by Charlie Hart
He’s an Alaskan mountain man if I ever saw one, but oh my word, does the man ever relax?
Huxley and Salinger walk in.
“We found her,” Huxley says with a lopsided grin.
“You were looking for me?” I tap the pen on the notepad in my hand.
“Oh girl, you are the only thing on our minds,” Salinger says, sliding into a chair opposite me. His moodiness from the night before gone. He easily sets his feet on the table and I remember the comment at breakfast about him being the Director’s son. That he comes from money. No wonder he’s so sure of himself. He’s probably never had to work a day in his life.
Not that I should talk. It’s not as if my childhood was hard. I had tutors and house staff, and the joke about him growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth matches my childhood a little too accurately.
I was my father’s protégé and he allowed me to pour over biology and chemistry books while the other girls at the dormitory were forced to learn domestic duties. He would give me the sun and the stars if I asked for them. As long as I did exactly what he asked in return: marry the man he chose for me. To be subjected to years of fertility treatments and tests.
They’d started years ago, the tests, when I’d first hit puberty. Just bloodwork at first. Then later, more invasive procedures, like spinal taps, and egg retrieval. I may be a virgin, but I’ve been poked and prodded more than the prostitutes that lived down by the harbor.
Not that I’ll tell any of the men the truth--it would only lead to questions.
Questions I’m not at all prepared to answer. They have to believe I am who I say I am. For all of our safety.
“So, what are you doing holed up in this stuffy office?” Salinger asks.
“Hey, it’s not stuffy in here,” Huxley says, walking over to a cart of liquor and pouring himself something amber.
Salinger doesn’t question his before-noon drinking, so I don’t either. Not that I would judge any of these men right now. It had been an emotionally draining night. I tossed and turned for hours. Conflicted in a way I’ve never been before. Tankful the men all left me alone after Fallon told them to leave me be. They didn’t think I heard the strict order from Fallon, but I had been on the stairwell.
If you lay a finger on her, you’ll regret it. She needs time to adjust.
But I’d also been desperate for the men--any of the men-- to crawl in bed with me, hold me close and tell me that I had nothing to fear.
And to maybe tell me other things too.
Things I’ve never done, but imagined.
I adjust myself in the armchair, my core suddenly alive and needy, heat creeping into my cheeks as dirty thoughts fill my head. Then remembering that two of my husbands are watching me intently.
“What are you thinking about, Tia?” Salinger asks, dimples cutting into both cheeks, his obvious hangover now gone as he studies me with eyes that are a lighter shade of brown than I’d originally thought. They’re almost gold in color, and there’s an intelligence behind them that I think he tries to keep hidden. “Something has you all twisted up inside.”
“You can see all that?” I ask. I’ve always prided myself on being a hard person to read, able to keep my cards close, my emotions at bay.
But these men do something to me.
Around them, I feel...awake.
For the first time in my life I woke up in a home without my father’s watchful eye on me. Without his staff keeping me in check.
I may not have a key to this house, but this is a sort of freedom I’ve never experienced.
It emboldens me.
“I get paid to read people,” Salinger says, surprising me.
“You have a job?” I ask with wide eyes.
That remark sends Huxley into a fit of laughter. “Hear that, she thinks you’re as lazy an ass like Fallon does.”
At Fallon’s name, my ears perk up. He’s a mystery to me. Unfortunately, the two men aren’t as interested in the brooding man who’s currently walking the property, looking for God knows what.
This place is as quiet and safe as anywhere in the state.
“I work for my father,” Salinger answers, and I remember my question. “Pushing papers, mostly, but I have the fancy title because I have a way of telling if people are who they say they are. Figuring people out, catching what makes them tick, that ismy specialty.”
I sit up straighter, my lips twisting up. Knowing this game is safe--this man with devilish good looks knows nothing about be. “And who am I, Salinger?”
He moves his feet from the table, and leans in close. I match him, my feet on the floor, my elbows on my knees, chin on my hands. Gaze locked.
His eyes are pools of emotions, carrying with him a depth I hadn’t expected. I feel my face go flush as he watches me with an intensity that’s slightly unnerving.
He frowns, his head tilting to the side. A knowing in his expression.
I realize too late this game was a mistake.
He does see me.
Sees the parts of me I want to hide.
His irises expand as he studies me so thoroughly I feel like he’s going to swallow me whole.
Maybe he can’t name all my secrets in detail--but he sees enough.
Salinger though, discloses nothing. Instead, a trace of a smile forms on his mouth. It’s as if he likes knowing there is more to me than meets the eye.
“So, who is she?” Huxley asks, missing the moment for what it was. And for that, I feel a surge of gratitude.
Salinger stands from his chair. “She’s a woman in need of a drink.”
With that, he walks to the liquor cart and pours us both two fingers of the whiskey.
“A greater truth has never been spoken.” Huxley chuckles, then takes a deep sip of his drink, then winks at Salinger. “I think the two of us will get along well.”
Salinger grins, hands me the tumbler, then lifts the rim of his to mine. “A toast.”
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“Us,” Salinger says, sitting on the arm of the chair next to me so that his hip brushes against my arm, and little sizzles of electricity skittle across my flesh.
“To us,” I agree, echoed by Huxley.
I down the contents of my drink, wincing as it burns a path from my throat to my stomach. Warmth spreads through me. It feels good.
I hadn’t been allowed to drink. My father worried it would affect my reproductive abilities. Mess with my hormones and such.
There were a lot of things I hadn’t been allowed to do.
And this, drinking whisky in the middle of the day, almost feels like a final act of rebellion.
I lift my glass to Salinger. “Another one.”
He raises a brow, and Huxley laughs, but neither one stops me from standing and pouring myself another extra-large shot.
The conversation between us flows easy. Both Salinger and Huxley have a natural ease about them. Like they don’t take life too seriously. It’s a nice change to be around, considering all the rules that had been enforced upon me.
Whatever had bothered Salinger last night seems to have dissipated, with a little help from the half-bottle of whisky we go through in the course of an hour.
Inhibitions dulled as I lean back against Huxley’s chest, who’s sprawled out on the couch. Unlike the other four men that aren’t here, Hux and Sal, as I start to call them, have leaner builds, more like runners.
And I realize they’re both smart. Just in different ways.
“Do you all have jobs?” I ask.
I glance up at Huxley and he smiles. Blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes hold my gaze for an intense moment, before he chuckles and says, “Some better than others.”
“And you own a shop?”
He nods, features tightening slightly when Salinger grunts.
“And the others?” I ask, sitting up and feeling my head spin. I put my glass on the coffee table.
“Giles is law enforcement, military. Banks works in the labs,”
Huxley says confidently, like he has detailed knowledge of each of the men. “Emerson works on the government ships.”
Wow, I think. Impressed by each of them.
“And Fallon?” I chew the inside of my lip, wanting to know about the man who’s gotten under my skin more than the others.
“I’m a pilot,” a deep voice echoes from the doorway.
Shit.
Fallon is standing against the wall, arms crossed over his large chest, and he doesn’t look happy.
“We were just...” I try to stand, but the floor shifts under me and I fall back on the couch.
Huxley steadies me and chuckles.
I swear to God I hear a low, animal-like growl from where Fallon stands.
“...just having a drink.” Even I can hear the slur of my words.
“I can see that.” Fallon pushes himself off the wall and moves towards me, then leans down and picks my glass up, draining the remainder of its contents.
I expect a lecture, but he doesn’t give one, just moves across the room and pours himself a drink.
A look passes between Salinger and Huxley, one that makes me think Fallon has already claimed Alpha male over the others, without even so much as a pissing contest.
Interesting.
Salinger starts to stand. “I’m going to go-”
“Stay,” Fallon orders, and he sits back down with a wince.
Giles comes into the room, followed by Banks and Emerson.
“We need to talk about rules.” Fallon looks pointedly at me.
I start to feel my buzz slowly slipping away.
“What kind of rules?” I ask cautiously, glancing around at the other men, hoping for some backup.
But Huxley and Salinger have gone quiet, and the other three look just as brooding and serious as Fallon.
Fallon holds my gaze. “Inside this house you’re free-”
“Inside this house,” I repeat, not liking where this is going.
“There are dangers outside these walls. It’s my...” He clears his throat. “Our job to keep you safe. We can only do that if you follow our rules.”
“And they are?”
“No leaving the compound alone. Ever.”
I know his request isn’t unreasonable. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the fact that I’m so tired of men telling me what to do, but my defenses go up. Finding my legs, I stand, swaying only a little.
Proud of my composure, I jut my chin out at him. “And who made you king of the house?”
I hear a few chuckles and I see Fallon’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t back down, just keeps his intense gaze trained on me. “You don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is out there.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be held captive.” Feeling more stable, I walk towards Fallon, biting my bottom lip, wanting to tease him. Wanting to see how far things can go. Face-to-face, I lift my eyebrows and unabashedly lick my lips, then add, “Unless you want to handcuff me to your bed and have your way with me.” I grin, loving the feeling of being free. Even if it’s only alcohol-induced freedom. Freedom I may regret later. I chuckle at myself. “Then I’ll be your little prisoner.”
Even as I say it I know it’s lewd and out of character, and a hush falls over the spinning room as the men take in my words. But the whisky is sweet on my lips and my body is warm from the attention that all my husbands are giving so freely and maybe, for once, I just want to give into my desire.
Let them be shocked.
I’m the one who went to bed alone on her wedding night.
Fallon though, isn’t interested. Instead, he scoffs. “You’re drunk, Tia.”
“Let the woman say what she wants,” Banks says, and I turn to look at him. For such a reserved man, I’m surprised by the dark desire I see in his expression. There’s an air of mystery to him, and even in my tipsy state, I can see a spark in his eyes.
There’s a part of him that likes the idea of me in handcuffs, bound to his bed. His gaze flicks away from mine though, as if he doesn’t trust himself to hold mine.
Coldly, he adds, “She’s free inside the house, remember? And just who do you think you are, anyways?” He directs his question at Fallon and my shoulders fall.
I roll my eyes, God, enough with the macho men and their attitude problems. Right now, I want someone warm and cuddly. Someone soft and…I look around the room, my eyes landing on Emerson.
Long hair, turquoise green eyes the color of the ocean on a warm day. They make me want to dive in head first. I have a feeling he would catch me. He leans against a bookcase, his muscular arms crossed, his eyes jumping around the room as if trying to keep up.
Last night he talked about his family, his kind parents, and loyal brothers. He’s gentle, unbroken by the world. Like he hasn’t seen the same things the other men may have. I close my eyes, thinking about the island home he hails from. The lull of the ocean, waves rocking...and seagulls over head...and okay, I’m officially drunk.
Fallon’s voice causes my eyes to pop open. “Look at her,” he says to Salinger and Huxley. “You got our wife drunk before noon.”
“Fine,” I groan dramatically, knowing I’m getting dangerously close to the proverbial edge with Fallon, and not caring one bit. “No more drinking, no more fun. What other rules do you have for me, husband?”
Fallon, though, doesn’t seem the least bit moved by my snark. He bites his bottom lip, eyebrows raised, as if thinking of all the ways he’d like to put me in check. I squeeze my thighs together, suddenly hot to my core, lightheaded in a way that makes me feel wobbly all over again. Fallon may be insensitive, but he has so much sex appeal I feel like I might wilt under his gaze.
“Someone get her to bed,” he says, his eyes meeting mine, daring me to challenge him.
But I’m done with this game.
Turning away without another look, I walk towards the door and once again, the room tilts. I feel myself falling, but before I land on my ass, powerful arms catch me, and I’m pulled against a massive chest. Warmth surrounds me. The warmth I was looking for.
But it isn’t coming from Emerson, it’s unexpectedly coming from Giles.
“Steady, love,” Giles says, the green of his eyes tender despite his impressive size. I have to stop myself from reaching out and stroking the dark red whiskers that coat his jaw.
The man is gorgeous. All hard edges and muscles. But underneath it is something softer. I see in his eyes that just like Fallon, he wants to protect me. But he lacks the arrogant, dominating air that the frustratingly beautiful man across the room has.
“I like your freckles,” I say, reaching up and touching his nose.
Giles’ lips twitch up.
“Take her to bed,” Fallon orders, a tightness to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“To bed?” I say, grinning up at Giles, a small moan vibrating in my throat when I think of what that would mean. To have this mountain of a man between my thighs. Screw the handcuffs, this beard will do the job.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning up on my toes, and my mouth is on his.
His lips are soft, and his beard tickles slightly. I’ve never kissed a man. Not romantically. Not even Lawson, despite his many attempts.
And it’s ... wonderful.
It only lasts a moment before I hear Fallon’s sharp remark, “Take her to bed and let her sleep it off.”
Giles pulls back, his breathing heavy, a look in his eyes like he isn’t sure what to do.
I make the decision for him, turning on my heels, and say over my shoulder, “I’m perfectly capable of taking myself to bed.”
Chapter 6
Fallon
Two days married and I’m more sexually frustrated than I’ve ever been in my entire life. The other men haven’t touched her either. Not unless you count the damn kiss she gave Giles in the study.
That kiss should have been mine.
A knot of jealousy forms in my throat every time I think about it because I have no right to kee
p the other men from her. She’s theirs just as much as she’s mine. And I need to get used to that fast.
I don’t have to be at work today, but I came into the hanger to check on one of the new planes that was delivered. Flying has always been a release for me, and fuck if I don’t need one.
The exhilaration of the last few days must have caught up with Tia because she slept the day and night away. Hours after she’d gone to bed, I’d checked on her. She’d been fast asleep, curled up in a ball wearing my sweatshirt. And nothing else.
I’m not sure how my groan hadn’t woken her.
I tossed and turned all night, eventually I showered, my thick cock in my hand, pumping hard as the hot water ran over my broad shoulders, finding the release I really wanted to find with my wife.
Fuck, I need to get my head on straight. Instead of finding inroads with the woman I’m supposed to share my life with, I’m pissing her off more with each word I say. Hell, at breakfast this morning she wouldn’t even look at me. Not that I did anything to lighten the mood in the house. I poured my coffee, grunted a hello, and left. Hating myself for not doing what I really wanted: to scoop her up in my arms and take her to my own bed. She may not like my rules for day-to-day living, but in the bedroom, I’ll give my wife free reign.
There’s a fog in the air as I make my way from my truck to my work station. Once I have my tool box open, I’ll be able to clear my head. Some men need a bottle of bourbon or some porn to let off steam. Me? Give me a socket wrench and I’m good to go.
Just as I’m about to get to work, I see that I’m not alone. A smile spreads across my face and my father enters the hanger. Finally, someone who understands me.
“Son,” he says as he approaches, wearing the same gray aviator jumpsuit I am. His, just has more wings on his insignia than mine. The man is a hero, and not just to me. Alaska wouldn’t be what it is today without his sacrifice.
Of all the people in this messed up world, he doesn’t deserve the horror that he’s gone through. And yet he continues to show up, day after day. But today I see a heaviness to his eyes and immediately realize he’s heard the news.
