by Lola Newmar
The Male Order, Texas Collection
A Bride for Two Billionaires
Taylor Ewing was living the fabulous life as Dallas’s most admired, blogged-about pageant queen—a life of designer clothes, VIP access, a rock-star boyfriend, and a fierce social circle to be envied.
But city-girl Taylor craves the old life—the life before her father died from heart disease years ago. Her life had quickly gone from ghetto to glitz when her mother remarried a prestigious realtor soon after. But after catching her boyfriend having a threesome with her long-time friend, Taylor waves the white flag of love and escapes to Male Order to visit her aunt.
Jay Stephens and Brody Bartlett are social-networking billionaires who visit their hometown every summer. But Taylor swore off young playboys. Despite her best, although useless, efforts, her heart can’t resist their sweet-tea southern charm, and her body can’t resist their corn-fed muscles and theandric smiles.
But when an enemy from the past comes to take revenge on Taylor, will she be forced to surrender her gentlemen?
Genre: Erotic Menage a Trois, M/F/M
Length: 60,089 words
A BRIDE FOR TWO BILLIONAIRES
Male Order, Texas
Lola Newmar
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
A BRIDE FOR TWO BILLIONIARES
Copyright © 2010 by Lola Newmar
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-047-7
First E-book Publication: October 2010
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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Copyright © 2010
Prologue
Taylor Ewing inhaled deeply as she came upon the vibrant blankets of bluebonnets along the empty interstate. The aroma of the blooms and the freshly cut grass enveloped her senses as she passed a gigantic, green row-crop tractor slaving in the cotton field off in the distance to her right. The clean country air and summer warmth that caressed her skin eased the tension in her aching muscles. There was just something about Texas summer that trivialized troubles.
And Taylor had her share of troubles.
The over-packed vintage hat boxes and Louis trunks surrounding her at least served as comforting reminders that she did not need to worry any longer. With every faded green exit sign that passed, Taylor cruised closer to Male Order and farther from Dallas. Farther from the high rises of the glittering downtown, farther from the stumbling, drunk beauties carrying roofie coladas, farther from the hairsprayed, bedazzled pageant scene, and farther from the pain of knowing most of her twenty-four years were spent trying to satisfy plastic friends and bored, image-conscious parents.
The life-changing event of two weeks ago swam through her conscience like a relentless man-eating shark. She had arrived home late after a grueling twelve-hour day at her step-father’s public relations firm where she had apprenticed for the past couple of years since graduating from state. She remembered tossing her black stilettos under the small table by the door before walking through the apartment she shared with Dillon.
Dillon Day, lead singer of Daybed, was an up-and-coming rock star out of Austin, and Taylor had been dating him for about ten months, instantly making them both paparazzi favorites within the precocious Dallas social scene. Within hours of their initial meeting, relationship buzz surrounding the rock star and the southern pageant queen was all over Emilio Estefan’s infamous Dallas society gossip blog, Allegedly.com, sealing their fate as the newest it-couple of the city.
As Taylor made her way to her bedroom door, she had come to a sudden, startled halt right as she began to twist the door knob.
“Oh, Bobby! Stuff my cunt with that big cock! Fuck me stupid, Daddy!”
What the—Amber and Bobby? Taylor could hear the gross, wet slapping of sweaty, naked skin accompanying the voices of her long-time friend, Amber, and Dillon’s drummer, Bobby Smalls.
Then there was a third voice, a familiar voice, a voice that made her heart drop to her sore feet. “C’mon, you filthy little whore. Don’t stop sucking my cock! And don’t act like my balls aren’t there, either, bitch.”
Oh my God! Dillon!
When she had swung open the door, her jaw nearly dropped to the floor. She would never forget the devious grin on Amber’s overly-made-up face as she looked back over her shoulder to an awe-struck Taylor, keeping her position on all fours between the two band mates.
Taylor had stood there astonished, watching Dillon mutter a string of excuses, using only his mesh Ed Hardy trucker hat to cover his crotch as Amber moved to the corner in a giggling fit, not bothering to cover up her bony, nude, fake-baked body.
“I swear on my mama, Taylor, she just sucked my dick. It was a—a—an accident! Yeah, yeah, that’s what happened, an accident!”
Slow to comprehend the situation, likely from an overabundance of his hourly herbal refreshments, Bobby finally glanced around, his bare ass still facing the bedroom door. He smiled under half-closed, stoned eyes when he spotted Taylor. “Oh, shit! Hey, Taylor! I didn’t even see you back there, man.” He gave her a sloppy wave with one hand as he took a p
uff of his fat joint with the other.
Amber had been a close friend for over ten years since she and Taylor met at the Miss Teen Dallas Texas Yellow Rose conference as tweens. Amber’s father was an important client of Harold’s, Taylor’s eclectic step-father. They had introduced the girls, and it only seemed natural when Amber invited Taylor into her clique of other over-privileged, label-lusting, gorgeous young girls.
But as she stood in the doorway, her friend, boyfriend, and boyfriend’s drummer all scattered around the room in a nude chaos, Taylor didn’t feel heartbroken. She just felt exhausted.
The next morning, she told her mother she would be taking up Aunt Veronica’s offer to come stay with her in her small town, just to clear her head and evaluate what she wanted once she returned home. Aunt Veronica was the only living relative on Taylor’s father’s side, and they had kept in close touch since his death. Her mother didn’t particularly like the idea of her “sophisticated daughter” living with her wild-child sister-in-law, but Taylor wasn’t asking for permission, only informing her mother of where she would be for the next month.
Now, it was literally all behind her.
As the Texas summer breeze hummed around her, Taylor silently thanked her mother’s husband for buying her the adorable convertible Beetle instead of the hardtop. Harold had insisted on the going-away gift. She opted for the beige exterior with the peanut butter top and peanut butter interior. Although she was wearing her favorite white Chanel sunglasses with extra buggy lens, the sun was shining bright enough to make her slightly squint against the harsh afternoon sun as she cruised east on Interstate 25.
As “The Boys of Summer” began to play on the radio, Taylor turned up the volume and set her focus on the twelve miles she had left until she reached Male Order, Texas.
Chapter 1
Brody Bartlett lifted his hands from his mother’s eyes to reveal her latest birthday gift. He heard her gasp with delight as he walked from behind her to see her reaction.
“She’s gorgeous,” said Mama. Desire glazed over her crystal blue eyes as she looked over the perfectly curvy form before her, then she looked over at her son. “Did you really buy her for me?”
“She’s all yours, Mama. You deserve it.” Brody grabbed his mother’s hand and led her over to the sleek grand touring car parked in her driveway, a blue Bugatti Veyron just hours off the lot. He opened the door and helped her in. “This is the Bleu Centenaire, one of the special editions. Most Veyrons are two-toned, but the monotone on this one makes it look sharp.”
Mama settled into the ivory leather seats and slowly ran her palms along the thick, ivory steering wheel. “Baby, this is too much. You know I don’t need a two million dollar car. I only drive long distances when I want to make my shopping trips to Dallas—"
“Which you make every weekend,” Brody interrupted. Mama released a heavy sigh in response to his stubbornness, shaking her head as she looked over the fine detailing of the interior.
Although she performed her best attempt at modesty, Brody knew his mother much too well. Mama and modesty were like oil and water. No matter how hard she might try, they just didn’t mix. This was a woman who had a closet that housed so many shoes and jewelry it made Imelda Marcos’s closet look like a vacant medicine cabinet.
But he knew how to convince her. “Besides, I’ve yet to tell you the best part about this fine automobile.”
Mama looked up at him, one inquisitive brow lifting in obvious curiosity. “Oh?”
“It goes from zero to a hundred in two-point-five seconds and tops off at two-seventy.” Just as he expected, her baby blues widened in amazement then again danced around the car in newfound fascination. Besides her family, there were only two other things he knew that made his mother’s heart skip a beat—a limo full of shopping bags after a day-long shopping trip and a car that could drive so fast you’d swear your guts were begging for salvation.
“Well,” she drew out, obvious guilt forming in her features, “all right, I accept.”
Brody smiled wide, bent down, and gave Mama a kiss on the cheek.
“Take it as a token of appreciation for the last twenty-nine years. I can always count on you for anything, and you never pass judgment. You’re a good woman, Mama, and you’re the food to my soul.”
Mama climbed out of the car and embraced him in a tight hug. She released him, and he could see the tears of joy forming in her eyes. “Your words sure have a way of convincing a girl, baby, but the only thank you I need is you. I’ve raised a caring, successful young man, a billionaire in his own right, and that’s my reward.” Brody smiled and hugged her once again. “Where’s your partner in crime?”
“Jay is inside arguing with Bradley over taking his bags to his room. You know how he insists on doing everything himself.” His best friend and business partner, Jay Stephens, had always expressed his apprehension at taking advantage of their family butler. Take a break, Bradley. I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself, he’d always say.
“So what are your plans for the day, Mama?”
“Well, I’m expected at the city hall in an hour. We just have a few loose ends to tie before the cotillion next week. Your fathers flew to London yesterday on business, and they won’t be back until the day before the ball.” Papa Kendrick was a few years older than his brother, Papa Derek, and usually served as the Bartlett family representative at the town meetings. But with both of Brody’s fathers in the international transportation industry, it meant Mama had to step in to oversee their duties when they were away. “Have you and Jay decided which lucky girl will be your date? For the past eleven months, every eligible bachelorette in Male Order, and beyond, has been pestering me about your decision this year.”
“No, not yet. I’m not sure what’s gotten into Jay lately, but he’s worrying me. He used to love picking a date for the cotillion. He looked forward to it. But this year, he just gets all pissy when I bring it up. He keeps saying he’s too busy to worry about ‘some petty dance.’” Brody leaned against the car and crossed his arms in front of his chest as a small fire of frustration lit within. “Mama, I think he’s changed his mind.”
“About what, darlin’?” she asked as she continued to inspect the car, her attention still focused on her birthday present.
“I don’t think he wants a family with me anymore.” Just speaking his fears aloud caused Brody’s stomach to clench in a panic.
Mama quickly turned to face him. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped in disbelief. “Jay cares about you more than anything in this world. You both know firsthand how wonderful a ménage family can be.”
“Yeah? Then tell me why he didn’t even think to invite me along with the last three girls he went out with.”
Mama’s brow burrowed with confusion. “There must be some explanation.” Brody could see the disappointment crossing his mother’s face. He knew his mother had grown to love Jay like her own, and she wanted nothing more than for the Stephenses and the Bartletts to join together as one family.
It was no secret Brody had always planned to share a wife and children with Jay. Although either had yet to fall in love with a woman, Brody always had faith it would happen one day, when it was right. Now it seemed that dream was slipping right through his fingers.
* * * *
Jay closed the front door behind him and walked down the long, wide steps of the Bartlett mansion. Down the driveway, he could see Mrs. Bartlett holding Brody’s hands in front of her while she talked to him. Jay couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he knew from Brody’s expression he was upset about something. It hurt him to see his best friend upset, but lately Jay was not one to lift anyone’s spirits.
He looked around at the fifteen-acre estate, scanning the area for any change that might have taken place since their visit last summer. The impeccable, short-cut grass, the perfectly trimmed shrubbery, the long, winding cobblestone driveway was all just as he remembered. The Bartletts had been one of the five founding families
of Male Order. Brody’s parents still lived in the original Bartlett house, the biggest mansion on the west side of town.
Jay looked down at his watch. They had been in Male Order for exactly thirteen minutes, giving his mother more than enough of time to get word of their arrival.
“Jay-Jay!”
And surprise, surprise, there she was, already jogging his way, joy-filled tears in her eyes. She held her floppy, white straw hat down with her left hand as it threatened to run away with the greedy breeze. She used her other hand to slightly lift her long, yellow sundress away from the inefficient sky-high wedge sandals that limited her speed.
“Craig, come quick! Our baby is home!” Jay instantly felt a warm blanket of familiarity wrap over him as his mother swung her arms around his waist and dug her head in his chest. “Oh, my baby, my baby!”
Jay let out a long laugh as he placed his hands on her small shoulders. “Mom, I’m thirty years old. That’s hardly a baby.”
“Oh, Jay. Always talking nonsense,” she retorted in her heavy country drawl. She then turned toward his father who was still making his way from their classic teal ’67 Ferrari GT S/4. Their house wasn’t far down the street, so Jay figured his parents must’ve heard from the neighbors that they were riding through town. Word traveled at the speed of light in Male Order. “Craig, dear, we arrived just in time to catch Jay and Brody pull up.” Motherly pride was apparent in her voice as she held Jay’s arm tight in hers.
