Charming Jane_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Kristin Coley

  “It was a pleasure, love.”

  I turned my head, but they were already walking away, neither glancing back. Our waitress let out an appreciative hum as she watched them walk out, and I glanced at her. She gave me a small shrug and smiled as she said, “They are yummy. Those accents.” She fanned herself with a laugh and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Do you know them?” I questioned, not having the impression they were friends but more like regulars. The waitress’s forehead wrinkled as she paused stacking their plates and gave me a curious look.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  I shook my head in reply and she nodded as she went back to wiping up the table.

  “Those two boys are the definition of trouble. Well known around here since they showed up a couple of years ago. Trouble with a capital T and too damn good looking for their own good,” she answered, pointing at me with the dishrag in her hand. “Stay away from them.”

  My eyes widened as I glanced at the door they’d disappeared through. I had no intention of being around them and the waitress seemed to realize that right after she spoke. She let out a sigh as she propped her hip against the table, gazing after them.

  “Girls have been known to follow the blond one around like a puppy. He’s a charmer, but a playboy. He’s responsible for more broken hearts and fights than ten men combined. Rumor says he’s spent his fair share of time cooling his heels in jail too. Usually, there’s another guy with them. Big bastard. They keep to themselves from what I’ve seen.” She eyed me speculatively before adding, “They seemed to take a liking to you though.”

  I gave her a startled glance and she chuckled, the sound uneasy to my ears. “They paid for your lunch. Insisted, in fact.” I felt my eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected generosity from strangers. She shrugged at my look as she said, “Guess that’s why I felt the need to warn you. They’ve come in here a few times, but I’ve never seen them pay for someone else’s lunch.”

  Her obvious curiosity as to why they would change their pattern made me uncomfortable and as I glanced out the window I saw the rain had slackened up. She followed my gaze and gave me a tight smile. “Those summer storms blow out as quickly as they blow in around here.” I nodded, feeling uneasy as I tried to unobtrusively check the street. I hadn’t forgotten about the two guys who’d followed me here.

  The windows were grimy, not giving me a clear view, and I gave up with a huff. I decided to throw myself on the waitress’s mercy since she’d been helpful.

  “Is there another exit? Out the back,” I clarified, gesturing at the back of the dark restaurant.

  “Yeah, straight back past the bar. It leads to the little gravel lot,” she answered easily enough and I gave her a thankful smile as I gathered my things. I dug in my pocket for a five dollar bill I’d shoved in there to tip her. Even if they’d bought my lunch it only seemed right to tip her for the kindness she’d shown me.

  I reached out to hand it to her and she shook her head. “I’ve seen plenty come through here and I recognize when someone needs it more than me.” She gave me a soft smile as I felt tears well up once again at her compassion. She pretended not to see them, jerking her thumb to the door the men had left out of. “Plus, they tip well enough to cover the whole day.” She threw me a wink as I managed to get myself under control and I mouthed, “Thank you,” because the lump in my throat prevented any actual volume. She gave me an understanding smile and I scooted to the exit she’d indicated earlier before I broke down completely and told her all of my problems.

  I was preoccupied with thoughts of the waitress’ kindness and that of the men who’d bought my lunch as I walked out the back door and didn’t notice the guy standing near it. I noticed the rain was a little harder as the door slipped from my hand, almost hitting the stranger.

  “I’m sorry,” I said automatically, distracted by my thoughts and barely glancing at him as I scanned the tiny gravel lot behind the restaurant. We were standing under the protection of a small overhang, and there was a narrow alley to my right, but it was dark and creepy, and I shuddered at the thought of having to walk down it.

  “That the best you can do?” The belligerent question drew my attention back to the man, and a trickle of fear went through me as I studied him more closely. I was almost positive he was one of the men who’d been following me before I went in. I cursed my idiocy for not realizing they knew the area better than me. No doubt there was a guy keeping watch on the front door and this one had come around to the back.

  I hid the terror running through me with a false bravado, “Excuse me?” I forced myself to make the words as haughty as old Mrs. Pembrooke, the richest lady in Dad’s congregation and the one who funded the minister’s residence.

  I shot a quick glance toward the door I’d exited, but he was firmly in my way, and a second look down the creepy alley didn’t make it any less creepy. I could try to run down it, but I had a feeling that would just leave me trapped between the two men.

  He moved closer, increasing my discomfort, as he ignored my clear back off vibes. Apparently, haughty didn’t work on him. I scanned the lot to see if there was anyone around who would hear me scream, trying to ignore my own desperate doubts. Even if someone heard me, would they bother to come rescue me?

  “A sweet thing like you could do a better job of apologizing to me,” he snarled, edging closer.

  “Apologizing for what?” I demanded, stiffening my backbone as anger spiked through me. It was clear this guy was toying with me, and I felt a surprising rage start to thrum though me. “What do you want?” My voice was almost unrecognizable but I was proud of the fact that it didn’t shake. I held my ground as he loomed over me, trying to use his size to intimidate me. I wasn’t particularly tall, but I didn’t back away, tensing my muscles as I prepared to fight.

  “You questioning me, bitch? You should be talking sweet to me so I’ll take it easy on you. In fact, if you get on your knees I might forget it even happened.”

  “I don’t appreciate you calling me a bitch, and the only man I get on my knees for is Jesus, and I can assure you it’ll be a cold day in hell before I talk sweet to someone like you,” I retorted sharply, my smart mouth promising to be the death of me, just like my mother always said. I took a deep breath, stepping sideways as I prepared to run.

  He grabbed my arm, jerking me toward him as he grasped my intention. Adrenaline jolted through me, and my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I couldn’t run though, not as long as he held on to my arm. His hard grip squeezed my arm and caused me to wince, telling me he was leaving bruises.

  “Let me go.” My voice rose, hoping to attract the attention of someone, anyone, but the lunch crowd had long gone, and I was alone with him. Fear threatened to overwhelm my anger, but I forced it back. I would not give up without a fight. Again, I shouted, “Let me go.”

  Vague memories of church self-defense classes trickled in, and I frantically tried to recall everything I’d ever learned. Demand they release you, and if they don’t comply, fight. I chopped my hand down across the one he held me with, and his grip loosened, whether in surprise or because the move actually worked, I wasn’t sure.

  “Bitch!”

  “I don’t like that word,” I gritted out once again, my sudden freedom giving me confidence.

  I debated taking my chances running down the alley, but wasn’t sure I’d make it before he caught me, and he was blocking my way back into the restaurant. Instead, I started to scream, hoping someone would hear, but his hand quickly slammed against my face cutting me off. The force of his blow sent me reeling back, and he rushed me, shoving me into a wall where my head bounced with a loud crack. The pain stunned me, scattering my thoughts and preventing me from defending myself. I tried to focus as his hands ran over my chest, groping me, and I wanted to hit him, scream at him, but the pain radiating from my face made it impossible.

  Suddenly, he was gone and I started to topple forward at the sudden ab
sence of weight holding me up. Another set of hands replaced the ones that had disappeared and fear caused me to struggle instinctively.

  “Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

  The words blurred together as I fought the arms holding me, but after a minute I recognized the clipped accent and collapsed against the chest I was pinned to. “Yes, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

  Tears trickled down my cheeks as I clung to my rescuer, uncertain which of the brothers held me but grateful they’d come to my rescue.

  “Fucking bloody bastard!” A thud accompanied the insult and a low moan. The pounding of flesh against flesh continued so long I finally lifted my head, but whoever held me wouldn’t allow me to turn my head to witness what was going on. It kept going though and I wiggled, murmuring, “He’s going to kill him.”

  “Ian,” the man holding me said sharply and I knew who was beating the hell out of my attacker. “Ian, enough.” The rhythmic pounding didn’t pause and I heard an exasperated sigh. “Ian, murder charges are expensive and time consuming. Stop.”

  Once again, nothing changed and I felt the man holding me twitch. He didn’t want to release me, but it sounded like he was going to have to stop Ian bodily. I turned my head so he’d hear me and cried, “Ian. Ian, stop please.” A stutter in the pounding told me he’d heard me so I continued, “Ian, please. Stop. He’s not worth the trouble. Come help me.”

  I waited a moment and then the pounding stopped and I felt the chest under me release the breath he’d been holding.

  “Ian, come collect her please. I’ll call Buster,” the man holding me said crisply before ducking his head next to my ear and whispering, “Thank you.”

  I nodded dazedly, wondering if I’d stepped into an alternate universe when I came through the back door.

  “Love,” a low voice spoke and I felt a hand touch my shoulder hesitantly. He was careful not to startle me and as I turned toward him, he let out a hiss at the sight of my face. The throbbing made it difficult to know how bad it was, but the quickly hidden rage on his face told me it wasn’t pretty.

  He forced a smile, trying and failing to hide his desire to go back and continue to beating the scum on the ground, and I grasped his arm, holding him in place. His hand came up to my face and hovered for a moment before he delicately brushed the tip of his finger over my cheekbone. The touch was so light I barely felt it over the painful throbbing, except for a burning heat that lingered where his finger had been.

  “You’re a fierce one, aren’t you?” There was a note of admiration in his tone that caught me off guard, even as I shook my head in denial. “Strength comes in many forms.” A half-smile graced his face, one of his dimples appearing, and I swayed slightly, feeling light-headed at the sight or maybe it was pain as my body protested the beating it had taken.

  “Your knuckles,” I cried, catching his hand as he tried to hide it from my view. “Are you okay?” His hands were swollen, the skin busted and raw where he’d beat my attacker. They looked painful so I could only imagine how it felt.

  “Better than him,” Ian answered lightly, his head jerking toward the guy moaning on the ground. I was grateful for the low moans because it meant he was still alive. He may have attacked me but I didn’t want to be responsible for his death either.

  “The car,” Ian’s brother gestured to the back of the gravel lot, a phone pressed to one ear as he stood over the guy on the ground. I noticed it had begun to drizzle again, and shivered, whether from the dampness or shock I wasn’t sure.

  “Come, love, he’s spoken,” Ian whispered, loudly enough so his brother could clearly overhear. When he only got a glare as a response, he saluted and spoke up, “Yes, Michael.”

  I filed the name away, glad to have something to call him in my head now. Ian used his body to block my view of the attacker, but I couldn’t resist a peek, or suppress the gasp that escaped when I saw him. He was unrecognizable. I wasn’t sure if any of the bones in his face were unbroken.

  “Don’t look.”

  “But,” I hesitated, shaking my head. “He needs help.”

  “And he’ll get it,” Ian promised as he guided me to their car. “But you don’t need to be here for that. Michael will take care of everything.” His voice was final and I didn’t protest further as pain lanced through my body. Ian caught my wince and slowed his stride.

  I could feel my mind detaching itself from the present as my attack took on the haziness of a distant memory, one wrapped in cotton for my protection. I had a feeling it might be shock setting in, but couldn’t persuade myself to care. I shuddered as cold rain ran down my neck into my shirt. It occurred to me we should call the police, but the thought drifted away as Ian spoke.

  “I think we need to get you warm and dry,” he murmured, as he guided me to the car. He tucked me inside, turning on the heat full blast. “Did you drive here?”

  I blinked at him as he hovered in the car door, before jerking my head once to indicate no, as his question finally registered. He grasped my hand in his for a second, and the hard warmth of his palm felt good to my ice-cold hands.

  “Okay, we’ll take you to our hotel and get you cleaned up and then we’ll take you home.” I nodded, not really listening as he shut the door. In the silence, my mind looped through the last few hours; arriving in New Orleans, my lost luggage, finding out I had nowhere to stay, and being attacked. Everything felt like a bad dream, something that had happened to someone else. I sat there in a daze, warm air blowing against my face, but still felt chilled to the bone.

  Ian came back, sliding into the driver’s seat, the scent of rain and leather mingling at his entrance. I heard the other car door open as his brother entered the car behind me.

  “Buster is on his way. We can go,” I recognized the clip of Michael’s voice, the efficiency in which he spoke. Ian reached over the console, and patted my knee gently, before shifting the car into gear. I leaned my head back and watched the rain streak across the window as he drove us away from the dark little lot.

  Traffic was a mess as cars barely moved, the rain and construction bringing the street to almost a standstill. It didn’t seem to bother my companion, as he was humming, occasionally drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to a beat only he could hear. The sounds relaxed me, as the car’s warmth finally penetrated the cold inside of me, and I turned my head to look at him. My eyes were heavy as I took in his profile, the shape of it arrogant, but now I could see the kindness there too.

  A nudge had me blinking my eyes open. The car door was open, and Ian was leaning against it.

  “We’re here, love,” Ian said gently.

  I glanced around, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. It was dark, like a parking garage, but the man hovering behind the brothers told me we were at a valet stand, and therefore someplace expensive.

  “Jane,” I told him, taking the hand he held out to me. “My name is Jane,” I repeated more firmly.

  A smile curled his full lips.

  “Jane. What a perfectly proper name. I’m Ian, and this is Michael.”

  I nodded, attempting to smile but stopped when I felt a tug on my lip, and fresh blood against my tongue.

  “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up,” Michael said, tense, his back ramrod straight. I noticed he slipped a folded bill to the valet along with the keys. “Your discretion would be appreciated,” he murmured as the valet nodded emphatically.

  Warning bells started going off in my head as Ian guided me to a set of enormous glass doors – the entrance to an upscale hotel. What are you doing? A little voice screamed. This is stupid and dangerous. I lifted my hand to my head, the pain warring with the idea that I was putting myself in a more dangerous position. The waitress’ earlier warning added to my sudden fear.

  “Maybe I should….” I trailed off as a wave of dizziness hit me and I swayed, unable to finish suggesting they leave me.

  Michael came to my side, his eyes watchful of our surroun
dings as Ian wrapped his arm around me for support.

  “We should hurry,” Michael urged and Ian increased our pace. I wanted to protest, but had no strength. I could only hope their intentions were good as they rushed us through the hotel lobby.

  “She’s hurting.” Ian frowned, slowing back down.

  “I’d rather not be spotted with her in this condition. It won’t reflect well on either of us.” Michael stepped in front of us, and I almost stepped on his heels as he crowded in, blocking me from view. I had to trust them to guide me, because all I could see was Michael’s back. Again, the urge to protest rose, but my head was swimming, and it was all I could do to walk in a straight line.

  “Almost there, Jane, love.”

  I wasn’t sure where there was, but noticed he’d added my name to his usual endearment. I almost smiled at the combination, only the remembrance of the pain of my split lip stopping me. We made it across the lobby and a ding told me we were standing at an elevator. Michael stepped aside so we could slide in, and a second later, a flash blinded me, and I ducked my head instinctively.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Fuck.” Michael put himself in front of us again, and Ian tugged me to the back of the elevator. I wanted to protest their language, but it didn’t seem the time as a guy came running toward us, shouting.

  “Michael, Ian, who’s the woman?”

  “Come on.” Ian hit the elevator button again, his desire to get away clear.

  “Ian.” Michael used his name like a warning.

  “I’ll deck him.”

  “That’s not going to improve the situation. I can already see the headlines now. Father will be so impressed if you brawl with yet another reporter.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he replied, glaring at the photographer charging toward us. Their conversation only confused me further as to why they seemed intent on keeping me hidden.