by Sharan Daire
He pushed open another door without pausing his step, leading us into a large workroom. The ceiling soared high above and the walls were unfinished, raw wood. Metal shelves lined the walls with a drafting table in the center of the room. Opposite the entry, a small sitting area lingered in darkened shadows.
Flipping a switch, he fired up a stand of lights that made me shield my eyes. He turned toward me, arms crossed over his chest. Without saying a word, he stared at me with narrowed eyes. I had no idea what he was thinking. He seemed pissed off, but Derek had implied that was Chris's normal demeanor.
Derek started to introduce me. "Shelby, this is—"
Chris turned away and pointed at the chair beneath the lights. "Sit," he ordered as he opened a drawer.
I gave Derek a wide-eyed look, silently asking what the hell was going on. He took my hand and pressed a soft kiss against my palm as he led me to the chair. "It's okay," he whispered. "Trust me."
I sat on the very edge of a winged-back chair covered in antique gold fabric. Clutching my hands together tightly in my lap, I tried to imagine what all the lights were for. Some kind of interviewing tactic? Stun me with lights so I gave up all my secrets? But I didn't have any secrets. I had no idea what he'd want to question me about.
Chris turned around with a camera in his hands. "Where'd you find her?"
"On the road," Derek replied. "Her car broke down."
Chris snorted with derision. "Which agency sent her?"
"No one sent her. She's just trying to get up to Liberty to visit her grandma. I brought her and her kids to the lodge while Kaleb works on her car."
With a low muttered curse, the other man stepped closer to me. He leaned down, gripped my chin, and tipped my face from side to side, watching the way the light flowed over my face. "Bullshit."
I jerked my chin free of his grip. "Excuse me?"
"Why aren't you a model?"
I blew out a laugh. "Yeah, sure, and why aren't you a professional football player? Or maybe you should be a world-famous journalist."
"Did dumbass tell you what we're doing?"
"Hey, now," Derek grumbled. "Why would I go into details about the new line with her?"
"She's pretty, yeah? You like her. That means Kaleb is panting after her too. Everett's tougher to guess, but he's smarter. I'm surprised he didn't put two and two together right away."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I finally said, resisting the urge to rub my temples. Or better yet, slap him. I didn't think that would go over well with any of them. I didn't even know why I felt so... tense. Not scared, exactly, but defensive. Like I needed to strike out before he could.
He snapped a picture, making me flinch a little. Ignoring my confusion, he stepped back and forth in front of me, slowly adjusting the angle as he took more pictures. "Tell her."
"Remember I said we were starting a new business venture, and that's why we couldn't get away to Florida for Christmas?" Derek asked.
"Yeah..."
"Chris decided to start a fashion line last year. We've all been helping out as much as possible. Picking up orders, developing the website, advertising, you name it. We even got a few orders in, but we just haven't been able to get it off the ground like we hoped."
The ex-Marine with PTSD, who was wealthy enough to be the primary investor in this incredible lodge, was also a fashion designer? Of course he was. Evidently, he was a photographer too. He moved around me, taking several pictures. I tried to track his movements, turning my head to keep him in eyesight, but he moved with frenetic intensity. He snapped a picture behind me, and I really had no idea why. I finally just gave up trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
"We've had a dozen models out," Derek continued. "As you can probably guess, there aren't a lot of agencies around here. So we even flew a few highly rated models in from New York. Chris rejected them all."
"Not what I wanted," he muttered somewhere to my left. "Too polished. Too perfect. Too fake. I don't want fake. I want in-your-face real."
I turned my head, my gaze colliding with his. Feverish energy burned in his eyes. Although he wasn't making large, aggressive movements at all, the coiled power radiating from his body was still intimidating.
"Too stiff," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "Relax."
A laugh spluttered out of my lips. "Sure, yeah, I'll get right on that, Mr. Intimidating."
Chris straightened and stepped back, releasing me from his blistering attention. "Help her."
"My pleasure." Giving me a wink, Derek came closer and dropped down on one knee before me. He casually braced his left elbow on the chair. "Let me tell you more about the line."
His nearness didn't make me relax. At all. Braced, I waited for one of those big hands to come at me. I didn't know him well enough to have him this close to me. In my space. Breathing my air.
He smelled like the outside. Fresh air, a bit woodsy, and yeah, fishy. Lake water, a bit of mud. It wasn't a bad smell at all, I decided. Though not as good as his leather coat.
"Part of Chris' therapy was finding hobbies. First, he built this lodge, which required drafting skills and all sorts of new technology and research. It wasn't enough, though. He needed to do more with his hands, smaller scale but more personal. So he started sewing and photography."
"Fucking waste of time for the most part," Chris said. "All this shit piling up. I can't stand waste. I had to do something with the materials. Something that would make a statement. Something that would challenge me. Set the bar high. So, why not start my own line? I already had the business down."
"It was Everett's idea, actually," Derek said. "He said that a great designer can tell a story with just a few items. He challenged Chris to tell a story with his work, and immediately, things started to take off. He had several successful shows locally, but he wasn't getting the results he wanted. He needed the perfect woman to help tell the story. The face of the brand. But if you haven’t noticed yet, Chris is a little difficult to work with."
"I'm a fucking nightmare," Chris said, his dark, rumbling voice making me shiver.
"We pretty much gave up finding anyone who'd suit him." Derek smiled, letting his mean cop mask slip away completely. His eyes gleamed with warmth. The dimple popped up briefly on his cheek, gone in a heartbeat, but I'd seen it. "Until you, Shelby."
"What? Me? Are you nuts?"
"Don't get me wrong. I wasn't sure what Chris was looking for. That's not why I brought you here. But I hoped that he would be drawn to you as much as I am. He took one look and knew, just as I did."
I stared at him. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. I felt like a fog had filled my head, turning my brain to mush. "That's not how any of this is supposed to work."
Derek lightly stroked the backs of his fingers against my check. "Why not? Why can't it be easy for once?"
CHRIS
He barely even touched her, and I was already getting a hard-on. Fucking creep, I snarled inside my head.
But I couldn't stop watching them, either.
The docs had tried all kinds of different meds and therapies to help with my PTSD, but after a few bad experiences years ago, I didn't really trust myself with a woman. I didn't want to have a nightmare and freak her out. I didn't want to lose control and get too rough. The only way I'd even try to fuck a woman was if one of my friends was there, which yeah, made anything intimate difficult. Most women around here, at least, weren't interested in sharing, or even having someone nearby to help control me, even if they didn't actively participate.
It was far easier to find someone who was willing to have sex with one of my friends and allow me to watch. That was the only thing keeping me sane the last few years. But it wasn't the same.
I burned for physical contact. The intimacy of touching skin. Of feeling a woman's softness against me. My face pillowed on her breasts or her stomach. Her hair beneath my cheek while we slept. I'd forgotten what such heaven was even like.
Until this red-head
ed beauty walked in with Derek. Lush curves. Sweet face. Fiery beauty. Hopefully she had the personality to match. She'd been shook, by me, the guys, the lodge. Everything. But she hadn't fallen apart. I'd seen her kids too, and if Derek was interested in her, there wasn't another man in the picture. He was honorable like that. I'd learned long ago to trust in his judgement of people, though god only knew why he was still my friend.
I would have written me off ages ago.
I wasn't so sure about little kids running around, fucking up my peace. Keeping my mental space quiet was crucial to manage the PTSD. But as I watched the way her face softened and she leaned in slightly to Derek, listening to his words...
I was willing to find a way to blast myself to the moon if that was what she wanted.
As I snapped a few more pictures, I became surer. I could picture her in my clothes. I could see her walking, laughing, shining in beautiful dresses that hugged her curves and turned her into a sensuous angel. Maybe D could read my mind, because he started unbraiding her hair, loosening that shining mass to fall free around her face. Thick, luxurious. Like velvet.
Red. Velvet. Angel.
Guess I had the new logo to go along with the face.
I kept snapping the pictures. Mesmerized by the slow, gentle way D touched her. Wooing her. Promising her the world with every caress. I'd give my left arm to be able to touch her like that. I winced, pushing that thought away. I didn't have gentleness in me. If I tried to touch her right now, I'd leave bruises. She'd learn to fear me. It was better this way. Let D touch her. I would watch and imagine the silkiness of her skin. I'd pretend that her eyes were looking up into mine. That she bit that luscious bottom lip for me.
I didn't think it could get much better. Until Everett stepped into the frame.
Her gaze snapped up to him, her cheeks heating. She started to lean back away from D, embarrassed to be caught so close to him.
Paying us no mind, Everett squeezed in beside her in the chair, up nice and close. Startled, she stared up at him. Lips parted slightly, her cheeks and throat flushed.
"I'm not going to let D have all the fun," Everett whispered. "Unless you're not into me."
Derek combed his fingers through her hair, drawing her gaze back to him. "Are you?" He whispered, leaning closer to lightly rub his lips against hers.
"What?" She asked hoarsely, swaying slightly, as if her body couldn't decide which man it wanted to smash up against.
"Are you into him too?" Derek kissed her softly, nibbling delicately on her bottom lip. "Because that would be a dream come true."
He lifted his head, while Everett wrapped his fingers around her chin and turned her head toward him.
I held my breath. My dick throbbed in my jeans. She was into D. We could all see that. So she'd probably be fine with Kaleb, though it might be hard for her to wrap her mind around. But Everett... He was crucial. If she could entertain the idea of three men...
I couldn't even let myself think of the possibility. I couldn't. The loss would kill me all over again.
It'd be enough. More than enough. If she'd let one of them make love to her with a quiet, unassuming audience in the background. That was all I needed...
"This is crazy," she murmured.
Then she locked her lips to Everett's.
SHELBY
I had a moment of clarity where a scandalized voice very like my ex-husband's roared in my ears. But I couldn't find it in myself to care. At all. Not with Everett flooding my senses. His fingers were long and elegant, stroking over my face like an artist memorizing every plane and hollow so he could sculpt me from memory. Heart pounding, I pulled back a moment. His dark eyes smoldered, his lips soft, teasing, beckoning me to come back and sample him deeper. I'd barely had a taste of him.
I wanted more. I did. But--
Derek's fingers pushed deeper into my hair, kneading my nape. Reminding me of his presence. His nearness.
Two men. I'd kissed two men in less than twenty-four hours.
After not even dating for a year.
The soft click of the camera shutter echoed through the room, making me jump.
I'd kissed two men—while a third snapped pictures.
My face flooded crimson. I jumped up and stepped away from the chair. From them. I couldn't believe I'd done that. It was so out of character. I didn't know these men. I didn't belong here. I needed to get my kids and get out of here before I lost my mind.
Chris stepped in front of me before I could flee the room entirely. "Fucking epic. You're hired."
My jaw hung open a moment. "I'm not a model. I don't have any experience."
"Doesn't matter. I want you." His eyes tightened, his mouth a harsh slant. "For the brand."
"I'm a waitress. I have kids." I barely managed to clamp my lips shut before I admitted that I was homeless, too.
"Doesn't matter," he repeated. "I want to see you in one of my gowns. I already know the shots I want to take now. Seeing you with them.... Yeah. It's fucking perfect. We just need to get Kaleb involved."
I gulped. "What? Why?"
"My model needs three hot studs helping her out of her dress."
10
Shelby
I had to have fallen down Alice's rabbit hole. I'd stepped into a magic wardrobe. Aliens had sucked me into a new dimension.
Stuff like this didn't happen to girls like me.
Like a whole rack of beautiful, expensive gowns all the colors of the rainbow. Hand-made gowns by a new and up-and-coming designer, who now wanted me to be the face of his brand.
Me. Single mother of two kids, as broke down as my dead, twenty-year-old car. Suddenly a Cinderella princess. Only instead of one prince, I evidently had three "hot studs" who were going to be in these pictures with me. While a fourth manned the camera.
Derek had said they were a package deal. Was this what he meant? Working with the four of them to get the fashion line started? Nothing more than that. Just business. That was easier for me to wrap my head around than the possibility that he actually meant a romantic relationship with all of them.
I couldn't think of a less qualified "model" though. I was awkward, gauche, and certainly not standard model material. I wasn't tall and willowy thin. After having two kids... Yeah. My figure had taken a hit. I worked long hours in a greasy spoon, where sometimes that was all I had time to eat. On good days, they let me take home some food for the kids too. It wasn't the healthiest to eat, but it was better than nothing.
Trailing my fingers over the glorious materials, I tried to pick one that wouldn't make me look ridiculous. I didn't want something super slinky that would hug my body. I was self-conscious of my rounded stomach and fuller thighs. Without some high dollar compression wear, I wouldn't dare wear something form fitting. Chris had told me to pick any of them that caught my fancy, but it was like choosing one flower from a hothouse full of orchids.
A hard rap on the door made me jump. "Just pick one," Chris barked. "I need to see you in it so I can make the alterations."
I finally decided on a red velvet dress that was the least audacious, though it'd probably clash with my hair. I had to take my ugly, shapeless bra off. The dingy straps showed too much beneath the velvet. I felt naked even though the dress fully covered my chest. Elegant flutter sleeves bared my arms and shoulders. The bodice strained over my cleavage, a little too tight. I couldn't zip it up either.
God. I was too fat. Too... matronly. They were crazy to even consider—
"Shelby!" Chris yelled. I could hear him pacing back and forth outside the dressing room. "I want to see, goddamn it. It can't be all that bad."
"Oh yeah?" I muttered. Grimly, I opened the door, lifted my chin, and stepped outside, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "It's too small."
"Don't be ridiculous." Stepping closer, Chris fiddled with the gaping back of my gown. "I had to size most of the samples down from where I wanted because the industry thinks a size zero is ideal. Fucking idiots. I'd much rather have an average
-sized woman wearing my clothes. There's plenty of room in the seams so I can let it out a bit and it'll fit like a glove. Exactly as I intended."
Despite his brisk manner, his touch was surprisingly gentle as he adjusted and examined the material. I dared a quick glance at his face as he circled me. All that scorching intensity in his dark eyes was focused on his dress. Not me. That allowed me to really see and study him.
He wasn't as tall as the twins, nor as bulky, but he was ripped and tight. Coiled energy shimmered around him like a force field, warning all reasonable people to stay away. Violence seemed to simmer beneath the surface. Danger hovered over his head. He didn't need a weapon in his hand to be intimidating and scary.
But he was wholly focused on this scrap of red material. He grabbed a rolling cart and pulled it closer, muttering to himself. He sounded angry, but maybe that was always how he sounded. Pulling out a measuring tape, lifted his gaze to mine. “Do you want me to get one of the female staff to do this?”
His dark eyes burned a hole in my brain. My tongue dried out and stuck to the roof of my mouth. Silently, I shook my head. I wasn’t scared. Exactly.
A few measurements. How hard could that be?
Letting out a low humph, he briskly wrapped the tape around my waist. Jotted a number down on a piece of paper. All very civil.
Then he lifted the tape up to my chest.
I held my breath, braced for him to accidentally on purpose brush my breast. I’d certainly dealt with enough male customers at the diner who’d copped a quick feel anytime they could sneak one in. But he kept his manner impersonal as he cinched the tape around my cleavage.
If I hadn’t been watching his face, I might have missed the slight muscle tick across his jaw. Or the tiny drop of sweat that trailed down his forehead as he measured my upper arms.
He dropped to his knees so suddenly that a tiny squeak escaped my lips. Glancing up at me, he briskly measured my right ankle. My left. My calf. His fingers barely touched me, only the measuring tape gliding around my limb. Up to my knee. Mid-thigh.
