by Anne Marsh
She really, really had to stop looking.
Instead, when they made the day’s final pass through the bed, she dropped down onto the deck next to Dre and Landry. She was simply lending a hand, she told herself. Doing her share of the work. Grabbing a burlap sack, she started sorting oysters. Small select, medium select, large select. Problem was, her hands and her eyes knew this drill by rote, which meant she was on autopilot, with plenty of ways for her head to get her into trouble.
Landry fiddled with the dial on the radio, jacking up the volume on a country tune. The singer hollered out his desire for his lady, launching into a happy, raunchy chorus. Mary Jane didn’t need the subliminal.
This was work. Nothing more.
“We did good today,” she said, grabbing a new burlap sack. The shells spread out around her looked like they’d pulled in mostly medium and large select. Not too many smalls or extra smalls.
Landry flipped her a two-fingered salute. “We aim to please, boss.”
Boss. Yeah. Somehow she had a hard time imagining these two taking orders, although the fantasy about stole her breath. Keep it professional.
“That mean you’re keepin’ us?” Dre’s smoky drawl pulled her back to reality. She flushed and hoped they’d chalk her pink up to the heat.
She focused on the oysters. “Sure. We’ve got plenty of work for a day or two.”
“And then she’s not makin’ promises.” Landry didn’t sound worried.
“You do your part,” Dre warned his brother, “and she won’ have no complaints, either.”
“Sure.” Landry made short work of his current bag and grabbed a new one. “You jus’ tell me where you wan’ this one.” He gestured towards the now-full sack by his feet.
“Right over there is fine.” She pointed towards starboard, and he nodded, easily shifting the sixty-pound burlap to the side. He was good, she’d give him that, but he’d been running his own boat for years.
When he came back, he dropped down beside her and started helping her with her bag. Which didn’t mean anything, she told herself, as they were all but finished here, and lending her a hand would speed things along. He was simply being a good employee. That she enjoyed the occasional, casual brush of his fingers against hers was neither here nor there.
Tomorrow, they’d head deeper into the bayou to harvest the rest of the private lease she’d picked up the contract for. Unfortunately, there was less and less coming from the public beds. Too many oil spills, too many fishermen, and changing waters—she didn’t know all the whys, but the oysters weren’t as plentiful as they had been, and she’d have been hard-pressed for cash if that new contract hadn’t fallen into her lap.
“You been workin’ with Riley long?” The not-so-casual interest in Landry’s voice was disappointing. Mary Jane could admit that to herself.
“Sure.” She kept her voice level. “Riley and I, we’ve been sailing two years now. She’s one of the best mechanics on the bayou, and I’m lucky to have her.”
“Uh-huh.” Landry’s eyes ran over Riley, and the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth said he liked what he saw just fine. “It’s not so common, findin’ a woman mechanic.”
“You don’t need a dick to fix a motor.” Her voice sounded cranky and defensive even to her own ears—but damned if she didn’t resent Landry watching Riley like she was some kind of sweet he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.
Landry’s eyes didn’t leave the other woman. “Never said you did,” he observed. “But I can do the math. She’s a rare one.”
“Riley’s a good friend,” she said stiffly, but she meant it. Riley might give the impression of delicacy, her black hair braided into an intricate fishtail that emphasized the fine bones of her face, but she was tough. She had to be. The other woman, Mary Jane knew, had three older brothers, all cops. After growing up taking those boys’ shit and protective love, Riley didn’t take shit from anyone else. She stood on her own two feet and practically dared the world to throw punches her way. After all the fishing and talking they’d done together, Riley was the closest thing Mary Jane had to a girlfriend.
Riley cleaned up real good, looking like some kind of Russian princess, so Mary Jane understood why Landry couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And as much as that interest hurt because it made her realize that her own fantasies about the Breauxs were simply that—fantasies—she also had to admit that Landry wasn’t letting his dick come between him and giving a full day’s work. No, Landry had put in one hundred percent. So had Dre. She’d give them that. Whatever their reasons for coming out here—and she still didn’t believe they were looking for a quick cash fix—Dre and Landry worked hard.
She actually liked the Breaux brothers, and that was a new one.
When the final oysters rattled into the sacks, Landry shot her a grin. “We all done here?”
She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but she answered the obvious. “Deck’s clear.”
Nodding, he strolled over to the red-and-white cooler at the back of the boat and pulled out a pair of cold Cokes. The strong fingers wrapped around the water-beaded glass were scarred from fishing lines, knives, and who knew what else. He wasn’t afraid to use his hands and get done what needed doing, and she liked that.
He popped a top and held a bottle out to her. “Thirsty?”
“Hot.” She took the bottle and then flushed at her own double entendre. Hell. The little grin quirking the corner of his mouth said he was enjoying her confusion.
He tilted the bottle towards her. “Cheers.”
She watched him covertly, unwilling to tear her eyes away from the powerful throat exposed as he swallowed, or from his obvious pleasure as he downed the cold one. She was attracted to him—to them both, if she was being honest—but were they attracted to her? The Breauxs were clearly more than pretty faces. Dre and Landry were big, tough, hard-working Cajun men. Maybe the playboy hottie was an act. Or not.
###
Mary Jane was watching him.
Again.
Christ, her brown eyes about set him on fire, and that was all kinds of wrong. When the blue moon came out tonight, Landry would be settling down and mating.
Clearly, Landry’s dick hadn’t gotten that memo.
Not looking at Mary Jane was impossible. Itty-bitty denim shorts cupped her fine ass. The frayed edges and worn fringe lent her the illusion of decency when he knew the fabric actually stopped short of covering her ass. Landry knew, because he’d looked. All fucking day. She’d bend over, swipe a burlap sack or an oyster from the deck, and those shorts would ride up, exposing the soft curve of her cheeks. He wanted to taste every inch of what she showed him. Wanted to press his mouth against that tender skin and nip.
Gently.
He wasn’t going to hurt her any. Just love her some. Mary Jane was skittish, too, and his wolf liked that hesitancy. Some of his Pack brothers, they wanted alpha females. That was okay, but Mary Jane’s softness called to him like a delicious secret. He wanted to sink himself deep into her. She wasn’t weak, though, even if she didn’t take to confrontation. No, she was one hell of a strong woman. She’d made sure both he and Dre acknowledged that, not letting them onto the Bayou Sweetie until they’d toed the line some.
There wasn’t any violence in her. She was a giver. Someone who’d hold a man or a child in her arms, standing between him and whatever shit the world was dishing up. She’d love wholeheartedly, and she’d be passionate in making sure those she loved were taken care of. Mary Jane watched and she waited. She hung back some, sure, but all that hesitancy would vanish if someone threatened her Pack. She’d fight hard then.
He wasn’t supposed to want to be her Pack.
Unless she was his blue-moon bride. Problem was, that moon had brought him and Dre to the Bayou Sweetie, and right before the clouds had rolled in yesterday, he was pretty damned certain those blue rays had settled on Riley Jones. Riley was a good woman, too. Hell, she was beautiful by almost anyone’s standards, and
even if she hadn’t come in such a delicious package, he’d have liked her just fine. She had a sense of honor he respected. She worked hard, paid her own way, and made sure she was square with everyone. She’d make the perfect life mate.
He knew that.
He knew he was lucky.
Still, as he looked at Riley bending over the rake and muttering to herself in that endearing way she had—as if she truly expected the inanimate piece of machinery to start talking back to her, for Christ’s sake—he wanted to turn around and watch Mary Jane instead. He wanted to take Mary Jane up on the sexy challenge her brown eyes were sending his way, whether she knew it or not. She was curious about him. She looked at his mouth, his hands. Further south. Hell, he’d had a hard-on for her most of the day, and his wolf demanded he go to her now and pull her hard and close. Let her feel exactly how much she bothered him.
Like his reaction to her drinking the Coke he’d provided, his feelings for Mary Jane were primal. Atavistic. He provided and she took, and damned if he didn’t get turned on by that. She had no idea what she’d started when she accepted his casual offer of a Coke.
###
Riley waved Mary Jane over to the side of the boat. “You got a minute? I want another pair of eyes.”
Glad of an excuse to tear her gaze away from Landry, Mary Jane crossed the deck double-time to see what her mechanic needed. When she looked where the other woman was pointing, at the rake suspended above the water, the problem was clear. The teeth had bent and needed replacing. Granted, those teeth were nothing more than nails and far from high-tech, but that metal did the job, cutting into the bayou floor and freeing the oysters.
Riley ran a finger gently over a bare spot on the rake. “Lost a tooth right here.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Sure.” Riley shrugged. “You know me. There’s not much I can’t fix.”
That was true. Riley was a miracle with machinery. She kept the Bayou Sweetie running like well-oiled clockwork. Without her, Mary Jane would’ve spent far too much time and money in dry dock. Which reminded her that if anyone knew the truth of Landry’s claims, Riley would.
“Landry Breaux said their boat was in dry dock,” Mary Jane said. Riley had been in and out of the dockyard at least a dozen times this week, stocking up on parts and supplies. Mary Jane should have checked out Landry’s story before letting him onboard. Too bad she’d been a sucker for a pair of brown eyes.
Sure enough, Riley confirmed what she’d secretly suspected. “I didn’t see her there.”
“Could be a recent accident?”
“Maybe.” Riley chewed on her lower lip. “Anything’s possible.”
“So why would they want to sign on to the Bayou Sweetie?” That question had tormented her. There had to be a reason. The Breaux brothers always had a reason for what they did, even if half the time that reason had something to do with sex. They couldn’t possibly be thinking she’d put out, so that left Riley.
Which made a strange kind of sense.
Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, she confirmed that Landry was watching them. His warm caramel gaze heated her insides right up. He seemed interested, but there was also a predatory edge to his examination that had her backing up towards the railing. Plus, when he finished running his eyes over her and turned his attention to Riley, that hot stare turned possessive. Mary Jane didn’t kid herself. Landry’s real interest began and ended with Riley.
Not her.
She was simply a momentary obstacle blocking his path to the woman he wanted. It shouldn’t have stung, but it did. She was tired of being someone’s collateral damage.
“They like you.” It killed her to admit that truth to Riley, but she’d seen the assessing looks Landry had been shooting Riley all day. He was thinking things, imagining all the erotic ways he could touch the other woman.
Riley shook her head. “If those boys are planning on having themselves a bayou sandwich, you’re the one who’s going to play the filling.”
Mary Jane flinched. “Hell no.”
There was wishful thinking about remote possibilities, and then there were fantasies that weren’t ever coming to life. Whatever she knew about threesomes, she’d learned from the pages of her romance novels, and those pages didn’t precisely come with step-by-step instructions. Put her in bed with Dre and Landry, and she wouldn’t know where to start.
Other than working her way down from top to bottom, kissing each inch of Breaux as she went.
The other woman laughed. “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Hell, I’ve thought about it. I’d bet every dollar we make on this run that Dre and Landry know exactly what they’re doing in bed. You’d never forget a night like that.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You sure?”
No way Mary Jane would answer Riley’s question and open up that can of worms. Instead, she looked back over her shoulder at the two men again. “They don’t want to play those kinds of games with me.”
“You should try asking,” Riley said pragmatically. “You might be surprised.”
Mary Jane didn’t like surprises. Surprises were code for scare the shit out of you and had never ended well. Her child self had learned to hide fast when surprise was mentioned or her intuition started sparking.
Right now, that intuition said these boys were trouble.
Stubborn, determined, sensual trouble. Which was far better than the hit-me kind of trouble her child self had run into, but trouble was still trouble.
She chewed on her lower lip, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could bite them back. “I’d disappoint them.”
“You enjoy yourself, they’ll enjoy themselves.”
Her experience with really good sex was limited, certainly nothing that would put her in the Breaux brothers’ league. She’d given up her virginity on prom night because her date had pushed her, and she hadn’t been saving herself for anything anyhow. Better to get it over with and make someone happy. Not a bad experience, but nothing ecstatic, either. After a couple of weeks, they’d both gone their separate ways and she’d been grateful he hadn’t left her pregnant.
She deserved more than that. She knew that.
“They’re crew,” she protested.
“Uh-huh.” Riley looked over at the Breauxs and smiled. That slow, knowing grin lit up her face. Riley had a naughty side, and she’d obviously decided it was Mary Jane’s turn for a little trouble. “That means they’ve got to take orders, right?”
“You think men like that really take orders?”
As if he knew she was watching him, Landry set his empty Coke bottle back in the cooler and strolled over to join Dre. God, he was fine. He knew it, too. Handling one man that dominant would be impossible. Landry was an alpha through and through, and no matter how laid-back he looked or acted, he’d demand everything from her in bed, and he’d be the one in charge.
God help her if she let Dre into her bed, too.
###
Sometimes being a shifter had its advantages. This was one of those times. Dre’s ears probably should have been burning, but instead his cock was hard as steel, reminding him that it had been too long since he’d held a woman in his arms. Every word the girls exchanged was plain as day, clear across the boat’s deck. Hell, Mary Jane might as well have been whispering naughty suggestions into his ear. No way could he get any harder.
He slid a glance sideways at his brother, playing his interest off as casual. “You think she means it?”
Landry’s grin lit up his face. “That she’d do us in a heartbeat?”
Dre punched his brother lightly on the shoulder. “You don’ wan’ to share?”
Landry’s eyes darkened. “Hell yeah. We do everythin’ together, so I’ve been hopin’ we’ve got ourselves the same blue-moon bride. That would work out real well for us, and it sure sounds like our girl over there isn’t opposed to the idea.”
“She’s goin’ to take some coaxin’.”
Landry grinned. “That’s half the fun. A little holdin’, a little kissin’. Then we pop her the question: which one of us will it be?”
“And you think she’d choose both of us?”
“I sure hope so.”
Dre figured his brother could do all the wishing he wanted. Wishing never changed the facts, though. For a long moment he stared down at the bayou water slapping gently at the side of the boat. Those barely there waves forced a little rock and sway into the Bayou Sweetie’s pitch. A heron shrieked from the deep reeds, and its mate answered.
“Which one?”
“What?” Landry looked up.
“Which one do you think is ours?” Dre knew which one he wanted.
“We’re goin’ to wait and see.” Landry stepped in closer, his shoulder bumping his brother’s. “But I still think that Riley is ours.”
Riley Jones was a really pretty woman. Any man would be lucky to have her by his side. She was strong, strong enough to deal with Pack life and hold her own. Somehow, though, she wasn’t the one his eyes went to. No, he wanted to look at Mary Jane. Wanted to unwrap her, too, and kiss her from head to foot. She’d get eaten alive by the Pack, but damned if she didn’t call to him.
“You don’ think our mate could be Mary Jane?” He dropped his question into the conversation, all casual-like, but his brother knew him too well.
“You got a thing for her?”
He didn’t know how to explain the bone-deep attraction he had to Mary Jane, so he settled for staring his brother down.
Landry sighed. “She’s a beta, Dre. You put her toe to toe with the Pack, and she’s backin’ down. You think that’s fair to her?”
“I’d protect her,” he said fiercely.
“Maybe she wouldn’t wan’ the protectin’,” Landry pointed out carefully. “Seein’ as how this is a modern century and all. She jus’ might choose a different way to live, that’s all.”
The Pack was centuries old. Most of them had grown up in Medieval Europe, the last pups born to the old Packs, when the males had still found female mates easily. Before the blue moons had grown less and less frequent and their numbers had grown fewer and fewer. Their women were treasured and protected. No matter how many years had passed, no matter how much times had changed, Dre would never look at his mate and not see a woman to be valued, protected, treasured and kept safe. And Mary Jane appealed to that primitive side.
