Take Three, Please
A Menage, Sexy and Short Romance
Anwen Stiles
Table of Contents
Take Three, Please
Sample from Jasmine Plays Her Hand
Author Bio/Contact
Also by Anwen Stiles
Coming Soon
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Take Three, Please
Cecile popped her gum. “Would you pick one already? I’m tired of waiting around to make my move.”
Morgan sent her an impatient frown. “Go ahead. They’re not my property.”
“The hell they aren’t.”
The two women eyed the objects under discussion -- three handsome, muscular men who currently overfilled the large circular booth in the back corner of the bakery. They each had dark hair and sculpted physiques, bronzed skin. Any one of them could have graced the cover of a fitness magazine. They were in their early thirties, a few years older than Morgan.
She thought any woman, once she became acquainted with the men, would ache to secure them as her personal property. Too bad that Cecile exaggerated Morgan’s own claim.
The first time the trio entered the bakery, Morgan disliked them on sight. She knew their kind: overbearing jocks with more brawn than brains, self-entitled jerks who thought their good looks and hard bodies meant they didn’t have to be courteous or even passably decent to other, lesser mortals. They would leer at her, treat her like meat, then complain to her about how much fat was in the soup, argue over how many carbs were in the bread. Blech.
She was so convinced she knew who they were, in fact, that she’d sent Cecile to take their orders. Not having to deal with customers like the beefy threesome was one of the perks of owning her own business.
It was a surprise when the three men turned out to be polite, friendly and all-around great customers. Profitable, too, since they’d been coming to the bakery for lunch nearly every weekday for several months. Oh, and most saliently of all, they were single and straight. Salient fact. To be sure.
Morgan tore her gaze away from the handsome men in the booth and looked at Cecile. “You know you aren’t supposed to chew gum while you’re on duty.”
“Geez,” Cecile said, spitting the gum into a napkin, “my boss is a grouchy hardass. You need to get laid.”
“Shh -- they might hear!”
“Good, then maybe one of them will get on the stick and knock off the googly-eyed act and finally ask you out so I can scoop up the leftovers.”
Morgan considered ordering Cecile to the kitchen, then noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. One of the men in the booth was waving a hand, trying to get her attention.
She turned, smiled and muttered under her breath to Cecile before she walked away, “If you weren’t my cousin, I’d fire you.”
“If you weren’t my cousin, I’d let you.”
Morgan bit back a laugh and headed over to the three hunky men, Brandon, Ethan and Mark. Their big bodies overflowed the available space and made the table seem diminutive.
“Do you need something?” she asked.
“We wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed the soup today. I don’t even like pea soup, but yours was excellent,” said Ethan, usually the most outgoing of the three.
Brandon’s blue eyes shined at her. “Best soup ever.”
Mark, the quiet one, simply looked steadily at her and nodded his agreement. Something about him always made her want to push his hair away from his face, to reveal him.
“Thank you. I wish all my customers were as easy to please as you guys,” she said.
“We’re not easy,” said Brandon.
“You’re just that good,” said Ethan.
She smiled as she always did when they completed each other’s sentences. She’d asked them once if they were brothers, and they said yes, but not of body, of spirit instead. They said they’d been friends since childhood and were closer than most brothers could ever hope to be.
“Thanks,” she said. “Tomorrow’s soup is chicken and rice, if you come back, of course.”
“You know we can’t resist ... your food,” said Ethan.
Morgan couldn’t ignore the deliberate pause. Ethan liked to flirt. Nothing ever came of it, though, other than more flirting. Pity. “Well, I can’t resist ... cooking it.”
He licked his lips. Oh my, she thought. He had the fullest lips. And the biggest, sparkliest brown eyes. Knock it off, she told herself.
“I’ll have Cecile send over your check. Thanks, fellas,” she said in a rush, eager to be away before she made an ass of herself.
“Actually,” said Ethan, “Mark and I are headed to pay up at the counter. Brandon has a little something he wants to talk to you about.”
The implication of what he said surprised her enough that she stood there stupidly mute while Ethan and Mark slid out of the booth and headed off, leaving her alone with Brandon. He looked nearly as rattled as she felt.
“Uh, that wasn’t well done,” he said, with a self-conscious expression. “Sorry about that. Would you mind sitting down with me for a second or two? If you’ve got the time?”
Oh, she had the time. But did she have the nerve?
She did. She sat down. “I hope there isn’t a problem. With the food, I mean. Or service. Whatever.” Geez, she was acting like an idiot.
He didn’t seem to notice. “No. There’s never a problem. You’re perfect.”
“You are too. I mean, customer. A perfect customer.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that. About becoming something more than a customer to you. You’ve known I’ve wanted that for a while now, haven’t you?”
So this was it. Finally. One of the trio was making a move on her. Wow.
Now that it was actually happening, now that the long-wished for event was here, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Brandon. Huh. Was he her favorite?
She definitely liked him, was attracted to him. But she was attracted to Ethan and Mark as well. Liked them, too. Did she want either of them more than Brandon?
When she’d daydreamed about this happening, and she’d definitely daydreamed about it dozens of times, she hadn’t imagined that it would be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Brandon told her he was interested in her. Hurray! On the other hand, Ethan and Mark had not. Bummer. What a silly way to feel about things.
More than once, in her daydreams, she’d plucked up her courage and faced one of the men, asking them out on a date. One time she’d imagine it was Ethan, another time Brandon, next time, Mark. She couldn’t choose.
Maybe that was why she’d never taken the initiative with one of them, why she’d simply flirted casually and waited for them to decide.
Well, the decision was made. And Brandon was the man. It was no wonder she didn’t know how to feel about it.
Brandon looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You did know that, right ... that I’m interested in you?”
“What? Oh, yes. Right. Well, I wasn’t sure, honestly.” She wasn’t sure which one of them was interested, she almost, but didn’t say.
“I hope I’m remedying that now, then. Are you busy tomorrow night? I’d like to cook for you, for once.”
“I didn’t know you cook.”
“I’m not as skilled as you, but I can grill a steak and bake a potato, if that sounds okay to you.”
She studied his handsome, intent face. He had a square jaw and a high forehead, a Roman nose and clear, smooth skin. And he was looking at her with an open honesty, an obvious attraction that thrilled and flattered her at the same time. She’d always liked Brandon. Liked him as much as the o
ther two. Maybe more. It didn’t matter, anyway. Brandon had stepped up to the plate, and he got bonus points for that.
“It sounds wonderful,” she said. “More than okay.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“It is.”
She couldn’t believe that after all these months she finally had a date ... with Brandon. A tendril of excitement coiled in her belly.
Parting was a little awkward for her, after that. She felt all thumbs, mentally. And she was embarrassed when, before Brandon stood up to leave, he caught the eyes of his waiting friends and gave them a small, pleased nod of affirmation.
At least, she thought it was pleased. Whatever. He’d basically told the other two with a gesture that she’d agreed to go out with him. She didn’t meet their eyes again before they left the bakery.
She was going to have dinner with Brandon.
Cecile would lose it when she heard.
Morgan considered how Cecile would make her move now, on either Ethan or Mark. Morgan frowned at the thought. Didn’t like the idea. Didn’t like it at all.
Her reaction surprised her. She’d made her choice. And yet --
Maybe she wouldn’t tell Cecile about Brandon right away.
One never knew. It might not work out.
Ridiculous. She couldn’t go out with one of his friends if it didn’t work out with him. What was she thinking?
Still, Cecile didn’t need to know everything about her life.
Not yet, anyway.
____________________
She was afraid it would be awkward when Brandon and the others came to the bakery for lunch the next day, so she spent most of the time in the kitchen, sending her excuses to the table with Cecile.
Brandon texted her. “Changed mind about dinner? Avoiding me from fear of indigestion?”
She texted back. “Too early in relationship for you to expect reassurance of your culinary aptitude before I’ve even tasted your cooking.”
His response chimed in. “My ego is the only part of me I’ll never expect you to stroke -- I swear.”
Oh my. The kitchen seemed warmer than normal.
She spoke to him and the others only briefly before they left. Brandon mouthed a “see you tonight” at her. She’d nodded in return.
The rest of the day passed slowly, and Cecile pestered Morgan about acting oddly, as if she had a secret. Morgan told Cecile she was nuts.
Morgan closed the bakery at the usual hour then headed home to shower and change for her evening. She forced herself not to over think her hairstyle, her clothes, her makeup. For the most part, she was successful.
At precisely seven-thirty, she stood outside the address Brandon had given her, a stylish, well-maintained older building, multi-storied. She gave her name at the front desk and the security guard buzzed up to Brandon’s place before showing her to the elevator.
It was a very nice building. The gym Brandon owned with his friends must be doing well if he could afford an apartment on the top floor of this building.
Brandon met her outside the door to his place. He looked more than fine, dressed in an immaculately-cut suit, with an open-necked shirt underneath, giving the impression of combined elegance and ease. His dark hair was rakishly smoothed away from his face.
He smiled when he saw her, and took both her hands in his own before leaning down and giving her a soft kiss on her cheek. He smelled of mint and spicy, masculine cologne. “You’re here. Finally.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her watch. “Am I late?”
“No. I’ve just been wanting this for a long time. And now you’re here. At last. You look absolutely beautiful. That dress is ... wow.”
She returned his smile, couldn’t think of anything to say.
It wasn’t necessary that she speak. He took her purse from her and set it on a table inside the apartment, then he shut the door. He held out an arm to her and she placed her hand on his solid forearm, a question in her gaze.
He led her down the hall, toward a different door. When he held it open for her, she saw it hid a set of stairs going up. She walked up the narrow steps to a landing, then stopped in front of another door.
The roof. It was apparent that’s where they were headed, since Brandon’s apartment was on the top floor. Brandon threw open the door and gestured for Morgan to lead the way. Sure enough, she stepped out onto the roof. And into a fairyland.
Party lights were strung back and forth across a large square of roof, the colored lights emitting a soft glow over the area. Tall, potted tropical plants lined two sides of the space, making the interior space seem like an enclosed jungle grotto that overlooked a sparkling city stretching away into the distance. It was lovely.
And the weather was perfect. Cool, but not too cool. No strong wind, only a light breeze. Morgan had worn a silky dress that clung to her body in all the right spots and had at the last minute added a shawl because of a sudden attack of self-consciousness. Without that shawl, she might have gotten chilly on the roof.
She stepped out onto an indoor-outdoor carpet. In the center of the square sat a single, round table with two chairs. A lone candle in a red glass jar flickered on the cloth-covered surface. Brandon pulled out a chair for her. She sat down.
“This is incredible,” she told him once he’d sat in his own chair. “I’m flattered.”
“It’s not hokey, then?”
“No! Definitely not.”
“I don’t know. I thought it might be cliche. You know, the overdone romantic gesture on the roof of the building thing. I thought maybe something more original would --”
“Even if it’s cliche, it doesn’t follow that it’s not beautiful. I appreciate that you went to so much effort for me.”
“Oh, it wasn’t just me.”
At his words, the door to the roof opened. Ethan and Mark stepped out, both of them dressed as nicely as Brandon, and every bit as handsome, she noted with some chagrin.
Ethan carried a tray with several glasses and a pitcher on it. Mark was bearing a guitar of all things.
“My help,” said Brandon.
Ah, so they’d come to help serve their dinner, Morgan thought. She greeted Ethan and Mark, who took her in like a long-craved treat and she fidgeted under their appreciation. She quickly peeked at Brandon, but he didn’t appear to mind that his friends were scoping her out.
“You look spectacular,” said Ethan, setting his tray down on a nearby stand, then he leaned over her and kissed her cheek the same as Brandon had done.
She murmured her thanks. Then Mark stepped over, also kissed her cheek.
“Gorgeous,” he said softly, before he rose up.
Heat rose on her cheeks.
Brandon didn’t blink at the way his friends’ complimented his date. He leaned forward in his chair. “You do drink, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think to ask before.”
Ethan filled their tumblers with water, set them on the table, then he filled the wine glasses from a bottle of wine that had been cooling in a bucket of ice next to the table.
Morgan sipped the wine and complimented the selection.
Mark thanked her from nearby, confusing her for a moment. Mark had selected the wine. Well. Hmm.
He had pulled out a chair from somewhere and was settling himself down with the guitar. He began playing the instrument with hands that seemed impossibly large to create such a soft, romantic melody. She didn’t recognize the piece, though she recognized his skill.
“Has Mark ever told you that he’s a musician?” asked Brandon.
“No.” Mark had never told her much of anything, what with him being rather mysterious and reserved in general.
“That’s his own composition he’s playing.”
“It’s lovely.”
They listened to Mark play. She noted Ethan leaving the roof, heading down the stairs.
A few minutes later, Ethan rejoined them, carrying another tray, this one covered
with several plates of hors d’oeuvres and a basket of bread.
Morgan and Brandon enjoyed the tasty appetizers, which Ethan said he’d made, and the crusty bread which she recognized as coming from her own bakery. They chatted, listened to Mark’s lovely music, bantered with Ethan whenever he popped back up to remove the plates.
Next, Ethan served up the salads. And after that, the entree Brandon had promised of steaks and potatoes.
Ethan served them with a flourish and a, “Your man food has arrived, milady.”
She grinned and wasn’t certain if he’d intended the double entendre or not.
After Ethan cleared their plates, Brandon asked her if she’d like desert or a dance first. She took off her shawl, chose the dance.
It was lovely and romantic on the roof, being held in Brandon’s powerful arms for the first time, the soothing tones of Mark’s guitar in the background. Brandon wrapped his hands around her waist and he seemed huge to her. She felt utterly feminine with him, and appreciated the hardness of his muscled shoulders under her own hands.
Soon, he pulled her closer, and she pressed her head against his firm chest, wrapped her arms around his neck. One of his hands caressed the bare skin of her upper back, in the open spaces between the crossed straps of her dress. His other hand rested on the small of her back, just there, so close to more.
Having him there, touching her, and her touching him, it was heady stuff. Her heartbeat quickly flew uptempo and her mouth went dry. All those weeks of waiting, wondering which one of these men she might eventually date, be with, do ... possibly everything with. Yes, her imagination had stretched to everything. She was a healthy woman with healthy appetites, after all.
Now she was dancing with Brandon, and it was even better than she imagined. And it being better had nothing to do with Mark watching them while he played his guitar, or with Ethan leaning against the door, waiting for who-knew-what, and following her with half-hooded, sexy eyes.
No. The audience of two other, hot men didn’t add to her growing desire. Surely not.
Okay. Maybe it did. A little.
Take Three, Please (A Menage, Sexy and Short Romance) Page 1
