Labor Day in Lusty, Texas [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “Let’s get you inside and unpacked, sweetheart. Then, I want to show you the town on our way to the book store.”

  “All right. I’m curious to see the Benedict brothers’ bachelor pad.”

  Michael laughed. He got out of the car and went around to open Abigail’s door. He extended his hand and drew her out of the car and right into his arms.

  “I need to kiss you.” Michael wondered what she saw in his eyes because her gaze softened. She moved in even closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Yes, please.” Her whisper brushed his mouth, and he hungered for her. His lips covered hers, and he feasted. Arousal became a seductive hum in his body, in his blood, as he drank her down. Michael’s tongue danced with hers, a lovely, luscious waltz of craving and bliss. His arms wrapped around her, one hand anchored on her bottom while the other cupped the back of her head. He held her close, and he plundered. It was the most erotic thing ever. Thoughts of later, of tonight, began to shiver inside him. It didn’t surprise him one bit that his cock began to harden.

  Michael ended their kiss. “We’ll have to keep busy so the day goes by quickly.”

  Abigail laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.” Michael stepped to the trunk and removed her single suitcase.

  “I heard Mother tell you the shopping in Houston was good.” He knew his mother enjoyed shopping, just as he knew it wasn’t an activity she indulged in very often.

  “She did. That’s why I didn’t bring a lot with me. It’s been a while since I’ve been shopping and years since I’ve done any here. I thought, if time permitted, I’d have a look.

  “We’ll make time. I can tell you all of Mother’s favorite places to shop, too.”

  Abigail tilted her head slightly, and he read the unasked question. “My brothers and I take care to know such things, so we can easily pop in and buy her a gift.” Michael grinned. “As a matter of fact, that’s how Caleb met Bernice. He’d been sent to New York City on a prisoner transport assignment. He had a couple of days turn-around time, so he stopped into Macy’s to buy gifts for mother and the grandmothers.”

  “Good deeds are rewarded.”

  “They are. So I can tell you that Joske’s and Foley’s are two of Kate Benedict’s go-to stores when the shopping bug bites. We’re not far from San Antonio, and if she’s in Houston, she often goes there to Frost Brothers.”

  “I’ve heard men don’t like shopping with women.”

  He had to remind herself that she really had very little personal experience with men. He had to wonder what the atmosphere was like for her, growing up with only women. Did her mother and grandmother dislike men? Michael Benedict was also his mother’s son. He knew better than to ask a question like that. The answer would come, in time.

  For the here and now, he could only be honest with her. “Some men don’t. But I’ll very much enjoy shopping with you. And I know Carson would say the same.”

  Michael took her hand and led her toward the elevator. Abigail gasped and came to a complete stop. He turned his head and grinned as he realized she was staring raptly at the car he’d parked beside. He really couldn’t blame her. The gorgeous, bright red 1975 Ford Mustang was certainly a sight to behold. Currently it was closed up tight, the convertible top locked in place.

  “Oh, I bet that little baby goes fast.”

  “It does. If you like, when we head out, I’ll take us out on the highway for a spin.” Then inspiration struck. “I’ll let you drive it.”

  “It’s yours?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Abigail looked from him, to his car, and then looked at the Caddy. She laughed, loud and long. Michael could only smile. He had no idea what had tickled her funny bone, but he really did love the sound of her laughter.

  Finally, his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you going to tell me what’s so funny?”

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned against him as she caught her breath. It was no problem at all to slip his arm around her and hold her as she recovered. “It’s just that the Caddy belongs to the business tycoon, and the Mustang belongs to the professor. You two have each other’s cars!”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then he, too, laughed. “I suppose when you consider the stereotypes, you’re right.”

  “Professor, one of the things I love about you and your brother is that the two of you have really blown every stereotype right out of the water.”

  “That, sweetheart, is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Come on. I want to show you our home.”

  He wondered what she thought as she stepped into their apartment. They’d rented one of the penthouses in this building, not to pamper themselves so much as to provide a suitable venue for the President and CEO of Benedict Oil and Minerals to host small receptions.

  Large gatherings were usually held at the Carstairs Hotel. More intimate “schmoozing” occasions could happen here.

  “Well, this is quite lovely.” Abigail walked through the entrance into the large living room. One wall of floor-to-ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of Houston. Michael especially liked the view at night.

  “Thank you. It’s more of a working space than a home. Home for us really is Lusty.”

  “I could tell.” She came over, closer to him, apparently having already dismissed the opulence around her. “I imagine Carson needs to reflect the vitality of his company. I understand the concept of appearances. There were several rules and regulations at the law firm, all that could be classified as keeping up appearances.”

  “I can tell you that Carson couldn’t care less, personally. It’s just for the business connections that he makes the effort. The business is a part of the Town Trust, so it belongs to all of us.”

  Abigail nodded, and her smile, the look in her eyes, let him know she understood completely. “And Carson would feel the weight of that responsibility. You don’t have to worry, you know. I had no idea your family was wealthy because y’all don’t act it. Trust me when I say I’ve seen enough of how some rich folk live, and it’s not pretty. I’ve never been fixated on being rich or having more. It seems you have the right of how to be wealthy.”

  “Great-grandmother Sarah felt very strongly on few subjects more than this.” He took her hand in his and twined their fingers. “Having means doesn’t mean a person is better than anyone else. Anyone in the families acting like a little princeling was soon disabused of the attitude. As boys, we all had to work, and work hard, for any spending money we received. We also were expected to account for that money.”

  “Your parents and grandparents were very wise. If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s people who wrap themselves in an air of entitlement.”

  “We agree there. Come, let me show you your bedroom.”

  She opened her mouth to say something but closed it when he led her down the hall, to the double doors at the end. They passed a few closed doors along the way. Later, he’d show her which bedroom was his and which was Carson’s. They’d had this master suite outfitted when they’d moved in, something that had been natural for them to do so they could be ready for their “someday”—the day they met the woman they wanted to woo and wed.

  That someday had arrived sooner than they’d imagined, and he was so glad they were ready for it, and her.

  Michael set her bag down and opened the doors, giving them a slight shove. He stepped back, moving his arm in a sweeping gesture, letting her know she should enter on her own.

  Her steps were slow, as if she was too busy taking the room in to think about walking. Mother had helped decorate the room. The soft lavender on the walls contrasted with the teal blue wallpaper border along the top edges. The bed was Lusty sized, of course, and while it was covered with a counterpane at the moment, would have to be made up with fresh sheets. There were linens in the linen closet. The dresser was massive, with three separate sections, and the walk-in closet was also large. The windows here, covered with drapes, were actually doors that could
be opened to a balcony. On that balcony was a small round table and three chairs.

  They’d lived in this apartment for not quite a year, and until today, this room had stood ready but unoccupied.

  “My room?” Abigail’s two words came, just above a whisper. She didn’t turn around, and he wondered if that was because she was mesmerized or afraid.

  He went to her, put his hands on her shoulders, then drew her back, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He brushed a kiss along her ear.

  “Your room. We hope, very much, that you’ll let us share this room with you. But that is completely up to you.” And then, because he was his mother’s son, he turned her around so she could see his expression when he said the rest of what he needed, very badly, to say.

  “We want you, Abigail Parker. So, while we’re out and about today, think about if you want to invite us into your room, into your bed, and into your body. And know that no other woman has ever been in this room or in this bed. No other woman has made us want—made me want—intimacy, as well as sex—except you.”

  “You give a woman a lot to think about, Dr. Benedict.”

  “That’s only fair because, since I met you, you’re all that I think about.”

  Chapter Nine

  Michael had been true to his word and allowed her to drive his Mustang. They hadn’t been on a deadline, so at his suggestion, she’d taken them onto the Southwest Freeway. Abigail had been right—that car could move. After a good forty minutes, she’d driven them back to the city with its repressive speed limits, and, following Michael’s directions, into a neighborhood comprised of residences and limited businesses. She maneuvered the car along the curb, parked it, and handed Michael back his keys.

  “That was fun. Thank you.” Abigail leaned forward and kissed him. What she’d intended as short and sweet turned deep and hot in a heartbeat. Michael eased back then licked his lips. She felt her cheeks heat and didn’t mind his chuckle. If light laughter could have a tone, then his had been smug.

  “Let me get your door, please.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  A wooden sign that read Arbuckle’s Books stood in front of a good-sized Victorian. Two storied, and with an attic, as well, the business wasn’t exactly as she’d imagined. She’d been picturing a glass-fronted store in a mall.

  The reality of the place was much better.

  Michael unlocked the door and stood back so she could enter. Abigail gaped as she looked around at all the books. Actually, she couldn’t see them all. The walls all held shelves, but because the space was large, there were also freestanding shelves, loaded with books. She was put in mind of a small-town library. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed. “It’s a bit musty in here. Can we open up the windows?”

  “Yes, we can. I know there are no delicate tomes in here, so a bit of fresh air shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I’ve heard that very old books are kept in climate-controlled conditions. Would your Mr. Arbuckle have been conscientious about that?”

  “They are, and he would have been.” Michael turned to her. “Have you ever been to Washington, D. C.? The National Archives has the nation’s founding documents on display, and they are kept in exacting conditions.”

  “Not yet. It’s on my list.” She looked around at all the shelves, all neatly labeled. There was dust, but no disarray. “Why did you decide to buy this store?”

  Michael looked around what must be, to him, a familiar place. “I first came in here several years ago because I’d received a tip that a book I’d been searching for might be here. It wasn’t, but the store’s owner, a man by the name of Cleveland Arbuckle, knew where he could get it, and he did. Since then, I came in every month, practically. We chatted about books and education…and life. He was alone, no family, and I had plenty of family and knew its value.” Michael sighed then came to stand beside her. “Then in early March, when I came by, the store was closed.

  “I found out the reason for that was that Mr. Arbuckle had died unexpectedly. I contacted the lawyer listed in the notice, a man I’d met before, and he informed me that his client’s only heir was a cousin who lived in Seattle. She wanted the place sold for the best possible price. The only bid so far had been from a construction company that planned to tear down this house and, because the lot is a large one, build two new houses on it. I was certain the books would end up in the trash, and…I just couldn’t let it happen.”

  No, Michael Benedict cared too much about knowledge, learning, and the creative effort put into producing a book to see even one summarily destroyed.

  She sensed a sadness in him and knew him well enough already that this sadness, for the loss of someone with whom he likely shared a love of literature, was a sadness he embraced. Not all negative emotions needed to be covered over or begged uplifting. Some were necessary to the human condition, providing motivation and inspiration. Some served simply as a way to remember what was while pursuing what is.

  Abigail squeezed his hand. He looked down at her and smiled.

  “Let me see if I can get some air flowing in here, and then we’ll talk about what comes next.” She knew he meant business-wise but longed to make him smile. She did get a laugh out of him when, in response to his words, she sent him a mock-leer.

  Michael first opened the three windows at the front of the store. They seemed to be fairly new, and each one opened out with the turn of a handle. There was a single window on the other side of the door, and that was an older one. It took him a moment of grunt-producing pushing to get that one to lift, but lift it did. Then set off toward the back of the store. Watching his progress, she noticed a small office had been set up, the door to it on the far wall. That made perfect sense. Unlike some newer bookstores she’d been in recently, there were no sitting areas, cozy or otherwise. Also, from that office, it would be easy for whoever was inside to look out and see when people entered the store, ringing the bell above the door automatically as they did so.

  “I’m afraid that, beyond the front windows, there’s only that one small window in the back. Whatever other ones this building originally had in this downstairs area have been covered over when it was renovated it into a bookstore.” Michael joined her. “Perhaps if I put a couple of fans in here, that would help circulate the air better.”

  “There’s an idea. We could get them at the mall on the way back. A couple of them should be enough to get the air moving.” She turned a slow circle, taking in the whole of the place.

  “All right, professor, tell me what your vision is for this bookstore.”

  He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. Then he stroked a finger down the side of her face. “I didn’t have one when I signed the sale papers, but I do now. My vision is to let you decide. I’m hiring you as my manager and giving you carte blanch. How does that sound?”

  How did it sound? Abigail had had no idea what she wanted to do next and no great dream, no great goal to strive toward. But in very recent days she’d come to know she wanted love, acceptance, and a family to care for. And she also wanted, very much, to work with Michael on this.

  “That, Dr. Benedict, sounds like a plan.”

  * * * *

  Carson was waiting for them when they returned to the penthouse in the late afternoon. Abigail had thoroughly enjoyed her time alone with Michael, but she’d missed Carson. The fact that it felt as if her whole body smiled when she saw him told her how much she was beginning to care for both of these men.

  The moment she set eyes on him, she walked right into his arms. His grip was solid, secure, and his lips and tongue oh, so talented when he kissed her.

  A moan escaped from deep in her soul as he dominated their kiss. He took her essence into himself, she would have sworn to it, and her essence was delighted to go. Hot and hungry, wild and wanton, Carson’s kiss seduced her completely. His tongue stroked hers, and his lips cherished her mouth. Abigail’s arousal erupted into an instant, insistent fire.

  When Carson lifted his
lips from hers, she rose up on her toes, her mouth chasing his, wanting, craving more.

  “I was going to order in supper for us.”

  Carson’s gaze burned hot, and Abigail felt his passion in the trembling of his hands cupping her face and in the strength of the erection nestled against her belly. He flicked a look at Michael and nodded. In the next breath, she felt that man press himself against her back and recognized the imprint of his hard cock resting against her bottom. Clothing separated her from those two men’s bodies, and suddenly, Abigail wanted no barriers between them at all.

  “It’s not food that I need, Carson. It’s you, and Michael. I need you both so much. Please, make love to me.”

  “Damn, woman, I thought you’d never ask.” Carson changed his hold on her, sweeping Abigail into his arms, and then carried her toward the double doors at the end of the hall.

  Michael had gone ahead and was standing beside the bed when Carson lowered her feet to the floor. Then they moved closer, and she was between them again, and Abigail knew in that moment there was no place on earth that she would rather be.

  “Another time, there will be music and candles and a very slow baring of skin.” Carson once more cupped her face in his hands. “But right now, baby, I want you too damn much.”

  Abigail had never been wanted like that. As Michael cupped her shoulders from behind, as she registered that he, too, trembled, she knew that she wanted them as desperately as they appeared to want her.

  “Then take me. I’m yours.” She looked over her shoulder at Michael, wondering if he doubted that the words said to his brother applied to him, and truly understood that, in a strange way, these brothers were so connected to each other, she need not worry about any of the semantics.

  Then Abigail’s thoughts shattered as the men moved and, as one, stripped her naked. Michael wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her, kissing her neck as Carson took two steps away and then shed his clothing.