Shine: Book One of the Wild Love Ménage Series

by R. L. Jameson

  Paul shakes hands with Deidra and Margaret as I introduce them. He smiles.

  “You were saying, Dr. Riddick?” I’ve never heard Margaret’s voice like it is now. It sounds girlish and pretty. She’s having fun at my expense, and the thing is, I don’t mind. I mean, sure, I wish I wasn’t such a huge target for ridicule, but I love the slight twinkle in Margaret’s blue eyes.

  Paul nods and frowns at me. “I didn’t think about saying it in front of an audience, especially an audience of your in-laws.”

  “Oh, don’t mind my daughter and me.”

  Deidra stifles a giggle.

  Paul glances around the table, then swoops off his chair, kneeling beside me, holding my hand over his heart. “Screw it, I’m going to say it. I love you too, Jane. I love you so much. I wish I had the poetic words to make you swoon, and I could steal the words from other poets. But I just have me—gritty, moody me. And I love you so fucking much.”

  Paul’s dark eyes aren’t just assessing mine—I see fear there too. And as much as I want to hide from Margaret and Deidra, I know what Paul is saying is a gift. He probably doesn’t love easily, but he’s offering his heart to me.

  I take his face between my hands and kiss him, soft and gentle. Pulling away, I place my forehead against his. “You lovely man. I love you, you moody poet. I love you so fucking much too.”

  He smiles. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it last night. I’m sorry I was a coward.”

  “I don’t think you’re a coward.”

  “I am. I couldn’t say it to you because I was too afraid, but then…today…One of my classes is reading Poe’s poems and quotes. And someone picked out one of my favorites to read aloud. ‘There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.’ And I haven’t been reckless in so long, too wrapped up in my fears. But when you said it—after we’d—I realized what a coward I’d been not telling you, not telling you the second you’d said it, that I love you too. You, my beautiful Jane, your emotions touched my heart, broke through the chains of my fear, and I love you, Jane. I really do.”

  He kisses me and it’s not soft and gentle. He’s a tad pushy and his tongue is in my mouth. Yes, Paul’s tongue is in my mouth in front of my mother-in-law. Could things be any weirder?

  But, like Chris says, that’s life, isn’t it? We roll along and think we’ve got it all figured out. We have expectations. We know what life is supposed to look like, what love is supposed to look like. Only, it never turns out the way we think. It’s usually better than our wildest dreams. If we let it be.

  Paul pulls away, his lids are hooded. He looks like sex on a stick, as they say. Well, I say. God, maybe I should just leave with him now. This meeting with Margaret was lovely, but I want to be with Paul, the man I love. One of the men I love. Is that as ridiculous as I think it sounds?

  He caresses my cheek. “Well,” he takes in a breath, “my work is done.” He smiles like the cheeky guy he is. “Coming home later?”

  I nod.

  “Ladies,” he extends his hand to Deidra and Margaret. “It’s been a pleasure. Again, terribly sorry for the interruption. Had to get that off my chest. I hope to see you again.”

  And with that Paul is gone, and I’m left to face my in-laws.

  Margaret’s stony face stares at me. Deidra is covering her mouth with her hands, gleefully. Then my mother-in-law starts laughing so loud and obnoxiously people stare. She starts crying she’s laughing so hard, and Deidra joins with her own chuckles.

  “Two men, Jane?” Margaret asks.

  I sigh. I’ve never bothered with lies. I might not tell people of my upbringing, but I never lie. And I’m not about to start now; although, it might not be the smart thing to do. “Actually, there’s three.”

  Margaret hoots, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  “Three?” Deidra asks.

  I nod miserably.

  “H-how?” Margaret can barely speak between her guffaws. “How are you pulling that off?”

  I shrug. “They know about each other.”

  Deidra’s mouth’s agape. Margaret sobers slightly.

  “They know about each other?” Deidra asks.

  I nod and look down to the tons of whipped cream on my coffee. “Yes. I wouldn’t cheat on them.” And I cringe as soon as I’ve said it. I didn’t mean to sound like the antithesis to Tim. But I have.

  Margaret’s laughter is done. There isn’t even a smile on her face, but she leans forward. I try not to wince as she pulls a few tresses of my hair away from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t, darling girl.”

  Deidra’s mouth is now seriously open like her jaw is unhinged. She snaps it closed, but I’m sure she’s never seen her mother so affectionate. I never have.

  “Three men.” Margaret returns to smiling and looking devastatingly beautiful. “I think I’m jealous.”

  “You have a lover who’s twenty years younger than you,” I retort. I’m only teasing, but then I notice Deidra’s mouth again is agape.

  “You what?” Deidra nearly hollers.

  I wince then. “I’m sorry. I thought she knew.”

  Margaret shakes her head, but then shrugs. “Cat’s out of the bag, my dear Deidra Alexandra. I have a lover who’s younger than me. A lot younger.”

  Deidra smiles, takes a sip of a breath then says, “I think I’m pregnant.”

  We both turn to her. Now she’s looking at her coffee for refuge, but her eyes instantly fill with tears, spilling down her cheeks.

  “I—I’m not sure, but I think I’m pregnant, and the father of my maybe baby is dead. I had a one night stand with a mercenary in Kenya, and I just got the news that he’s dead. Can you believe that? Any of that? Because I can’t believe it. And my mom is having sex with a guy my age.”

  Margaret wraps Deidra in a bear hug. “My baby is having a baby.”

  We talk for hours and plan how we’re going to stay in touch. We arrange our schedules to include each other. I’m going to go with Deidra to her doctor’s appointment to find out for sure if she’s pregnant. And between Margaret and me, she’ll never be alone.

  It’s odd to make plans like that. I haven’t done it with anyone except Tim, plan our future together. It feels official and white, like a wedding. And I love Tim all over again. But I’m saying goodbye to him too.

  Goodbye, my sweet love.

  Hello to…what? Can I really fall in love with three men at once? Is this right?

  25

  I don’t get home from my coffee date with Margaret and Deidra until almost nine. Anymore, that’s late for me because Chris and Gabe work such long shifts. Paul’s adjusted his schedule too, so we wake early, hence having to sleep early too. Yes, we’ve gotten into a schedule, one that resembles an old married couple, even if there are four of us.

  Chris has just gotten off his twenty-four-hour shift, and Gabe is adjusting to his new twelve-hour shift. I know they’re both home. They should have been home for about two hours by now. Usually we eat together, have sex, then Chris and Gabe are off to bed, while Paul and I discuss our classes and help each other get ready for the next day.

  There’s a hodgepodge of automobiles in my driveway, and I’m a happy girl.

  Paul admitted that he loved me today. And Chris and I have already whispered our confessions of love too.

  Margaret was kind and actually sweet.

  Deidra is going to have a baby who I’ll dote on.

  And I’m coming home to go to sleep between three male bodies.

  Yes, I’m a deliriously happy girl, thinking about becoming an aunt and of old married couples’ schedules.

  I open the door to my house and smile at Gabe. He’s walking toward me in the foyer, his expression grim.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  I shake my head and just about wrap my arms around his neck when he says, “Come on, Jane. You gotta be mad. I knew about Tim.”

  And then I remembe
r. I’d been shocked Gabe had said he’d known Tim, known I was his wife. I’m not sure what this means, though. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe says. He gets closer, crossing his arms. His brows are furrowed, like he’s angry with me. “You know, I thought I would be a big problem in our relationship, because I’m not the best at communicating. But with our weird group dynamic, we have to communicate. And I think I’m getting pretty damned good at it. But you never open up, do you?”

  I blink. His voice is raised. I feel like burrowing into the corner of the entrance room.

  Wasn’t he just asking me if I was mad? Why is he the one who gets to be angry?

  Paul saunters close. “What’s going on?”

  Gabe only looks at me, his eyes dark, still so very angry. “Tell him.”

  Chris now ambles into the foyer too, and I feel trapped between the men and the wall. I have the door behind me, and I’m thinking of jumping through it. Just a second ago I was happy. So fucking happy. Now…I want to run because that’s all I’m good at.

  Okay, I’ll admit I’m good at teaching at the university level because I’m confident when I have the floor, when I have everyone’s attention. Further, I can supersede my shyness and talk one-on-one. And in the last two months I’ve learned how to have a voice with three opinionated, loud, and aggressive men. So, yeah, I think I’m getting pretty damned good at communication too. But if there’s a threat of conflict, I’m paralyzed or I literally run. Flight or freeze are my responses to friction, which reminds me of a deer. I’m a freaking deer.

  “Tell me what?” Paul asks. “Is this about today? At the mall?”

  Gabe finally looks at him. “What about the mall? I told you where she was, but you didn’t say you would go there.”

  Paul narrows his eyes. “Why else would I wonder where she was?”

  “To make sure she’s safe.”

  “What’s this weird thing you have with keeping Jane safe, protecting her?”

  “Weird thing?” Gabe’s beginning to get even louder.

  “Don’t ask, man.” Chris lightly claps Paul on the shoulder.

  Paul shakes his head. “Okay. None of my business, I guess. Anyway, yeah, I found Jane and I told her…okay, I may as well admit it here too. I told Jane I love her.”

  Chris smiles. “Nice.” He high-fives Paul.

  Gabe’s even angrier. “You told her—you were at the mall too?”

  Paul nods. “Yeah, with her in-laws. That’s where I confessed that I love her.”

  “You said that already.” Gabe’s cheeks are darkening. Then he turns to me. “Have you noticed our girl here hasn’t said a word yet?”

  “Well, she’s probably overwhelmed.” Chris smiles at me. “We are crowding her. How was your day, baby?”

  I blink. I am overwhelmed. Deer-in-the-headlights overwhelmed. Good lord.

  “She found out—well, I told her I knew about Tim.” Gabe returns to crossing his arms and fuming at me.

  “Oh.” Chris nods. “Sorry about that.”

  Something internally snaps. I’m no longer a fucking deer. “You knew too?”

  “Knew what about Tim?” Paul asks.

  I point a finger at Paul. “Did you know too? Did the whole fucking town know my husband was fucking around on me?” I’m screaming and I’ve never heard my voice like this. I’m shaking and so is my voice. I don’t sound strong when I’m angry like this. I sound scared and I hate it.

  Paul takes a step back, shaking his head. “I—no, I didn’t know.”

  I’m nearly panting when I look at Chris. I don’t know why I’m so mad, why it took this long, but now I’m a raving lunatic. “How long did you know that my husband was cheating on me?”

  “Most of the emergency responders knew,” Gabe says quietly. I’m fairly certain he got what he wanted: me, angry. And now he’s calm and I want to…well, I’ve never hit another person. I promised myself after all the whippings I took, I’d never do the same. Ever. But I want to say mean things. I want the men around me to suffer like I am right now.

  I’m humiliated all over again at my marriage, how I wasn’t good enough for Tim to keep his dick in his pants, how I wasn’t pretty enough, how I was…god, who knows what he thought was so wrong with me, with us, to resort to fucking around. Fucking around so much all the emergency responders in our little town knew about him.

  “He was dying,” Chris says with a shrug. “We felt bad for him. So we’d take him home and—”

  “And what did you do with his little girlfriends, hmm?” My hands are everywhere, up at the ceiling, circling in the air. I’ve become so animated I don’t recognize myself. “What did you do with the women Tim was fucking around with?”

  Chris looks down. “I didn’t know he was married…until he died.”

  I point my finger at Gabe now. “Did you know he was married? Did you know it was me getting screwed over by my dear dying husband? That I know I’m clean because I had to get checked after I found out Tim was fucking around? How humiliating that was?” I’m not sure what I’m saying at the moment.

  Gabe takes a step closer to me.

  But I back into the door. “Don’t,” is all I can say.

  Gabe winces. “I—I followed him home once. From a bar. I didn’t know if he was drunk or not. He was driving pretty well and he came to your house, where you used to live. I saw you answer the door for him.”

  I close my eyes, wishing I didn’t know he knew. God, it’s so ironic, isn’t it? We’re always grasping to know everything. But sometimes ignorance is bliss. I hate that Gabe knew me as the wife of a cheating husband, a charismatic man who laughed at our vows. And I internalized everything Tim had done.

  “I fell in love with you that night.”

  I look up, not sure what Gabe really said.

  “After I saw you, I hated your husband, Jane.” Gabe’s voice is raw. “I hated him for doing that to you.”

  I shake my head, hoping for the quiet staccato hum from my feet as they’re fleeing.

  “I wanted to punish him, Jane.” Gabe keeps talking, even though I’m not sure anyone is breathing. “I wanted to hurt him. But—I feel like shit now for being like that because of how he—the way he passed away. God, that had to be tough on you, taking care of him. And I knew I loved you then, for the way you loved and cared for him.

  “I feel like a fucking stalker because for two years I followed you from time to time. I knew about your new house. I learned your schedule. Fuck, I am a stalker.”

  “That’s kind of fucked up,” Paul says.

  I keep shaking my head. I’m crying now, but I’m covering my face with my hands.

  “Hey,” Gabe says defensively. “At least I never went to his funeral.”

  Gabe glares at Chris.

  My mouth is open as I glance at Chris too. He’s such a huge man, but he looks like he’d like to crawl into a tiny space when our gazes meet.

  He frowns at Gabe. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus, man. Really fucking nice.”

  “You were there?” I ask. “At my husband’s funeral?”

  Chris slowly nods. “I—yeah, I was there.”

  “You saw me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, what is this to the two of you?” I wave my hand at all three of them, actually. I’m so angry and hurt and humiliated. I glare even more at Chris. “You think you love me because you feel sorry for the poor widow? You feel sorry for me so you pity fuck me?”

  “No!” Chris argues.

  “I don’t pity you,” Gabe says.

  I squint at him. “It sure as hell sounds that way.” I take a step closer to Gabe, clenching my fists. “You’re saying you fell in love with an idea—the poor wife whose husband is fucking around. You fell in love with a one-dimensional idea, not me. And the reason why you fell in love is—and Paul is right about this—because you have a weird notion about always protecting me, keeping me safe. Was I the perfect victim for you to save? Was that it? Do you even see m
e? Do you have the faintest clue that I’m a real person? Oh, and I knew my husband was fucking around. I knew before he died. I wasn’t the little victim you think I was. I never was. You don’t know me. You don’t want to know me. You want a victim.”

  Gabe’s shaking his head, that dark color in his cheeks returning. “I know you. Why else am I sure about the way I feel about you? I know you, Jane.”

  Oh, but he will know me. There’s one sure way he’ll learn about me that will make him run from me. I’m going to tell him everything. No, even better. I’m going to show him everything.

  26

  I’m not thinking. I’m a blur of emotions. I know I’m going to regret what I’m doing. There’s a buzzing, nagging thought trying to stop me, but I march past the men in my foyer, crowding me. Going to my bedroom then the closet, I find the one drawer I keep locked. It’s a hidden drawer, inside where I keep my socks. And soon, I have the clear plastic case, the silver disk inside.

  Paul’s followed me, but I can sense Chris and Gabe are close. They’re whispering to each other in low guttural sounds. Chris sounds like he’s pleading. Gabe sounds miserable.

  “What are you doing?” Paul asks as I leave my huge walk-in closet, stuffed full of men’s clothing and mine too. Our clothes are making love, intertwined at all hours. I almost can’t stand the sight of it.

  “Going to show them. Show all of you.” I stand beside the bed where I’ve made love to Paul and Chris and Gabe so many times I’ve lost count. I know their bodies. And they know mine.

  “Show us what?” Paul’s voice is calm, but his face is blanched. He looks incredibly tired, and I almost stop myself. I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to play his damsel in distress from Gabe and Chris and my philandering husband.

  Is that all I am to them? Some idea of a sad woman they can play knight in shining armor with? I liked that idea too, sadly. I liked it a lot.

  But I also loathe it because the word victim shrouds me with its label. I’ve done my best to shy away from it. But it’s always there. The word victim, the shame of it, that’s the monster who cages me. Even with me thrashing against the bars for my freedom, I never find it. I only find more pain.