors.” Quinn waved his hand to the side. “Either way, the death was ruled an accident.”
Flynn dropped the file onto the desk then leaned back in his chair. His hands clasped loosely together in his lap. A picture of relaxed calm, if not for the tic pounding along his jaw.
“Find out everything you can on this bastard, Quinn, down to his fucking brand of toothpaste. Something here stinks all to hell. Chloe’s a sweetheart. Uptight and scared about God knows what, but she’s no killer.”
Noah nodded. “Agreed.” Saying the word lightened the crushing weight that had pressed down on Noah’s chest, allowing him to utter his next words without choking on regret. “Quinn, do your thing. Whatever it takes. Assume Flynn and I are thinking with our dicks and not our heads. If Chloe comes out smelling sweet as a rose, then all the better.” He grimaced and stabbed the heel of his hand along his thigh. Fucking insurgent.
“Count on it.” Quinn stood and walked to the door, his frame outlined against the dark wood as he turned back to face them. “You know if I find out she’s guilty, I won’t spare her.”
“We wouldn’t expect anything less,” Noah said.
With a nod, Quinn left the room.
“So our girl’s hiding a secret that may land that cute bum of hers in jail. At least it explains why she didn’t share any family details Saturday night.” Flynn jerked out of his chair and moved to stare out the window, his back rigid as he fisted his hands by his sides.
Noah picked up the file, tapped it against his fist. “And now we have to convince the little runaway to trust us enough to protect her.” Nothing like a challenge for two hard-ass Doms. Maybe they could just cut the bullshit and keep her tied to their bed until she gave in.
Allowing himself a satisfied smile, he turned his attention back to the present and the plans he and Flynn discussed earlier this morning.
“You spoke to Parker. She goes to the diner every Saturday for breakfast, right?”
“So far eve
ry Saturday, without fail.” Flynn kept his gaze directed toward the activities in the corral.
Noah pushed out a sigh. Flynn turned to face him, brows raised.
Shaking his head, Noah grimaced. “Sorry, a certain lady’s gotten under my skin.”
“No need to apologize, mate.” Flynn walked over and slapped him on the back. “I know how you feel.” His own wry grin spoke volumes.
“We wait for the weekend, then make our move. We’ll have to tread carefully. She’s spooked. The last thing I want to do is frighten her and send her running. That said, I’m not prepared to walk away.” The rightness of his statement settled deep in Noah’s chest. He blinked against the sudden realization. He wouldn’t walk away. He’d see this through to the end. Jesus fuck, he hoped Quinn came up empty.
Flynn smiled, his eyes alight at the prospect of the chase. “You took the words right out of my mouth. Rest easy. Chloe’s days of running are almost over.”
* * * *
Chloe sat cross-legged on the new beige carpet tiles of the Youth Café, surrounded by stacked towers of donated DVDs for the entertainment library. Purdy sat across from her and stacked CDs.
She glanced around as people young and old cleaned, hung posters, and unpacked boxes. She’d missed this, volunteering. Her one-weekend-a-month slot at the animal shelter in LA had been a joy. Her good-byes to the shelter’s staff and four-legged waifs had produced a mountain of used Kleenex.
A chance to get involved in such a fresh concept as the Youth Café was too good to pass up. The community-based program catered to young people between the ages of twelve and twenty. Its aims were simple. To provide a safe place for them to hang out during after-school hours and on weekends but still feel a sense of independence. Hard to argue against those merits.
Chloe studied the long counter that ran along the far wall, home to two computers offering Internet and other services. Donated couches and coffee tables were placed here and there, and some potted plants added warmth to the Café.
If everything went as planned, the Café would open within the next three weeks.