by Marie Carnay
Price? Two million dollars.
Christ.
Foster let the phone clatter to the counter.
She was rejecting them, pure and simple.
Such an offer couldn’t mean anything else. She was selling the business, collecting a tidy sum, and walking away. What else could it mean?
All this time Foster had been giving her space and she’d been working on a plan to dump them. They would make her a millionaire and then what?
Go back to her shitty IT job? Move out of the city like her friend Maddie?
He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands, the heel of his palms pressing into his eyes.
It couldn’t be that simple. She couldn’t be just walking away from everything they had. All that they had shared. Unless…
Dixon put her up to it.
Had she chosen him? Did she want Dixon and only him?
That made sense in a way. How could she come to work and see the two of them everyday if she’d rejected one of them? Harlow had to know that staying on as president of Crane Matchmaking meant plenty of late nights working with both of them.
Was this her way of letting him down easy? Of picking Dixon and telling Foster to get lost?
Part of him couldn’t believe she would be so cold, but then he didn’t know how she truly felt about him. Foster might be head over heels in love with Harlow, but she never volunteered her feelings.
Maybe this whole time she’d been stringing him along, unable to end it for fear of running into him at work.
Damn it. I’ve been a fool.
Foster stood up and grabbed his phone before shoving it in his pocket along with his keys. He needed to get out of his apartment and away from the memory of Harlow’s naked body as she cried out his name.
He didn’t know where he was going or how long he’d be gone, but a drive would clear his head. It would give him something to focus on instead of the pain burning a hole in his heart.
HARLOW
The computer screen faded to black and Harlow flicked off her cubicle lights. For three days she had done nothing but eat, sleep, and dream her two jobs.
Letting work slide at one job was bad enough, but letting two go, when one was your own company? Insane.
She had typed her fingers to the bone uploading new clients into her matchmaking service and opening up their profiles for chat and email. Harlow didn’t know if it was the few days off or the insane pace she had been keeping since the weekend, but she had a few epiphanies after walking out on Foster and Dixon.
One: she hated her day job. As in, stick a hot burning poker in her eye, hated it. It wasn’t something to pass the time or build her nest egg, or get her that vacation house on the coast.
No. It was awful. Apart from Leanne, there was nothing about the place she liked. Why had she stayed for so long? Leanne was so right to be mad at her for not quitting earlier. But it took days and days of pulling eighteen-hour shifts when all she’d rather do was lie in bed with Foster and Dixon to realize it.
Two: Crane Matchmaking was too big to handle on her own. After uploading three hundred new clients, she was overwhelmed. Never would she be able to meet all of these people in person. Never would she be able to do the kind of one-on-one matches that she prided herself on.
Not while she still worked a day job and kept seeing the two men she’d fallen in love with.
Harlow grabbed her purse and headed toward the door, the only person left at work this late on a Wednesday night. Sometime during the day, it hit her: she needed to come clean to Foster and Dixon. Lay it all out there and see what they said.
Enough holding back, wondering if they were in it for the long haul.
If neither man wanted her the way she wanted them, fine. Good to know now rather than later. She could still accept their offer to buy a percent of the company and stay on as president. Sure, it would be awkward at first, but if she could handle Bill and Steve and all the other icky aspects of her day job, she could handle a couple ex-boyfriends as equity partners in her business.
She could cry herself to sleep for as long as it took if they rejected her, but Harlow wasn’t going to let fear of the future stop her from reaching for all that she wanted. Crane Matchmaking would be a success with MacSwift behind it.
It hadn’t taken more than a half hour of research to confirm that they put their weight behind every acquisition. Most were successes; the ones that failed were easily explained away. Harlow knew her business. Scaled up, it could be a success.
The hundreds of people clamoring to be part of it was a testament to that.
She walked to the elevator with a bounce in her step, stopping to hit the button with a smile on her face. No more hamster wheel she couldn’t jump off of; no more running without a destination.
Harlow would go after her future with her feet on the ground and her hands in the clouds, reaching for everything.
She pulled out her phone and typed a message to both Foster and Dixon:
I’ve finally come up for air and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather see. Please meet me at my place ASAP if you’re free. I’ve got something to tell you.
Hopefully they would both show up. She only wanted to do this once. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. Her future was out there, ready and waiting, and Harlow was going to get it.
Foster and Dixon were the two best things to ever happen to her and she was going to let them know it. Tonight.
Chapter 21
HARLOW
The shower water trickled to a stop and Harlow stepped out, wrapping herself up in a fluffy towel as steam fogged the bathroom mirror. She picked up her phone with still-damp fingers and checked for messages. Nothing.
Were they mad that she hadn’t called in a few days? Busy with some other acquisition?
She toweled off and dressed, slipping on a red dress that always gave her confidence a boost. If Foster and Dixon ignored her text, she didn’t know what to do. Chasing after a pair of men wasn’t her style, but wasn’t love worth a little hard work?
Commitment was all about putting in the effort and sticking it out when the going got tough. But if they didn’t feel the same way…
She shook her head and concentrated on what she could do: get ready. After swiping on some mascara and lipstick she headed out into her living room. The sound of raised voices stopped her still.
Raised voices from two men carried into her apartment from the hall. Somebody’s having a bad day. After trying to make out the words for a moment, she shrugged. It wasn’t her business and she had enough on her plate. Quit being a nosy neighbor, Harlow.
She walked into the kitchen and tugged open the fridge. This close to the front door, the men’s voices became clear and Harlow couldn’t avoid listening.
“—ridiculous, and you know it.”
“Cut the bullshit, Foster.”
“I’m not the one being an asshole. That’s you.”
Oh, no. Harlow rushed to the front door of her apartment and pulled it open. Dixon and Foster stood in front of it, looking very unhappy to see each other. They were the ones arguing in the hallway, not a pair of strangers.
She swallowed and asked the obvious. “What’s going on?”
Dixon turned to her, eyes blazing with anger. “You should know.”
Harlow blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Foster held up his hands. “This was a terrible idea. I should go.” He took a step back, but Harlow reached out, grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve and gripping tight.
“You just got here. Whatever’s going on between you, just let it go.”
Foster’s eyes widened. “Why? So you can rub my face in it?”
What? Harlow’s eyes darted back and forth, gaze pausing first on Foster, then Dixon, and back again. She tightened her grip on Foster’s sleeve. “I don’t know what’s gotten into the two of you, but you’re not going to solve it in the middle of the hallway. Come inside, please.”
She pulled the d
oor open wide and waited. Dixon moved first, bumping Foster’s shoulder as he made his way inside. Foster didn’t move.
“You, too. Come on.” Harlow practically yanked him in the door, only letting go of his jacket when he’d cleared the door.
“All right. What the two of you need is a good drink and a good time. Enough fighting.” Harlow let the door shut behind her as she walked into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and poured three glasses while Foster and Dixon stared out her living room window, not saying a word.
Dixon stood with his hands on his hips, shoulders pulled back in that arrogant way he had when Harlow first met him. She knew underneath that façade was a caring man who was more than just bluster and bravado. But right now, he put on a damn good show.
Foster wasn’t much better. With his arms crossed over his chest, he refused to even glance her way. Something major had happened between the two of them, but Harlow hadn’t a clue what it could be. It didn’t matter. No hurt feelings were going to ruin this night. Soon enough they would both remember how well the three of them worked together.
Harlow balanced all three glasses of wine in her hands as she walked into the living room. “Gentlemen, have a drink.”
Neither one even acknowledged her. Great. She exhaled and set the glasses on the coffee table. If they weren’t going to come to her, she’d come to them.
DIXON
Foster was right about one thing: coming to Harlow’s had been a mistake. She stood there, big blue eyes pleading with him to acknowledge her and all he wanted was to punch Foster square across the jaw and carry her back to the bedroom.
Somewhere between falling in love and finding out it might all be a lie, Dixon had turned into a damn caveman. He watched from the corner of his eye as Harlow crept up to him. Her dress skimmed the middle of her thighs, red fabric brushing across them like a lover’s hand.
He still wanted her. Despite the questions and the doubt that lingered smack in the middle of his mind, he couldn’t shake the need she created. She leaned into Foster, hand raking across his back, and Dixon fumed.
The nerve of them, to flaunt it in his face like his feelings didn’t matter. Harlow ran her hand up Foster’s neck and into his hair, fingertips disappearing in the buzz cut he sported. It was too much. Dixon let a disgusted sigh escape his lips as he turned to leave.
Harlow caught him by the wrist. “Don’t go.”
“Why not? You’ve obviously got what you wanted. I don’t need to see it.”
Her brows tucked in, black lashes cutting her irises in half. “I want you to stay.”
Dixon stepped forward and grabbed Harlow by the arms and gave her whole body a shake. “I didn’t think you were the cruel type, Harlow.”
Her lips fell open, a pair of lipsticked pillows he wanted to ravage. She wet the bottom one, tip of her tongue darting out and back like a venomous snake. His grip tightened around her arms.
“There’s nothing cruel about wanting you and Foster.” She twisted in Dixon’s embrace, chin lifted toward Foster. “I asked you here because I missed you. I thought… I hoped…”
Foster stepped forward, stopping when his face hovered an inch away from Harlow’s. “What did you hope?”
Color bloomed on Harlow’s cheeks as she turned back to Dixon. “That we could pick up where we left off.”
Dixon regarded her for a moment, eyes appraising, not like the man who’d fallen head over heels in love with her, but someone cold and distant. A man who could weigh whether a night of getting off would be worth the feelings it might dredge up.
He tilted his head. “One more round, is that it?”
“No.” Harlow shook her head, damp hair falling across her shoulders. “I thought this could be the beginning of something better.”
Dixon laughed. She really was a piece of work. Basically admitting she picked Foster but still wanted Dixon’s body. He couldn’t believe it. But once glance at her tits straining against the fabric and Dixon’s base desires kicked in.
He didn’t want to admit it, but if this was the last chance he’d have to touch her body, he’d take it. Gladly.
Before she could say another word, Dixon leaned in, capturing Harlow’s mouth as he dragged her body closer. She moaned against his lips and something inside Dixon unlocked. The need and want he’d kept back while he stood inside her apartment crashed through and hit him like a tidal wave.
Damn her for making him want her. Damn her for picking another man. Damn her for all of the things she’d done to make him fall in love with her.
He tore at her dress, hands rough and insistent. The fabric ripped and Harlow cried out.
“Dixon. Stop it.” Foster’s warning cut through the silence, but Dixon paid it no heed. He tore the fabric again, splitting it right down the middle and exposing Harlow’s bra.
“I said stop, Dixon.” Foster’s hand landed on top of his and Dixon curled his fist, ready for a fight.
“No.” Harlow placed her hand on top of the pile, face raising to meet Dixon’s gaze before turning to catch Foster’s. “I want this. I want you both, however you want to have me.”
Dixon practically growled his approval, shaking off Foster’s hand as he finished tearing her dress. It fell to the floor in a heap and he devoured her with his eyes, memorizing every swell and curve and dip of her form, the pale cream of her skin, the puckered nipples straining against the lace of her bra.
He waited until she met his stare before loosening his tie and slipping it over his head. He wrapped it around his hand, rubbing his thumb over the paisley silk. “Did you mean it? Any way we want you?”
Harlow nodded.
“Good.”
HARLOW
The tie cut off her sight before she could blink. Dixon twisted the silk around her head, tying a knot and cinching it tight. Harlow couldn’t see a thing.
But she could hear and feel and smell. The hint of his aftershave hit her nose a moment before the scrape of Dixon’s beard rubbed against her cheek. A lightning bolt of desire shocked her to the core.
A flick against her back and her bra sprang open and slid down her arms before landing on the floor. A tug of her panties and Harlow was naked. Blind.
She trembled.
“Cold?”
Harlow shook her head.
“Nervous?”
She hesitated. “A little.”
“Don’t be.” Foster’s voice came from in front of her and Harlow reached out, hoping to find his strong body beneath her fingers. He caught her wrists instead. The second tie wrapped around her wrists and he knotted the ends in such a way she’d never wiggle free.
Harlow tugged, but nothing. They owned her in that moment, blindfolded, bound, hopelessly in love with them both. It didn’t matter that they were fighting, that something had passed between the two of them since Harlow had seen them last.
Nothing mattered except the thrum of her blood in her veins, the spark of four hands running up and down her skin, and the knowledge that they were together.
Lips kissed hers before pulling back. Hands stroked her breasts before curving around to cup her ass. The sound of clothes falling on the floor pricked her ears. Everything she wanted, needed, thought about in stolen seconds over the past few days, combined into one.
The first brush of fingers across her clit tore a cry from her throat. The second stroke of another hand made her tremble and moan. Foster and Dixon were all around her, in front, behind, stroking, circling, teasing her body.
A tongue lapped across first one nipple and then the other, fingers never leaving the heat between her legs.
She came in a rush, gasping and twisting her body around as an orgasm thrust inside her. Before she could come down, she was airborne, swept off her feet by a pair of strong arms and set down across a lap. Harlow straddled thick legs, still throbbing in her core.
“You’re gorgeous when you come, Harlow.”
She smiled. Foster. He nuzzled her breasts. “Ride
me. Come again on my cock.”
Harlow rose up onto her knees and a pair of hands grabbed her bound wrists. Dixon. He stood behind her, facing Foster, and pulled her arms over her head. Together, they lowered her down, the swollen tip of Foster’s cock easing inside her slick heat.
Harlow groaned. To not see them, to not know their thoughts by looking in their eyes… It drove her mad.
But one rock of her hips against Foster and she came alive, clit bumping against his body as she bounced up and down. Dixon held her upright, one hand gripping tight across the binds on her wrists, one reaching down to stroke and fondle her breasts.
Foster groaned beneath her and took charge, grabbing her hips and thrusting up from below. His muscles contracted, thighs turning to steel beneath her weight and Foster came, hot and thick inside her.
She moaned, so close to another orgasm, but still so far. Before Foster even had a chance to come down, Dixon hoisted her up. He carried her to the edge of the couch and laid her across it, body draped over the arm, ass up in the air.
His hand came down in a smack and Harlow gasped. Smack! He spanked her again. Oh, God! She shouldn’t like it. She should be mad and embarrassed and not so turned on she could beg.
Dixon swirled his hand over the sore spots, warming her up before spanking her again. Smack! Smack! Smack! Harlow whimpered and he spread her legs, cock diving between her dripping-wet folds and thrusting deep.
His hips hit her ass and Dixon groaned, fully encased by her needy muscles. He stood still for a moment. Harlow took a chance, reaching her bound hands out, hoping Foster would latch on.
She wasn’t disappointed. His fingers laced in hers as Dixon pulled back and thrust again. Every stroke of his cock sent a wave of pleasure through her body, lighting her up and obliterating her senses. All she could do was feel.
Foster held her, thumb running over the back of her hands as Dixon picked up speed, fucking her like he’d lost control, like he was more base desire than controlled man. His fingers clutched at her hips, scrabbling against her soft flesh as he came, seed mixing with Foster’s as he filled her up.
