The Subject Was Rose [The Sunset Palomino Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  The three got out, Jesse lending Rose a hand even though she didn’t really need it. They all stood with hands on hips, gazing at the little pathetic creek.

  “So?” Drake eventually said. “This is telling us nothing. I’ve got to get Macklin to paint me a more detailed picture.”

  Rose said, “You’d think your ranch manager would know where this lizard place was. Hasn’t he worked for Shining Lands for over ten years?”

  “Joaquin has been here over fifteen years. He rides for the brand. He became real vague when I tried to pinpoint where Macklin was talking about.”

  Rose said, “Maybe Joaquin is getting some kickback as well.”

  Drake snorted as if he hadn’t thought of that as Jesse raised his binoculars to his eyes. Jesse had always drawn inspiration for his paintings or interiors from nature, and he’d been known to watch a bird or two. But today something else drew his eye. Farther up the little creek, maybe two miles as the crow flew, a few large, solid objects moved with the same monotonous pumping motion.

  “What the?” Jesse whispered to himself, while the other two occupied themselves down by the creek kicking sand and rocks. Were those windmills? Maybe Sam Stinson was subletting the land to harness some wind power. Wouldn’t Joaquin Miller have known about that, though?

  Jesse gasped. No. Those aren’t windmills. Those are oil well pumps.

  “Holy shit.” The rhythmic pistoning of the walking beams were familiar to Jesse from field trips with his father to oil fields in Egypt and Saudi Arabia. The “pumpjacks” were also known as rocking horses or nodding donkeys. Jesse had always called them “dinosaurs.” Drake’s father is drilling for oil. On government land.

  “What do you see?”

  Lowering the binoculars, Jesse handed them solemnly to Drake. “I think your dad’s been up to the devil’s business.”

  Drake looked, focusing the center ring. “Holy shit,” he repeated.

  * * * *

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  The guy even smoked like Don Draper. Drake said, “I sure do. Let’s step outside to the patio.”

  The patio bordered the reflecting pools that were filled with stones. Today, again overcast and windless, the pools mirrored the steely sky and Drake’s spiky agave garden. He shut the sliding glass door behind him while Burt Macklin lit a smoke.

  “I’m not going to give you much warning, Burt. I don’t believe in warnings. Why give someone a whole lot of a head start to prepare their counterattack?”

  Burt squinted at Drake through a puff of smoke. “Why would you need to warn me about anything? We just renew our contract for another fifteen years. At the new rates, of course.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Burt,” Drake said in a falsely chummy tone. “I’ve been unable to find anything like a contract or any piece of paper whatsoever indicating that you and my dad did any business at all.”

  Burt chuckled, as if that was a mere inconvenience. “You went out to the lizard preserve, didn’t you? Well, then.”

  “Yes, I did. That’s another thing. This is government land. Why are you using it as your own private oil reserve?”

  “You’re reaping the benefits, too, aren’t you? You get more land for your cows and the oil company pays you for their portion. It’s a win-win.” Suddenly Burt frowned. “I don’t understand where you’re coming from, Stinson. If anything, I should be making more demands from you. Your father gave me fifteen million fifteen years ago. That’s not a hill of beans anymore. I’m only going to require twenty-five million for another fifteen years, and that’s just because my wife wants a new kitchen. She says the old backsplashes are out of date, or some such crap. Oh, and nobody uses a trash compactor anymore.”

  Drake had to remain composed. He knew he could look like a formidable lizard king when riled, with his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “Well. Maybe I’ll just donate all ten thousand acres to the furry-footed lizard.”

  Burt matched Drake jawline for jawline. “Why are you so damned stubborn about this? It’s all on the up-and-up. Fact, me and your dad hammered out the agreement one night at the Sunset Palomino Ranch.” Burt cracked a smile. “Got to love those Neapolitans.”

  Drake wanted to beat Burt seven ways from Sunday with the thickest singletail whip he could find. “Do you? You’ll understand if I’m hesitant because I haven’t seen a single piece of paper indicating you and my father ever had a deal. For all I know, that lizard land has been my dad’s since he bought Shining Lands and has nothing to do with you.”

  Burt nodded tightly. “I’ll bring you the contract. But while you’re looking around in your archives, there’s something else I want as part of the new deal.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “There’s a jewelry box, sort of rococo, not your father’s style at all. Gold, all ornate, shaped like a heart, with angels and curlicues all over it.”

  Drake frowned. “You want a damned box?”

  Burt became all falsely confidential now. “Yes, well, you see…This involves my father. The box belonged to Kitty Chandler, who was a frequent guest here. My father had a crush on her from afar, not being prominent enough to warrant an invitation to Shining Lands. Well, your father mentioned to me once that Kitty had left a jewelry box here somewhere. Just the box, so we’re straight. No jewelry should be in it.”

  “All right. I’ll bite. Who the hell is Kitty Chandler?”

  Burt’s jaw was so tight he could barely speak. “You may recall her as a contestant on the TV game show Hollywood Squares.”

  Drake snorted. He doubted that very much. What would a game show contestant be doing invited out to Shining Lands along with the likes of Princess Grace, Dinah Shore, Alan Greenspan, and Quincy Jones? Plus, he doubted it involved Burt Macklin’s father. There was probably more to it. “We don’t have any deal at all as far as I’m concerned, Macklin. Until you can produce any documents, we have nothing to discuss.”

  “Well you sure like the monthly EFTs that pour into your bank accounts from the oil companies.”

  “That’s my father’s business, not mine. Use that flowerpot as an ashtray.”

  That was Drake’s way of signaling to Burt he should leave now. In Drake’s mind, he had no deal with Macklin. He’d inherited a raftload of his father’s business dealings, and this wasn’t one of them until Macklin could produce a piece of paper. Drake wouldn’t even bother his father with it—they hadn’t spoken since Drake had brought up Sam’s marital infidelity and smashed his phone against the wall. Drake opened the sliding glass door and stepped aside, gesturing for Burt to enter.

  Burt did, but in the library he had to add, “Listen, Stinson. It’s in your best interest to keep this operation going smoothly. It’s been going just fine for fifteen years. Why throw a monkey wrench into it now?”

  Drake led Macklin to the library door, where Stony Curtis waited with Jesse. “Why don’t you just go directly to my father then? The deal was between the two of you.”

  Burt drew back as though burned. Honest concern creased his forehead. “Ah, because you’re the owner of Shining Lands? I thought it made more sense to come to you.”

  Stunned, Drake waved at Stony to stand by. “No, no, I’m just managing it for my father. I don’t know where you heard that.”

  Burt was utterly still. Only his mouth moved. “Joaquin Miller told me that. He said you’re the new owner. Don’t you remember signing any papers?”

  Drake’s mind raced. Of course he’d remember signing papers of that nature, no matter how roostered he was. And he’d resent his father a lot less if he knew he was the owner of this gorgeous estate. Drake had no brothers, just a jet-setting sister in France who was happily married to a tycoon of her own, so it would make sense that eventually he’d inherit the estate. Just…wouldn’t he remember signing papers? Burt’s yanking my chain. Just another ruse to get me to give him another “loan.”

  Chuckling to cover up the awkward moment, Drake shook Burt’s hand and practically s
hoved him out the door. “I’m looking forward to seeing those documents.” He felt like yelling something incredibly immature, like “And good riddance to bad rubbish!” But he refrained.

  He was still steaming as he ushered Jesse into the library. He was glad his father had stocked a traditional mod sideboard with manly liquor bottles such as whiskey and brandy. He started making a brandy something-or-other while blowing off a little steam.

  “That guy gives me the creeps. He’s got that greasy Brylcreem thing going on with his hair. He smells like Old Spice, and not the man you want anyone to smell like.”

  Jesse chuckled. He leaned back against Drake’s desk with his ankles crossed, like Drake had done the day he tried to impress Jesse with his package. “He sort of does look like a bad guy from a Get Smart episode.”

  Drake gestured with his glass. “Want one?”

  “Sure. What did he have to say this time?”

  Drake sighed deeply, his back to Jesse. “Well, he must think he holds all the cards or something, because he just demanded some jewelry box that belonged to Kitty Chandler.”

  “Kitty Chandler? That panelist on Hollywood Squares?”

  Drake turned around. “What the fuck? You know who this woman is, too?”

  Jesse stared at Drake. “Oh my God. Maybe I am gay.”

  Drake loosened up and chuckled. “Okay. Maybe I’m just out of touch with popular culture, and Kitty Chandler is a real person.”

  “She was married to the playwright Mickey Hart. They lived here in Palm Springs.”

  “If she was married to a famous playwright, what was she doing being a game show—oh, never mind.” Drake handed Jesse his drink. “Macklin’s under the impression there’s some jewelry box belonging to Kitty here in the house. Have you seen anything like that? Ornate, he said. Rococo.”

  “I don’t think so. I detest rococo stuff, but I wouldn’t have thrown it out. I would’ve asked you about it. I just came to tell you I’ve got a line on a real Eames lounge chair. A friend in LA knows someone, and so on. So do you think there’s more to this jewelry box than meets the eye?”

  “Definitely. Macklin just doesn’t strike me as the type to give a shit what his dad wants, for one thing. He claimed his dad wanted the box.”

  Jesse smiled wryly. “Hm. Sounds familiar to me. Maybe you two have something in common.”

  Drake didn’t want to tell Jesse the other thing Macklin had told him—that he was the outright owner of Shining Lands. For one thing, Drake had been acutely aware his whole life that most, if not all, of his play partners had been motivated by his money. Maybe all of them hadn’t directly known his father was a publishing magnate, but in the circles he ran in everyone knew he was loaded. Drake was tired of never knowing if anyone genuinely liked him. Let Jesse keep on thinking he was just caretaker of his father’s estate.

  Drake finished gulping his drink and made another. “I don’t know what my next move is. He still hasn’t shown me any paperwork. If the government wants to lease land to the oil companies, that’s their business. I just don’t like this whole bribery scheme. Let them lease land to drill oil. I don’t want any part of it.”

  When he turned back around, he was surprised to find Jesse standing right there. They were only a foot away from each other, and Jesse’s head was tilted, almost in an appreciative manner.

  He said, “You’re really not the callous fuckwad you try to make yourself out to be.”

  Drake shrugged. “Well, you know, it’s the Dom image and all that. Have to keep up appearances, you know.”

  “I wanted to know more about wax play. I googled it.”

  “Wax?” Drake was confused. It was slow to dawn on him. That time he’d been playing with…Britney, was it? Ashley? Someone whose name ended with a Y. Jesse had entered to talk about some mundane decorating subject or other and had caught Drake in mid-drip, one of the colored candles between his fingers. He was attempting to make a pattern on Britney or whoever, thus the white, red, and green candles he had sent Stony to the Catholic supply store for. It had turned him on immensely to have Jesse admiring him like that. Jesse could call himself straight all he wanted, but his eyes had definitely been glued to Drake’s harnessed cock, his eyes wide with awe. “Oh, right. What do you want to know?”

  “Can we, you know…do it?”

  Drake’s smile widened. “Of course. But you know we need to include Rose. I don’t think we should have any secrets from Rose.”

  “Oh, of course not! I wasn’t coming here to go behind her back or anything. I meant to include Rose. I think she’d like that. Next time she comes to pose for me, she’ll already be naked, and we can—”

  “Drip her with wax. Of course we can.” Drake moved closer, taking Jesse’s square chin in his fingers. He turned Jesse’s head this way and that, as though wondering how he should sculpt him. “But I think watching me made you hot. I don’t think it was just the young woman I was painting with wax you were admiring. I think it was me making you hot.”

  Jesse couldn’t meet his gaze. “I…I…”

  Drake filled in for him. “It made you hot looking at my cock and bare ass.”

  Jesse still couldn’t speak, but at least he met Drake’s gaze now. He made a small nod.

  Drake was just playing this by ear. He’d never had to seduce another man before. He took Jesse’s empty glass from his hand and set it on the desk. Pressing Jesse back against the desk with his body, Drake squeezed Jesse’s chin between his fingers so he couldn’t avoid his gaze. “It’s okay, Jesse. I’m not going to think you’re gay because you’re attracted to only me. I’m flattered, actually, because the feeling is mutual. You’re beautiful, Jesse, goddamned fucking drop-dead stunning with your dark skin and blue eyes—”

  “Green,” Jesse finally croaked out, almost panic-stricken.

  “—and I’ve been wanking off at night not only imagining Rose’s body writhing beneath mine but yours as well. Have you imagined that?” To encourage Jesse, Drake angled his crotch into Jesse’s, glad to feel Jesse’s prick wedged up against his. Drake’s free hand traveled down Jesse’s chest, flat and hard as a board, to pinch the nipple. There had been no mistaking Jesse’s reaction to his touch the day he’d invited Drake to the cottage. Jesse’s girlfriend was sucking his dick, but Jesse was almost as aroused by Drake’s fondling and pinching.

  “Yes, I’ve imagined both,” Jesse whispered. “Of course I imagine Rose. She’s a banging sex kitten. But yes. I’ve thought of you, too.”

  Drake licked Jesse’s lower lip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I think there can be infinite variations with the three of us, different interpretations of the power exchange.”

  Jesse nipped at Drake’s lips now, like a puppy. “You mean…me and Rose tying you up?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Drake growled. He kissed Jesse fully now, wiggling his tongue between the parted lips, licking the inside of Jesse’s mouth. He ran a hand down the slope of Jesse’s ass and gathered him to him, thoroughly savoring the erotic rush when he gyrated his hard-on against Jesse’s erection. Why not? I’m a well-known reprobate, famous for lewd and kinky acts. Why not toy with one of my pets who happens to be a man? “My pet,” he murmured, loving the endearment. “I was thinking more of me and Rose tying you up. You’re delicious when you’re helpless, turned on yet unable to move.”

  Jesse laughed lasciviously at that, and they deepened the kiss, Jesse’s palm now moving down to squeeze Drake’s ass.

  They both gasped and broke apart when a sharp rap came at the door. Stony Curtis walked in blissfully unaware, without waiting for a response. Stony had probably seen worse. He’d been traveling with Drake for about eight years now since they’d met in London. Stony had smoothed over many police raids with his ever-ready bankroll, and he knew where to hook up with the classiest women in every top city in the civilized world. Hell, Stony had even been partaking of the festivities in Goa when Drake had nearly banged that other fellow wearing eyeliner. If Stony had be
en more alert or on duty, that blogger may never have gotten any photos.

  But now Stony had something more mundane to announce. “Sir,” he intoned, hands folded before his crotch, “Mr. Troy Placker is here to see you. He’s with that awful tofu fellow, and they want to discuss your golf tournament.”

  “Oh, right.” Drake pulled away from Jesse, but he knew his hard-on stuck out in sharp relief, he was panting, and he’d broken out in a light sweat. “I’ll come out to see them. We’ll want to walk the course.” He turned to Jesse and explained, “I don’t golf, but I’ve got this damned course. Why not hold a tournament, right?”

  “Right!” Jesse agreed, overly hearty. “Why not use the course?”

  But as Drake walked the nine-hole course with Troy and the tofu heir, his mind was stuck on Rose and Jesse. Drake had denied any possibility of allowing the other two to dominate him, of course. That was his second nature. He had never, or very rarely, been in the submissive position. The few times he’d allowed a woman to best him temporarily had, admittedly, been a turn-on, but he’d quickly regained the upper hand.

  There would be no switching around here. Or so Drake had always thought, until Jesse had mentioned the possibility.

  Now the idea of being bound and somehow having his cock and balls tortured was exciting him to distraction, and he kept having to force himself to talk about teeing grounds and water hazards to keep his cock from hardening.

  Chapter Ten

  “I have no idea if I’m doing this right.”

  “It doesn’t feel right,” said Rose. “My wrist can still easily slip out.” Rose felt silly, lying on her back on a drop cloth, being tied by the wrists to the headboard. The anticipation, and her ignorance, of what was about to happen had her on pins and needles already, so the feeling of being rendered helpless was nearly unbearable.

  “Well, I was never a Boy Scout,” said Jesse.