Her Three Protectors [The Hot Millionaires #3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Zara Chase

  Beck stood and glanced out the window at the park opposite, careful not to move the blind more than an inch or two. He nodded once, telling Troy that the person they’d noticed loitering there earlier was still watching the building. It was too much to assume that someone else living in this high-end apartment block was under surveillance—someone other than the petrified woman who’d done such a poor job of disguising herself. The watcher was good. So good that Troy’s crew had almost missed him. They were up against fellow professionals, which told him just how urgently this woman needed to trust them.

  Their client sank into the chair opposite his and dropped her head into her hands. She was teetering on the edge—scared half out of her wits. Who the hell was she? One thing was for sure, she wasn’t a natural blonde. Good. Troy wasn’t big on blondes. He’d put money on her not needing those hideous glasses, either. She was a beautiful woman—Beck had got that right—and her disguise…well, it simply wasn’t one. There was no altering the high cheekbones that made her heart-shaped face appear so exotic, the wide mouth with full lips that cried out to be kissed, the delicate little nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end, the narrow forehead currently creased with indecision.

  There was squat all she could do about those aspects of her appearance, but she’d been slightly more successful with her eyes. They were huge—almost too large for her fragile face. They turned up like a cat’s at the corners and were fringed with thick lashes that definitely weren’t blonde. The glasses only magnified their size and the fear lurking beneath what Troy guessed were coloured lenses.

  The subject of his fascination was tall for a woman—probably five nine or ten, with not an ounce of fat on her. The baggy jeans she wore couldn’t hide the length of her legs. Christ, they went on forever! The seat of those jeans flapped round her buttocks, telling him there was a cute little ass beneath all that extraneous fabric. Troy’s cock stood up and took a lively interest in the proceedings. Now was definitely not the time to be entertaining such thoughts, but his prick didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

  Troy lifted his gaze to her upper body, almost smiling at the inefficient job her loose shirt was doing of hiding her assets. Most people didn’t realize that loose clothing gave as much away about the body it was covering as its tighter cousin did. The fabric flattened against her breasts when she moved, giving all three men a clear impression of the firm flesh contained within an outsized bra.

  Jesus!

  “Talk to us, love,” Troy said through tightly gritted teeth. “You trust Georgio, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Completely.”

  “We’re the best he’s got,” Adam told her. “Troy here wasn’t too pleased when he thought we were being sent on a babysitting assignment and almost turned it down. You have me to thank for our being here. I told him there had to be more to it than that.”

  “I’m not. I…That is—”

  “Georgio never sends us out without fully briefing us first,” Beck mused. “This time he told us nothing. That means he doesn’t know exactly what problems you’ve gotten yourself involved in himself but cares enough to want you protected by the elite of the elite.”

  She flashed a brief smile at Beck’s immodest statement, but it was gone again almost immediately. Troy reached forward, pulled the glasses from her face, and peered through the lenses. As expected, they were clear glass.

  “You don’t need these.”

  “How did you know?” She scrunched up her lovely features. “I thought they made me look rather secretarial.”

  “You’re not a blonde, either,” Troy said, avoiding her question.

  “She’s not?” Beck pretended to be distraught, but Troy knew he and Adam would already have reached the same conclusions he had. “I’m devastated.”

  “Oh, what the hell!”

  The woman reached up, pulled off the wig, removed the cap beneath it, and shook out a flowing curtain of rich chestnut hair. There was a sharp intake of breath from all three men.

  “The damned wig itched like hell anyway.”

  “I think I’ve gone right off blondes,” Beck declared dramatically. “Chestnut’s the only colour for me now.”

  Troy hitched a brow. “Lenses?”

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  “Much as I’d like to agree with you, we’re no better than the people who’re after you. You won’t fool them, either.”

  Her head snapped up. “What makes you think I’m being pursued?”

  “Oh, little things like the disguise, the fact that you won’t even tell us your name, that you’re scared shitless—”

  “And that someone’s over the road watching this block,” Adam added.

  “What!” She leapt from her chair. “They’ve found me already. I need to get out of here right now.”

  Troy grasped her arm and forced her back into her chair. “No one will get to you while we’re here.”

  “Count on it,” Beck added.

  “But you can’t be sure of that. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

  Troy spoke in a tone of rigid determination. “The same could be said of us.”

  “Trust us, angel,” Beck said softly. “At least tell us your name.”

  “Didn’t Georgio even tell you that much?”

  “Nope.” Adam shook his head. “Which is damned odd.”

  She reached for her bag at the side of the chair, extracted a small pot, and lowered her head over it. At first Troy thought she was taking medication. They he realized it was a container for the lenses she was removing from her eyes. When she completed her task and looked up, all three of them audibly gasped. Adam went one stage further and swore. The largest, greenest eyes Troy had ever seen blinked at them as their owner adjusted to the removal of the lenses. A man could possibly drown just looking into those damned emerald-green eyes with flecks of gold ringing the irises. He’d definitely go that extra mile to rid them of the sheer terror reflected in their depths.

  Troy exchanged a glance with his partners, their expressions mirroring what was going through his own mind.

  They were in trouble. Big trouble.

  “Good.” Troy somehow managed to talk in a normal voice, ignoring the raging hard-on that he didn’t have a hope in hell of quelling. He didn’t need to look at his buddies to guess that they’d be similarly afflicted. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Unlike me. “Now, how about your name.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Porcha,” she said.

  “Unusual name.” Adam smiled at her. “I like it.”

  Yeah, it was an unusual name all right, and Porcha was one beautiful woman. Uniquely so. He’d heard of that name connected to another beautiful woman. Could they be one and the same? He sure as hell hoped not, because if she was they were in deep shit.

  “Tell me you’re not Porcha Gonzalez,” Troy pleaded.

  Beck shot him a look. “Salvador Gonzalez’s wife?”

  “The Mexican drug lord?” Adam looked shocked, and it took a lot to shock Troy’s outfit. They’d seen and done it all, and then some. “Say it ain’t so.”

  “I’m afraid so, but I go by my maiden name of Ballantine.”

  Porcha held the gaze of each of them in turn. Troy wasn’t sure what she read in their expressions, but it caused her to burst into tears. And Troy was betting she wasn’t the type to cry easily. Troy looked at her, then at his partners, and shrugged.

  “We’re here now,” he said aloud, answering their unspoken question.

  With a deep sigh, he lifted Porcha from her chair, sat in it himself, and lowered her onto his lap.

  “It’s okay, babe,” he said, stroking her shaking back. “We’ll sort something.”

  “Not Sal Gonzalez’s wife, we won’t. Not if we wanna keep hold of our important bits and pieces,” Adam warned. “He’s been known to chop a man’s dick off just for looking at his wife the wrong way.”

  Troy shrugged, aware now why Georgio hadn’t told them w
ho the client was. None of them would have come willingly if they’d known. They weren’t in the business of protecting drug barons and their families, particularly not vicious bastards like Gonzalez. Georgio, the wily old fox, must have known they’d take one look at Porcha and be unable to walk away.

  “Yeah, we’re here,” Adam said tersely in response to Troy’s earlier comment. “Thing is, what are we doing here?”

  “We’ll get some answers before we leave,” Troy said. “We owe that much to Georgio, the sneaky bastard.”

  “She’s totally out of it,” Beck said softly. “Little wonder if she’s been on the run for days.”

  “Especially if it’s Gonzalez,” Adam pointed out. “Even if half of what I’ve heard about him is true, he’ll never let her leave him.”

  “Well, at least we know why the place is being watched,” Troy said, speaking over her loud sobs.

  “Yeah, but if it’s Gonzalez she’s running from and he knows she’s here, why not just come in and get her?”

  “Good question, Beck.” Troy flexed his jaw. “Once she gets it together again, I’m sure she’ll feel the need to enlighten us.”

  “Wonder when she last slept properly,” Beck mused.

  “Or ate.” Adam headed for the kitchen. “I’ll see if there’s soup or anything. Then I suggest we let her sleep for a while. We won’t get any sense out of her until she can think more coherently.”

  “Good plan. Hey, welcome back.” Troy smiled at Porcha as she sat up, wiped her nose rather inelegantly on her sleeve, and offered him a watery smile. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t usually cry over nothing.”

  “Seems to me your problems add up to a bit more than nothing,” Beck remarked casually.

  “Adam’s heating up some soup for you,” Troy told her. “Then you’re gonna sleep.”

  “I can’t. I need to—”

  “You don’t need to do anything except sleep,” Beck said, serious for once. “We’ll be here, and no one will get anywhere near you, I can promise you that.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  Beck flexed a brow. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. Do we look like pussycats?”

  She actually giggled at that. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I guess I got used to taking care of myself the past couple of weeks.”

  The men shared a glance. She’d been on the run, all alone, for two whole weeks? No wonder she was flat out of gas.

  “Food up,” Adam called from the kitchen.

  They made her sit at the kitchen bar, watching her until she’d spooned up every last drop of Adam’s chicken soup and soaked it up with the crusty bread he’d obviously found in the freezer and reheated. When she was done there was actually a little colour in her face.

  “Okay. Off to bed with you.”

  “But don’t you want to know—”

  “Yeah, we do, but we need you to get some rest first.”

  Troy took her arm and frog-marched her down the corridor to the master bedroom. He opened the door, propelled her inside, and made sure the blinds were securely closed.

  “There’s no way anyone can see this window from outside,” Adam said from behind him. “I already checked it out.”

  “Good. Okay, babe, get some rest. Yell if you need us. One of us will be right outside the door all the time.”

  “It doesn’t seem right.” She shook her head. “It’s not fair—”

  “Just do as you’re told,” Adam said. “Take it from Beck and me, when Troy makes up his mind about something, there’s no point arguing with him.”

  When she still looked inclined to do just that, Troy laid it on the line. “You’re scared silly, and there are two golden rules when you find yourself in that situation. Eat when you can and sleep when you can.” Troy ticked them off on his fingers to emphasise his point. “You never know when you’ll get the chance again.”

  “And chances don’t come better wrapped than with us three to look out for you,” Beck said, blowing her a kiss.

  “Beck has issues with modesty,” Adam told her.

  Porcha smiled, her enormous eyes encompassing all three of them as she did so. “Well, all right then, perhaps I’ll try and get some rest. Thank you.” She briefly touched Troy’s arm. “You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

  “Wouldn’t mind finding out,” Beck remarked as they closed the door on her.

  “You realize she’s a player,” Adam said.

  “Yeah, I got that.” Troy frowned. “Gonzalez has a reputation for using her like a possession, flaunting her to help him get what he needs out of others.”

  Beck frowned. “He made her a slave?”

  “Not sure. Perhaps she’s had enough of him controlling her and is trying to get away from him.”

  “Then I vote that we help her,” Beck said without hesitation.

  “She’s obviously completely traumatised by whatever’s happened to her,” Adam said, grimacing. “I don’t like seeing her so upset, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough what she’s running from.”

  “You think if we sort out her problems, she might be persuaded to play with us?” Beck grabbed his groin and groaned at the possibility. “If you knew what thoughts—”

  “We know,” Troy and Adam said together.

  Chapter Three

  “Check out the rest of the place,” Troy said.

  “Already done,” Adam replied. “Two more bedrooms, another bathroom, and that’s about it.”

  “Okay.” Troy consulted his watch. “It’s nine o’clock. It’ll be getting dark soon. We still got company outside?”

  Beck took a peek. “Yep. Same guy. He hasn’t moved.”

  “Good.” Adam stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “At least we know where he is.”

  “I’ll take first shift,” Troy said. “We’ll go three hours a piece. Let her get a decent rest.”

  “Fair enough.” Beck headed for one of the spare rooms. All three of them practised what Troy had just preached to Porcha and slept wherever they happened to be, whenever an opportunity arose. An actual bed was a rare luxury. “I shall go and dream about the lovely Mrs. Gonzalez.” Beck patted the bulge in his pants and sauntered off. “Do you reckon she’s a screamer?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at them. “Please tell me you think she is. I do like a woman who expresses herself freely in bed.”

  “We know,” Troy and Adam said together, giving him the finger.

  “You go, too, Adam. I’ll wake you in three.”

  Not wanting to disturb Porcha when he patrolled between the window and her door to check on the guy outside, Troy removed his boots and wriggled his liberated toes. Then he settled down in a comfortable chair, trying to figure out what this could be all about. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good news. Anything to do with drug dealers never was, which was why Georgio never got his operatives involved in assignments that even hinted at narcotics. Troy was tempted to contact Georgio and find out what his connection to the lovely Porcha actually was but dismissed the idea. If their wily employer—purveyor of elite security services to those who could afford the best—wasn’t saying, then nothing they did or said would change his mind.

  An hour ticked by with no activity at all. Hopefully, Porcha was asleep. The guy in the street had been replaced by the night shift, but other than that nothing had changed.

  An earth-shattering scream from Porcha’s room had Troy hoisting a hand gun and hitting her door at a run. The other two emerged from their rooms a fraction of a second later, wearing boxers and also toting guns. Troy’s mind whirled. He had been vigilant. No one had entered the apartment through the main door, and no one could access her room through a window twelve stories up with no fire escape close at hand. What the fuck had happened?

  He barged through the door, weapon held in front of him, just as Porcha rolled from her bed and came up in a professional crouch, pointing a gun directly at him.

  “Porcha, don’t!”

&n
bsp; She didn’t appear to hear him. Her expression was stone-cold, her eyes glazed with determination as her finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Stay where you are or I’ll shoot.”

  “Sure.”

  Troy raised a nonthreatening hand—the one not holding his own gun—whilst he assessed the situation. She was going to shoot anyway. He’d seen that look in the eyes of a gunman too often to misinterpret. Unless he did something, he was seconds away from death, and Troy wasn’t ready to die quite yet.

  There was only one thing he could do. Without hesitation, he leapt forward, grabbed her wrist, and forced the gun free from her fingers just as she pulled the trigger. It discharged against the wall with a soft pop.

  “Porcha!”

  “What’s the matter with her?” Adam asked.

  “She’s catatonic.”

  “That means in a trance,” Adam told Beck.

  “Smart-ass!”

  Porcha had gone limp in Troy’s arms, her eyes wide and staring at something only she could see.

  “Hey, Porcha. Come back to us.”

  “He’s here.” She suddenly sprang to life, struggling to get free of Troy’s grasp. “I’ve got to get away. He’ll hurt me.”

  The guys shared a look, none of them knowing quite what to do. Troy shook her by the shoulders, gently at first and then more firmly when she didn’t respond. Suddenly, her eyes focused again, as though she’d just woken up. She blinked several times at the three concerned faces watching her.

  “What happened?”

  “You almost blasted Troy’s head off,” Beck told her, grinning. “We owe you one. We’ve been trying to get someone to do that for years.”

  “I didn’t, did I?” A hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t have. I’d remember if I had?”

  “It’s okay, I think.”

  Troy extended a hand and helped her to her feet. She was wearing a tank top, with nothing beneath it, and silk boxers. All three of them gaped at the sight of her heavy nipples pushing against the thin fabric. Beck actually groaned.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have heard something in my sleep and reacted instinctively.”