Twice the Charm

by Marie Carnay

  “I see.” Leanne nodded, her eyes darting up to the ceiling and back as she thought it over. “So which is it? Which one do you want?”

  Harlow shook her head. “I have no idea. Both?”

  “Why not? Maddie did it.”

  “But I’m a matchmaker. I can’t have two boyfriends.”

  “Seriously? That’s your excuse?”

  Harlow crossed her arms. “It’s a good one.”

  “No, it’s silly. If you can make a two-guy match for Maddie, then you can make one for yourself. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up running a threesome service.” Leanne clapped her hands. “I can see it now. Two for the price of one… Two of a kind… Oh my God, Harlow, the puns are endless. You have to do it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie was a one-time thing.”

  Leanne gave her the are-you-kidding-me look and Harlow hung her head. Maddie wasn’t the only woman caught between two men. But could she really try to keep this going?

  She could barely concentrate on her job, her matchmaking company was suffering from a backlog of emails and matches to be made, and Foster and Dixon weren’t exactly offering themselves as a package deal.

  Hell, she didn’t know what either of them really wanted. Were they still trying to get her business? Or did they see the potential for more?

  She thought about Foster and the sweet side of him he shared with her when they were alone. Dixon’s bravado that gave way to something rich and complicated underneath.

  Choosing between them meant giving one up. How could she do that when they worked together every day? She’d run into the one she’d pushed away over and over. What if she was making it all up? What if they didn’t want anything but the business?

  The more she thought about the pair of them, the more mixed-up she became. All she knew was that if it didn’t work out… If she had to say goodbye to both of them… She would never be the same. At last, she looked up at Leanne. “Update me on the status of the project. I need to focus on something else for a while.”

  FOSTER

  It had been two days, fourteen hours, and thirty-six minutes since he’d last seen Harlow, and Foster was about to lose his damn mind. He’d shared more with her in stolen moments between kisses and thrusts and orgasms than he’d shared with a woman… ever.

  It went beyond the way she kissed a fevered trail down his chest to his cock, beyond the way she whispered sweet words into his ear as he brought her over the edge again and again. The woman got him: the real Foster he didn’t let anyone see.

  The broken man with flaws and insecurities and pain. Harlow didn’t run from him, didn’t turn away. And he still didn’t know how she felt about him.

  Fuck.

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He’d gone into this whole attempt to purchase Crane Matchmaking with an ulterior motive, albeit a noble one. Harlow was supposed to find him a match, not be one. But here he was, falling for a matchmaker who might be in love with someone else.

  As if on cue, the door to his office opened and Dixon walked in. Figures. As soon as he came to mind, there he was, butting in and disrupting everything.

  Bypassing any attempt at small talk or his usual bravado, Dixon slumped in the guest chair. A ragged exhale was his only hello.

  Probably business. The man never did take last-minute changes well. “Is the delay with Ferguson getting worse?”

  Dixon focused on the desk between them. “It’s not work. Well, not directly, anyway.”

  Foster frowned. There was only one thing he could be referring to, but the thought made Foster pause. Could Dixon be as tied up in knots as he was? “Harlow?”

  “The one and only.”

  Whoa. Pressing him for his feelings would only shut him down. He’d just blow him off, claim there wasn’t anything wrong. If he wanted to know where the two of them stood, and what Dixon wanted from Harlow, Foster needed to come at it sideways.

  “Do you ever think she’ll agree to sell?”

  Dixon mulled it over, the dark circles beneath his eyes betraying the sleepless nights he must have been having. “Doubtful.”

  “Is that your gut instinct or based on affirmative knowledge?”

  At last, Dixon raised his head, pinning Foster to the chair with a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “Maybe I’m not interested in buying.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The shrug would have been casual but for the tension trapping Dixon’s shoulders tight to his frame. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Unusual for you.”

  Dixon cast him a glance. “Smart ass.”

  “Selfish asshole.”

  “Hardly.” Dixon sat straighter in the chair. “If I were selfish, I wouldn’t have let you in on anything between me and Harlow. The three of us would never be tangled up in this mess.”

  Foster rolled his eyes. His partner always had a way of deflecting the truth. It wasn’t from overconfidence or jealousy; it was insecurity, plain and simple. Usually it didn’t bother Foster, but when it centered around Harlow, he wasn’t having it. “Give me a bit of credit. Harlow isn’t one of your cast-offs that you’ve agreed to share.”

  Dixon opened his mouth and Foster steeled himself for another verbal barb, but nothing came. The retort died on Dixon’s tongue before it reached his lips. He scrubbed his face. “You’re right. I am a selfish asshole.”

  “Admitting it is the first step.”

  A smile cracked Dixon’s lips and the tension between them eased. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

  “Royally, I’m afraid.”

  Part of him wanted to confess the feelings he’d been keeping to himself. To utter the words he’d held back from even himself. But could he trust Dixon? Foster knew about the man’s ruthless streak. How once he set his sights on something, he never rested, never gave up until he’d won or the object of his attention was destroyed.

  It had happened more than once in their business. A promising startup caught Dixon’s eye and he went after it, just like he’d gone after Crane Matchmaking. Would he ruin Harlow if she didn’t agree to sell? Or was a person finally more important than Dixon’s success?

  Foster opted for the middle road. “Anything that happens, we’re good, you and I?”

  “Fuck if I know, Foster, but one thing’s for sure…” Dixon braced himself on the edge of the chair, pushing up to stand before responding. “We need to get the hell out of here and shake things up. Call Harlow. We’re going out.”

  Chapter 15

  HARLOW

  The last snap shut on the front of her vest and Harlow shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “Is it the giant paintball gun or the acres of woods you’re having trouble with?”

  Dixon’s rakish smile made her laugh; it seemed so at odds with his tactical vest and rifle filled with neon-yellow paint pellets. When he’d called, asking her out on a date with both him and Foster, Harlow had agreed without a second thought. She’d hoped it was the chance she’d been waiting for.

  Had they come to terms with each other? Decided they could share like Maddie’s men?

  From the way they stared each other down, yellow and blue paint ready to fly, it didn’t seem like they’d done any talking at all. Harlow put on the safety glasses provided by the facility and turned to Dixon. “How on earth did you find out about this place?”

  “Fred’s Paintball-arama?” He surveyed the trees, trying to remember. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Mm-hmm. I might look like a city slicker, but deep down, I’m a rural Midwesterner. Hot plates, acres of corn fields, and paintball. I grew up not far from here.”

  Harlow palmed her hip. “You expect me to believe that Mr. High Rise on the Gold Coast is from some small town in rural Illinois?”

  “Iowa, actually. Just across the line.”

  Foster tugged a camouflage ball cap low over his eyes. “He left out the part ab
out hunting since he was six.”

  Harlow glanced down at the rifle in her hands. “You mean you know how to shoot this thing?”

  “Do I ever.” Dixon gave her the once over, gaze lingering on her boobs. “I can’t wait to see you all covered in paint. You’ll be a sexy little bumblebee out running in the woods.”

  “What about you?” Harlow hoisted up the gun. “You could be all red and splotchy like a zombie from a bad B-movie.”

  “Ever shot one of those, babe?”

  “Once or twice. My ex had a thing for guns.” Harlow tried to put that jerk of a man out of her mind as much as possible, but if he ended up actually helping her today, she’d have to cut him some slack.

  Maybe next time she’d use his name instead of just “asshole.”

  Dixon grinned. “Whenever you want to go shooting, just let me know. I come out here when I need to get something out of my system.”

  Harlow shot him the side-eye. “Like me?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him and Dixon laughed.

  “So what does the winner get?” Harlow glanced at Foster, standing off to the side watching them.

  He turned to Dixon. “That’s a good question. What should the prize be, Dixon?”

  The man who came up with this crazy idea shrugged. “How about the first orgasm of the night?”

  Harlow’s mouth fell open, but Foster just laughed. She had no idea what the hell was going on between the two men, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. The horn blew announcing their turn out on the range and Dixon took off, loping into the trees.

  He called out over his shoulder. “Thirty minutes! Person wearing the least paint at the end is the winner!”

  Dixon disappeared into the brush and Harlow turned to Foster. “Have you done this before?”

  “Maybe. Good luck, Harlow. You’re gonna need it.”

  He disappeared as quickly as Dixon, his dark form blending into the trees as she stood there, unsure what to do. She hadn’t lied when she said she could shoot. Tyler had insisted she learn.

  But shoot on the run? With someone stalking her through the woods?

  Never.

  A sound like a pop came from behind her and something little and hard slammed into Harlow’s thigh.

  “Ow!” she shrieked, and looked down to see a burst of yellow paint blooming on her pants. Dixon.

  The man was going to pay for that. She darted off, snaking through the trees away from the direction of the shot. Another whoosh of a projectile flew by her arm, missing and splattering against the closest tree. Blue.

  Foster.

  They weren’t cutting her any slack.

  Harlow fell to the ground, scrabbling through the brush until she ducked behind a tree trunk. Her heart pounded, adrenaline made her blood sing in her ears, and Harlow hadn’t had so much fun in ages.

  Dixon was right. They needed to get out of the city, out of their twisted and tangled-up lives and do some damn living. She brought the rifle up to her eye and looked through the scope, twisting around until she could see the area where both shots had come from.

  A flutter of leaves caught her eye and she spied Dixon’s broad shoulders. She aimed, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

  Wham!

  A burst of red paint exploded on his back and Dixon spun around. She shot again and another burst across his chest. Harlow giggled. Now this is fun.

  DIXON

  Holy shit. Harlow got me!

  Dixon stared down at the red welt of paint on his chest and marveled. She hadn’t been lying about knowing her way around a rifle. He sunk low, squeezing his shoulders into the space between a bush and a tree, and took stock.

  Foster was somewhere out there, aiming at one of them, but Dixon didn’t care. He wanted Harlow. He didn’t know if he could give in to the feelings threatening to overwhelm him, but he sure as hell could pull a trigger.

  A crash of brush sounded twenty feet to his right and Dixon swung around in time to see Foster scrambling with his thigh covered in red. Too easy. Dixon brought up his rifle and shot, adding to the explosion of red with a sunshine burst of yellow.

  The man never had a chance. Foster spun, still on the ground and not even trying to conceal himself. He shot wildly, paint pellets flying in an arc toward Dixon. He dodged, but two hit him in the thigh. Damn it.

  At this rate, Harlow might actually win.

  He paused.

  That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Dixon grabbed his rifle and returned fire, showering Foster in a tempest of pellets. A volley of blue projectiles sailed his way and in seconds, the two of them were covered in paint.

  His gun clicked as he pulled the trigger again, empty of pellets. It was all over too soon.

  Harlow walked up, barely a touch of paint on her, blue eyes gleaming behind her safety glasses. “Look at the two of you! It’s like you just got done with a color run and took a wrong turn into the woods.”

  Foster sat up, wiping a smear of red paint across his cheek. “Got a little carried away there, didn’t you, Dixon?”

  “Me? Dixon looked down at the blue paint covering ninety percent of his chest. “Not the only one, man.”

  Harlow spun around and laughed. “Guess I’m the lucky winner, aren’t I?”

  Dixon smiled. It didn’t matter if she was done up for a night on the town or covered in tactical gear and paint splatters. Harlow was the most beautiful woman. Her dark blonde hair stuck out from her hat, her cheeks flushed pink with victory, and Dixon wanted to lay her down right there in the leaves and show her all the things he couldn’t say.

  She caught him staring and her cheeks burned brighter.

  “How about we get out of here?”

  “And go where? You two can’t step foot inside anywhere without a shower.”

  Dixon touched his beard and his fingers came back blue. “You have a point.”

  Foster stood up and made his way over, red paint dripping off his sleeve. He held out his hand and helped Dixon to stand. “My place is closest. And I don’t have expensive carpet.”

  “Your place it is.” Dixon clapped him on the back. He didn’t know what the night would hold, but he knew Harlow would be at the center of it. “You think you can entertain yourself at Foster’s place while we get cleaned up?”

  She smiled so wide it had to hurt. “I can manage.”

  “Good.” Dixon slung his rifle over his shoulder and reached for Harlow, tugging her against his cleaner side. He leaned in, voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s got a king-sized bed and a bathroom the size of my kitchen.”

  Harlow’s hips bumped his as they walked. “You don’t say.”

  Foster came around the other side, tucking Harlow into the space between them. “Rain shower heads, too.”

  “Do you let guests in your shower? Or is all that space for you?”

  Foster grinned as they stepped into the clearing of the parking lot. “A man has to have some secrets.”

  Dixon glanced at his friend and business partner. Did they want the same thing? Was Foster willing to share Harlow? Or were they headed down a dead-end with no way to turn back?

  They returned their gear, shed the outer layers of their clothes, and piled into Foster’s Jeep. In an hour or so, he might find out.

  Chapter 16

  HARLOW

  Foster pulled into a parking spot in front of an old industrial building that looked more business than condo building. With classic red brick walls and old lettering from a turn-of-the-century factory above the door, Harlow didn’t know if they’d stopped off at some underground MMA ring, or Foster actually lived there.

  He hopped out and held open the door, waiting for her to clamber out of the Jeep. She glanced up at the place again, waiting.

  “Don’t let the serial killer vibe fool you. It’s awesome on the inside.” Dixon grabbed a bag from the back, slinging it over his shoulder before heading toward the entrance. “You two just going to stand there all
night, or am I the only one ready for a hot shower and a cold drink?”

  “Man’s got a point.” Foster motioned toward the building with a smile. “Ready?”

  Harlow nodded and followed a step behind. Foster used a key card to gain access and in moments, they were walking into an apartment with soaring ceilings, exposed wood beams and brick walls, and windows with a view of downtown.

  “The master’s through here. It’s got the best shower.”

  Harlow nodded, but didn’t move, unable to focus on anything but Foster’s apartment. It was so much like him: once you stepped inside, a whole new world opened up. The man had more layers than an onion.

  The sound of water turning on pricked her ears and she blinked. She stood alone in the living room. Foster and Dixon were gone.

  She sucked in a breath. Following them into the bathroom felt like crossing a threshold. It wouldn’t be an accident or unexpected. Walking into a steaming-hot shower with two naked men was purposeful.

  Harlow would be admitting how much she wanted them both, how enmeshed she’d become in their lives. How much she wanted them to be a part of hers.

  “Are you coming?” Foster’s voice carried from the bedroom and Harlow smiled. With any luck, they all would be. And soon.

  DIXON

  The water sluiced down his chest and Dixon exhaled, tension washing down the drain with rivers of soap and shampoo. Paint from his skin and hair turned the water blue and Dixon focused on it, watching it swirl around the drain as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

  He failed.

  The shower door opened and he turned around, any hope of figuring out his future obliterated by one glimpse of Harlow. She stood in the doorway, wafts of steam rising around her body like clouds.

  She could have been an angel floating down from heaven, blonde hair waving in the humid air, arms outstretched in salvation. Dixon swallowed. This was more than lust. More than a fleeting infatuation.

  I’m in love with her.

  The door shut behind her and Harlow stepped into the shower, full breasts swaying with each step, nipples hardening as the spray from the shower pricked her skin. Beautiful and kind, with eyes so blue and earnest they hurt to look at. Damn it, if she wasn’t a million times more woman than he deserved.