by Gina Kincade
I crank my window about an inch and wait until they’re both standing in front of it before I speak. “Hey.” Yeah, I know. I’m not a great conversationalist at the best of times. This is not the best of times by a long stretch.
“Hey yourself,” the lanky one answers in a lazy drawl, and even though he’s now out of the reach of my headlight beam so I can’t make out his features properly, there’s no mistaking the humor lacing his words. “Looks like you might need a bit of assistance.”
I nod, realizing too late that they probably can’t see my response in the darkened interior. “Yep. I definitely could use some help.” Boy, my woman bits are really making themselves known all of a sudden. There’s a steady throbbing between my legs and a pleasurable ache low down in my belly that I haven’t experienced in a long time. I clear my throat. “I don’t know much about cars, but I braked for that curve back there, and as soon as I took my foot off the accelerator the engine spluttered and died. Thank goodness I managed to steer it over here to the side of the road before it conked out altogether. Um...do you guys know much about cars?”
It annoys me that I sound like a stereotypical female, but the reality is, learning about car engines is not something that will ever be on my to-do list. I’m praying it might be an easy fix. I can’t afford a big repair bill right now.
The muscled one lets out a snort. It sounds like he tried to muffle a laugh but didn’t quite succeed, and my brows come together as I shoot him a look. “We know a bit.” His voice is deeper than the driver’s. There’s a harsh edge to it that intrigues me. Are they local? Have I met them? They seem somewhat familiar.
“You’re not out of gas?” At my negative response the driver nods at his companion, who heads back to their vehicle to retrieve what looks like a tool kit from the trunk. “Pop the lid and we’ll take a look.”
I do as they suggest, and after a few minutes of me sitting in the car staring blankly at my raised engine hood and hearing muffled bangs and mutters coming from somewhere in front of me, the muscled one is back at my window.
“It’s no good. We’re not going to be able to get you going tonight, but we can give you a ride home if you like, and help sort it out in the morning. We’ll probably need to order in a part.”
Home? How do they know...
“It’s Stacey, isn’t it?” Muscle man tips his head to one side as he queries me. “The soap woman.”
The soap woman? I leave that one alone for now and squint into the dark. “Do we know each other... Oh! Are you my new next-door neighbors?”
The relief that floods my whole body has me sagging back against the seat. Until this second, I hadn’t realized how on edge I was at the thought of being completely alone and helpless, if these guys turned out to be untrustworthy.
The taller, slow drawl guy is back too, and right on cue, the moon pops out from behind a cloud so I can see them a lot more clearly. Holy heck, they’re both so good-looking. Two sets of high cheekbones, shadowed eyes, and wide, sensuous lips are revealed under the moon’s silvery light. A double whammy of sex appeal where I least expect to find it. And yet each guy is quite different from the other. The one who got out of the passenger side is definitely heavier-set, with a tough edge lacking in the driver. His strong jaw hints at stubbornness, and those wide shoulders and narrow hips would look perfect at a weight-lifting event. The driver is attractive in a long, lean kind of way. Despite his slighter build and laid back air, he seems like the more commanding of the two. I don’t know why, but I get the impression he’s the one in charge. His darkish hair is ruffled from whatever he did under my car hood, and my fingers itch to reach up and smooth out those wayward locks. As if he senses my desire to touch him, one corner of his mouth lifts in a quirky grin.
“Depends how you look at it,” he answers. “We were there before you, so I guess you’re our new next door neighbor.” I can still hear amusement in his tone so I’m positive he means no offence.
I hesitate, perhaps a moment too long for their liking. The bulkier one reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. “I’m James, and this is Teale Townsend.” He gestures to his friend. “Here’s my driver’s license if you want to check our address.”
He slides the plastic tab into the one inch window gap and I shine my mobile light onto it. James Castell. His photo and the address match, but I don’t really need it at this point. I recognize both of them now, even though the moonlight is still dim. I’ve seen them coming and going, albeit from a distance, between their house on the hill and a large garage built off to one side of their property. Now I understand why James laughed when I queried their car expertise. My guess is these guys run an auto shop. I couldn’t have gotten luckier tonight if I’d won the lotto.
My little cottage is set back from the road and there’s a couple of hundred meters between my place and theirs, but I’ve often watched them out of my kitchen window, wondering if they’re in a personal as well as business relationship. Looking at the ease with which they stand together now, arms lightly touching as they wait for me to gather my bag and keys and open the door, I’m guessing yes. Pity. Why are the sexy ones always off-limits?
My clit hums again at the thought of watching these two go at it. An image of the two of them, sweat-streaked, naked, and rutting hard and fast, pops into my head and my breath hitches in my throat. What is wrong with me? It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, I have to admit. Even before I found my husband in bed with the housekeeper, our relationship had been in decline for months. All in all, it’s probably been over two years since anyone got near my hoo-ha. Maybe I’m just sexually frustrated. I hope they can’t sense it.
I force deep breaths, in and out, trying to get my recalcitrant body back under control, and hand James back his license. “Thank you so much, both of you. I’d love a ride home if it’s not too much trouble.”
Chapter Two
Teale
James and I have been watching her on and off in the four months since she moved here. Not in a creepy way, mind you, but just keeping an eye out for a window of opportunity to head on over and introduce ourselves. So far that opportunity hasn’t arisen. I did make one attempt, about a week after she arrived, when I took across a batch of James’ famous chocolate muffins. Boy, can that man cook. Lucky for me, cos I’d burn water if I tried. Unfortunately, our new neighbor wasn’t home at the time, or maybe she just didn’t want to come to the door. Word around town is that she’s a bit of a recluse. Something bad happened in the city and she came out here to hide away.
Madge at the grocery store on Main Street says Stacey’s not too social when she comes in for supplies. Apparently, she just wants to be left alone to get on with her soap-making business. Hearing that, we didn’t want to encroach on her space so we never actually got around to meeting her in person.
There was something about her, that first day she arrived, that I can’t even put my finger on. I was out in the garage, working on one of our client’s cars, when I felt her presence. I can’t explain it any different than that. She was just there, in our sphere all of a sudden, and something made me stop what I was doing and head on out to have a look. There was a small truck parked in the driveway next door, and a woman in faded jeans and an old grey T-shirt directed two men as they shifted pieces of furniture from the truck into the house. I couldn’t tell from this distance how old she might be, or much of what she looked like. I could see that her hair was somewhere between brown and blonde, and it was shoulder-length and kind of messy. She looked pretty short, too, or else those delivery guys were extra tall. I had to fight the urge to head on over and wrap our new pint-sized neighbor in my arms to protect her. From what? No fucking clue, but this wasn’t a feeling I’d ever had before, and I remember shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable with my overly fanciful thoughts.
About that time, James came out on the porch and we exchanged a look. Yeah. Even from clear across the yard I could tell he had the same protective urge as me. He stood
there a while, looking over toward the previously empty cottage as our new neighbor and her delivery guys toiled in the summer heat. At one point she stopped and raised her head, like a wild animal scenting the breeze, and then she turned and stared our way.
An instant connection flared. Unexplainable, and yet as real as anything I’ve ever felt. Soul-mates. Whatever it was disappeared as fast as it arrived, and then she lifted her hand in a tentative wave. James and I waved back in unison, and that’s when we knew. Whoever this woman was, she was going to play a big part in our lives. At that point we just weren’t quite sure how.
Now that I’ve had the chance to see her up close, meet her properly, the connection is even stronger than it was that first day. She feels it too, I can tell. The scent of her desire fills my nostrils, and it’s all I can do to keep control of my body. My cock is already halfway to hard, and when I glance at James and see the tightness across the front of his jeans, it mirrors my own. Jesus. We’re like horny teenagers who can’t keep our dicks in our pants.
She deserves more than that from us. I don’t know what her story is, but I suspect she hasn’t been treated right in the past. When she clambers into the back seat of my SUV, I glance over my shoulder and realize she’s older than I first thought. Good. I’m not a fan of twenty-somethings who still have plenty of growing up to do. At a guess, I’d say she’s only a couple of years younger than us, which would put her in her mid-thirties. Maybe it’s her tiny frame that made me assume she was younger than that. Stacey’s not classically beautiful, by any stretch, but there’s something about her that mesmerizes me. I don’t know what it is. Her eyes, perhaps? They’re big, and blue, with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a woman. But her eyes reflect sadness, even as she smiles her thanks, and there’s a tightness in the skin around them that hints at contained emotion. Eyes as beautiful as that should never hold grief or stress.
What’s your story, Stacey? Where did you come from? Why are you so sad?
James turns in his seat and they chat while I concentrate on driving. It’s not far, only a few miles, but this stretch of road winds quite a bit with a couple of tight hairpin bends. At night in particular you have to watch out for wombats or kangaroos crossing in front of you. Hit one of those, even with a vehicle as sturdy as mine, and no one comes out unscathed.
Her voice is soft and soothing, and I enjoy eavesdropping on their conversation.
“You called me the soap woman,” she says at one point, and James chuckles.
“That’s what they call you in town.”
“Really? Well, I suppose it’s accurate, in a way. I make my own soaps and body lotions and I sell them, mostly online but sometimes at local markets.”
“Cool. I know where to go for my next lot of family Christmas presents, then.”
“By all means, James.” She laughs and the light sound fills our car, and my heart, with a sense of joy. I could listen to that laugh all night long. “I’ll have to give you both a significant discount after this, won’t I? Thanks again for the ride. I really appreciate it, guys.”
I grunt, wanting in on the conversation. Feeling a hint of jealousy that she’s directing all her attention toward James. “It’s no problem, Stacey. We were on our way home from a catch-up with friends, so it isn’t out of our way at all. We’ll have your car towed in the morning, and get it running again before you know it.”
“Thanks. I got doubly lucky tonight, didn’t I?”
Her words echo into a silence that is suddenly charged with hidden meaning. She coughs as if embarrassed, and leans back in her seat, and none of us speak again until we reach her place. When we pull up in front of the house, Stacey’s security lights come on, illuminating the yard in a blaze of silvery-white brighter even than daylight. What the hell? I hide my grin at her city habits, certain she’s got her door locked and probably dead bolted too. Half the time James and I don’t bother to secure the place at all when we leave home, but I guess that’s a product of us growing up here in Peaceton where everyone knows everyone else’s business. Besides, no one would dare steal from us. They’d risk a pummeling from James.
Stacey slides out of the back seat and I’m not sure whether to follow. Is this the end of our interaction? I’ve hardly said more than a couple of words. It isn’t enough. Not nearly enough. James hesitates too, and I can tell he’s debating whether or not to jump out of the car.
Then she turns back to face us and her shoulders firm as if she’s steadying her nerves. “Teale. James. Would you like to come in for a quick nightcap? Just to say thank you. You know, for the ride.”
The security light is so bright it washes everything silver so I can’t tell if she’s blushing or not. I’m guessing she is by the way her eyelids flick down and up in an embarrassed-looking flutter, and her words tumble out so fast it takes a couple of seconds to process what she’s asking.
This woman makes me want to laugh, and hug her, and fuck her, all at the same time.
James is out of the car before I can even think about formulating a response. Too bad if I decide we should take things slow. He shoots me a look, almost challenging, and after a moment I nod. Yeah man. I get it. You want her. Me too. But no matter what James thinks, I’m going to make damn sure we don’t do anything about it, tonight or any night, unless Stacey wants it too.
As I follow them inside, my hands shake and my stomach does a series of painful flip-flops. I don’t know anything about this woman other than the barest minimum of facts, but I’m absolutely certain about one thing. Somehow, James and I need Stacey Gamble in our lives.
Chapter Three
Stacey
I can’t believe I’ve invited them in. What is wrong with me? They might live next door, but they’re still practically strangers. How is it even possible to be sexually attracted to two men, both at the same time? It isn’t like I have the urge to be with one, and then the other, on different occasions. My mind is filled with images of the two of them, together, like a package deal or something. I have the strangest sense you wouldn’t get Teale without James, or vice versa. You’d get both, and the titillation of that knowledge sends my sexual craving into overdrive.
They’re just so...connected. That’s the only word I can think of when they make themselves comfortable on the adjustable bar chairs at my kitchen bench. I don’t even know why I’m imagining being the meat in a James and Teale sandwich. They’re clearly a couple, and I’m obviously having some kind of deviant breakdown due to anxiety.
A ménage encounter. Why am I obsessing over that idea, for the first time in my life? Why can I not stop wondering what it would be like if one of them laid me out right here on the kitchen counter top and held my legs wide so the other could lean in and taste my hungry sex?
Slick moisture dampens my panties and I turn to the sink to hide my need. I busy myself filling the kettle with water and switch it on to heat up. Can they sense my desire? Can they smell it? Can they see it in my eyes when I take a deep breath and turn to face them once again? “Do you want tea? Coffee? Or something stronger? I have beer if you prefer, or wine?”
A ménage experience isn’t something that’s ever crossed my mind before, but right now it seems to be the only thing I can think about. Yep. My thoughts are making me blush.
James stares hard at me, his gaze intense. He’s the darker of the two in coloring, with tanned skin, brown hair, and the most amazing eyes. They’re brown too, but so dark they border almost on black. The depth in those eyes is quite unreadable and strangely mesmerizing. His silence draws me in, causing my lips to part and my breath to shorten. I want to leap over the bench and kiss him.
Teale swings a little on the swivel chair and breaks the silent spell cast by his partner. He is lighter in color, his brown hair tipped attractively with blonde and his eyes are a smoky grey that change to green and back when I shift my gaze to his. The changing eye color is disconcerting. It is equally as mesmerizing as looking at James, but in a completely different way.
Teale’s gaze somehow demands respect. He’s an intriguing contradiction, both laid back and commanding. His very presence makes me feel infinitely safe and yet, contrarily, in imminent danger of being ravished.
As I study him, a slow, seductive smile transforms his features from severe to sensual, and it takes my breath away. Oh, Teale. When he speaks I’m still so fascinated by the contradictions he presents that it takes time to process what he’s saying. How is it possible to find two such different men equally attractive? What is it about these guys that steers my thoughts in such a decadent direction?
He speaks again and I shake my head. “Um, sorry, what was that?”
Teale’s grin widens. “I said, I’d love a beer, thanks.”
James lets out a grunt. “Me too, if that’s okay?”
I blink, no doubt looking like an idiot. “Fine by me. It’s kind of too late for coffee anyway.” I switch off the kettle and retrieve three beers from the fridge. Might as well join them, I guess. And it gives me a couple more minutes to try and re-compose myself while I get the tops off the bottles. “Cheers, guys.”
We clink and drink, me standing on one side of the kitchen counter, them sitting on the other. I’m not usually a beer person, preferring wine when I do drink alcohol. My ex-husband says beer is for rednecks and toward the end of our relationship he only drank red wine, so there’s a contrary little voice in my head that keeps saying I have to keep a six-pack in the fridge for visitors, just to spite him. He’ll never know, of course, but I know, and it feels like proof that I can now do whatever the hell I want. I’m out from under that bastard’s control, and if I want to drink goddamn beer, I will.
The first sip goes down smoothly, leaving a pleasant yeasty tang on the back of my throat. Yum. Maybe I’ll become a regular beer drinker. A true country gal. I take a bigger sip and choke a little. Okay, maybe not. This time it’s James who smirks. He leans across to wipe a wayward drip of liquid from the edge of my lips and it’s all I can do not to turn my head and suck his thumb deep into my mouth. How do I stop these cravings?
