Combustion

by Berengaria Brown

  Combustion

  Berengaria Brown

  Xonra Gibson attends the memorial service of a friend, and is embarrassed to be attracted to the broad-shouldered hunk squeezed into the chair next to hers at the overcrowded event. It turns out the delicious Glenn Hilton is partnered to the equally yummy Morgan McLean.

  Xonra allows her hormones to lead her to the men’s apartment for an incredibly hot one-night stand and three fiery orgasms, a personal record for her. The men are determined to spend more time with Xonra, and purchase tickets for a weekend at Berisford Village, a historical tourist attraction whose owner happens to be a difficult client at Xonra’s PR firm.

  The village is fascinating, the accommodation luxurious and the orgasms stupendous. In fact, the only downside to the weekend is Xonra’s feeling that there’s something not quite right about Berisford…

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Combustion

  ISBN 9781419933400

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Combustion Copyright © 2011 Berengaria Brown

  Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication February 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Combustion

  Berengaria Brown

  Dedication

  For Xonra and Lilian. R.I.P. my friends.

  Chapter One

  Xonra Gibson tapped her long black nails against the steering wheel as she slowly drove down the street for the third time. Still no legal parking spaces. She glanced at the dashboard clock again. Eight minutes to two. Dammit. I’ll go around once more, and if I can’t find anything, I’ll have to risk an illegal parking space.

  At five to two she gave up and fitted her car into a semilegal parking space at the end of the line. Well, the hood and front seat are legal! she reassured herself, snagging her purse off the passenger seat, beeping her car lock, and walking briskly to the tiny chapel where the funeral service for MaryAnne Menzies, aged one hundred one, was about to start.

  The chapel appeared to have been designed to seat maybe forty. At least twice that number of chairs had been crammed into it and almost every one of them was filled. With the added height her four-inch heels gave her, Xonra was able to see an empty chair hard against the wall halfway down on the right side.

  Apologizing profusely, feeling her face heat with embarrassment, she squeezed her way along the row, sucking in her stomach and clenching her butt in an effort to be thinner and fit through the miniscule gap more easily. She slid into the vacant seat gratefully, her side pressed against the wall, her eyes lowered, as music began to play and the memorial service began.

  Xonra tried to concentrate on her memories of MaryAnne, who’d befriended her mother when Mom had been widowed with baby Xonra. MaryAnne had shown Mom the best places to shop, taught her budgeting tricks, helped her with craft projects and household maintenance. All of that was thirty years ago and MaryAnne had already seemed very old to Xonra.

  As Xonra listened to the eulogy she remembered MaryAnne had grown up on a farm, buried her only child, outlived two husbands, but never lost her joy for life and desire to help others along the way. No wonder so many are here to honor her memory.

  Xonra kept her gaze either on the minister conducting the service or on the floor, but she couldn’t help being highly aware of the hunky man pressed hard against her left side. His shoulders were so broad he was overhanging her seat no matter how much she leaned into the wall. And his right thigh seemed glued to her left one, sending waves of lusty heat right through her body. Damn, he’s good-looking—well, what she could see of him through her peripheral vision. Late thirties, maybe forty, faint touches of gray in his black hair, chocolate eyes, tanned skin, six feet tall at least. And those broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Well yum!

  Likely married with six kids! she reminded herself firmly. And you’re supposed to be focusing on MaryAnne, not the hunky guy sitting next to you!

  As Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd., Xonra saw a lot of good-looking men, and none of them had ever lit her fire the way Mr. Shoulders next to her did. She pictured herself sliding that crisp white shirt off his arms, leaning into his chest and licking across— Oh shit, I’ll have wet underwear in a moment! MaryAnne. Focus on MaryAnne. It’s totally inappropriate to think about some unknown hunk.

  The service went for an hour, and at the end they all stood to sing Amazing Grace. Xonra’s mother had given her a list of people to speak to and surreptitiously she drew it out of her purse to check and make sure she didn’t forget anyone. Xonra had offered to fly her mother here for the service, but her mother hated flying and there wasn’t time to drive so far, so it was up to Xonra to represent their little family.

  She was concentrating on looking around the crowd to pinpoint the people she needed to speak to, so was startled when a large, hot hand rested on her thigh.

  “Glenn Hilton. My grandparents farmed right alongside MaryAnne’s folks. How did you know her?”

  Xonra looked up into the most delicious pair of warm, liquid eyes—melted rich, dark chocolate. Felt herself drowning in them. Her core clenching, cream soaking her panties. A chiseled chin, high cheekbones, hair just touching his collar, with those enticing little hints of gray here and there.

  Hoping she wasn’t drooling, she replied, “Xonra Gibson. MaryAnne was a wonderful help to my mother when we moved here from upstate after my dad died.”

  The man sitting beside Glenn leaned forward, his hand out to shake hers. “Morgan McLean, Glenn’s partner.”

  Well, damn. Not six kids but just as unattainable. Why are all the best-looking ones taken?

  Because when everyone else was out fucking like bunnies you were sitting in the office accumulating those billable hours and climbing the corporate ladder. Your choice, remember?

  Yeah, okay, shut up.

  As the people in their row gradually moved out into another room for cups of tea and coffee, the men stayed at Xonra’s side, talking quietly about MaryAnne and the service. One part of her brain was searching the crowd for the people she needed to give her Mom’s good wishes to, the other was hoping she didn’t sound like a lovesick teenager, as every nerve ending was alive to their attentions.

  When Glenn rested his large hand gently on her back, Xonra’s panties dampened even more. If he wasn’t taken, I’d seriously be considering a one-night stand. “Hot” isn’t even close to how he makes me feel.

  Morgan offered to get her a cup of coffee, but Xonra declined and slipped through the crowd to talk to her mother’s friends. It was nearly an hour
later that she was ready to leave and stopped at the table by the door to sign the bereavement book and pick up a program to send to her mom.

  Glenn and Morgan appeared from nowhere, smoothly moving to stand on either side of her.

  “Can we offer you a ride somewhere?”

  “Or walk you to your car?”

  She stared at Glenn, then Morgan. “I’m only parked a couple of blocks away and I’m fine to walk that far.”

  “I’m surprised you found a parking space so easily. We’re about five blocks over,” said Morgan.

  “Yeah, well my hood and front seat are legally parked, the rest of the car, maybe not. Hopefully it’ll be okay. Or I’ll just pay the fine.”

  “They’re pretty quick to clamp your car around here,” said Glenn. “Show us the way.”

  She set a brisk pace back to her car, and sure enough, it was clamped. Xonra ripped the sticker off her windscreen, pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the number. Only to get a recorded message telling her to call back after eight a.m.

  Suddenly suspicious, she turned to the men. “Did you set this up? I’ve never met you before and now you’re sticking to me like white on rice.”

  “We wanted to get to know you better, invite you out for a coffee or something.”

  “I came here to a memorial service last year and got clamped. That’s why we’re not surprised,” said Morgan.

  “Also why we parked five blocks over. We didn’t plan on getting clamped again,” added Glenn.

  “Okay, whatever. You can both go home now. I’m calling a taxi.”

  “Let us take you home instead. Please.”

  One look into the pleading eyes and her bones, and resistance, melted like water. Her belly clenched and her body thrummed with the need to be held, to be fucked, by this man—these men. With her last remaining brain cell, she said, “How do I know you’re not a couple of ax murderers?”

  Morgan pulled his billfold out of his pocket and wrote on the back of his business card. Handing it to her he said, “That’s my sister’s number. She’ll vouch for me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Xonra keyed in the number then turned her back on the men so their delicious figures wouldn’t cloud her brain any further. When the call was answered she dragged every inch of professionalism she could muster and put it in her voice. “This is Xonra Gibson, Vice President of Advertising for HR Resources Ltd. I was given this number to call for a character reference for Morgan McLean.”

  “Morgan gave you my number? Well, hell, he must be drunk or in real trouble. He’s my baby brother. He’s a good brother and excellent uncle to my kids. Um, apart from when he broke my doll’s arm off the year I was five and he was four, I don’t recall him doing anything bad. But I guess that’s not what you want to know. He’s a civic designer for CityPlan. It’s a really good job. He works hard, has a steady partner. Has he done something wrong? Should I send Jack down to bail him out or something?”

  Blocking out the concern in the woman’s voice and ignoring her question, Xonra asked, “So you’d vouch for his character?”

  “Of course. Is he all right? Should I go to him?”

  Xonra now felt really guilty at upsetting the woman. So she answered soothingly, “He’s fine. He and his partner asked me out. I just wanted to be sure they weren’t a pair of ax murderers.”

  “He doesn’t even watch that kind of movie. Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “I’m sorry I worried you. But I needed to be sure before I answered them.”

  “Morgan and Glenn asked you out? Oh, wonderful. Wait ’til I tell Jack that. You will say yes?”

  “Possibly. Thank you for your help.”

  “Not a problem, honey. We girls have to look out for ourselves these days. There’s plenty of nutters around. But my baby brother isn’t one of them.”

  Thanking her once again Xonra clicked off her cell and turned back around to the men.

  “Jade will be calling you inside ten seconds,” predicted Glenn.

  At that precise moment Morgan’s cell phone rang. All three of them laughed as Morgan answered.

  Glenn took Xonra’s arm. “Let’s start walking to our car. I presume you are coming with us?”

  * * * * *

  Xonra was never quite sure how it happened, but coffee stretched into supper, which was followed by dancing, and later that night she found herself standing in their bedroom, being kissed witless.

  How can I be doing this when I hadn’t even met them twenty-four hours ago? Okay, so instead of being a slut at twenty, I’m turning into one now. But hell, it feels so good.

  Xonra leaned into the kiss, letting Morgan’s tongue trace around her lips, slide inside, tangle with hers. His hands were on her ass, pressing her tight against a very impressive erection. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds, and rubbing them against his chest felt very good.

  Her brain must have gone on vacation because it certainly had nothing to do with her hands unbuttoning his shirt and sliding inside to rest against his chest. His hard, muscled chest. With just the faintest down of blond hair, a shade lighter than the hair on his head. He smelled so nice. A masculine, spicy sort of scent. Delicious. His heart was thumping against her palm and she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Them.

  Oh yeah, them. Glenn leaned against her back, his body one long line of muscles pressing into her with his cock nestled between the cheeks of her butt. Damn that feels good. It’d been a long time since she’d had anal sex, but if that’s what he—they—wanted she was ready for it. More than ready. Her sex life had been pathetic for years now. A series of snatched liaisons between the pressures of her career, with no time to develop a proper relationship. She and her dildo had been a lonely team for months and months, so she was certain even one night of red-hot sex with these two would give her plenty of happy memories.

  Her smart black jacket dropped to the floor before she realized anyone had unbuttoned it, and her shirt was opened wide with Morgan’s mouth on her breast, licking, sucking, rolling the nipple with his tongue.

  Unconsciously she widened her stance and clutched his head to her chest.

  Glenn’s mouth was on her shoulder, licking there, nibbling his way across to the highly sensitive place behind her ear, then sucking the earlobe into his mouth.

  “Oh yes,” she whispered.

  Large, warm hands stroked up under her shirt from the back, sliding along her spine and over her ribs. Then they trailed down, stopping to unzip her tailored black skirt and push it down her hips.

  It wasn’t until Glenn’s hands slid inside the elastic top of her pantyhose that she remembered she was dressed for a funeral, not an assignation, and that her flabby belly was about to be exposed, as was her decidedly boring underwear.

  “I…um…”

  “You feel very good.” Glenn’s mouth was puffing hot air, along with his words, against her neck.

  His fingers slipped lower until the longest one rested inside her slit. “Hot and wet. You’re wet for us, aren’t you?”

  While Xonra had been thinking about her plain black cotton panties and ten-pounds-overweight stomach, Morgan was teasing her breasts—oh shit, I’m wearing that boring black cotton bra.

  But it was getting harder and harder for her to form a coherent sentence. Morgan’s hands on her breasts were incredibly exciting and Glenn had two fingers deep in her cunt, stroking her walls. “I’m going to come.”

  ‘That’s the plan,” said Morgan, pinching both nipples.

  Glenn slid a third finger into her pussy and curved all three of them up to scrape her sweet spot.

  “Ahhh!” Xonra shattered around his fingers, her body shaking, her knees wobbling, as Morgan swallowed her cry with his mouth pressed firmly to hers, his tongue thrusting in and out in time to Glenn’s fingers in her cunt.

  The men efficiently stripped her last few items of clothing from her, Morgan kneeling to unbuckle the straps of her high-heeled shoes. While Glenn lifted her and centered her on th
e bed, Morgan undressed and grabbed condoms from the nightstand. His place on the bed was taken by a naked Glenn, who buried his face in her pussy to lick her cream.

  “Delicious,” Glenn murmured then kissed her.

  Her taste on his mouth was incredibly erotic. His tongue, her tongue. His flavor, her flavor. “Damn, that’s carnal,” she whispered.

  “It’ll be even more carnal in a moment,” replied Morgan, climbing onto the bed with them.

  Xonra’s mind was already struggling with the whole “two men, twice as many body parts” issue. There were hands on her butt and hands on her pussy. A mouth on her breast and another one on her lower belly. And legs. Legs twined around hers, legs resting over her hips. She gave up trying to think and relaxed into the experience. This is a once-in-a-lifetime night, I’ll just enjoy it.

  All those large, warm hands did feel mighty fine. They were doing such teasingly erotic things to her. Stroking and smoothing the skin on her knee, her inner thigh, her ribs, her breast. Painting spirals and whorls on her belly and sides. Butterfly-light touches on her nose, eyelids, cheekbones, ears.

  It was only moments since she’d orgasmed and already a second climax was coiling and building deep inside her. Her own hands were clutching at shoulders and backs, her nails digging in as she held on tight as the sensations grew ever more powerful.

  Morgan straddled her chest, burying his cock between her breasts. He held her breasts tightly over his cock then thrust up between them. His cock head, red and weeping pre-cum, emerged from its nest in her pale skin, looking like a lollipop being unwrapped. Xonra couldn’t resist swiping her tongue across the tip. He tasted like the spicy scent of his chest. Totally delicious. And just seeing his cock emerge like that from between her breasts was a powerful aphrodisiac. He looked so good. Smelled so good. Tasted so good.