by Gia Dawn
Kiera couldn’t move as he reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb along her palm. But then her nerves kicked into high gear and she snatched her hand back, wondering why she felt like they were going behind Jason’s back or even why it mattered at all when they were no longer in any kind of relationship.
Marco sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No.” She almost reached out to take his hand again, but curled her fingers into her palm instead, digging them in deep enough to cause pain. “It’s just that I thought…I mean—”
“No, really it’s okay.” Marco downed his wine in a single gulp and refilled his glass, gazing at it for long seconds before he shoved it away. “Look, I know this is awkward, but I want to get your opinion on something…as a woman. That is…if you don’t mind.” He seemed genuinely nervous as he clasped his hands behind his head. “If this is too personal feel free to throw me out, but I really would like your advice.”
Forcing her voice to remain calm, Kiera clutched her hands together in her lap. “Go for it.” She watched the big man in surprise as he stood and scraped his chair around to her side of the table, grimacing in apology at the noise he made.
“So,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. “You know Jason and I are a package deal, right? I mean, you’ve seen—we don’t keep it a secret that we like to share,” he added with a sigh.
Kiera nodded slowly, unwilling to reveal just how well she knew them. “And?”
“Well, we’ve met someone, someone we like a lot, and I wanted to know what a woman might think about our…arrangement.”
She blinked back the pain. So that was it. They had someone else. Why hadn’t she seen it coming sooner? “The two of you have found someone.”
Marco nodded.
“I guess the first thing I would think is what a lucky girl.” She managed to give him a tentative smile despite the fact she was trying desperately to continue to breathe around the ice that had lodged in her throat. “What woman wouldn’t want to be courted by a pair of beautiful men?”
He ducked his head and gave her a fabulous smile. “You think? It isn’t the usual situation.”
“No.” Despite her disappointment, there were questions about their lifestyle Kiera had been dying to know the answer to so she gathered up her flagging courage and asked. “Theoretically, if it were me—I would want to know more about the logistics of the arrangement. How would the two of you keep from getting jealous of each other? What about sex? Would it always be with both of you? Would all three parties sleep in the same bed-slash-room? Do they actually make a bed big enough?” She giggled inanely at the surreality of the situation and poured herself a second glass of wine. If she was going to have this conversation she was going to have to drown her sorrows.
“Huh. Those are really good questions. We’ve never really found someone we both thought could be the right one,” Marco said, reaching out to take another piece of Halloween candy, “so we’re trying to hammer out the details ourselves. So far we think the most important thing is that she like us both equally, that she wouldn’t sign on for a team sport and then try to split us up.”
“So your friendship is as important as your relationship with the woman?”
“Does that sound stupid? Do we really just seem like a pair of perverts trying to get our rocks off?” He jerked to his feet, skimming his hand over his hair. “I wish Jason was here, he always explains things better. But yo—uh…the woman,” he corrected hastily, “should understand that both of us are different.” He paced to the other side of the table. “I’m not sure that came out right.”
“It did.” Kiera wanted nothing more than to rush into his arms and tell him everything was fine, that she appreciated his strengths as much as she did Jason’s and that she found him every bit as attractive…any woman in her right mind would. Instead she nibbled on a piece of candy, shuddering as she swallowed the stale bite of chocolate. “I don’t know how any woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with either one of you, much less both,” she said honestly, reaching out to take a drink of wine as her heart broke all over again and her throat closed in upon itself.
To her embarrassment, she choked on the drink and grew even more mortified when Marco flew to her side, hauled her from the chair and pulled her close, thumping her soundly on the back.
The thump morphed into a caress as Kiera regained composure, unable to pull herself away as desire sparked between them. Marco held her even closer, running his fingers through her hair, the beat of his heart so strong it hammered through her body to settle deep into her bones.
He was just a kiss away, the briefest of moments from her lips, but they may as well have been on opposite sides of the universe they were so very far apart.
She shrugged from his arms and turned away. “I need to go to work,” she said, moving to clear the table. “Thank you for dinner. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.” She had never uttered such lame words in her life, but Marco took the hint, seemingly relieved that she had defused the mood between them.
“I’ll bake you a pie tomorrow. You like cherry? I like cherry. So does Jason. Great, I…uh…I’ll see you then.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, but then he turned and ducked out the door in record time.
Kiera slumped into a chair as her mood plummeted into a state of surly so heavy she could not force herself to get back up and do anything. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Marco haul old Mrs. Freely into his arms and carry her across the street, dragging her walker behind them as the elderly woman laughed in delight, giving him a quick peck on the cheek when he deposited her safely on her doorstep.
That was Marco in all his glory, damn him to an especially fiery corner of hell.
But emotional flip-flop began to take its toll.
When she had first moved to Charleston Kiera had been so shot down she’d slept for practically days at a time as her body and spirit tried to heal. When she’d first become aware of Jason and Marco she’d found a new energy and reason to get out of bed every day, her fascination with the men and their lifestyle enough to break her out of her terrible slump.
But now she’d just been thrown off the best ride of her life and the amusement park gates slammed shut in her face, and all she wanted was to crawl into bed once more and sleep for at least another hundred years.
She’d finish the bottle of wine first, she decided in defiance, although she’d barely made a dent in the glass when she picked up a pencil and paper and began to doodle. In no time at all she was lost to the work, her hands re-creating what her fingers had felt, skin and muscle and bone taking the shape of her two favorite models.
This piece turned out to be nothing like the others. In this one the woman was forever locked in the darkness, reaching out desperately to grasp the light of her lovers who shone like a thousand stars in the sky above her. To Touch the Sun was the title she scribbled underneath, grimacing when she realized the irony of it all.
Hours later the painting was sketched on canvas in her study and Kiera opened another bottle of wine, too wound up to sleep as she worked herself into a manic state. At three in the morning she heated up a piece of Marco’s lasagna in the microwave and ate it as she dragged out her paints and spread them across the table. By five a.m. she had downed most of the alcohol, having paid so little attention to her consumption it took her completely by surprise when her head spun and her eyes lost their focus.
“Damn,” she muttered, managing to smear a line of red paint across her chest as she bent over to look for the brush she’d dropped under the table.
On some level she knew she was too drunk to clean up the mess, but on another she was determined to be professional and put her tools away—which she thought she’d done as she watched the real sun rise with bleary and bloodshot eyes.
But she was calm. Whether it was the massive amount of alcohol she’d consumed or the frenzy of creation she’d lost herself in, Kiera felt her b
ody grow heavy and her mind finally calm. Not bothering to try to make her way to bed, she curled up into a ball on a corner of the couch.
She would deal with real life again later that day. For now she was content to go back in time to where two men held her eagerly between them, their hands on her body, their mouths against her flesh.
Chapter Eight
What the fuck?
Jason knocked for the umpteenth time, his nerves stretched tight as he waited for Kiera to answer. He finally put down Marco’s homemade pie and worked his way around the house, peering through any window or crack in the curtains he could find.
When he finally looked through the kitchen window, his heart thudded to a stop. A bottle of wine and a glass lay broken on the table and a dark wet stain trailed its way across the floor. Without a second thought he tore off his t-shirt and wrapped it around his arm before smashing through the window, flipping open the lock so he could drag the damned thing open.
“Kiera? It’s me, Jason.” He crawled through the glass, terrified at what he might find. His heart thudded to a stop when he saw her curled in a ball on the couch, the same dark stain smeared across her chest.
He ran across the floor and knelt by her side, frantically feeling for her pulse. It beat strong and steady beneath his fingers. With a grateful sigh he gave her a sharp smack on the cheek.
What had she been thinking drinking herself into a stupor? Once she had committed to being their woman, he and Marco would make certain she never crossed that line again…or she would face a swift and certain punishment.
Kiera struggled one pretty eye open. “Why in the hell,” she demanded with a snarl, “are you assaulting me in my own house?”
“Just getting your sorry ass off the couch.” Jason could not keep the relief out of his voice. “Do you know what time it is?”
She turned her head toward the window and groaned, snapping her eye closed again. “Not midnight.”
“Get up and go take a shower,” he ordered.
“Go home and come back later.”
“Now.”
When she still didn’t move, Jason felt his temper flare. If she wasn’t going to do it herself, he was damned well going to do it for her. He bent down and picked her up—resisting the urge to throw her over his shoulder—and marched her up the stairs, depositing her on her bathroom floor. “Want me to undress you too? I’d be delighted,” he added, reaching to unfasten the first button on her blouse.
She smacked his hand away. “I can manage. Asshole,” she muttered beneath her breath when he turned to leave.
She would pay for that remark, he vowed, but her punishment would have to wait for another time. He whistled to himself as he headed back downstairs, imagining her perky ass bared beneath his palm. And the sooner they finally made her theirs the better.
She took her sorry time in the shower. Jason had already cleaned up the broken glass, made a pot of coffee and a plate of toast with butter by the time she poked her head through the kitchen door.
“Sit down.” He jerked his chin at the table and poured her a cup of coffee.
“I take mine black,” she had the nerve to complain when she saw the creamy brew. But she took a sip anyway, shuddering in horror as she tried to swallow the mouthful. “That’s nasty. What’d you do, put a few drops in a cup of sugar?”
Jason decided he liked her surly. And disheveled, her hair a mass of corkscrews over her shoulders. What he didn’t like was the amount of alcohol she’d obviously imbibed the night before.
“Caffeine and sugar. Not very healthy, but the best things for a hangover.”
“How would you know?”
That made him laugh. “I’m a thirty-four-year-old police officer who did ten years in the military and two tours in Iraq. I’ve seen my share of the bottom of a bottle…or twenty.” He put the toast on two plates and moved to sit beside her. “Take a bite. I promise you’ll feel better.”
He frowned when she did nothing but pick at her plate. “I thought Marco was the cook.”
“I can manage toast.” He was quickly losing his patience and his palms began to itch once more. “I will feed you if you decide to tempt me,” he threatened.
The look she gave him could have peeled the paint from the walls, but Jason only smiled and reached for the fork.
“All right, all right.” Kiera snatched it from his hand and put a sliver of the food into her mouth, chewing gingerly.
He let her eat for several minutes before admitting he’d done some property damage. “Sorry about the window. I cleaned up all the glass and I’ll have it replaced tomorrow.”
All the blood drained from her face as she stared at the open space. “I can’t stay here tonight,” she said, the panic in her voice obvious. “Anyone could break in.”
So she’d said it, finally admitted to the fear that kept her locked inside her house. He wondered what story she would make up to explain her paranoia without revealing her other identity. He glanced at her injured hand, surprised she’d managed to remember the brace, even in her hung-over state.
He’d better tread softly. “What happened, little one, to make you so afraid of the world?” He reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear, admiring the elegant line of her jaw and flawless perfection of her skin. She was beautiful, he noted for the hundredth time or so.
She shrugged and took a drink of coffee. She was quiet for so long he’d given up hope she was going to talk when she turned and raised her eyes to his. “A robbery. I know they happen every day, but this was someone I knew. Someone I thought I knew at least.”
Neither he or Marco had heard that side of the story. “So that’s why you dress so oddly whenever you go out in public. Don’t talk to anyone or make eye contact.”
“Yep. I’d met him and we’d chatted several times at a local bar. Don’t get any ideas,” she added when his jaw clamped shut. “I wasn’t out drinking a bottle of wine every night. But it was open late and right across the road from my studio…uh…apartment. I went there after work when I was still too wired to sleep.”
“So you met this guy and thought he was nice and he ended up being a first-class fucker.” Jason’s voice held more censure than he’d intended and he cursed when she curled back in upon herself. “It wasn’t your fault, Kiera. You know that right?”
Giving in to the impulse, he scooted his chair close enough he could pull her head onto his shoulder, only relaxing when he finally felt her sag against him. “He was the bad guy, little one. You couldn’t have known he was going to hurt you.” He felt her shudder all the way to his toes.
“I had no business moving to New York. No skills to handle life in the city.”
“Your family didn’t try and stop you?” He ran his hand down her back and over the womanly curve of her hip. “No friend to move in with until you found your feet?”
“No friends. No family.” He had to strain to hear the small voice muffled against his shirt. “Only the Sisters at Saint Mary’s and they didn’t have any legal say the day I turned eighteen.”
She’d been raised in an orphanage? That knowledge bit deep into Jason’s heart and brought along with it the surety that she was the perfect mate for him and Marco. He held her even closer.
“What was it like being taken in by Marco’s family?” she asked quietly.
“The best thing that ever happened to me,” he answered truthfully. “What was it like being at Saint Mary’s?”
She sniffed and dragged herself away, crumbling what was left of the toast. “Lonely. Lonely all the time. And isolated. Never feeling like you belong. Always standing on the wrong side of the glass. I hated crowds even back then.”
“So you took your innocent self off to one of the biggest cities on the planet?” Jason swallowed to keep his voice from rising another octave. What on earth had the girl been thinking?
“You don’t need to tell me I was stupid,” she shot back with a frown.
Jason sighed and ran a hand through his hair to
keep from dragging her back into his arms. “You weren’t stupid.”
“Of course I was,” came her contrary reply.
She stood and moved to dump the rest of her coffee in the sink before pouring herself a fresh cup. Black, no sugar. “But enough about me. Why don’t you tell me about this woman of yours and Marco’s? I gather it’s getting serious from what he said last night.”
Was that why she’d been drinking? Because she thought he and Marco were courting another woman? This conversation was getting better and better. Especially since he’d caught the note of jealousy in her voice. But he didn’t want to play the game too hard, not after the details she’d just shared about her life.
He gave what he hoped was a negligent shrug. “We’re just now starting to explore the possibility, but we don’t want to rush into anything too soon. We want to make certain she’s the right one and that she’s comfortable with our unique situation.”
* * * * *
Kiera snorted, the sound unpleasant in the ensuing silence. So what? Why should she care what Jason thought of her now? “How much does Marco’s big Italian family know about your…arrangement?”
She leaned against the counter as she waited for Jason’s answer, knowing it would hurt but needing to hear the truth just the same. And she’d had to find some excuse to change the subject. In her overly vulnerable state she’d told him far too much about her life and was terrified he’d put the pieces together.
Not that she would be around much longer to grieve. She’d made some hard decisions in the shower…decisions she knew would be best for all of them in the long run.
It was time to leave Charleston. Move back to Ohio where she’d come from in the beginning. She had enough money. She could buy a house in a very small town, tuck herself in and never look back. Maybe teach art classes to the local children…or not. She doubted her patience would survive the job.
With a force of effort she did her best to concentrate on what Jason was saying, but it was too hard when she remembered the way he’d held her against his chest and the way his hand had smoothed along her back. She hadn’t imagined he could be so gentle or understanding.
