Smooth Operators [Clandestine Affairs 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Zara Chase

  “Hi, Greg. What brings you out this way?”

  “I had business in town, so I figured I’d make a quick detour and see how things were going.”

  Briana didn’t believe him. He worked out of Glasgow, which was nineteen miles drive from Fort Peck. She was five miles the other side of town. Arborfield Lodge was only accessible on very narrow roads—not much more than dirt tracks in places. For Briana, the inaccessibility of the place only added to its charm, unless she needed supplies delivered, of course. She glanced out the door at Greg’s brand-new SUV, now splattered in mud, which reinforced her suspicions about her college sweetheart’s impromptu visit.

  “It’s slow going, but I’ll get there.”

  When Greg gave her body a quick once-over, Briana tried to see herself through his eyes. Plaster was splattered all over her clothes, and probably over her face, too. Talk about chalk and cheese. She flipped her long, red braid over her shoulder and withstood his scrutiny without blinking. Was he expecting her to offer him tea or something?

  “I didn’t know you were replacing the roof tiles,” he said, glancing at the unwelcome and inconveniently located pallet.

  “I’m not. There was a mix-up.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that.” But he didn’t look the slightest bit sorry.

  “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

  “I thought you said Ben and Joe were going to fix your roof timbers for you this weekend on their own time.”

  “Obviously, I shall have to rearrange.” She turned back to the wall she’d been fixing and pointedly picked up her plaster tray. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I don’t want to have to mix up more plaster, and it’ll dry out if I’m not careful.”

  “Sure, babe.” But he still lingered. “Actually, I wondered if you were free for dinner. I haven’t seen a lot of you since you got back.”

  “Sorry, Greg. I’m gonna have to take a rain check.”

  He didn’t look pleased, which again made Briana wonder why he was being so persistent. He could have just about any woman he wanted, and, from what her gran had told her when she was still alive, he’d spread his favors liberally around the local female population—married or otherwise. Why he was so intent upon pursuing her, she couldn’t have said. They’d gotten along fine in school, but she was a very different person now and couldn’t see that they had anything in common. He certainly didn’t light her fire.

  “All work and no play—”

  Max reappeared and a threating growl rumbled in his throat when he saw Greg. Briana didn’t understand it. Max was the friendliest dog on God’s earth, but for some inexplicable reason he’d taken a dislike to Greg. The feeling appeared to be mutual, and Greg backed a hasty retreat toward his car.

  “I’ll give you a call,” he said. “And next time I won’t take no for an answer. If there’s anything I can do to help you in the meantime, just say the word.”

  “Thanks, Greg, I might just do that.”

  But she wouldn’t. She had no idea why she was rejecting his frequent offers of assistance. Sometimes she was too independent for her own good. With a deep sigh, Briana returned to her plastering.

  * * * *

  “You sure this is the place?” Fergal asked from behind the wheel of his truck. “Seems pretty remote.”

  “It’s the place,” Harley replied from the passenger seat, where he had a map of the area stretched across his lap.

  “You could switch the GPS on,” said Gus’s voice from the backseat.

  “Thought you were asleep,” Harley said, glancing over his shoulder at Gus’s prostrate body and catching his lazy smile.

  “What, with you two gabbing away like old women?” He expelled a long-suffering sigh. “Call yourselves elite forces. You guys couldn’t navigate your way out of a paper bag.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Fergal said amiably, shooting Gus the finger. “I think this is the turning. Shit!” Fergal swerved to avoid an SUV coming at speed from the opposite direction. The driver leaned on his horn, forcing Fergal to pull over into a ravine. “Holy fuck, who does that guy think he is?”

  The other driver slowed to take a good look at Fergal and Harley. Gus didn’t even bother to sit up to see what the fuss was about. Fergal lowered his window, ready to tear the guy off a strip, but he gunned his engine and disappeared in a spray of gravel and exhaust smoke.

  Fergal drove on for another mile, enjoying the serenity of the countryside in late spring. He noticed wildflowers growing along the verge, and the only sound, apart from the noise of their engine, was that of birds’ mating calls. Then they turned another corner and were looking right down at the lake. The water shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, a dozen different shades of turquoise reflected in its torpid surface, and he could see wading birds paddling about in the shallows.

  “That’s quite a view,” Harley said. “Almost worth the uncomfortable ride.”

  “I’ll say,” Fergal agreed, pulling over and cutting the engine. “Apparently it’s the fifth largest artificial lake in the States.”

  “What’s happening?” Gus sat up and pressed his face to the window. “Shit, that’s real tranquil. Must be some pretty good fishing to be had.”

  “I read up on it,” Harley said. “They got walleye, pike, Chinook salmon, and pallid sturgeons, and a whole load of other marine life swimming about down there.”

  “A good place for our client to start a B and B, what with her place being away from the town,” Fergal said, restarting the engine. “People can come here to commune with nature and all that shit.”

  They followed the dirt track skirting the lake for another half mile and came to a side turning with a handmade sign advertising Arborfield Lodge.

  “That’s us,” Fergal said, turning into the unmade drive that made the track they’d just been on seem like a major highway by comparison. “Shit, these potholes would rip out the exhaust on an ordinary car.”

  “No one has ordinary cars out here,” Gus replied.

  The driveway led them to what was obviously the back of a log cabin. A very large log cabin that looked as if it had been there for a long time. It had definitely seen better days. They followed the driveway around to the front of the horseshoe-shaped building, one wing of which had its roof covered with tarpaulins.

  “I like it,” Fergal said.

  “Me, too.” Harley and Fergal turn to look at Gus askance. He made it a rule never to agree with anything either of them said. “Hey, I’m not a complete moron. I can see through all the work that needs to be done. This place will be real cool once it’s fixed up.”

  There was a pallet of what appeared to be roofing slates right outside the door to the lodge. Fergal pulled up alongside it and cut the engine. The lake was real close, just a hundred yards or so in front of the lodge, down a gentle incline. There was a weathered dock that presumably belonged to the lodge but no boats attached to it. A scruffy dog came loping up to them, barking its head off and wagging its tail in lopsided circles.

  “Hey, fella, what’s up?” Fergal scratched his ears. “You the only person home?”

  “Nope, I’m here.”

  They all looked in the direction of the voice that came from the front door of the lodge. A tall woman with bright-red hair in a long braid and with plaster all over her clothing and face stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. And what hips they were, too. The rest of her wasn’t too shabby, either. Just as Gus could see through the work that needed to be done to the lodge, so Fergal could see through the woman’s loose clothing to all the enticing curves beneath it. She had deep-green eyes, a cute turned-up nose, and delicate features that complimented one another, freckles and plaster splatters notwithstanding.

  Something stirred deep inside Fergal as they traded glances—something more profound than mere lust or attraction—something that had lain dormant for way too long.

  “Something I can do for you gentlemen?” she asked.

  Chapter Three

  “Now what?”
>
  Briana was pissed when she heard an engine approaching, figuring it had to be Greg returning to try and change her mind about dinner. She was so far off the beaten track that no one came here by accident. What was it about Greg anyway? Hadn’t he heard of telephones? She didn’t want to be bad friends with him, but she could do without the interruption. She could pretend to be out, she supposed, but he’d know she wasn’t because her car was outside. With an irritated sigh, she put down her plaster tray and went to the front door.

  What she saw there stopped her dead in her tracks. Three strangers had just climbed out of a truck and were focusing devastating smiles on her. The sight of all that masculine vitality—bulging muscles and hard, taut bodies—sent her stomach into free fall and, goddamn it, made her juices flow. It had been a while.

  She moistened her lips and tried to speak, but her voice sounded like Minnie Mouse on steroids. She cleared her throat and tried again.

  “Are you lost?” she asked.

  “We heard there was a B and B someplace around here,” one guy answered. “We’re looking for a weekend’s fishing.”

  “You’re a year too early,” she replied. Please come back when I’m open.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” said the second guy. “We don’t mind roughing it.”

  “I’m sorry, but…”

  Briana’s words trailed off, and a fulminating anger kicked aside the lustful thoughts that had slipped past her guard. These guys hadn’t come upon her place by chance. No way! Besides, how would strangers know she was thinking of opening a B and B sometime before she died of old age? They’d been sent here by someone to check up on her, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who that someone had to be. Despite their casual clothes and long hair, the way they moved with precision and authority like a well-oiled machine screamed of the military.

  “My father sent you,” she said through tightly gritted teeth.

  “Busted!” the third guy said with a killer grin. “You must be Briana.”

  “And you gentlemen must be leaving.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and glowered at them. “I don’t know why my dad thought I needed anyone to hold my hand, but I can assure you I don’t.”

  The first guy stepped forward, and she expected him to argue the toss. Given the state of the place when seen through a stranger’s eyes, she couldn’t altogether blame him if he did. Even so, she’d give him a piece of her mind if he dared to try it.

  He didn’t.

  Instead he stuck out a large hand, and she instinctively took it. As soon as his long fingers curled around her palm, she regretted doing so. A disturbing thrill jolted her body as the warmth from his hand transferred itself to her entire body, creating a bewildering paradox of pleasure and longing to thrump deep within her core.

  “I’m Fergal Stanton,” he said, still trapping her hand inside his. “This here is Harley Osborne.” The guy with light-brown hair and turquoise eyes waved to her. “And last but not least we have Gus Dalton.”

  “Hey there,” Gus said, his dark-blond hair lifting in the breeze, soft gray eyes sparkling with something she couldn’t quite identify as they regarded her. “Nice meeting you.”

  Briana snatched her hand back. “Nice meeting you all as well, but as you can see, I don’t have anywhere to put guests right now. So, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “I have a suggestion to make,” Fergal said. “Your daddy’s real worried about you, and he sent us to check you’re all right.”

  “Well, you’ve seen me and you can tell him that I’m just peachy.”

  “No, you’re not,” Fergal said softly.

  “Who the hell?” How could they possibly know things weren’t going as planned? “Ah, now I get it. Seth and Maurice. I might have known.”

  “Who?” Harley asked.

  “Two old guys who live in town. They were friends of my grandmother’s.” Briana tried not to smile but couldn’t hold it in. “Every day in the summer, they’re to be found at a table outside the barber shop, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze. In the winter they transfer inside the shop and it’s more of the same. Nothing, and I mean nothing, happens in this valley that they don’t get to hear about. Dad must be in touch with them. Hmm, I shall have words to say to those two interfering—”

  “Isn’t it nice to have people who care about you?” Gus asked.

  “Caring is one thing. Interfering is something else.”

  “Why don’t we come in, visit for a while, and then, if you still want us to leave, we’ll go.” Fergal shrugged. “Thing is, we have to report back to our boss and tell him everything’s okay, so he can reassure your old man. Wouldn’t be doing our job right if we didn’t at least go that far.”

  “And who’s going to finish plastering my wall while we waste time talking?”

  “We will,” Harley and Gus said together.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she replied hastily. It would mean they’d have to stay. The lodge was large, but it wasn’t big enough for the three of them and her to cohabit without them invading her personal space. Besides, accepting their help would be a sign of weakness. “I don’t need your help.”

  “These roof tiles aren’t in the right place,” Fergal said, kicking at the pallet with a worn work boot. “You should have made them leave ’em closer to where they’re needed.”

  “They aren’t needed at all,” she said before she could stop herself.

  “Why not?” the three of them asked together.

  “You have a bare roof,” Fergal added alone, glancing up at the wing with the tarpaulin. “Presumably that’s where they need to be.”

  Oh shit, they really weren’t going to leave unless she came clean. Her anger intensified since she was aware her dad hadn’t sent them because he was worried about her. He would go to any lengths just to be able to say that he’d told her so. Her father enjoyed giving orders, but insubordination didn’t sit easily with him.

  “Okay, come inside,” she said with a heavy sigh. “We’ll discuss my welfare and then you can leave. Deal?”

  “Sure,” Fergal said lazily.

  The great room had always seemed enormous to Briana and seemed especially so now that she was painstakingly repairing every inch of the walls. Invaded by three large bodies, it now felt crowded, the atmosphere strained yet weirdly anticipatory.

  Get a grip!

  Briana examined her visitors as they examined the room. All three of them wore faded denim jeans that sat low on their hips and showcased trim asses. Their T-shirts were poor disguises for their broad shoulders, heavily muscled chests, and tapering waists. They joshed with one another in a way that suggested the sort of close friendship Briana had never known, causing her to feel a spike of envy.

  Presumably they weren’t still in the military, but they obviously kept themselves in shape. They stood with legs slightly apart, relaxed and easy, and yet their stances conveyed power, strength, and integrity. It was impossible to ignore their animal vitality, but she’d give it her best shot. She absolutely didn’t want them here, but already felt safer because they were. That realization brought her up short. Since when had she felt unsafe, or lonely for that matter?

  “Nice room,” Fergal said, his eyes focused on the enormous brick fireplace. “It must be real cozy in the winter with a fire roaring up the chimney and the drapes closed against the winter weather.”

  “What drapes?” she replied, deadpan.

  “I’ve got a good imagination, honey. I can see through works in progress to the treasures hidden beneath.” But his rich gaze was now focused on her shabby work clothes rather than the room itself.

  “Well, give the man a prize.” Briana was furious because she felt herself blushing and could see he was amused to have gotten a reaction from her. Bastard!

  “When do you plan to open?” Gus asked.

  “Spring next year, if I can get it all together in time.”

  Harley smiled at her. “What’s likely to stop you?”
<
br />   She shrugged. “Everything’s taking longer than I imagined.”

  “How many people you got working with you?” Fergal asked, looking around like he expected a gaggle of workmen to appear from nowhere.

  “I’m doing as much as I can myself,” she replied evasively.

  Fergal flexed a brow. “You can tile roofs?”

  “I’ve got a couple of guys coming to do that for me at weekends. Same with the electric and plumbing.”

  “Working off the clock? You haven’t employed licensed contractors?”

  “Right. The people helping me knew my grandmother. I pay them cash. It’s the only way I can afford to get things done.”

  “So, what happened with the roof tiles?” Fergal asked, settling one buttock on the edge of a packing case, looking like he was settling in for a long stay.

  “You’re really not going to leave until I tell you everything, are you?” She glowered at him. “You just wait until I get my hands on Seth and Maurice.”

  “Look at it from your dad’s point of view. He’s stuck out there in Iraq and gets emails saying his little girl’s having problems. It’s a dad’s job to protect his child, no matter how grown up she is,” Fergal said, undressing her with his eyes and smirking.

  Briana hated it when men did that. A great believer in fighting fire with fire, she returned the favor, running her eyes slowly down the length of his tall frame. Slightly wavy brown hair almost reached his shoulders, and deep-brown eyes burned with an unholy light as he watched her watching him. The day’s growth of stubble on his strong jaw suited him, adding to his rugged allure, but hell would freeze over before Briana admitted it.

  Her gaze skimmed over his sculpted chest and landed on the faded denim surrounding his zipper. The bulge was impressive, and she was filled with a reckless desire to find out what he was packing. Was it her imagination or did the bulge swell beneath her scrutiny? She was conscious of the atmosphere between them, warm, taut, and expectant. So, too, it seemed, was Fergal because it was him who broke the loaded silence.