Brooke’s Special Agents [Men of Montana 11] (Siren Publishing Menage Amour)

by Eileen Green

  Makeup? Perfect!

  Hair? Every strand in place!

  Six-inch heels to make her legs look a mile long and sexy? Absolutely!

  Her man wouldn’t be able to resist her!

  Music thumped loudly as Gigi climbed from her rental car in front of the Tipsy Tavern. The bass could be felt in the air as she made her way to the front door.

  Her confidence in her appearance was spot on when the bouncer at the door didn’t even look at her ID. The man’s dark eyes roamed her body from top to bottom and then back up. The section between her breasts that was devoid of fabric and showcased some fine bare breasts had the effect she had wanted. The bouncer’s eyes seemed to be glued to that spot. Raw sexual hunger filled the man’s eyes, giving the woman an added boost to her ego and feminine wiles.

  Tonight, she had dressed to get the man she wanted, and she had a little backup in her small clutch purse just in case the dress didn’t get the job done.

  Two men in blue jeans, plaid flannel shirts, and cowboy boots stepped up beside the woman, waiting for their turn to be granted entrance from the spellbound bouncer. They each looked her up and down and raised their hats in greeting, before stepping into the noisy bar.

  The bouncer was still looking at her breasts, obviously transfixed by what she had purposefully put on display, unaware of the two men who must have taken his preoccupation as a cue to enter.

  As the moments ticked by, the woman began to feel creeped out by the man’s attention. Heat lit her skin, something she wasn’t used to.

  “Excuse me. May I enter?” she asked sweetly, her foreign accent heavy.

  The man blinked as if coming out of a trance. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Yes. Please go right ahead.”

  Holding her head high, and dismissing the peon with her nose tilted, she snubbed the man and entered the bar.

  The place was packed. A long table, which was made up of several smaller ones, ran the front of the space in front of the empty stage. It was filled with a myriad of people. Their dress varied from blue jeans to dresses, dress slacks and button-up shirts, and a couple of uniforms.

  Trepidation filled her as she noticed two people she was interested sat at the table. Quickly turning away from the group, she headed for an empty booth in the farthest corner away from her prey yet close enough to see what was going on.

  The woman was well aware of the snickers and bold stares she received from the locals. She didn’t care. She was only here for one person. Besides, she was used to attention. Her presence commanded it.

  Perplexity had settled over her since she arrived in this backward town. High fashion was not on anyone’s agenda. Perhaps if Bradley really wanted to stay in the area, she could put the town on the fashion map.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?” a young man asked as he stepped up to her table. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt, which seemed to be the standard uniform of the Tipsy Tavern. He filled out the T-shirt with an abundance of muscle, the cotton material stretching across his chest and arms.

  Gigi let her tongue moisten her lips as she took him in, but then she remembered why she was there. “I’d like a white wine spritzer.”

  “Sure. Can I see your ID, please?”

  Irritation and pride swelled within her at the question. Obviously, she was a mature woman, looking several years above the legal drinking age in the state. However, that they had to ask was also a boost to her ego.

  Her ego needed to be fed in order for her to survive the world, a quality many found egotistical and conceited. That was usually a thought of the poor or the unpretty people. For those who knew they were somebody, usually the pretty and the rich, it was a quality that defined them.

  Handing the waiter her passport, she waited for him to peruse it and then return it.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a charming smile. “I’ll have your drink for you in a few minutes. Were you needing to see a menu?”

  The idea of having to choke down another greasy meal turned her stomach. She couldn’t wait to get back to society and eat some real food. The certainty of weight gain had hit her along with a dirty feeling to her skin. She wanted civilization, and she wanted it as soon as possible.

  “No. Just the drink.” She didn’t care if she sounded haughty or rude. These were not her people. She was better than them, and hopefully, she wouldn’t have to wait too long before she could leave, or change the people.

  The waiter frowned at her dismissal and walked away.

  Turning her attention back to her prey, she saw Brooke sitting between Bradley and his friend.

  They were talking to the others at the table, the group quite animated. They seemed to be having a good time, Bradley included. It was as if he were trying hard to fit in.

  When she was with him, he never laughed as much as what he was doing right now. He belonged to the same world of culture and sophistication. She couldn’t, no, wouldn’t believe he would be happy here. She believed it to be a detour in his life, and she knew he would welcome the reminder to return to the real world.

  Bradley looked at Brooke Alton, smiled, and then leaned in and kissed the woman. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, but there was no passion behind it either.

  Heat born of her anger filled the woman as she watched the spectacle, and she had to work at not reacting to it in the restaurant. It was difficult to watch the man she loved to be kissing another woman.

  For now, she could only watch from afar. But time was soon going to collide with Bradley’s future, and he would belong to her forever.

  * * * *

  Brooke couldn’t put her finger on it, but both her men seemed a bit preoccupied and had been since her scare the previous week. They were constantly looking around, and on the trip from the hotel to the Tipsy Tavern, Bradley insisted on driving her loaner truck while Frank drove Bradley’s Yukon. No explanation as to why two vehicles were used, but Brooke felt that if they wanted her to know, they would have explained. They were protective of her since the lunatic succeeded running her off the road.

  Truth be told, Brooke felt as if someone was watching them for the past couple of minutes, and it wasn’t the first time she felt that way in the past few weeks.

  Bradley took her hand in his, drawing her attention to him. “Are you doing okay, love?” he asked, concern lacing his words. “You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

  “No. I’m good. I needed this. Thank you.” She was being honest.

  He leaned into her as he smiled. His lips found hers, giving her a loving kiss. Looking into green eyes that reminded her of grass, she saw the promise of a sinful night.

  Raising her hand, she caressed his cheek. “I love you so much,” she declared.

  “I love you, too, princess.” His smile was bright, and there was a twinkle of mischief in those green orbs.

  Their attention was grasped when Storm Goodall stood at his end of the table. Through all the noise of the restaurant, he gained the table’s occupants attention by tapping a utensil against his beer mug.

  “Friends, or should I say, family,” he began. “As most of you know by now, there’s going to be an addition to our family.” There were gasps of surprise from a couple of the women as a couple of the men made comments such as “knocking it outta the ballpark” and “hope you get one with a stem.”

  Laughter filled the area, which warmed Brooke. Growing up with it being just her dad and herself, she had always wanted a big family. Looking around the table at her new friends, she knew she had a large family, and she knew in the future, it would continuously grow.

  “Anyway,” Storm continued, “we asked Lyndee to marry us.” More cheers from their friends. “What we’d like to do is extend an invitation to those of you who are interested to share our special day with us. Also, we’ll have a bonding ceremony that same day for those of would like to participate in that.”

  Lyndee stood next to Storm. She let her gaze slide around the table at the people who were a part of her fam
ily also. Brooke knew how the petite blond FBI agent felt.

  “We’re not trying to put anyone on the spot, but I would be honored to share my special day with all of you.”

  Kevin Tisdale, one of Anita’s three men, stood. “Ah, come on, Lyndee, you’re just trying to get all us guys to be shackled to our women!” he teased.

  The men at the table laughed at the joke, and Brooke saw several of the women hit their men in a playful fashion.

  Playing along with the banter, Lyndee’s response was, “Yes, Kevin. There are some of you who need a keeper at times. I expect to see you guys to be standing right next to my men.”

  Laughter erupted at the table. Brooke noticed several of the women look lovingly at their men, expectancy in their gazes.

  Kevin hugged Anita before her other two men did the same. He spoke up loud and proud, “We would be honored to join you guys.”

  Four other men rose and spoke for their poly relationships. One wedding was turning into a big shindig.

  Surprise struck Brooke when both her men stood, pulled her chair backward, and proceeded to get down on one knee in unison. Gasps and whispers were heard around the table.

  Focusing on the two handsome faces, Brooke broke out in a sweat as heat consumed her.

  “Brooke Alton,” Frank stated, his voice clear.

  Both men’s eyes sparkled as their love shone on their features. Frank continued, “We had this planned before Lyndee made her announcement, so please don’t think that we’re doing this for any other reason than that we love you.”

  “We both fell in love with a woman in a picture. We knew we wanted to get to know you, and we did that from afar. Being with you for the past few weeks has made our love for you grow to such proportions that if we lost you, we wouldn’t want to go on living. Spending the rest of our lives with you would be an honor.” Bradley poured his heart out for both he and Frank. He pulled out a small black velvet-covered box from his pocket and opened it toward her. “Will you do the honor of becoming our wife?”

  The world around her began to shimmer before her as tears filled her eyes. Her heart received their love and swelled within her chest. Her hands shook.

  “Y-yes! I will be happy to be your wife!” she exclaimed as she reached out for them.

  Frank took her left hand in his and held it while Bradley slipped the beautiful ring on her finger.

  Whoops and squeals sounded around the table as Brooke was swept into first Bradley’s arms to receive a passionate kiss and then Frank’s for the same.

  Once back in her seat, between her two men, she admired the ring now that her tears had dried.

  A larger diamond sat between two smaller diamonds set in a white gold setting. It was simple and elegant, and it spoke volumes to Brooke. The men who had saved her. The men who had loved her even when she didn’t know she loved them. They wanted to be her husbands, and she knew they would love her forever, just like she would go to her grave loving them.

  A hand appeared before her. Looking up, she saw Frank’s hand waiting for her. “Let’s dance, sweetheart,” he offered.

  Accepting the proffered hand, she stood and let him lead her out onto the small dance floor where two other couples were already moving together.

  Her hand still held in Frank’s, Frank used his other hand to sweep around her waist and pulled her close to him. His masculine aroma along with his clean citrusy scented lingered in her nose as she laid her head against his chest. He had worn a white button-up shirt with a black leather vest over it. His professional demeanor rang out in his appearance, but he still wanted to try to fit in.

  They both fit in as far as she was concerned. Three-piece suits or blue jeans and T-shirts, they looked sexy in anything. She hoped they thought the same of her.

  Their bodies danced together as they got lost in the music. She wasn’t sure how long they were out there, but when Frank moved slightly away from her, she knew it was time to go back to the table.

  With her hand still in his, she began to follow him, but a familiar face caught her attention. Stopping, she said, “I see someone I’d like to say hello to. Give me a minute, please?”

  Frank kissed the palm of her hand before giving her a slight push on her derriere. “Go ahead, sweetheart. But just a minute.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she teased.

  Walking over to the booth in the far corner, she stepped up to the table. “Hello, Giselle. How are you doing?”

  She had hated to reject the woman’s employment for her references were quite good, but one of her men needed a job, too. Hiring Bradley wasn’t a mistake, but she still felt bad about the woman now before her.

  “Well, I don’t have a job yet, but I’m sure I’ll have everything I want in just a bit.” The woman seemed a bit conceited with her words. It was as if she knew something Brooke didn’t know.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how the job situation turned out.”

  Brooke was just turning around to return to her table, but Giselle spoke low and deadly, “Have a seat. You and I need to talk about your future.”

  A chill ran up Brooke’s spine at the French woman’s tone, but she did as requested.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked Giselle, eyeing her skeptically. “I already have a PR person.”

  “I know,” Giselle said as she leaned by in the booth. Brooke noticed the woman had her hand in her small clutch.

  “I need to go,” Brooke stated as she tried to rise.

  “Sit down!” the woman said with a hiss, her tone giving no leave to disobey.

  Brooke did so, knowing it was a mistake.

  “You took something from me, and I’m going to take it back. Or should I say, I am going to take him back.”

  The words rang familiar in Brooke’s ears. She looked at the woman sitting across from her with intrigue. Was it possible she had written the note?

  “What do you mean, him?” she asked when the full statement hit her.

  A wicked chuckle emanated from Giselle. “Bradley was mine before he was yours. You’re just a stepping-stone in life as he tries to come to terms with his love life. I want him back. Now!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Brooke inquired as she looked around wildly, trying to find a way out of this mess.

  Brooke was certain that the crazy French woman had a gun in that purse of hers, albeit a small one. It probably would get off six shots, but in a crowded place like this, innocent people would be the ones getting hurt.

  She had told Frank she saw someone she knew. Hopefully, he would come looking for her soon.

  * * * *

  It had been a beautiful day in Paris when they had met. Giselle had been sitting at a sidewalk bistro enjoying a salad and a glass of water.

  Bradley had strolled up to the table next to hers, wearing a black three-piece suit. His blond hair had been slicked back, his mustache groomed perfectly. Long fingers with manicured nails graced his hands. A strong jaw and straight nose offered a fantastic profile. He had been sophistication on a stick.

  He ordered in perfect French when the waiter asked for his order. He picked up the Le Parisien newspaper that lay on the table already, opened it, and began to read.

  Watching him throughout his meal, she probably would have to admit she fell in love with the man. He did everything perfectly, unlike that bumbling Englishman, Alistair. There was no comparison between the two. One was GQ, the other wasn’t.

  Several times, Bradley had looked over at her, offering her a flirtatious smile. She had to wonder how his lips would feel pressed against hers. How his fingers would feel skimming over her skin.

  For three days straight, she went to the bistro at the same time, hoping to run into the man who began to fill her dreams. For three days straight, he came to the same table right after she did, read the paper, and looked at her occasionally.

  The fourth day, he didn’t show up. She had to wonder what had happened. Perhaps she had been too bold in her obse
rvations of him?

  The fifth day he didn’t arrive either. She was beginning to take it personally. She was a beautiful woman. All men wanted her.

  The sixth day was a sunny Sunday. The streets were crowded with Parisians and tourists alike. The bistro was filled, the man’s usual table occupied. He wasn’t going to show up, and it was time to forget their little silent tryst.

  Placing her napkin on the table, she reached for her purse when a shadow covered her table. She looked up to find the handsome man standing there, a smile on his full lips.

  “There don’t seem to be any tables left. May I join you?” he asked, his English accent evident.

  She was intrigued, for everything she thought of him had been French.

  “Please do.” She used her hand to emphasize her answer.

  He sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and rested one arm on it.

  “I’m Bradley Smith,” he offered nonchalantly.

  She noticed he hadn’t extended to her his hand, but that was all right. A woman of her class didn’t shake men’s hands.

  “I’m Gigi.” It was all she gave of a name. She wanted to leave a bit of mystery to who she was.

  They ate their meal, conversing about the small things in life, not revealing too much about themselves. It took another week before they began to get personal.

  There were kisses and hugs exchanged, and there was talk of the future, but Bradley Smith never revealed to her what he did for a living, outside the fact that he was a stocks trader. The longer they spent time together, the more Gigi built a relationship. She was certain Bradley was going to ask her to marry him soon.

  The day in the museum had been a defeat. The diamonds she had acquired through careful planning and her perfect cat-burglary skills were going to be handed off to Alistair. The money would be deposited into an off-shore account, and added to the millions she already had in there from previous jobs, she would be set for life.

  She was going to marry Bradley, even if she was the one to do the asking.

  When she realized he was an agent, her heart sank, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. She would have her man no matter what.