Edwards, Willa - Midnight Mirage (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Willa Edwards

“If your ankle’s sprained, it will swell up like a balloon if we don’t do anything about it,” Gabe continued at her feet.

  But there wasn’t a chance of that. With how tight her boots were, her ankle didn’t have anywhere to grow.

  “I’m fine, really,” Mallory protested, the rock stars around her still refusing to listen.

  “Where else are you hurt?” Lincoln asked, his voice a deep, husky sound, smooth and rough at the same time, like twenty-five-year-old whiskey. His fingers combed through her hair, exploring her forehead for bumps or bruises.

  Yet even as the logical part of her brain knew his touch was for clinical purposes only, her scalp tingled beneath his contact, zipping with electricity with each minute movement. She loved when people played with her hair, from soft strokes and combing fingers to orgasm-eliciting tugs.

  She tried to slow her heartbeat, the panic still fresh and hot in her blood. The heightened thump pounded in her chest like her own personal aphrodisiac. No matter what they’d said before the incident, they couldn’t seriously want her.

  At her feet, Gabe unzipped her boot in one quick pull, the rip of the zipper screaming in the otherwise quiet air. He delicately pulled her jeans from her boot, careful not to knock or shift her ankle, afraid of causing her any more pain. Wouldn’t their fans be amazed to see how these bona fide rock stars transitioned into such careful nursemaids? It was enough to warm any heart, even in the January chill.

  Gabe’s thumbs flicked up her pant leg, his warm hands smoothing up her calf, pushing the denim away from her injury. All thoughts of the cold outside vanished with his touch. Unexpected heat simmered within her as his gentle fingers massaged away any ache in her tense muscles, more due to wearing stiletto-heeled boots for over an hour on concrete than her fall.

  Mallory looked down to see Gabe’s intense eyes focused upon her. The bright golden color glowed with fire, with a heat and desire that shocked her. She couldn’t be seeing that right. Maybe she had hit her head too hard? His chest had certainly felt hard enough to cause injury. The concerned expression alone had been insane to consider, but interest from a smoking-hot rock star who could get any woman he wanted? Why would he be interested in a klutz like her?

  His lips pinched firmly together in concentration as his fingers worked their way up her leg, no longer focused on her ankle or other possible injuries. Instead his gaze settled on her, pinning her to the lumpy dark gray couch tighter than the talk show host’s French twist outside in the windswept New York night.

  She bit her lip to keep from moaning at the pleasure of it all. The drugging look in his eye overwhelmed her mind. The smooth confident touch of his fingers along her body spiked her temperature another ten degrees. It was probably just concern shining in his eyes, but with the combination of his touch, their previous declaration, and his intimate position before her, her body didn’t recognize it as such. Against her will, her pussy clenched, slick and wanting.

  She’d resolved to have a fling tonight, to get laid before the New Year started. Maybe they were the ones to coax to her bed. Maybe she should consider taking them up on their offer. Two yummy rock stars were more than she’d anticipated, but she was not about to look a gift concrete divot in the mouth.

  Lincoln’s fingers skimmed down her cheeks, turning her head from side to side, testing her neck for trauma. His forefinger traced the outline of her collarbone. A shudder cascaded down her spine at the light touch as he continued his search for further injuries.

  She probably should have told him the only place that hurt was her right knee. From the three dots of rust color collected along her jeans, she must have skinned it in her fall. But their combined touch was so intoxicating, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to prematurely end their search.

  They probably wouldn’t listen even if she tried to tell them to stop. They’d ignored all her other protests. What was the harm in enjoying the moment of being the center of these two talented men’s attention?

  Gabe’s hands shifted, unzipping her other boot and pulling it off her foot with just as much tenderness as the one before. Again, his fingers moved up her foot, circling her ankle, massaging her calf. The urge to protest bubbled back up her throat, more insistent than before.

  She had no injury on the left side of her body. Her right foot had caught, twisted, sprained. There was no reason to even touch her beyond her right side, where they’d already examined.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mallory dropped her eyes to Gabe again, but this time he smiled up at her, as if enjoying her awkwardness.

  “You might be injured and you don’t know. It could be the shock.” His words might have sounded clinical, especially in his smooth accent, but the heat in Gabe’s eyes held a playful glimmer. The same mischievous nature flamed in his gaze that motivated droves of fans to pay seventy-five dollars a ticket just to see what he’d do next.

  Lincoln’s fingers skimmed over her shoulder, her every nerve standing on high alert, desperate for his touch even through her thick leather jacket. Every tiny vibration of his movement against her arm amplified along her entire body. He released a muffled curse when he finally reached her hand, inspecting the red heel and the tiny, sliver-size cuts across its base.

  The irritation in his curse roused her from the haze, like being thrown out into the cold after napping before a fire. She must have scraped it on Gabe’s necklace as she fell. Her wrist throbbed slightly, though she hadn’t noticed before Lincoln mentioned it. It didn’t ache that bad.

  For a moment she considered asking Lincoln what he was so angry about. No one had ever sued over a few scrapes. But before she could say a word, Lincoln rose from his seat beside her, stomping on angry feet toward the back of the bus.

  “What’s…wrong? Did…I…do…something?” Mallory stuttered as Gabe laced his thumbs into her party-hat-covered socks, in honor of the holiday, and stripped them off her feet in seconds. Leaving the sock balls beside her boots, he pulled both her feet into his hands, gently massaging her heels, pushing between her toes. The sensation was so amazing, Mallory almost melted into the couch.

  “No. He’s just like that. Moody artist.” Gabe’s words floated to her from the region of her ankles, but they sounded much further away as the pleasure of his touch absorbed all her other senses.

  “Something more to add to your article, I guess.” That playful tone was back in his voice, surrounded by pleasure, and Mallory laughed along. She wasn’t prone to fits of laugher, but somehow with Gabe, in the otherwise quiet bus, it felt right.

  “What’s so funny?” Lincoln grumbled as his hard feet pounded his return.

  Mallory rolled her head to reply, only to find him standing before her, head ducked like a child trying to give a gift as he held a shiny silver bucket tight to his chest. He plopped the bowl down on the nearby table, the ice tinkling against the sides as she glimpsed the contents of the container. Clear, perfectly formed ice cubes surrounded a very expensive-looking bottle of champagne, a slight cool fog covering the green glass bottle.

  Her heart lurched at the elegant image. They must have had some plans for night, some celebration or party filled with glamorous people and beautiful women. She was pretty sure men didn’t drink champagne on their own, and very few actually brought out silver buckets filled with ice. Most of her ex-boyfriends had been hard-pressed to drink from anything but the carton or liquor bottle.

  Now, because of her stupid stunt, they’d miss the event they’d planned, the gathering with friends or family she longed for as well. Maybe they had made a resolution to get laid tonight too, though she couldn’t imagine they had to work hard at finding women willing to help them with that goal. They could have their pick from the sizable number of women who’d thrown themselves at the duo while they were onstage tonight. Even though she had no idea which women they’d invited into their tour bus, or beds, she was instantly jealous of them.

  Lincoln fished out a handful of ice cubes, piled them in the c
enter of a dark bandana, and tied the black ends of the fabric together. His fingers, cold and damp from playing with the ice, reached out for her. Yet where he gripped her, she felt only heat. Her body reacted to his touch, warming her blood with overpowering lust.

  He placed the bandana on the heel of her hand. She flinched at the cold against her tenderized skin. Her fingers curled toward her palm in some instinctual urge to protect herself.

  “I know it’s cold.” Lincoln attempted to soothe her with his thick whiskey voice, instead setting her heart pounding faster. His rough tone stoked a tingle between her legs, threatening to overcome her common sense. “This will make it feel better.”

  Mallory nodded. Oh, she was feeling better, all right. She was feeling so good he could have placed that ice pack anywhere and she wouldn’t have cared. The soft, smooth stroke of Lincoln’s hot breath caressed her skin, curling around her cheekbones and tickling along her neck. Around her feet, Gabe snaked both his hands up her legs to massage her calves at the same time.

  A small, contented sigh slipped from her lips. Shocked and embarrassed by the sound, Mallory picked her head up only to see Lincoln’s eyes burning, hot and desperate, fixed on her. His nostrils flared like a beast in heat. The expression made her heart pound.

  At her feet she heard Gabe groan, placing his lips on the arch of her right foot to sprinkle the curve with three short kisses. There was no misconstruing that. She never had a nurse kiss her feet before.

  Lincoln leaned forward, his midnight eyes focused on her like a trained missile. Mallory gulped a deep breath, her throat as dry as the night outside. Her body froze as his lips traced over hers, brushing soft and sweet. Her eyes widened, glued open in shock, watching his angular features as they brushed her own. His warm mouth pressed against hers, the kiss arousing and seductive.

  Gabe’s hands moved up her legs, his fingers tracing unintelligible patterns on the sensitive flesh behind her knees. The small touch sent all her nerves into high alert. The dual sensation of the kiss and Gabe’s touch to her calves caused her stomach to flip-flop and a warm shiver to rocket down her spine.

  After only a moment, Lincoln pulled back, leaving a space smaller than an inch between them as his eyes leapt to hers, gauging her reaction. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, though she couldn’t remember placing them there, let alone clutching at him so tight. She forced her grip to relax, releasing the warm, soft cotton of his T-shirt. She’d never been a clingy girl, emotionally or physically, and she was just setting herself up for disaster if she thought she could cling to either of these men, even for a second.

  Her eyes shifted up to Lincoln’s, his gaze dark and hot as a July midnight. His lips were full, enticing, and Mallory had to bite her own lips together to keep from leaning in for his kiss again. The manly taste of him, of whiskey and fire and demand, still clung to her tongue.

  He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, never waning in their dominating inspection. Her stomach somersaulted at the intensity of him focused upon her, waiting for his next touch, his next taste, his next assault.

  “Have you ever had sex with two men at once?”

  Chapter Three

  “No.” Mallory’s large gray eyes looked up at him as if he’d blown a handful of confetti in her face. Lincoln couldn’t believe his question surprised her. After all, that’s what they’d asked her for before. Before a pushy fan wandered into their life, activating their protective instinct, and demanded they claim her now. The need to verify she was still vibrant and alive in their arms overpowered their every other thought.

  They’d intended to seduce her slowly into the idea of being with both of them. Teasing and tempting her until she begged for everything they offered, and more. But seeing her so small and frail, curled up in Gabe’s arms, hurt, activated a protective instinct in him he didn’t even know he had. The last year of waiting for their woman had been hard enough. Now Lincoln needed to claim her. They both did.

  That kiss had been the right way to start. Her kisses were amazing, like three glasses of Dom Pérignon on an empty stomach. Her touch popped and fizzled along his body. Her taste fizzed along his tongue, clouding his mind while at the same time shooting down to sizzle along the length of his cock.

  Her pink tongue escaped her mouth to lick her full, pouty lips that had been a deep scarlet red minutes ago, but had been smudged to a faint tint. He assumed his own lips were just as berry, and he didn’t care.

  Maybe she’d ask to fix her lipstick and they could find more places to smear with color. His dick hardened further with the image of those bright scarlet lips encircling his cock, fastened and pouted as she sucked him in and out of her mouth, the red smudge along his moist, softened length after she’d sucked him dry.

  “Would you like to?” Gabe eyes were bright with interest.

  Lincoln wanted to punch him square in the jaw, like he had the first time he’d suggested this ridiculous arrangement. It had taken them over a year after that incident to actually make it into a bed with the same woman. He was doing it again. Pushing too fast, too hard. He was going to push her away. Lincoln had seen it all happen before. If it ended up costing them this woman, he’d punch him in the jaw again.

  After seeing Mallory for the first time, Lincoln and Gabe had learned everything they could about her. They’d dug up old copies of her magazine, read every article she’d written, studying her fast, funny writing style and keen observations.

  They’d introduced her to other industry contacts, other musicians and celebrities, helping to grow her career and support her ambition. Because that’s what she’d wanted. They watched and waited. Flirted and smiled. All in the hopes that one day they’d have her in their arms.

  That’s before an idiotic fan and a stupid dip in the pavement had almost ruined everything. If Gabe hadn’t been closer, Lincoln would have gladly jumped in front of her to save her from that fall.

  Now she was finally with them, theirs to seduce, to protect, and maybe even love. But if Gabe continued to push, she’d reject them, just like she almost had outside, before the possible terror of their fan or the reality of her fall. Lincoln wasn’t willing to give her up, not that easily.

  This time was different. They didn’t want just a night with this woman, they wanted hundreds of them. If they got Mallory into their bed and it didn’t work out, Lincoln wasn’t sure what he and Gabe would do. They couldn’t bumble around this seduction as they had all the others. There was no room for error this time.

  Lincoln watched the woman beside him closely, waiting for a reaction, but she just stared at them. Her wide eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. Her deep breaths pushed her ample breasts above the low neckline of her golden corset, as if fighting for freedom from the confining wire inlays accentuating her gorgeous hourglass figure. The gold color emphasized the glimmer in her pale skin and dark hair.

  Mallory didn’t reject them. She made no announcements of the impossibility of being with two men. She didn’t stand up and slap them both in disgust, as some women had. As Lincoln held her in his arms, her citrus spice scent filling his nostrils, he knew she was theirs, as true as he’d known their single would be a hit on his first listen, or that Gabe would be his best friend from the moment he’d spied him holding a guitar that was almost taller than him. He just knew.

  “I think we need champagne,” Lincoln announced, staring down at Gabe.

  “Agreed.” Gabe scooted back from Mallory’s legs, easing his hands from her boot-cut pant legs and heading toward the back of the bus.

  “I’m not really a champagne girl,” Mallory called after him, her tone shaky.

  Her hair twirled around them as she turned to speak to Gabe. The silken streamers brushed along Lincoln’s cheek, jaw, and neck. He could even feel the bristle along his right shoulder and bicep through the thin white linen shirt he wore.

  His muscles convulsed at the touch. He could imagine how good her hair would feel against him, trailing back and f
orth along his chest as she rode him, pooling across his lap as she sucked him, tickling his stomach as he pounded into her from behind.

  He’d enjoy having his fingers buried in those long black tresses, massaging her scalp, the green and purple streaks bouncing along his forearms as he directed her where exactly to touch, taste, play.

  “It’s festive.” Lincoln shifted along the lumpy bus couch, stretching out his legs to make contact with the full right side of her body.

  Gabe returned with three glass flutes, setting them on the table beside the silver bucket as he picked up the green bottle. He yanked the top, removing the gold foil with a twist. “Don’t ruin our fun.” He spoke over his shoulder, tossing Mallory a teasing smile.

  Gabe grabbed the thick cork, pressing the bottom of the glass bottle into his body. He winked at Mallory as he turned the neck until the cork released with a pop.

  Beside Lincoln, she flinched at the noise, her shoulders stiff and high. He suppressed the urge to massage those shoulders down to a comfortable level. Not too fast, he coached himself. Don’t push. But that didn’t mean he had to do nothing. He could have a look, just a glance, to see how much slower they had to move, how far they’d already progressed.

  He turned from Gabe’s pouring the light, frothy liquid into the three glasses to meet Mallory’s steel eyes, the same color as the city outside, as the armor she wore to protect herself from the world. His heart pounded and his cock twitched at what he saw in those eyes. A sprinkling of fear dotted her gaze, like the confetti on the Times Square streets, not fear of them, or what might happen, but a fear of what she wanted. Not enough to be scared into leaving, but enough to rouse the dominant in him and set his blood on fire.

  Gabe handed each of them a glass, the bubbles dancing up the clear sides and fizzing along the liquid’s surface. As soon as the glass was in Mallory’s hand, she put the flute to her lips and downed the entire contents in one gulp.

  “Hold on there, love.” Gabe walked back to the table, grasping the green bottle neck, holding it aloft to fill her glass again. “We don’t want you getting faced too early.”