by Helena Ray
* * * *
Soft conversation woke Anya, followed by an instant pang of stiffness in her neck. The feeling crept down her spine, and when she stretched, her arm hit something hard and wooden. Right. The desk. She was still on the floor of the Ninth Time, which meant…
Anya blinked open her eyes and saw Jack sitting across from her with his back resting against the far wall of the office.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he said as he flipped through a paperback book. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”
“What time is it?” Anya mumbled as she snuggled into the warm blanket that cocooned her.
“Almost eleven,” he answered. “The storm looks to be over, too.”
Right, the storm. Images of the night before came rushing into her mind, and for a moment, she sincerely doubted her sanity.
“Well, well, it’s nice to have you back,” Clay said, strolling toward where Anya still lay on the blankets. He smiled, the expression casting light on his face, and lowered himself to the floor. His hand brushed over her waist as he extended his body beside her, and Anya had to refrain from pinching herself to see if she was awake.
It had really all happened. Clay had answered the door to the Ninth Time, they had shared wine and conversation, and he had driven her to heights she had previously believed unreachable. Oh god. If all that had happened, that meant her memories of Jack were all real, too. She could almost feel his lips brushing against hers, and the image of Clay’s hard-on after her kiss with Jack burned in her mind.
“I had a good night,” she whispered as Clay laid his head on the pillow beside her. “Although,” she said, crinkling her nose, “you never did give me an opportunity to drop off those linens.”
“Small price to pay.” The grin Clay wore grew as he leaned forward and kissed her, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth briefly and running his teeth over the sensitive flesh.
“You’ll just have to come back,” Jack added from where he had situated himself above Anya’s head. She looked up as he tangled one of his hands in her now quite messy hair. “I know it will be such a burden for you.”
“Speaking of which, your Uncle Frank called your phone earlier. I hope you don’t mind, but I gave him a call back and let him know he could come get you.”
Some part of Anya’s brain told her she should be offended at his invasion of her privacy, but his desire to take care of her comforted her more than anything. These men certainly did a number on her mind and her body.
“But you can stick around as long as you’d like.” She looked up at Jack and grinned. “We won’t mind having you around.”
Clay leaned forward, and his lips landed on her neck, showing just how much he wouldn’t mind. She pushed her chest against him, desperate to give in to her arousal. Clay’s hand smoothed down her back and came to rest on the swell of her ass. But just as his fingers began to dig into the flesh, a knock echoed from within the shop, and with a few muttered curses, Clay rose and stormed out of the office.
Chapter 7
“Damn it!” Jocelyn cursed to herself as her stiletto heel sank into a pile of snow. Did no one in this dreadful excuse for a small town know how to shovel snow? She straightened herself, balancing her top-heavy figure on four-inch heels before knocking on the cold glass door to the shabby secondhand shop.
Ulysses needed to plan something big for her in return for this favor. Today alone she’d had to reschedule her trip to Denver in order to make it to this shithole shop, missing her weekly manicure appointment. Did Ulysses have any concept of how difficult it was to get an hour with Melissa? A shudder ran through her body at the thought of the man she’d been sleeping with for the past five years. He was a despicable human being, self-important and bigoted, but he had been her ticket to business success. That was the only way she knew how to operate. She’d fucked her way through college and business school, and she fully intended to fuck her way to the position of NormCorp CFO, even if it meant allowing Ulysses C. Norman to spasm on top of her for a few painful minutes then flop onto her like a dead fish. If she didn’t do it, another woman would.
She rapped her leopard-print-covered knuckles against the glass door again, desperate to get out of the cold and get this over with. It would be a quick interaction, anyway. Jocelyn knew it would take only a few appointments with the owners of this shithole before she would convince them it was best to sell out to NormCorp. Men were putty in her hands, after all. It had only taken a blow job behind the tree at the company Christmas party to wrap Ulysses around her finger. Ever since then, Jocelyn had carefully maneuvered up the ranks at NormCorp, all the time playing the good mistress to Ulysses Norman himself.
God, that hypocritical megalomaniac actually thought he was the only man in Jocelyn’s life. Fat fucking chance. Every man she met fell to his knees before her, and she used her carefully scheduled sexual favors to her advantage, financing everything from her rent to her Jimmy Choos with an artfully delivered blow job. Her conquests included not only corporate giants, but aging rock stars, foreign dignitaries, and even a few major sports figures.
“Coming!”
Finally, that sluggish, broad-shouldered Neanderthal came to the door. At least he was better than his all-American little shit of a brother. She’d overheard him voice concerns when she left the shop after her interview, but thankfully Mr. Cave Man had been blinded by the word “Harvard” on her resume. Oh, if he only knew how she had acquired it. After he grumbled and unlocked it, Jocelyn hurried in, careful to “accidentally” rub her breasts over his arm.
“Thank you so much. It’s so cold out there!”
The man only grunted in response and ran his fingers through his messy dishwater hair. He walked to the counter, leaving Jocelyn standing like an idiot by the entrance. Ugh. He’s going to be difficult, isn’t he?
Flipping her hair behind her shoulder, she carefully wound her way through the jumble of overly used clothing, books, and god knew what else. Why would anyone want to spend their hard-earned money on this shit? Did they not realize that they could buy new things? Probably not out here in Bumfuck, she thought to herself.
She removed her coat as she approached the counter, being certain to squeeze her breasts together and deepen her cleavage and catch Clayton Abbott’s attention.
“Well, for one, if you needed more money, you could try sticking to the opening hours on your door. It’s eleven, and you still look pretty closed up.”
Another grunt escaped from behind the counter as Clayton leaned over to dig something out from beneath the counter. Did this man even know how to speak?
“There was a power outage,” he said gruffly, proving her wrong. “Whole town’s shut down, or haven’t you noticed?”
“Um, I hate to point out the obvious, but your lights are on.”
“Only happened a few minutes ago.” He straightened and placed a box of receipts on the counter. Jesus. No wonder they needed an accountant. It would take Jocelyn a day’s work just to go through these. “Business expenses,” Clayton grunted as she used one French-manicured fingernail to flick through the receipts.
“Oh, we can get right through these,” Jocelyn said, plastering a smile on her face. “And we can take that time”—she dropped her voice—“getting to know each other a little better.”
He remained stoic as she batted her eyelashes, and she wondered if there was something wrong with the man. Skyler would have mentioned if he were gay. Fags always stuck together, didn’t they? She pushed her breast together harder and added a good dose of breathiness to her voice. “I would so like to get to know you, Clay.” She leaned closer to him and found the odor emanating from the man unbearable. She hated the woodsy stench of the outdoors. “I can call you Clay, can’t I?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
He turned away from her, stomping to a door that she assumed led to a back room. When he opened it, the obnoxious din of giggling flooded into the store. It wa
s probably the younger Abbott, Jack. The research Skyler had provided told her that he had quite the weakness for the opposite sex. Perhaps he would be the weak link in the chain, Jocelyn’s way in to take down the Ninth Time.
“This way. I started entering all the numbers into Quicken 98 last year. Can you handle that?”
“Quicken 98? They haven’t made that since…” Jocelyn took a deep breath as she entered the dank office but quickly regretted it. The gray-walled chamber smelled like a mixture of turpentine, gasoline, and that cloying, pine-scented musk. “Never mind.” Clearly these people weren’t the technology types.
More giggling drew her attention to the corner where, indeed, Jack was canoodling with some brunette. She gave the woman an assessing look, deeming her to be merely average compared to Jocelyn’s own surgically enhanced figure. Jack’s arm was wrapped around her waist, tickling her of all juvenile things. The woman threw her hair back, revealing her face, and Jocelyn’s stomach sank.
That little bitch. Jocelyn had to fight the sneer that came to her lips when she saw exactly who Jack Abbott was mauling. She would have recognized her anywhere. That disgraceful excuse for a woman had pursued Christopher Birkhead for years and even groped him on national television. Christopher was Jocelyn’s cash cow, the primary financier behind her Caribbean vacations for the last five years.
Yes, Jocelyn knew all about Anya fucking Copely. The daughter of Gerard and Misha Domnina Copely, she pranced about like the princess of winter sports. On their weekends on Saint Kitts, Christopher told her all about how Anya pursued him relentlessly then reported him to the governing body of American figure skating for sexually harassing her. Jocelyn was a woman, though, and she knew that any woman would be crazy to turn away the advances of a sports mogul like Christopher.
“Now, can I e-mail you these files?”
Clay’s voice drew her back into the moment, although she still watched Anya from the corner of her eye. Remembering she had a role to play, Jocelyn put both her hands on the desk and leaned flirtatiously toward where Clay sat in front of the flickering screen of the ancient machine.
“You can e-mail me anything you want.”
“Really?” The other man’s voice came from behind Jocelyn. “You’re going to be that obvious.”
Fuck. Apparently, this brother wasn’t her in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently, still focusing her attention on Clay. “I was just saying that he can e-mail me any sort of file.”
“Yeah, right.”
Jocelyn tried to flash her brightest smile and turned to the bastard blond. “We met briefly when I came in before, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” She extended her right hand, suppressing a wince when she noted the chip on her manicured pinky finger. Ulysses will pay for this. “I’m Jocelyn.”
Hesitantly, Jack took her hand and shook it, a look of wariness in his eyes. “Jack.”
Then Jocelyn turned her attention to the lowest creature taking up air space in the room. “And you are?”
She met her eyes and studied her. Oh, fuck. Had Anya seen her before? Jocelyn made a point to avoid the fag parade of figure skating competitions, but it was possible Anya had spied her hanging outside the arena during practice. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.” Jocelyn grinned to hide her assessing glance at Anya. No way in hell would her Christopher prefer her European features to Jocelyn’s pinup-girl figure. “I really love your eyebrows,” she said. Women liked compliments like that, didn’t they? Since they really couldn’t earn her any financial gain, Jocelyn hadn’t made much of an effort to befriend any members of her own sex.
“Uh…thanks.” Anya’s noncommittal reaction worried Jocelyn for a moment, but the other woman smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Anya.”
Goddamn it, Jocelyn knew who the bitch was. She forced herself to exchange pleasantries until the older, highly nonverbal brother finally fired up his computer and called her over. Jocelyn leaned closer to Clay, allowing her breasts to brush along his arm at frequent intervals, as he explained the intricacies of Quicken to her. His explanation was highly unnecessary, but Jocelyn appreciated the opportunity to formulate her plan of attack.
She frequently sneaked glances behind Clay to where Anya—fucking Anya Copely—sat in the corner, positively cuddling with Jack. Jocelyn had never seen any sizable benefit in cuddling and thus found the act detestable, but of course, someone with a mind as warped as Anya’s would engage in it freely. It appeared she at least enjoyed Jack’s company, as her face was flushed and she giggled like an idiot schoolgirl, which would only make her demise that much more pleasurable.
The plan began to bloom in Jocelyn’s mind, and the taste of sweet revenge heated her blood. Not only would she take down the Ninth Time and finally get Ulysses the foothold in Savage Valley he’d lusted after for years, she would take down Anya Copely in the process. Christopher would be so delighted with her plan, and it would lend credence to her sudden move to Savage Valley.
Twice now, that dark-haired little rat had seduced her way into the pants of men Jocelyn considered her own. She was young, twenty-four at the oldest, judging by her skin. She had years of seduction ahead of her. Jocelyn didn’t know how many more years she could get away with the whole “twenty-nine” act, but she did know that her facade required surgical maintenance. And without Christopher or Ulysses, that might prove quite difficult.
Finally, Clay finished his tedious explanation. He stood from the computer, and Jocelyn moved to sit in the chair, suddenly relishing her assignment.
“If you have the software, would you be able to work on this at home?” Clay stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She halted and curled her fingers around where his hand touched her, giving his hand the most intimate stroke she could manage.
“Oh, but I’d really like to get to know the store better. It would so help me with—”
Clay shocked her by pulling back his hand from her grasp.
“No offense, ma’am,” he said, his tone suddenly formal, “but we have a good deal of catching up to do, what with the outage and all.”
Jocelyn tried to widen her eyes then bat her lashes at the man, aiming for a kicked-puppy look. “It’s okay. I can’t wait to hang around the shop some more, though. It all looks so…fascinating,” she lied.
Clay merely grunted once more and started to the door that led back into the shop. He held the door open and gestured for her to exit. “I hate to kick you out, but we need the computer for other things.”
“I’ll bring my laptop next time,” Jocelyn said as she sauntered toward Clay. “That way we don’t have to be apart.” She stood right in front of him, close enough to smell the nauseating woodsy fragrance that rolled off of him in waves.
Before she could take a step forward to rub her breasts against his admittedly tempting hard chest, Anya shot between the two of them, and Jocelyn stood face-to-face with the enemy.
“It was great meeting you.” Anya’s words were friendly, but her eyes hurled daggers at Jocelyn. She saw some movement behind Anya and noticed that Clay was affectionately running his fingers through her hair.
So the rumors about Savage Valley were true. The men really did share their women. She couldn’t believe that she’d hit the jackpot. Both Ulysses and Christopher would shower her with gifts once they found out about her plan, and she had the chance to exact personal revenge on Anya Copely and to land a blow on one of those bigamist pervert families. Just the thought that two men would claim one woman, their cocks pushing into her and shoving her over the edge into…
“Great meeting you, too.” Jocelyn grinned to push the thought of a ménage a trois to the far reaches of her mind. “I hope we get to know each other better.”
“Oh, me, too.” Anya said nothing more, and Jocelyn finally excused herself from the shop with one last flirtatious glance at Clayton.
The cold assaulted her as soon as sh
e spilled onto the snow-covered pavement, but the flames of hatred rushing through her veins had sweat spilling from her forehead. She scurried toward the dreadful little company car, a Chrysler that felt like a boat compared to the Porsche Ulysses bought her, but the stiletto heel on her Manolo Blahnik snapped, leaving her limping in the snow.
“Shit!” she cursed to herself and pulled out her cell phone. Not that big a deal. She’d have another pair before the day was out once one of her cash cows heard about the little plot she’d devised. She tapped a name on her speed dial and waited for him to pick up.
“Christopher? You’ll never guess who I met today.”
* * * *
Anya barely acknowledged her Aunt Cora as she stumbled toward the staff quarters at the Woodland Den. Concentrating on where she was going was difficult when scenes of the previous night and that morning kept running through her head—spending time with Clay and seeing his art, Jack leaning over her butt-naked, Jack’s soft lips.
Her body still tingled from the passionate good-bye Clayton had given her right before Uncle Frank showed up on the snowcat to take her back up the mountain to the Woodland. Clay had kissed her thoroughly then run his lips over her neck, leaving small bites that stung her skin with excitement. Jack’s farewell had been more tame, but just as exciting. He had brushed the softest kiss across her lips while ghosting his fingertips over her waist. When the back door opened and Anya staggered out into the snow, she had felt physically bereft.
She turned the corner down the hallway that led past the guest rooms and to the small corridor where Anya stayed. Her shoulder grazed the corner as her thoughts distracted her. It made sense to her that she would feel physical withdrawal from Clayton. After all, she’d spent so many years lusting after him that the first hit of his sexual attention would have propelled her to highs she had previously never imagined and left her hungover the next day. But then there was Jack. Anya certainly hadn’t expected to meet Clay’s little brother, let alone find him as goddamned attractive as she did. It would be one thing if the attraction were purely physical, but so much more drew her to him.