Tangled Hearts: A Menage Collection

by Various

  “The implications of that …” Cort shook his head. “They stagger me.”

  Vance said, “I was a little farther down that path. But not so far that this wasn’t a shock.”

  There was nothing more to say right then; or rather, too much to say and no way to say it. They sat in silence, listening to the shower run.

  *****

  Alex let the steaming spray pound her body, washing away everything she’d done in the last few hours.

  Almost everything, that was.

  She wanted to blame the men, but that was childish. Her body, her responsibility. Caught up in the haze of lust, she just hadn’t thought.

  And neither had they, apparently, which was the part that left her mystified and—yes—angry. With all their combined experience, surely they were in the habit of not knocking women up.

  Unless they had a bunch of love children scattered around the world that Dayna hadn’t mentioned. At that, she started to cry, sinking down to the shower floor to wrap her arms around her legs, cradling her head on her knees.

  It wasn’t the fact of the children that bothered her, if they existed. It was the thought that the men she’d entrusted her body to were that careless, and she was just another easy fuck.

  She rocked until she was cried out, then forced herself up. Hiding in the shower wasn’t going to solve anything.

  The bathroom was well equipped with plus robes and thick towels. Alex dried herself off gingerly, every move reminding her of a newly tender spot. Here on her inner thighs, where Cort’s jaw, already stubbly that early in the day, had rubbed them; and this spot on her ass, where Vance had nipped her, then kissed the tiny hurt away. Her breasts, still sensitive from their attentions. The leg she’d draped over Cort, its muscles still aware of how long they’d held that unusual position.

  And, of course, the soreness between her legs where Vance had sent her to a thousand paradises, and then filled her with his seed.

  She’d tried counting the days, but she couldn’t remember; her emotions were too turbulent to think clearly. As soon as she got home, she’d check her calendar.

  Her hands trembled as she pulled the robe on and belted it tightly around her. Gathering every shred of self-possession she had, Alex left the bathroom.

  The men were in the sitting area. They stood as soon as they saw her, as if they were in some polite old-fashioned society where gentlemen always rose when a lady entered the room. It almost made her smile.

  They both looked miserable. No, scratch that. Worried. About her well-being, or their own, or the possibility that she might make trouble for them if she turned up pregnant?

  Vance said, “Alexa—” She shook her head. He fell silent, but she saw something she could only call pain flash across his face.

  That brought a pang of guilt, but Alex shoved it aside. She didn’t want to hurt him, or Cort, but she had to take care of herself. They weren’t going to be around, and it wasn’t their job anyway.

  “I think I should go,” she said.

  The depth of emotion she saw roiling in Vance’s eyes then shocked her. She couldn’t decipher most of it, but one thing was very clear: he didn’t want her to leave.

  The clearest emotion on Cort’s face was regret, but he didn’t want her to go either. What did they think? That she was going to stick around for more hanky-panky after this?

  Trust us, Vance had said. We promise we’ll take care of you. But they hadn’t, had they?

  A tiny voice whispered that she was being irrational and unfair, but Alex gave it a good kick and it shut up. Her body, her responsibility, her choice. And she’d have no one but herself to blame if she put herself at further risk.

  “I think my clothes are all downstairs,” she said, pleasantly surprised at how calm she sounded. “I’ll just go down and get them.”

  “Alexa.”

  She couldn’t look at him. If she looked at Vance, he might talk her into anything, because she obviously had no willpower where he was concerned.

  To get to the door, she had to walk right past him. Alex kept her eyes straight ahead, as if neither man were there. He could have touched her as she went by; they were only inches apart. But he didn’t.

  On the landing, she blinked back tears, then went downstairs as briskly as she could. Her clothes were strewn about the living room, torn and crumpled. Alex gathered them up, but there was no way she could wear them home. She’d have to borrow a shirt from the men, at the least, and she was not going back up those stairs.

  Her purse was on the floor by the armchair. Looking around, she spotted her keys on the kitchen counter. Alex went over, picked them up as quietly as she could, and retraced the path to the garage.

  *****

  Vance had always prided himself on his ability to think clearly. He wasn’t a cold-hearted vulture capitalist, but he could make the tough choices that were sometimes necessary to get a company back on its feet. Not letting his vision be clouded by emotion was one of the primary things that made him successful.

  That particular skill, however, had to be lacking altogether where Alexa was concerned. Because right now it felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

  Letting her walk past him was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every instinct, every longing, told him to wrap his arms around her and hold on. Make her listen. Make her understand.

  But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—force her. She had to stay of her own volition, or all the rest was dust and ashes.

  Still, like a fool, he thought she’d at least say goodbye. The sound of the garage door going up had been like a chain-mail fist to his gut.

  He and Cort were still sitting there in their robes. Neither one of them had spoken a word since Alexa left.

  “Why wouldn’t she stay?” Vance said at last. “She didn’t even give us a chance to talk to her, to explain.”

  Cort spread his hands. “What, exactly, would we have explained? That we fucked her without protection as a sign of the high esteem in which we hold her?”

  “Christ.” Vance dropped his head onto his hands. “What a mess.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Vance raised his head. His face was haggard; he seemed to have aged just in the last few minutes. “What can I do?” he said hollowly. “She left. I can’t follow her and drag her back by her hair, tempting as the notion is.”

  “Thinking is usually one of your strong suits,” Cort said.

  Vance snorted in self-disgust. “Not where she’s concerned, apparently.”

  “So don’t think.”

  “What?”

  “If thinking isn’t one of your strong suits where Alexa is concerned,” Cort said patiently, “then what are your strengths with her?”

  Vance shook his head. “I don’t think I have any.”

  “Cut that shit out,” Cort snapped. “This is no time to feel sorry for yourself.”

  The other man jerked as if he’d been slapped. “Thanks for your support.”

  “Do I need to come over there and actually smack you around?”

  Vance’s eyes flashed. “You could try.”

  That’s better, Cort thought. “Why are you sitting here like a sad sack?”

  “Listen—”

  “No, it’s a serious question. I want you to think about it. Why are you reacting this way?”

  “You just got done telling me not to think,” Vance pointed out.

  Cort sighed. “Okay, fair enough. I’m going to give you the answer, but only because you already know it.”

  “Fine.” The heavy dose of sarcasm was unmistakable. “Tell me why.”

  “Because you’re in love with her.”

  Vance blinked.

  Cort bit back the other words crowding his throat and waited.

  It was like watching a ship right itself. It took a few minutes, but at the end of them the color had come back to Vance’s face, his eyes were clear, and the sense of power
that was one of his defining qualities hung about him like a cloak. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I fucking well am in love with her.”

  Cort nodded and fired his next volley. “Thirty years from now, are you going to say to yourself, ‘Thank God I let her walk away’?”

  For a split second his friend looked so anguished that Cort was afraid he’d gone too fast, but then a steely determination took over. “No,” Vance said, with great deliberation. “I fucking well am not going to say that. And now you’re going to ask me, again, what I intend to do about it.”

  “That was the plan,” said Cort.

  “I know the answer to that. So I have a question for you.”

  “All right,” he said cautiously.

  “Are you in or out?”

  Nothing like being hoist by one’s own petard. Cort was silent a long moment. “I forgot the condoms too,” he said at last.

  “I know. It’s why I’m asking. But I won’t have her hurt, Cort. If I’m going to go make a fool of myself over a woman I’ve known less than forty-eight hours, then I am damn well going to protect her. Even from you, if it comes to that.”

  “I understand.”

  Vance rose. “This is your only window of opportunity,” he said quietly. “No bouncing in and out of her life, letting her care about you and then going off and fucking other women. If you’re in, you’re in; if you’re out, you’re out. No in between.”

  He left to get dressed. Cort stayed where he was. What would he be thinking thirty years from now? That was the real question.

  Would he be congratulating himself for walking away? Or cursing himself for the biggest fool in history?

  The doorbell rang.

  He jolted. Could it be-? “I’ll get it,” he called, and hurried down the stairs. No one else had any reason to be here, but maybe it was a neighbor kid looking for a baseball or something. Still, hope danced a wild beat in his chest as he flung the door open.

  “Vance Harper?”

  Cort blinked at the group of men standing there. “No,” he said.

  “I’m Detective O’Connor with the Dalton Police Department,” one of them said. “What is your name, sir?”

  “I’m Cort McCall. What the hell is going on?” Three of the men pushed past him into the foyer. “You can’t just come in here.”

  Without warning, two men grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back, and then the cold steel of handcuffs clicked around his wrists. “Mr. McCall, I have a warrant for your arrest and a warrant to search these premises. Is Mr. Harper at home?”

  His first wild instinct was to yell at Vance to run, but Cort knew better. “What’s the charge?” he said coldly.

  “Murder in the first degree.”

  *****

  Alex was grateful that the sun was low in the sky, and that most of her neighbors worked regular hours. It made her feel a little less ridiculous sneaking into her apartment in a bathrobe.

  She’d held it together on the drive here. But now that she was home, her defenses started to crumble. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry.

  Maybe she was entitled to have just a little bit of a pity party, though. So she compromised. On went her oldest flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Her ruined clothes she tucked away in her closet; she couldn’t look at them right now. The robe, though, she’d have to wash and return, so it went in the clothes hamper next to her stackable washer and dryer.

  Then she curled up on the couch with a pint of butter pecan ice cream and clicked through her movie options. Something with lots of action would be good. Nothing too sad. Definitely no romance.

  She made a selection and started the film, but it was hard to pay attention. Her eyes kept drifting around the apartment, noticing how empty it seemed. Some plants would cheer things up, though Alex had too much of a brown thumb for most of them to survive. Maybe she could get a dog. Or a cat, that might be better.

  Cats were very self-sufficient.

  It wasn’t until the film went blurry that Alex realized she was crying again. Sniffling, she wiped the tears away, but they wouldn’t stop. Finally, she set the ice cream down, wrapped her afghan around herself, and stopped fighting it. Just one more good cry, and then the pity party would be over and she’d get her life back in order.

  Two hours later, Alex woke exhausted. The ice cream had melted; with more than a bit of regret, she poured it down the sink and rinsed the container out. Once the television was off, and her cell phone in Do Not Disturb mode for good measure, she crawled into bed.

  She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  *****

  Vance and Cort were out on bail the same night. The police had arrested them at the end of the business day, and then stalled on processing them into the system. But they called their personal attorneys before they left the townhouse, who put enough pressure on to get them a bail hearing.

  The DA, who was trying their case personally, pointed out their substantial personal fortunes and web of international contacts in arguing for ridiculously high bail, or none at all. The judge, one Honorable Marian Harmon, knocked him down a peg by setting bail at a quite reasonable (by comparison) two million each.

  Their personal attorneys each advised them not to use the same defense attorney, which Vance and Cort ignored. Marshall Daley was a big-name hotshot with a stellar record. They could afford his incredibly high fees, but it still pissed them off on principle.

  Nothing like having to defend yourself against bogus charges to put a guy in a bad mood.

  Daley flew out immediately, and they had their first meeting with him late that night. “It’s a circumstantial case,” he told them. “There’s no direct physical evidence linking you to the crime. The only obstacle to getting the charges dismissed is that you don’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  The men exchanged glances. “When do they think the murder took place?” Vance asked.

  “Eleven a.m. this morning.” Daley looked at his clients, who had developed a sudden aversion to making eye contact, and narrowed his eyes. “Anything you gentlemen would like to share that you haven’t already?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  Daley glowered at them. “And you don’t have an alibi for, say, anytime between eight a.m. and two p.m. today.”

  They both started to speak at once, then stopped. “No,” Cort said after a brief hesitation.

  “No,” Vance echoed.

  Their attorney drummed his thick fingers on the desk in his rented office. “You boys want to tell me why you’re paying me a hell of a lot of money—even by your standards—to come out here and listen to your bullshit?”

  “Excuse me?” Vance said coolly.

  “You think I fell off the turnip truck yesterday? I know when a client is lying to me, by commission or omission, and you’re doing both.”

  Vance steepled his fingers and fixed the attorney with a piercing stare. “We are paying you,” he said softly, “to poke holes in an entirely circumstantial case. In the complete and utter absence of an alibi. We were led to believe that was well within your capabilities, but if not we can hire someone else.”

  Daley leaned back in his chair and studied the pair. They were some pretty cool customers; Murder One was nothing to sneeze at, even with a thin case. Men had been convicted on less before.

  He’d read their arrest reports, too. One man in his bathrobe, the other just getting dressed, sheets stripped from a single bed and tossed in the laundry. “You know we’re living in the twenty-first century, right?”

  They glanced at each other—ah, they were making eye contact again—and then the dark one, Harper, gave him a “go on” gesture.

  “I mean to say that nobody cares anymore what two people do in their private lives.”

  This time their nonverbal communication was swifter, almost alarmed. “Why don’t you just come right out and tell us what you mean, Mr. Daley?” Vance said.

  The attorney rubbed the back of his neck. His
circumspection had been mostly for their benefit anyway. “If the two of you are more than friends, it’s nothing to hide and no reason to screw up your defense.”

  His clients hid it well, but Daley was a skilled observer of human behavior. Their first reaction was a flicker of surprise. Not gay, then, which fit with what was known about them.

  Their primary emotion, though, was relief.

  When they’d gone, he called in his head researcher. “They’re protecting someone—a woman. Left before the cops got there. Find her.”

  *****

  Alex awoke to leaden skies; more rain was on the way. That fit her mood. She couldn’t remember her dreams, but they’d been dark and foreboding, full of some unspecified danger.

  Determined to shake it off, she decided getting back to her normal routine would help, so she started her coffeemaker and took a shower. Even that wasn’t safe. As soon as the spray hit her body, she was flooded with sensual memories.

  Longing swamped her, a physical need so strong it made her gasp. Cutting the shower short, Alex stumbled out and threw on some sweats, then went to the kitchen. Pouring herself an extra-large mug of coffee, she sat down at the tiny table tucked against one wall.

  She missed them. Not just their touch, though she suspected she’d crave that for the rest of her life. She missed their smiles, their teasing, their intensity.

  Vance’s face when he was annoyed with her. The way Cort could somehow be still and centered when he was in motion, and radiate energy when he was still. The way she’d felt so safe and protected in their arms. So cherished.

  No one else had ever made Alex feel special. With them, she’d had a glimpse of the woman she could be: brave, strong, caring. Confident in every way.

  Before she said yes to her men, to the ecstasy they’d brought her, she’d voiced her fears. Now they’d come true. She’d known the risks, and chosen them freely.

  The one thing she hadn’t counted on was falling in love.

  Alex pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to block the tears that threatened. The best thing she could do, going forward, was try to become the woman she’d been with Vance and Cort. It would honor the best parts of their time together, all the good, true things.