Double Dare: A Menage Romance

by Marie Carnay

  Bronx came closer and his brown eyes shimmered with regret. “Nothing I’m saying is a lie. God knows, I should have stayed away and let you and Beckett be. But it’s too late.”

  He reached out and laid his fingers on her arm. She wished the heat didn’t pull at her heart.

  “I can’t walk away from you. Not now. Please say you understand.”

  “No.” She shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t understand any of it. The lies. The deceit. The empty promises.” She stepped back and Bronx dropped his hand. “You were never going to tell me the truth. You were both just going to pretend to be visitors here and let me get on that plane and go back home and never see me again.”

  “That’s not true, Chelsea!”

  “Then why keep lying?” She staggered back until the outside breeze rustled her hair. I have to get out of here.

  “Chelsea, wait.” Beckett staggered toward her, but she couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “Never mind. I don’t even want to know anymore. This was only ever supposed to be a fling. A vacation to relax and have some fun.” She rushed to the door. “Sorry to disappoint you boys, but I’m done having fun. I just want to go home.”

  Both Beckett and Bronx called after her, but Chelsea wouldn’t listen. She was done listening to the empty words the Kingston brothers threw at her while the truth sat right there in the open for everyone to see.

  She’d been so naïve, but it all made sense now. The lack of staff, the magically appearing food, the way Beckett walked around like he owned the place.

  Chelsea ran down the path, palm fronds smacking her in the face and arms an she fled.

  I am such an idiot. Beckett had known where all the hidden gems of the island were, when to go fishing and snorkeling, when to jump on a paddleboard and head out to sea. And the studio. God.

  The pottery wheel and the top-notch clay. All the tools and equipment. It brought back her joy. The love she’d had for making something with her own two hands. She’d walked out because it had all been too much.

  Everything she’d wanted years ago was right there for the taking, but it was just a vacation. A dream.

  She was going back to New York and Beckett and Bronx were going back to their lives and she would be Chelsea Miller the event planner all over again. Single in a crappy apartment in New York.

  Then Bronx had shown up and opened her eyes. Of course they owned Sarabelle. The minute Beckett opened the studio door, she should have put it together. No one walked into a stranger’s art studio like he hadn’t a care in the world. No one.

  Chelsea ran up the stairs of the main house and tore down the hall, desperate to be alone. She threw open the door to her room and shut it behind her. The lock turned and she leaned against the wood, panting as tears ran down her face.

  All the days spent exploring and learning and laughing with Beckett and Bronx. The nights tangled up in their arms. Chelsea slid to the floor, the cool tile no comfort now.

  She hadn’t just had fun these past weeks. She’d fallen in love with two impossibly handsome men who she thought cared for her, too. But it had all been a lie.

  A horrible, terrible lie. She closed her eyes and thought of Beckett’s lips on her skin. Bronx’s hands sliding over her hips as they danced on the lanai. A pang of longing lanced her insides.

  It wasn’t just the jokes and the good times. When they were alone in the dark… Chelsea had never experienced anything like it. The way her breath caught, her heart threatened to explode, and the bliss overwhelmed her.

  I’m so weak. She let out a tortured sob. If the Kingston brothers rushed to her, she’d give in. One more night to feel their heat and passion. One more night to revel in their touch.

  The pleasure would be worth the pain. One night. Then she’d say goodbye and never look back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BECKETT

  “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

  Bronx scowled. “So this is my fault? You’re the one who insisted we lie to her. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you.”

  Beckett pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. Everything had gone so wrong so fast. A few hours ago he was marveling at Chelsea’s skill with clay and thinking about the future. There had been so much hope inside the fledging studio.

  Love, too.

  Now…

  He pulled out a chair and sat down at the small table. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. But we’re here now and we need to fix it.”

  Bronx snorted. “Fix what? You heard her. It’s over. She wants to leave and go back to her normal life.”

  Beckett shook his head. “That’s the anger talking. You didn’t see her here, Bronx. She’s got talent. Chelsea shouldn’t be working a job as an event planner. She should be an artist.”

  Bronx rubbed his forehead. “When are you going to wake up and stop this childish fantasy of yours? Nobody can make it as an artist these days. That’s why there are so many musician-waiters and painter-janitors. Chelsea deserves more than that.”

  “We could give it to her.” Beckett walked toward the back door and motioned for Bronx to follow. He stepped onto the wood of the deck and pointed out Chelsea’s work. “She did this in just a few hours this morning, Bronx.”

  His brother walked over to take a better look. After a moment, he stood up. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes. And I’m sure given more time and training, she’d be a master.” He reached out and gripped his brother’s arm. “We could give that to her, Bronx. Right here on Sarabelle. If I can open this studio and she’ll agree to stay, we could give her a new life.”

  His brother didn’t understand, but he would. Beckett would convince him. He tightened his grip around his brother’s arm. “Don’t you see? We could make her dreams come true.”

  With a frown, Bronx tugged his arm out of Beckett’s grasp. “Dreams of what, exactly? You and her riding off on a paddleboard into the sunset? Where do I fit into this whole dream of yours?”

  Of course. It always came back to Bronx and his needs. It was why their mother had penned letters for him to open when he was older. When the fire inside him had dimmed. But Bronx wouldn’t understand that. Maybe not ever.

  Beckett exhaled in an attempt to control his temper. Fighting with Bronx would get him nowhere. It never did. “Instead of arguing we should be out there, finding her and winning her back.”

  His brother crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s over, Beckett. It’s time we all got back to our own lives and forget this vacation ever happened.”

  No way. Beckett wasn’t letting Bronx give up so easily. “Where’s the brother I know? The guy I grew up with was always a fighter. The one who never backed down even when he lagged behind the rest of the pack. The one who trained harder, fought longer, gave it everything he had.”

  “I could say the same about you. Where’s the brother I knew who wasn’t afraid to own the Kingston legacy?”

  “I’m right here, trying to convince you to go after the woman you love.”

  Bronx paled. “What?”

  “You heard me. I’ve seen the way you look at her, all pensive and full of emotion. You’re in love with Chelsea whether you want to admit it or not.”

  His brother’s mouth opened and shut but no words came out. At last, he sagged down into the chair across from Beckett. “What about you?”

  “I’ve been in love with her since she doused me in merlot.” He smiled and Bronx’s face brightened a bit. “Please, Bronx. Help me win her back. I can’t do it without you.”

  Bronx stared at him for a moment before speaking. “Do you mean that?”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. Not anymore.”

  “Then let’s go. I know just where to look.”

  CHELSEA

  A hundred yards down the beach and the tears finally stopped flowing. She sat on an outcropping of rock and stared out at the ocean waves.

  One after another, the white caps cres
ted and fell back into the blue water. Foamy current pushed onto the shore and receded again and again. The world moved on while her heart froze in her chest.

  She didn’t hear the footsteps, but their shadows trailed across the sand and covered her bare toes.

  “Come back to the house, Chelsea. We can have some wine. Talk things over.”

  “I’d like to be alone.”

  Bronx sat down next to her. His frame blotted out the sun and cooled her back. “You don’t have to forgive us. Hell, you don’t even have to like us right now, but I can’t stand the thought of you leaving angry.”

  He skimmed his hand across her back and Chelsea fought down a rising wave of lust. She shouldn’t want him.

  “I don’t trust myself to go back there.”

  He leaned closer, lips a breath away from her ear, and whispered. “Can you say that again? I missed it.”

  “I said, I don’t—” Chelsea turned as she spoke, but Bronx cut her off with a kiss of his lips.

  Damn it! He held her tight against him, one hand firm on her shoulder, the other sliding up into her hair. And those lips. Oh, God. He kissed her like she was the most beautiful treasure.

  Greedy and reverent.

  Repentant and needy.

  How had she thought she could ever walk away without one more kiss?

  “Bronx is right.” Beckett crouched at her feet and ran his hands up over her bare thighs. “You don’t have to make any decisions. You don’t have to stay longer than a night. But don’t leave here not knowing how much we want you.”

  His hands slid higher, over her shorts to grip her waist. “We can’t let you go without one more taste, Chelsea. Please. We need you.”

  Beckett might have lied about owning Sarabelle, but he didn’t lie about this. She felt it in the way he gripped her so tight and how the words tripped off his tongue like a racer desperate to cross the finish line.

  Bronx broke their kiss and before Chelsea could say a word, Beckett hoisted her up in his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling.

  “I don’t forgive you.”

  “I know.” Beckett walked toward the house with Chelsea in his arms and Bronx following right behind.

  Chelsea looked over Beckett’s shoulder and met Bronx’s stare. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

  He nodded.

  “But I’ll give you tonight. That’s all. No more.”

  Beckett kissed her neck. “I’ll take any part of you I can get.”

  Chelsea didn’t know how they found her bed. Or how everyone’s clothes came off. But there they were, a sea of bodies rising and falling like the ocean outside.

  Beckett’s lips raced up her belly, Bronx’s hands slid down her back, and Chelsea closed her eyes. She shoved the pain and anger and heartache into a box deep inside her chest and buried it.

  Tonight was about lust and passion and the love she’d foolishly hoped she could have. She wove her fingers though Beckett’s tousled hair as he kneeled between her legs. No heated words. No sly glances. Only need.

  Base and feral.

  He leaned down and pulled a nipple into his mouth, tasting and nipping as he spread her legs. The first thrust slid her up the mattress. The second rolled her eyes up in her head.

  Chelsea reached out and Bronx grabbed her by the wrists, holding her down as his brother fucked her. This wasn’t making love. This was fucking. Pure, animalistic desire and drive.

  Beckett filled her up with every rock of his hips, slamming into her again and again. Faster, deeper, he grunted as he bottomed out and Chelsea groaned in sync. Yes, yes. Use me. Devour me. Fill me up.

  He came with an anguished cry, releasing into the condom and collapsing on her chest.

  Bronx let her wrists go, but before she could move, he’d taken his brother’s place. His thick thighs slid down on either side of hers and with a firm grip on her hips, Bronx flipped her over.

  Chelsea’s face hit the mattress and she scrambled onto her knees as Bronx pulled on a condom. Her fingers wrapped around the headboard and he boxed her in, tight and close.

  His breath fanned across her neck, his body enveloped her, and as he sunk balls-deep inside her, Chelsea saw stars. The orgasm flooded her brain, short-circuited her emotions, and Bronx fucked her through it.

  She rocked on her knees, every thrust a burst of pleasure chased by the twinge of overstimulated pain. But Bronx didn’t stop. Again and again he filled her up, pulling back to slam home with crushing force.

  His hand reached around her hips and as he found her clit, Chelsea screamed.

  Another orgasm would tear her apart. “I… can’t…” The words came out between gasps and moans, but Bronx didn’t listen.

  He worked her clit and pistoned his hips and before Chelsea knew it another orgasm built out of the ashes of the last. Bronx groaned behind her and as he came, so did she. Tears slipped down her face as Bronx layered kisses over kisses across her shoulder.

  In the heat of the moment, with nothing but sweat between them, Chelsea couldn’t deny it. She was in love with Beckett and Bronx Kingston. Two men who lied to her from the start.

  She collapsed onto the mattress as the sound of her phone destroyed the silence. Bronx slid back and Beckett crawled up beside her, his hands cool against her fevered skin.

  The phone rang again.

  Bronx snuck up against her back.

  The phone rang again.

  Beckett’s hands slid up her thighs, but she couldn’t ignore the ringing. Everyone knew she was on vacation. No one would call over and over unless something was wrong.

  “I have to get that.”

  “Ignore it.” His lips trailed kisses down her neck and she wanted to give in so desperately. Forget all the lies and hurt and let them carry her even further into a paradise she knew she had to leave.

  “I can’t.” With two hands on his chest, Chelsea shoved him back and clambered off the bed.

  She swiped open her phone and almost dropped it on the floor. Oh, no. In a single second, everything had changed.

  Chapter Twenty

  CHELSEA

  “The pilot radioed in. He’s ten minutes out.”

  Chelsea exhaled in relief. She couldn’t get back to New York fast enough.

  “Are you sure you want to do this on your own? I can come with you.” Bronx stood by her side, sunglasses shielding his expression.

  “No. I need to focus on Liz. I can’t have any distractions.”

  He flinched like she’d burned him, but Chelsea didn’t have time to watch her tone. Liz was in critical condition. She needed to get back before it was too late.

  “I still don’t understand why the hospital called you. Doesn’t she have any family?” Beckett’s questions were reasonable, but Chelsea still scowled.

  “No, she doesn’t have any family. I’m it. I’m the contact on her medical directive. I’m her power of attorney. I’m the only one. If—” Chelsea paused when her voice cracked. “If she slips into a coma or won’t stay alive without life support, I’m the one who makes the decisions for her. It’s the way she wanted it.”

  Assuming I get there in time. She clutched the strap of her bag closer to her chest. Instead of being home where she should have been, she’d been on a private island paradise, forgetting about everything that mattered.

  Orgasms had addled her brain. It was time to get back to the real world and people who had always been there for her. People who needed her more than a pair of billionaires who couldn’t tell the truth.

  Her best friend was lying in a hospital bed on the brink of death and it had taken the staff an entire day to track Chelsea down. What if Liz had died? What if Liz had been lying there asking for her and she never came?

  God, what a friend she’d become.

  The sound of the plane dragged her out of her spiraling thoughts. Finally. I can go home.

  Bronx reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Call me. After everything settles down and Liz recovers, I
want you to call me.”

  She frowned. “We don’t know if she’ll make it another day, Bronx.”

  “She will. You’ll be there to help her.”

  The plane landed on the short runway and Bronx loped over to speak to the pilot.

  “Don’t forget about us, Chelsea. Or Sarabelle. Remember that you could be happy here.”

  She turned to Beckett. Her emotions were all over the place, but the man still needed to hear the truth. “You have a beautiful home, Beckett. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to say it’s yours.” She kissed him on the cheek and sniffed back a wave of tears.

  If he’d asked, she couldn’t have told him why she was crying. Fear over Liz? Leaving Sarabelle? Regret over what might have been?

  All of it and none of it at the same time.

  Bronx gave the thumbs-up from the top of the plane stairs and Chelsea hiked her bag up on her shoulder. She was done with goodbyes.

  She slipped onto the plane without another word to the Kingston brothers. Anger and hurt and desire still all lurked somewhere inside her, but Chelsea couldn’t think about any of it now. Liz needed her. That was what mattered.

  With a last glance at the island and all of its beauty, Chelsea leaned back and closed her eyes. When she woke up, she’d be home.

  “I’m telling you, I’m fine.” Liz struggled to sit up higher against the mountain of pillows behind her. “I don’t need hospital Jell-O. What I need is a martini and all the details about your trip.”

  Chelsea exhaled. She’d sat by Liz’s bedside for eight days. Two while she’d been in a drug-induced coma to reduce the swelling, two while she’d endured multiple surgeries to put pins in her ankle, and four while she recovered.

  Finally, that afternoon, Liz had a bit of her old sparkle. “You can’t have alcohol. Doctor’s orders. You almost died. If that cabbie hadn’t swerved at the last minute…”

  “But he did, and I’m still breathing. Even have my wits about me.” She grinned. “So, tell me tall, dark, and handsome times two was even better than my imagination.”