Love Under Two Introverts [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “Shhh! You’re going to wake Dad!” Shaun hissed his command, but again was ignored.

  “Is Dad getting up yet?” Mark’s voice, as he padded down the hall toward Clay’s room, was loud enough that it gave Clay the perfect opening.

  He stretched, yawned loudly, and said, “Yep, I’m getting up.” He turned and caught all three of his children looking a bit sheepish. His bedside clock told him it was no wonder his daughter was hungry. It was after nine.

  “Give me a few minutes, guys, and then let’s meet in the kitchen. I feel a Sunday brunch coming on.”

  “Yay!” Bonnie jumped up and down and clapped her hands. Then she stuck her tongue out at her oldest brother, and headed for the stairs.

  “I’ll set the table,” she called out.

  “I’ll help,” Mark said.

  The sound of the two of them laughing as they raced downstairs put a smile in Clay’s heart.

  Shaun scowled and then folded his arms and gave Clay a penetrating stare. “She’s a brat, you know. You better do something about her, because I’m getting tired of her being such a smart-mouth.”

  Clay sat up, put a couple of pillows behind his back, and then patted the bed beside him. He didn’t think Shaun was going to budge from his spot by the door, but after a moment, he did. Sometimes—like right now—the anger in his son was so visible, he couldn’t help but see it.

  But it wasn’t a constant anger. Clay had seen plenty of signs over the last couple of months that told him his oldest was coming around.

  He searched his heart for the right words to say—and then recalled his recent thoughts. “I know how hard it is to be a teenage boy with a younger sister. I, too, was once a teenage boy with a younger sister.”

  “You have a sister?”

  Shock reverberated through him. Clay had been thinking a lot about his mother and Amy since the morning he awoke last spring to discover that his Vicky had suffered a fatal heart attack in the night.

  But until that very moment, he hadn’t understood that he’d never told his children about his little sister.

  They had asked if he’d had a mom—and he recalled telling them that she had died a long time ago. But that had been in the early years of family, something mentioned once in a while but never dwelled upon, never really discussed.

  He’d never spoken very much about his mother—or his father, who’d died when he’d been in college—with them.

  Now, looking at his son, he knew he’d been wrong to hold so much of himself back from his own children. He needed to make a better connection with Shaun, and this was one way to do that. “Yes, I did. She was five years younger than I was. Her name was Amy.”

  “So…you said ‘was.’ Did she die, too?”

  Clay hated to see that look in Shaun’s eyes. It was a look that told him that at the tender age of thirteen, he was already too conversant with the concept of death and its inevitability. “Yes, she did, with our mom. In a plane crash when I was eighteen.”

  “Wow. That must have really sucked.”

  For the first time in a lot of years Clay felt again that guilt of having stayed behind—survivor’s guilt. It had eaten at him for a long time back then, until he’d finally put it away.

  I finally put it away at Dad’s funeral.

  Clay mentally shook his head and brought himself back to the moment. “My point is, I understand how Bonnie can get on your nerves sometimes. And I understand how you can be tempted to try and tell her what to do when that happens. But just like you’re entitled to feel the way you do, she has rights, too. What we need to do, all of us, is sit and talk about what those rights are—we need to set boundaries, for each of us.”

  “I guess.”

  “There’s no ‘I guess’ about it. You’re on the road to becoming a man and you deserve a certain amount of respect from your siblings.” Clay shrugged. “And they deserve a certain amount from you, too.”

  Shaun’s face colored slightly. In that instant Clay had a glimpse of the sensitive and gentle soul his son had been before tragedy had struck last year.

  He wouldn’t put him on the spot. He’d let his words sit in his son’s mind and percolate for a while. “Come on, kiddo. Head out so I can get dressed.”

  “Okay. Do you want me to get anything out of the fridge for you?”

  “Yeah. Haul out the eggs, milk, and sausage so we can get cooking for the rug rats.”

  A slight smile brushed his boy’s lips and that was a good sign. The little smart-ass saluted him, and then spun on one foot and goose-stepped out of the room.

  Clay sighed. In the last fifteen or so minutes Shaun’s mood had hit several different flavors. Raising kids can be exhausting work.

  Yes, it could be, and often was. But he knew there was nothing else he would ever do in his life that would be more important—or more rewarding.

  * * * *

  As she began her workday on Wednesday, Tasha did her best to pretend she wasn’t waiting for the most important phone call of her life.

  She’d been mildly irritated, on a purely lust-filled physical level, of course, Saturday night. She’d been ready to make love with both of those sexy men. Instead, Gord and Clay had driven her home, and the men had given her a couple more hot, steamy, and delicious kisses at the door of her apartment.

  In hindsight, of course, she couldn’t blame them one bit for their caution. Yes, she had avoided them and evaded their previous attempts to ask her out. She’d had very good reasons—or thought she had—for that seemingly outrageous behavior. But she’d forgotten to take into account that both Clay Dorchester and Gord Jessop, for all of their very hot handsomeness, were both truly introverts at heart.

  Thinking of them as hot put her right back, mentally, at Gord’s house, cocooned between the men on that comfy sofa in front of the fire after Carol’s Commitment Ceremony.

  We were all pretty hot, hormonally speaking, Saturday night. Tasha wasn’t a young woman, nor one addicted to her body’s demands for pleasure. Yes, she wanted sex with those two men. She wanted it rather desperately, in fact.

  But more than the momentary thrills and chills and creamy orgasms, she wanted a relationship with them.

  Did she want a long-term, rest-of-her-life, happy-ever-after kind of relationship? How could she answer that question? She really didn’t know either of the men all that well yet.

  But she wanted to. Yes, she very much wanted to know them both very well.

  Tasha wanted to steep herself in Clay Dorchester and Gord Jessop and see if they could be, in fact, the right men for her.

  What had been, at least in her mind, the biggest obstacle, had been easily set aside Saturday night as they’d talked.

  Tasha couldn’t deny that Gord’s revelation had been heartfelt and heartbreaking. Clay’s immediate assurance that her inability to get pregnant wasn’t a problem for him also rang true—especially considering he’d taken steps not to father any more children than the three he already had.

  She believed him, but not only because her instincts told her he was an honest man. She believed him because he had already fathered those three children. He already had his “heir and a spare.”

  Okay, that last thought does not belong here. The reference to “heirs” came from the darkest moment in her adult life, something that had happened six years before.

  It was a time she rarely visited in her memories. Yet she knew full well that what had happened to her when she had been twenty, when she had been hopelessly, foolishly in love, had shaped the rest of her life.

  Shaped it? Perhaps mutilated it is a better word.

  Tasha closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It was time to find her center, her focus, and push all of her icky baggage back into the corner where it belonged.

  There was no changing the past. It had happened, and she’d coped the best way she knew how.

  This was here and now, and she should be thinking positive thoughts. Her inner imp giggled. Yeah, I positively want to get my
hands and my mouth on those two men.

  That was the mood she should cling to—a teasing, happy, anticipatory mood. Anything else was just a waste of energy.

  Tasha looked up from the reception desk when the door opened. She grinned as her next client, Jillian Jessop, stepped in.

  “You look a bit tired and frazzled.” Tasha took her light jacket and hung it on the coat rack.

  “I know. I haven’t been sleeping well the last couple of weeks.”

  She couldn’t resist. “Gee, maybe you should see a doctor about that little thing.”

  “Ha-ha. Being married to two doctors means that when they come to the clinic with me on Monday, they are going to be running every test they can think of to determine what’s wrong with me.”

  Tasha noted that the woman didn’t seem very upset by the prospect. If it were her, she’d want to hang on to the mantel—or at least the illusion—of control.

  Of course, Jillian wasn’t just Robert and David Jessop’s wife. She was their submissive. She and Tasha had talked once a few months back—at the sleepover they’d had for Carol and Ari, actually, at the Big House.

  The lifestyle didn’t appeal to her, but there was no denying that it suited this particular family of Jessops perfectly.

  “Well, let’s get rid of the frazzled before I do your manicure.” She escorted Jillian to the Serenity Room. “Sweet tea and a hot pack?”

  “Actually, I think I’d like something hot and herbal to drink. And yes, please, I’d love a hot pack.”

  Tasha left Jillian to get comfortable in one of the enormous chairs, and then headed into the prep area. She looked at the hot packs and essential oils available, and reached for ones she knew, instinctively, would be the best. Sweet Marjoram would ease Jillian’s stress and give her a bit of a kick in the energy department, too.

  She prepared the hot pack, and set it in the microwave to heat. Then she looked at the available teas. Jillian loved her coffee and her sweet tea. No, she loved her caffeine. It was odd that she asked for herbal tea. I don’t think I’ve ever known her to drink it. Tasha found herself reaching instinctively for the peppermint. A slow smile came to her lips. I wonder. She’d ask, discreetly, once she had Jillian seated at her station.

  The microwave dinged while the tea steeped. It took but a moment to take the pack to the Serenity Room and drape it around Jillian’s neck, over her shoulders.

  The sound of a client’s heartfelt sigh of pleasure was one of Tasha’s favorite sounds. She left her client sitting back, eyes closed, in the process of zoning out.

  Tasha returned to the small prep kitchen, finished brewing the peppermint tea, and grabbed a bottle of water for herself.

  She checked the clock as she took everything to her station. It was a quarter to ten. She had Jillian, and then Grandma Kate, who was also coming in for a manicure. She couldn’t help but smile whenever she thought of Kate Benedict. The woman was a marvel. If I’m even half as active as her when I get to my nineties, I’ll consider myself blessed.

  Kate loved to come to the spa, and she made sure she spread her appointments around, so she spent time with each one of the techs in turn.

  Tasha loved her job and she genuinely liked every one of her clients. Most days flew by, and that was a good thing. She’d heard the adage “if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.” She knew those words to be golden.

  Wanting to give Jillian a few more minutes of relaxation, she went up to the reception desk and took just a moment to review her schedule. Jillian, then Kate, then lunch. After lunch, she had a short afternoon. Just two clients, Heather Jessop, and then Maggie Benedict.

  Her mind circled back to lunch. Tasha hadn’t had much breakfast—she’d been too nervous to eat this morning, because she thought one or both of those men would call before she left for work. But of course, they hadn’t. I better figure out what I am going to do for lunch right now and stick to it, and nerves be damned.

  She decided she was in the mood for chicken-fried steak, and Carrie Benedict made the best. Tasha grinned thinking about how often Kelsey would say how happy she was the younger woman—who was now her cousin—had answered that ad she’d placed in the Waco paper more than a year before.

  Another chef might feel jealous of a younger woman rivaling her for supremacy of her own kitchen. But there wasn’t a jealous bone in Kelsey’s body—at least not professionally. She and Carrie each had their specialties, and the hungry diners of Lusty Appetites were the beneficiaries of that fact.

  Tasha checked the time. Her client should be pretty mellow by now. She stepped into the doorway of the Serenity Room. Jillian had completely relaxed, her head back and her eyes closed. Tasha wouldn’t be surprised if the young woman was asleep.

  But as she approached, Jillian sighed and opened her eyes. “Y’all should offer another service here, you know.”

  Tasha had heard the comment before. “A room like this with divans like the ones we use for our pedis, where customers can zone and sleep?”

  Jillian smiled. They shared a similar eye color, but Jillian’s hair sparkled like the spun gold of a morning sunrise whereas Tasha’s was black as midnight.

  They were opposites in a lot of ways—and the latest, or at least what Tasha suspected was the latest, the most dramatic difference between them of all.

  “So what are we doing, today?” Tasha asked, once she had Jillian seated.

  “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want the French tip this time. I want something a little off the wall. Something both bold and subtle. Something….”

  Tasha leaned forward. “Something to give a couple of Doms a kick in the clue department?”

  Jillian’s eyes widened. She leaned forward and whispered, “You know?”

  “Madam Mysterious,” Tasha whispered back as she tapped her own forehead. Then she smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”

  Jillian sighed. “For the last week they’ve been telling me I need to eat more veggies, and then I need to eat more meat. They tell me I need more exercise so I have to jog two extra days, and then no, it’s more weight training I need, so they’ve started me on a regimen.”

  “Ah yes,” Tasha said. “The two subspecies of human male who are convinced they know it all—dominants and doctors.”

  “And I’m the lucky woman who has two who are both.”

  “I know you mean that, too.”

  “About being lucky? You bet I do. I love those two men more than I ever believed I could love. And they love me in ways I never knew I needed. I’m a happy woman. Just…situationally frustrated at the moment. I guess I could just come out and tell them, but I want to do it differently. So, any ideas, Madam Mysterious?”

  “I do have one. Chloe got some new colors in this past Monday. Just let me get your nails wrapped to dissolve the old gel, and I’ll go get the ones I have in mind.”

  “Okay.” Jillian’s grin was infectious.

  Tasha finished the wraps, and then slid the heated mitts into place to help the acetone soak into the old gel coating faster.

  It only took her a moment to find the two new colors she had in mind for Jillian’s very unique manicure. “These are both from OPI. This one, from the Bond Girls collection, is called Pussy Galore. Stop snickering and get your mind out of the gutter, lady. As you can see, it’s a nice, pretty pink. And this one, from the San Francisco collection, is called Dining Al Frisco. Now the question is, do we do one color per hand, or do we alternate the color on each nail?”

  “Oh, definitely one color per hand. Because…well, you know.”

  “I do indeed.” She picked up the first shade she’d chosen from The Bond Girls. “On one hand you may be shopping for pink onesies”—she set it down and picked up the color from the San Francisco collection—“and on the other hand, you may be shopping for blue.”

  “You really are Madam Mysterious!” Jillian said. “I’m impressed, and those two colors are really close to baby pink and baby blue. I
love them. They’re the perfect subtle message.”

  Tasha had a flash of insight that Jillian was going to have fun that night, revealing the truth to her husbands. She only wished she could be the miraculous Madam Mysterious when it came to her own circumstances.

  Chapter 7

  “Carol certainly made a beautiful bride on Saturday, didn’t she?” Kate’s light blue eyes twinkled with happiness. “And what handsome grooms those two paramedics made! Do you know, I don’t think some of the people of this town really saw those two men clearly, until they began to court their Carol.”

  Tasha looked up at Grandma Kate and grinned. “I think you’re right about that, Grandma Kate. And Carol was a very beautiful bride!” Tasha’s mind cast back to the past Saturday. It had been one of the sweetest weddings she’d ever attended. “Bonnie said she looked like a princess. Gord told her that on her wedding day, every bride does.” And in the eyes of her husband or husbands, every day after. Tasha knew that was certainly true, at least of the husbands in Lusty.

  Kate’s smile softened. “It did my heart so much good to see the six of you together on Saturday. I could tell those three great-grandbabies of mine certainly have taken to both you and Gord.” Kate sighed. “Nothing makes me happier than when love is in the air.”

  The nonagenarian winked, and Tasha felt a small kick to her conscience. No one sat close to them at the moment. The other manicure station stood empty, which pretty much guaranteed their privacy. A part of her wanted to confide in this wonderful, open-hearted woman. But that part of her that had been humiliated so many years before held back.

  “What is it, sweetheart? I can see something is troubling you.”

  Tasha met Kate’s gaze. She didn’t even have to think twice about the issue of trust. Grandma Kate was the most trustworthy woman Tasha had ever met. She was also the most nonjudgmental.

  “I’m not sure if it’s love, Grandma Kate. At least, not yet. I’m not sure if it’s ever going to be. We all have…we all have a lot of baggage.”

  “Yes, sweetheart, we do all have baggage, every single one of us who is breathing on this earth.” Kate tilted her head. Waiting.