Double Dare: A Menage Romance

by Marie Carnay

  He smiled and part of her glowed in delight. “You’ll see.”

  At last, Beckett disappeared in front of her and Chelsea dug deep for a final burst of energy. She popped over the top of the cliff and panted her way to Beckett standing a few feet away.

  Oh my God. When they said the view would be worth it, she’d believed them, sort of. But this… was unbelievable.

  Green forest dipped down from their perch and not twenty feet to their right, a gushing waterfall emerged from the cliff face, tumbling down the side of the mountain and into a lagoon so blue it looked fake.

  From their vantage point, Chelsea could see not just the waterfall, but the entire island, its green canopy broken by the roofline of the house and the outbuildings before tipping down into the pale sand all around.

  The blue sea stretched for miles, fading into the horizon as she stared. “What’s that?” She pointed at a land mass on the edge of her vision.

  “The main islands of the Bahamas.” Bronx had stopped beside her, sipping water and enjoying the view. He smiled like he owned the place.

  “How many times have you been up here before? You acted like you knew the way by heart.”

  “Oh, Beckett and I used to come here all the time when we—”

  “Came to vacation.” Beckett interrupted him. “It’s one of the highlights of the trip, if you ask me.”

  “Well, it’s gorgeous, but I can’t imagine making that trek more than once a visit. Those stairs are worse than any stair climber at the gym.”

  Beckett smiled and nudged her shoulder. “Want to go down to the falls? There’s a path. It’s not as steep as it looks.”

  Chelsea glanced at Bronx.

  “He’s telling the truth. It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s not the way down I’m afraid of. It’s the going back up.”

  Bronx smiled and all at once she could see the resemblance between the brothers. They had the same grin. “Don’t worry. There’s a path back to the house on this side, too.”

  Chelsea exhaled in relief. “Lead the way.”

  BRONX

  He followed Chelsea down the sandy path toward the lagoon and tried to shake the negative spiral of his thoughts. Lying to her about owning the island had been such a colossal mistake, but they were too far in to stop now.

  What would happen when she learned the truth? Would she hate them?

  God, he hoped not. In the two weeks they had been on Sarabelle, Bronx had come to see the world in a whole new light. All of the material possessions and business decisions he made back home seemed so trivial now.

  Who cared if he owned a place in the nicest building near Central Park or drove the latest sports car straight from Italy? If Chelsea was by his side, he’d trade it all in and live like a bum with Beckett on Sarabelle.

  But it was a fool’s dream. Someone needed to tend to the family business. Their father had given him that honor for a reason. He couldn’t squander that legacy no matter how much he wanted to run away and disappear with the woman he loved.

  He paused on the path, watching Chelsea and his older brother traipse away through the fronds. I love her. The words knifed his heart.

  Bronx hadn’t fallen in love with a woman… ever. But in a matter of weeks, Chelsea had taken up residence inside him and he didn’t know how to let her go.

  Her dark hair disappeared through the leaves and he hustled to keep up. He needed to get Beckett alone and talk some sense into him. If they came clean, maybe Chelsea would understand. Maybe she would want more than just a vacation fling.

  Bronx jogged down the path, dodging giant swaths of palms and drooping flowers in pink and oranges. At last, he caught a glimpse of Chelsea’s hair and slowed. As he emerged from the forest, Bronx stopped.

  Chelsea and Beckett stood at the edge of the lagoon, arms wrapped around each other as they kissed. He wasn’t the only one invested in this woman. His brother had fallen hard, too.

  He still hadn’t been able to get a read on Beckett. Almost three weeks on Sarabelle and he was no closer to unraveling his brother’s secrets than when he arrived.

  Chelsea broke the kiss and turned, arm stretched out for Bronx. He did have a good excuse.

  Bronx smiled and took her hand. “So what do you think of the falls?”

  “Incredible. The view is even better down here.”

  “Want to go swimming?”

  Chelsea’s whole face lit up. “Can we?”

  “Of course. That’s what pools are for.” Before Bronx could pull off his shirt, Chelsea had shimmied out of her shorts and dragged her T-shirt over her head. She unclasped her bra and threw it at him.

  Bronx caught it with a laugh.

  “What? It’s practically The Blue Lagoon up in this place.” Chelsea waved at the water. “This is made for skinny dipping.”

  Beckett tugged off his shirt and dropped his shorts. “You heard the lady.” He grinned and flashed his naked ass at Bronx. “Last one in has to lug the pack home.”

  “Not fair!” Bronx did his best, throwing his clothes in a careless heap beside the water before diving in. Warm and clear, the pool had been a favorite haunt of theirs as kids.

  Not even their dad would hike in to it, claiming the house pool was more to his liking. But it had been Beckett and Bronx’s sanctuary. A place to get away from everything and pretend they weren’t a pair of spoiled rich boys growing up all over the world.

  They were just brothers, out in the wild, diving off the rocks and learning what it meant to be alive. Bronx surfaced and Chelsea was waiting for him.

  She slicked her hair off her face while treading water, spinning around to take in the beauty all around them.

  Now it wasn’t just the pair of brothers. Now they had a third. A beautiful woman who fit between them so well. If the end of the trip meant the end of this paradise, then so be it.

  Bronx was done worrying. He was floating in crystal waters, listening to the sound of the waterfall and birds singing in the trees over their heads. If all he had was a few more days with Chelsea, then he needed to enjoy it.

  With a smile on his face, he swam toward her before reaching out and slipping his hands around her waist.

  “This has been the best vacation a man could ask for.”

  Her brow knitted. “You mean that?”

  “We both do.” Beckett swam up behind and the three of them floated, suspended in time and the water. Together.

  “There’s a way to make it better, though.”

  Chelsea’s eyes sparkled. “What’s that?”

  “I think you know.” Bronx leaned in and as he kissed Chelsea, he let the water take him wherever it wanted to go.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BECKETT

  If Bronx had asked him a month ago whether his life was complete, Beckett would have said yes. He had the island, his projects, everything he needed.

  So he didn’t have someone to share it with, so what? With the plans he’d been working on for the past year, there would be people on the island in not too long. A few weeks ago, that would have sufficed.

  But now Beckett knew the truth: he’d been living a shell of a life. Chelsea had opened up so much more than just unused rooms on Sarabelle. She had opened his heart.

  The closer the vacation came to an end, the more confused Beckett became. He couldn’t stand the thought of her walking back onto a plane and heading back home to New York.

  Would she keep seeing Bronx? Would she tell them both goodbye?

  He never should have lied to her about owning the island. He still couldn’t explain why he did it. Was he afraid of what she would think? That learning the truth about him would turn her off?

  She knew they had money. He shook his head. The whole thing had gotten so convoluted.

  Beckett strode down the halls of the house, peeking in open rooms as he looked for her. Telling her the truth would be the best thing. If she wanted to leave, so be it. She deserved to know.

  He would find her,
sit her down, and tell her everything. All of his secrets and fears. The fact that they owned Sarabelle. What he wanted to do with it. That he loved her.

  He just hoped it would be enough.

  After checking the upstairs, Beckett hustled down the steps, flip-flops slapping on the wood. Where is she?

  He checked the pool and the cabana. Empty. The lanai and the veranda overlooking the water. Nothing.

  Damn it. He couldn’t confess if he couldn’t find her. In frustration, Beckett turned back toward the house, stormed through the front door, and almost ran into Chelsea.

  She spun, startled by his presence.

  Beckett held up his hands. “Sorry. I should have looked.” He glanced down. She held a small figurine in her fingers. He recognized it immediately. “Where did you find that?”

  Chelsea pointed at the sitting room off the entryway. “In there. I wanted to see it in better light. It’s incredible.” She turned the little woman around in her hands, fingers stroking the gentle arc of the figurine’s arms as they stretched up in the air.

  “Thanks.”

  Her eyes went wide and she held it out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have picked it up. With a house like this, I’m sure it cost a fortune. God knows rich people will spend money like water.”

  Beckett took the figure from her and weighed in his hand. He wanted to tell her so desperately. But there it was again: her hesitation about money. “You don’t like wealthy people, do you?”

  Chelsea glanced down at the floor with a half-smile. “Apart from you and Bronx? Not really. But I blame my job. Events kind of bring out the worst in people, you know?”

  Beckett didn’t, but he could imagine. “Not friendly when the appetizers come out overdone?”

  She nodded. “Or the flowers are the wrong shade of pink or the band plays the wrong song. I swear, the more money someone has, the pickier they get. It should be the other way around.”

  “How so?”

  Chelsea glanced around the house. “With a place like this, what does it matter whether you have steak or chicken for dinner? It’s a tropical paradise. Money should free you up to be your true self, but all it ever seems to do is make people angry and bitter.”

  Beckett thought about his brother. Money had certainly strained that relationship. But it wasn’t the root of all of their problems. “Say you had all the money you ever needed? What would you do with your time?”

  Chelsea pointed at the little figurine. “Believe it or not, I’d be a sculptor.”

  The piece almost slipped from Beckett’s grasp. Was she playing him? “You can’t be serious.”

  She shrugged. “I know. It sounds crazy, right? But I majored in art in college. Sculpting, actually. I only minored in business.”

  It didn’t sound like a lie. But what were the odds? “What was your specialty?”

  “Pottery. I wanted to be the next Guy Wolfe and decorate patios the world over with my garden collection.” She snorted. “The dreams of a broke undergrad. So quickly ruined by rent and the cost of the subway.”

  Beckett couldn’t believe it was coincidence, but it sure as hell seemed that way. And to think, he’d been just about to tell her the truth. God, she would never believe him now. She’d think he’d set the whole thing up from the beginning just to woo her.

  He ran a hand down his face. Think, Beckett, think. How could he get it to all work out? How could he get her to see the truth and not hate him?

  The little figurine turned around in his hands. He’d made it years ago, just after their parents had died in the car accident and the world turned upside down. Art had been the only thing to get him through back then. And before Chelsea, he’d been on the verge of making it something more.

  Beckett glanced up at her.

  There was one option. He could continue the lie, but show her the space. It could be a last chance to bond. Maybe after she saw it…

  After she spent some time with him in the studio, she might never want to leave.

  He cleared his throat. “About those dreams. I, um, found something here the other day that I think you might like.”

  Her face perked up. “Really?”

  Beckett nodded. “I knew the owners here were looking to turn part of the property into a school, but I didn’t know the details. I think it’s right up your alley.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed. “The building across the way. Want to come?” Beckett held out his hand and Chelsea slipped her fingers across his palm.

  CHELSEA

  Beckett had been acting strange since the minute he barged into the house. At first, she thought he wanted to tell her something, but then when he saw the little clay figure in her hand, he hesitated.

  God, what an idiot she’d been to pick that up. It probably cost more than her whole year’s rent. But the little woman had been so beautiful and haunting, arms stretched up overhead, hands open in what looked like a prayer for rain.

  She wanted to know the meaning of the piece and all the secrets it possessed. Just like she wanted to know Beckett’s.

  With her hand firmly in his, she followed him down the winding trail to the outbuilding. Beckett was still full of surprises. She didn’t know what his feelings were for her at all, but she hoped he at least had an inkling of hers.

  She could tell the man lived a solitary existence. One where not even his brother stayed in close contact. It pained Chelsea. Her whole childhood, she’d wished for a sibling to share her days. As an adult, the ache still bloomed in her chest now and then. That the Kingston brothers didn’t have a relationship to speak of before this vacation shocked her.

  Beckett paused outside the entrance to the building and fished a key ring from his pocket. He unlocked the door and flicked on the light before ushering her inside. The floor-to-ceiling windows that appeared solid and boarded up on the outside were actually covered in one-way film.

  The light from the sun poured in, casting a warm yellow glow over artists’ canvases propped on easels and stacks of paint tubes and brushes along the wall. Chelsea turned to Beckett as he shut the door behind them. “Is this a studio?”

  He nodded. “The owners are planning on opening an art school here. A live-in intensive.”

  Oh my God. It was the stuff dreams were made of. A private island on which to live and hone your craft? Chelsea would never have thought it possible. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “Is it?”

  She stared at him. “Yes. Is it for trust fund babies? Billionaires who need a hobby? I mean, who could afford all this?” Chelsea spun around and gawked at the space. There was even a pottery wheel in the corner.

  “I don’t know. They might be looking into private funds and scholarships.”

  Chelsea snorted. “Right. And I’m the first candidate.”

  “Would you want to be?”

  She shook her head at him. “Of course. This place is incredible. Think about the creativity all around. But I’m no Pollyanna. I know it doesn’t work like that in the real world.”

  Beckett shrugged. “It could. You just need an open mind.” He walked past her to the wheel. “Want to give it a spin? There’s fresh clay in the fridge.”

  Chelsea paused. “How would you know that?”

  “I may have snuck in here once or twice. The owners know my habits.” He bent in front of the little fridge and pulled it open. “I might like to sculpt, too.”

  He pulled out a block of fresh clay wrapped in plastic and stood up. “There’s plenty. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  Chelsea stared at the bundle in his hand. It had been months since she’d had time to even tinker with what used to be her passion. Could she share it with Beckett?

  Her heart screamed yes. Her brain hesitated. It would all be over so soon. Did she want to open herself up to be so vulnerable with a man who would tell her goodbye in a matter of days?

  Beckett lowered his hand. “I’d like to share this with you, if you’ll let me, Chelsea. I’d be honored t
o watch you work.”

  She sagged. “When you put it like that, I can’t say no.”

  With a small smile, she took the heavy bundle from his hand. “I warn you, I’m a messy artist. I hope those shorts don’t matter much.”

  Beckett smiled and his blue eyes twinkled. “Not one bit.”

  BECKETT

  Watching Chelsea work hammered home how much Beckett wanted the studio to be a success. He could see the place now, filled with artists painting and sculpting and drawing.

  It would bring life to an island that had seen only him and a handful of staff for way too long. She could be the first student and live there with him.

  Beckett frowned. His brother would lose it if he knew what Beckett had planned. He always thought with his pocketbook. How much will this earn? How much can I make on this sale?

  Opening an artists’ studio where Beckett expected to lose money every year? Bronx would hate it. But creating a space where people passionate about art and life could live without breaking the bank was the only way Beckett saw it working.

  Bronx would never agree. He’d sooner develop Sarabelle into some resort town and charge a thousand dollars a night. But what did it all matter if neither of them had a legacy to pass it on to?

  It wasn’t like they were getting any younger. If neither of them married or had kids… What was the point of it all?

  He turned back to Chelsea. While he’d been off in his own head, she’d been working. She shaped the clay with her fingers, spinning the wheel when she needed, letting it come to rest when she didn’t. She was a natural. Gifted far beyond her talents as an event coordinator.

  It pained him to think of her locking up this gift and focusing on rent and responsibilities. She should be here, creating magic, not trudging down the dirty city streets and merely existing.

  He watched in silence as she molded the clay. Specks of the sticky stuff covered her bare legs, dripped off her fingers, splattered the floor. What he wouldn’t give to slide up behind her and meld his fingers with hers. Create more than a sculpture together.