by Meg Watson
I could feel Lyle and Owen on either side of me as precisely as if I was looking at them. The way that they each folded their arms across their chests in nearly identical gestures, the way that they tilted their heads toward the announcer as he explained the rules of the trivia match. I admit my heart was racing slightly. Being flanked by these two charismatic, athletic, confident he-men was absolutely thrilling.
The first rounds of questions were simple and easily answered by almost anyone in the room. Owen and Lyle seemed to consider it their own kind of sub-competition as to who could reach out and smack the brass bell first to answer, though. The announcer would barely finish the subject line of the question before one or the other's tuxedo sleeve would shoot out in front of me so fast it caused a little puff of air to blast across my cleavage.
“Dwight D. Eisenhower!”
“The Roman aqueducts!”
“PV=NRT!”
Each round went so fast it practically made my head spin, but I did manage to press the bell a couple of times and call out my answers when I was absolutely sure that I knew the right one. I could feel the Jack brothers’ approval bathing me like a warm glow and I started to really enjoy that. I could almost see myself through their eyes: taller, curvier, sexier, and smarter than I probably had ever been.
Maybe this really is me.
Well, maybe I can fake it long enough to convince myself anyway.
Finally, in the second to last round our outstanding lead had been whittled away to just two points when another table got a series of simple questions that they immediately knew. They shot ahead of us, and suddenly we were behind.
I squinted across the dark room and recognized the familiar back of Carl's stupid head. Then a hand waved out from behind it and Whitney leaned back laughing at some joke that I couldn't hear from where I was. It was them? That was the team that was going to beat us?
“Category: religion. One point. Question: what painter’s intricate tableaus have been said to have shaped modern thought about the geography and tortures of Hell?”
The bell rang on the other table and Whitney bolted upright, calling out, “Francis Bacon!”
“NO!"
I shot out of my chair so fast that it tipped over behind me. The announcer glanced at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Francis Bacon is, I'm sorry, incorrect... The question goes to the challenger to my right. Do you have a counter-answer?”
"The answer is… Hieronymus Bosch,” I called out in a cold, confident voice.
“Yes!” the announcer boomed into the microphone. “Two points for the Misters Jack and their alluring companion!”
I felt myself panting as I knuckled the tablecloth, glaring at Whitney from across the room until she crumpled back into her seat. I stood for a moment more before lowering myself back into my chair. Lyle leaned across the table toward me and turned his head conspiratorially to whisper in my ear.
“Oh ho ho, that must've been embarrassing for her. Are you two friends?”
“We know each other,” I said in a controlled growl.
“That sounds like it must be quite a story,” he continued.
“There's nothing to tell," I said with a wave of my fingertips. “She's a real estate agent. My boy — er, a friend bought a condo from her.”
Lyle pushed himself back, raising his eyebrows at the same time. His eyes sparkled in the low light.
“A real estate agent? That's an interesting way of putting it.”
I shook my head slightly. What was so interesting about being a real estate agent? Lyle plucked the crystal luminary off the table top and held it up next to his face so that the light glittered across his strong, chiseled features. The sight was enchanting, I had to admit, but I still didn't get it.
Out of habit I racked my brain for clues as though he was playing some kind of game of charades. Luminary? Lantern? Glow? Cylinder? Candle? Avery hotel and spa ostentatious light show?
Avery hotel… Avery… Whitney Fucking Avery.
Oh my God.
“I guess I don't really know anything about her at all, come to think of it," I said bitterly, unable to keep the brittle tone from my voice.
Lyle glanced away toward the announcer as though the conversation had been completed. I continued to stew over the details.
“Lyle, pay attention,” Owen snapped. “Final question and we are still down by one.”
I pushed Whitney out of my mind and focused on the announcer. If we were down by one that meant that she was ahead by one, and there was no way I was letting that bitch take anything else from me today.
The announcer cleared his throat.
“The final question is worth three points. Category: rare medical conditions. Question: what renal disease is characterized by a purple -"
My hand shot out so fast it was like a cobra strike, mashing the bell hard with my palm.
Owen gave a low whistle. I spun in my chair to face him.
“Do you know it?”
“What? Don't you know it?” he said with a shocked expression.
I whirled to face Lyle.
“You know it. I know you do. Answer the question,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
Lyle's mouth opened slightly and he looked at me, aghast.
“Brienne, he didn't even finish asking the question…”
"You. Know. It,” I said again in a growl.
“Three seconds, team,” the announcer called out.
Lyle splayed his fingers on the table top and rose slowly, working his jaw with his brow knitted beautifully together. I had absolutely no doubt in my mind.
“The answer is,” he called out clearly with just a hint of waver in his voice, “porphyria."
"Yes!" The announcer called. “Porphyria is the correct answer! And we have our winning team - the Misters Jack, in their inaugural win!”
"Well, he didn't have to point that part out,” Owen grumbled as he stood, raising a hand to wave to the applauding crowd.
I rose as well, breathing in the sound of the applause and the simultaneous sound of Whitney and Carl's defeat like it was a sweet summer breeze that filled my lungs with joy.
Lyle leaned toward me as the cheering continued to fill the room.
“That was a hell of a risk you took there,” he growled, but I could tell he was thrilled by the way his nostrils flared and the avid gleam in his eye.
“I just wanted to make sure we got there first,” I said regally, even though my heart was pounding in my ears. I knew it could have all gone wrong, and the impact of what I had just risked was starting to sink in. I could have dismantled my entire night's effort right there. But I didn't.
“Outstanding!" Owen crowed. “That was a really ballsy move!”
You think that was ballsy?
As the applause died away I hooked my hands inside each brother's strong arm, giving their biceps a firm, lingering squeeze. Then I slid my hands down their arms and dragged them behind me so that each brother could embrace my waist. I leaned my head back and gazed up at Owen with heavy-lidded eyes, allowing the thick buzz from the champagne to fully show on my face.
Owen smiled at me cautiously as though he was waiting to make sure that I realized just how energetically I was throwing myself at him. But I definitely knew.
And Lyle seemed to know too. I rolled my head toward him and lavished him with the same unabashedly flirty smile. He didn't wait at all, but leaned in swiftly to dip his head behind my ear and kissed me at the seam of my neck and shoulder, lighting off a series of sparks just under my skin.
“Is that all right?” Owen murmured from my other side. Their politeness was a contradiction: how could these two be so brazen and so boyscout at the same time?
“It’s more than all right,” I purred. I felt like a movie star. I could sense everyone’s eyes turning toward us as we basked in our victory.
“You’re sure?” Lyle asked. He pivoted slightly, dragging his hip across mine. I could feel the hard bulge in h
is trousers against my thigh. My mouth felt thick and dry.
Go ahead, say yes. You earned this.
Say it.
CHAPTER 10
I flipped both taps on full blast in the lavish gold and white bathroom and dug frantically to my small handbag for my cell phone.
“Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!”
“No!” she said as soon as the call connected.
I flinched. “What you mean, no?”
I heard Melita hiss through her teeth.
“Well, I assume that you're calling me to ask me for a ride home because you are fixin' to chicken right the fuck out. Am I right?”
“Sort of? Melita —”
“Then, the answer is still no.”
“Melita," I whispered right into the cell phone microphone with my hand cupped around my mouth, “I am in their hotel room!"
A pause.
“They? As in, both of them?”
“Oh my God!” I moaned. I stared at my face in the enormous mirror, trying to see if I looked as crazy as I felt. But no, I had to admit I actually still looked pretty great. It's amazing how appearances can deceive.
“Well, that does change things.”
“Thank you! I can be downstairs in five minutes…”
“No, girl, I mean grab me some of those oatmeal soaps they got there in the bathroom. I love those things!”
“Melita!” I whined as loudly as I could without risking the Jacks hearing me in the next room.
“Brienne, you are bringing new meaning to the phrase ‘getting right back on the horse.’”
I shook my head, knuckling my forehead. How did I get here? Being with them was like a drug. I was not myself. The whole thing had been my idea, and I loved the way Owen’s eyes lit up when I coyly suggested we get a private room to continue talking.
As we strolled down the hallways together I felt pleasantly tipsy, but when Lyle smirked and opened the penthouse door with the key card he produced from his tuxedo breast pocket, suddenly I was as sober as I ever had been in my life. What had I just talked myself into?
Excusing myself to the bathroom to freshen up or whatever it is ladies are supposed to do in the bathroom, I honestly thought making a getaway was a possibility. But then again, I had to admit I was curious about the experiences that lay just behind that door.
“Just tell me one thing,” she said. “Are you absolutely sure this is something you don't want to do?”
"Well… No," I said, the truth of the word ringing in my ears.
"Well, good, because I couldn't come get you anyway.”
“What are you — oh my gosh, are you still with the cowboy?”
“Like a bronco buster!”
“Um, okay, wow.”
“Yeah, wow is right,” she agreed breathlessly.
"Does that mean your date was a success?” I asked as I slowly turned off one of the taps with trembling fingers.
I could hear the excitement in her rushed words. “Let me just ask you: do you believe in love at first sight?”
I stood up straight in the bathroom. Do I? I was not sure I believed in love at all anymore. But I couldn't say that.
“Hmm — I totally think that's possible,” I lied.
“Oh my gosh, Brienne, I am so glad to hear you say that. It's like… It's like a goddamn country song is what it's like. He opens doors for me and says ma'am like a proper cowboy and everything!”
I swallowed hard. “Melita, that is so awesome —”
“Oh, girl, I gotta go!”
My eyes burned like I wanted to cry. What was wrong with me?
“Go go go!”
“Okay love you bye!” she said in a loud whisper.
And the call disconnected. I was left standing there with one tap still running in the cold, echoing bathroom. What was I going to do?
You could go in there and admit this was all a big mistake. You got carried away. You’re not the woman they think you are. You’re just Brienne.
But as soon as I crossed the threshold back into the other room I turned on like a light. Owen and Lyle both froze in mid-gesture and swiveled their heads toward me as I swished my satin dress a few steps toward the small, reflective table and dropped my handbag on it. The way they looked at me, it was so easy to slide right back into the role I had been playing all day. I felt a million times better than I had just moments ago, and all that doubt and fear seemed to evaporate.
“Thirsty?" Owen purred as his eyes swept me like a searchlight from top to bottom and shoulder to shoulder.
“I would love some water, thank you."
“You were really magnificent tonight,” Lyle said. “I am certainly glad you were on our team. You would have crushed us if we had been competing against you."
I shrugged just one shoulder, delighting in the way his eyes hungrily tracked that movement. They really didn’t hold back. Then again, they probably had never been turned down in their lives, for anything.
“Well, those questions weren't really that difficult. A couple of obscure ones, but they just happened to be things I knew. Nothing extraordinary about it.”
Owen handed me a fluted goblet filled with cool water. One side of his mouth was drawn up in an amused grin.
“Extraordinary people always say that.”
"Say what?” I said, sipping at the water gratefully. I could feel the cool, slightly sweet tendrils of it snaking through my torso and landing in my stomach.
“Right. The Dunning-Kruger Effect strikes again,” Lyle nodded with a chuckle.
"Oh, like how incompetent people think they're awesome and competent people always think they’ve failed?”
“Exactly. Your modesty is part of how brilliant you are.”
Brilliant. That’s me. Yup.
“Well then, what about you two? You seem pretty confident that you are at the top of everything,” I countered.
Lyle shrugged. “Well I suppose we are extraordinary in the way that ordinary rules of extraordinariness don't apply to us.”
I rolled my eyes theatrically.
“Ah yes, of course. How could I have assumed otherwise?”
“I would wager that you have never experienced anything like us,” Owen said in a close murmur as he slipped behind me, his breath tracing a line across my shoulder and the nape of my neck.
My body shivered deliciously. Owen stood at my back and I kept my eyes on Lyle who had dropped his smirk and was staring at me brazenly, his aquamarine eyes alight.
“You're probably right about that,” I agreed tentatively, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Would you like to?”
I shivered again. Though I knew what he meant, I wanted to hear it out loud. I wanted to hear the words in the room. I wanted proof that he wanted me. That they both wanted me.
Lyle left his seat by the window and crossed the low, textured carpet. His shirt had the top two buttons undone and his bowtie dangled, unknotted. He moved slowly and smoothly with a rolling gait, like a cat. I kept my eyes fixed on his.
“Would you?”
“Would I — what?” I whispered hoarsely.
Lyle smiled vaguely as his eyes traced the outline of my mouth. I watched his lips part and the shiny pink rim of the border of the interior of his mouth.
“Would you like to experience… Us?”
Get ready, bombshell.
“Yes,” I said, my voice ringing out clear and strong in the room.
So fast I barely knew it was happening, Lyle covered the distance between us with a single step, his hands rising to encircle my neck, his thumbs under my jaw, lifting my face toward him. At the same time, Owen came up behind me hard, aligning his body with mine and wrapping his hands around my waist, holding me.
Lyle's lips burnt against mine. He kissed me like he was hungry for me. Holding nothing back, he growled against my tongue, biting me lightly, sucking my tongue into his mouth while his brother bit against the back of my neck and pulled my hips hard against his pelvis.
&n
bsp; I heard the zipper of my dress rolling swiftly down and hands were sliding the fabric off me. It fell to the floor with a sultry whoosh along with my strapless bra and then suddenly my arms were up, pinned over my head.
Lyle left me gasping as he broke the kiss and stood back. I opened my eyes in alarm, standing there with my arms raised like a real life version of the painting Birth of Venus. I wanted to reflexively cover myself but couldn’t move.
“Yes,” Lyle growled in a slow, throaty moan. “Get her panties, Owen.”
I flinched slightly, unsure if I was ready to be completely exposed.
“Don't do that," Lyle shook his head urgently. “Let me look at you. You’re gorgeous, Brienne. Let me see."
I set my jaw and took a deep breath, keeping my hands over my head as Owen dropped his to my sides, tracing a line from the outside of my breasts to my waist. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic band of my panties and dragged them swiftly over my hips and down to the floor. One by one I raised my feet so he could unhook the panties from my ankles and toss them away.
Lyle appraised to be like a predator looking over his prey. His eyes darted hungrily over every inch of me, circling my nipples and crisscrossing over my wide, full belly.
This is you. You can do this.
I refused to move. I posed like the Botticelli and let him see all of me.
Behind me, I heard the sound of Owen snapping his buttons open one by one. His trousers dropped on top of my crumpled dress.
Lyle's eyes half closed and his features thickened. His lips opened slightly as his fingers found the remaining buttons of his tuxedo shirt and undid them one by one while his gaze never left my skin. I crackled and buzzed all over, like an electric current was running over my entire body.
The wait was excruciating. I refused to falter. As Lyle opened his shirt I took that as an invitation to inspect him the same way that he had inspected me. His skin was smooth and undulated with the shape of the thick muscles beneath it. I watched his strong, manly fingers as they manipulated the buttons and then peeled the white cotton from his torso and dropped it on the sofa.
He cocked his head at me as his hands lingered on the closure of his trousers and a hungry grin opened his mouth. Silently he unfastened his pants and took them off, releasing a thick, substantial cock that was already half hard and eager.
