Ray, Helena - A Bride for Two Playboys [Male Order, Texas 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Helena Ray

  “Don’t get angry with me, Robin.” He winked at the use of her first name. “I just think it’s a waste to hide a girl like you behind a stack of books. No one cares about that stuff, anyway.”

  “No one cares? No one cares?” Clearly, Alexander had struck a nerve. “The story of architecture in the first half of the twentieth century is a poignant example of...” Alexander stopped listening to the angry pixie woman storming about his office shouting about architecture and gesticulating violently. He didn’t need this.

  Alexander grabbed the papers from Robin’s hand as she flung them upward in a dramatic gesture to accompany her lecture. “I’ll have my attorney look over these. Meanwhile, talk to Mr. Blackmon about provisional access to the archives.” He consciously switched from aroused predator to apathetic businessman.

  Robin opened her mouth as if to continue her lecture then closed it and took a deep breath. She rearranged her bag and smiled coolly. “I look forward to working with you on this project.” The look on her face and the tone of her voice implied she didn’t mean that.

  “I look forward to working with you, as well,” Alexander replied in an identical tone as he returned to his seat behind the mahogany desk. “Now, if you will, I’m quite busy today.” He motioned to the door.

  “My pleasure.” Robin shot him one more angry look before turning and exiting the room quickly.

  Goddamn it, a nosy bitch. Exactly what Alexander didn’t need. Apparently, he would have to meet his sexual needs in another way. He kicked his feet back on to his desk and closed his eyes. Oh, having her around was going to be fun.

  Loads of fun.

  Chapter 2

  What a bastard! Robin attempted to slam the ten-foot high door to the mansion behind her as she exited, but it was too heavy, and her anger was forced to stay pent up. She stood just outside the entrance, out of the cool stone walls of the mansion and once more in the July heat. She supposed she should find the outbuilding that housed the Abrams family records, but her ire impaired any sort of academic thought at the moment. She shook her head to clear the memory of Alexander Abrams. What a pig! How could such an awful, unpleasant man be the descendant of Max Abrams, one of the most brilliant designers in American history?

  One thing Alexander did have in common with his great-grandfather was his looks. Max Abrams was notorious for being arrestingly handsome, and his heir certainly shared that quality. Even though Alexander made Robin seethe with his antiquated attitudes toward women and his disdain for her work, she could not deny his effect on her body.

  Alexander was extremely tall and trim, and his designer wardrobe showed off his long muscles. His hair was a tuft of messy brown curls. He had piercing hazel eyes that dripped with mischief and full, extremely kissable lips.

  Wait, what am I doing? The last thing she should be doing is thinking about kissing Alexander Abrams. For one thing, she had a job to do. She had not been sent to the Abrams mansion to flounce about like a princess. For another thing, even if she were to be involved with someone on her trip, it would not be an unbelievably spoiled and rude brat like Alexander Abrams.

  She continued stewing over her encounter with Alexander as she wandered the grounds. The longer she walked, though, the less agitated she became. The unbelievable beauty of the grounds, landscaped to showcase the natural beauty of the Texas countryside, overwhelmed her, and the interaction faded in her memory.

  The sound of hooves hitting the ground behind her interrupted her reverie.

  “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

  Robin turned around to see a man perched on a dapple grey horse. He wore a red pearl-snap shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the kind of jeans cowboys wear that leave very little to the imagination. His muscular frame lifted out of the saddle, and he dropped himself to the ground. He grabbed the reins and walked the horse over to where Robin stood.

  He smiled down at her, and she could see more clearly his open, friendly smile and sparkling blue eyes. Set against his short, dark hair and tan skin, the beauty of his eyes struck Robin as she turned her face up to his.

  “I’m Bryant Clare, stable manager and horse trainer extraordinaire,” he said as he ran his hand down the muzzle of the horse standing next to him, “and this here’s Sylvia.”

  “Robin Lawrence.” She followed Bryant’s lead and stroked Sylvia’s neck. The horse breathed softly against her neck in approval.

  “She likes you, Robin Lawrence.” Bryant’s grin was infectious, and Robin found herself giggling like a schoolgirl as the horse nuzzled her hair. He snapped and pointed at her.

  “I like her.” Robin tangled her fingers in Sylvia’s mane. She looked up at Bryant, slightly confused. “Horse trainer?”

  “Ah, Al and I are partners in a little business training show horses.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it? You’re the one from the Meadows Museum, right? Al told me you got here today.”

  “Al? You mean Alexander?” Robin’s good mood faded as she spit out his name.

  “Ah, I see that you’ve met him.” Bryant chuckled as Robin scrunched her face at the memory of meeting him. “He’s a real prick, isn’t he?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to say anything bad about your employer but—”

  “He’s a prick. It’s a fact.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess that’s one way of putting it.” Robin breathed a sigh of relief that she was not alone in her assessment of the Abrams heir.

  “Don’t worry, he’s a decent guy. Let’s just say he never lifted a finger in his life until about a year and a half ago.” Bryant shrugged. “He’s getting used to doing anything for himself.”

  “I don’t care what his excuse is. He shouldn’t go around insulting people’s—”

  “Honey, we could go on for days talking ’bout everything that’s wrong with Al, but I’d rather show you the grounds.” Bryant looked down at Robin with a smile she knew could become addicting. “If it’s not too forward, wanna jump on Sylvia and I’ll show you around?”

  Robin took one more look at his muscular back as he turned around to mount Sylvia and made up her mind. “Not too forward at all.”

  She let out a small shriek as Bryant reached down from his perch, wrapped his arm around her midsection, and pulled her up on the horse.

  “You okay there?” Bryant turned slightly to make sure Robin had landed safely on top of Sylvia. Robin nodded, her breath still knocked out of her from the sudden mount. Bryant took one of her hands, wrapped it around his waist, and flattened her palm against his stomach. “Keep your hands like that,” he instructed. Robin happily mimicked the action with her other hand.

  The two of them rode like that throughout the grounds. Bryant pointed out various features in the landscape planted by Max Abrams himself as Robin listened, nodding enthusiastically the whole time. She loved the way his voice sounded. When he explained the intricacies of the estate and his horse-training enterprise, his Texas accent held an undercurrent of something exotic and sophisticated.

  However, she couldn’t help but divert her attention to the feel of the rippling muscles underneath her hands. His thin shirt did little to disguise his well-toned stomach and the large muscles in his forearms. With her chest fully pressed against his back, she felt the movement of the perfectly defined muscles at every turn and smelled his intoxicating musk of leather and horses. Her body was not immune to this perfect specimen of Texan man, and she could feel the wetness of her own arousal pooling between her legs. She involuntarily rocked her hips in the saddle as they rode, desperate for some sort of pressure to alleviate her building desire.

  They returned to the front of the main house, and Bryant dismounted. Not a very experienced horsewoman, Robin attempted to follow suit, but hesitated.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I got you.” Bryant smiled as he easily wrapped both hands around Robin’s waist. “Throw your other leg over.” He slid her off the horse, tightening his grip as she lowered to the ground. When she
completed her descent, he maintained his grip around her waist. Robin’s arousal flamed to life again when she felt a denim-clad bulge pushing against her stomach.

  She cleared her throat and tried to back away from Bryant. “Thanks for the ride.” Robin’s voice was shaky at best. “You’re right, best way to see the grounds.”

  Bryant stopped her retreat by entwining his arms tighter around her waist. Robin could not stop the heat building inside of her now. She had never been one for lusty encounters with near-strangers, but since meeting Bryant and, she admitted begrudgingly, Alexander, her libido had been out of control. Her hold on her inner passions snapped in that moment, and she reached up in an attempt to wrap her arms around Bryant’s neck.

  “It’s the best when I feel you”—he pressed her against him—“right behind me.” He lowered his face closer to Robin’s, and she could feel his breath on her face. As she closed her eyes, ready to kiss this handsome stranger, Bryant released his grip on her. Robin’s body cried out at the absence of the warm presence that had been wreaking havoc on her libido for the past hour.

  “So, you’re gonna be around for the next couple of weeks?” His tone suddenly turned chatty. “I think this place could use a little more feminine presence.” He winked at Robin before turning to Sylvia and pulling himself back on top of the horse. While Bryant’s departure saddened Robin, she was very appreciative of the view of his ass afforded by his mounting the horse. Her eyes lingered on his biceps flexing when he pulled on the reins. She already wanted to feel his body underneath her hands again.

  “Robin?” Bryant’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Sorry.” She blushed, realizing he had caught her in admiration. “Yeah, I’ll be around. Probably pestering everyone with my questions.”

  “With those doe eyes, you won’t bug anyone, darlin’.” With that and one last grin at Robin, Bryant slapped one of Sylvia’s haunches and galloped in the direction of the stables.

  Robin let her mind wander as she walked in the direction of the small outbuilding that housed the Abrams archives. Funny, the memory of Alexander’s loathsome behavior had faded into the far recesses of her mind. Bryant expelled any unpleasantness she had encountered since her arrival.

  She felt a wide grin crawl across her face. Yes, her stay in Male Order looked very promising, indeed.

  * * * *

  Alexander practiced his aim by wrinkling copies of documents Rupert left for him into tight balls and tossing them into the antique mahogany and gold waste paper basket on the opposite side of his desk. His target practice was interrupted by a matching paper ball landing squarely against his head.

  “Real mature, Bry.” He didn’t tear his eyes away from his very important task as Bryant dropped himself into one of the Italian leather armchairs in front of Alexander’s desk. He perched his brown ostrich skin cowboy boots on the edge of Alexander’s desk and sank deeper into his chair.

  “Anytime.” Bryant threw another wadded up document, this time in a smooth arc that ended in the waste paper basket.

  Alexander narrowed his eyes at the intruder. “Show off.” Bryant chuckled and picked up the precious gem-encrusted, eighteen-karat-gold Rubik’s Cube from the edge of his desk.

  “So according to our newest guest Robin, you two had quite a confrontation.”

  Oh, fuck. They were talking about this. Alexander grunted in lieu of a verbal response.

  “Al, that girl may bug the living shit outta you, but she is damn sexy.” Bryant chatted as he tried to solve the puzzle.

  “No. I know where you’re going, and no.” Alexander gave Bryant his most commanding son-of-a-billionaire stare. He and Bryant had been best friends for fifteen years. He knew Bryant wouldn’t fall for his act, but he at least had to try. “It was one thing to bang my dead ancestor’s groupies when we would never see them again and they spoke about six words of English.” Alexander couldn’t help but smile a little when he remembered the countless nights he and Bryant spent driving women mad at his estate in the south of France. God, they were good. “But I will not have that little bitch hanging around like all the others, begging to be fucked again when we’re done with her.”

  “We don’t have to be done with her anytime soon, Al. We could keep her around and—”

  “No.” Alexander turned deadly serious. He couldn’t bear the thought of being in any sort of relationship, even an exclusively sexual one. Ever since his mother died of breast cancer while he was attending college in Europe, he had lost the ability to be close to anyone except Bryant. Alexander had been raised in a ménage family, as had all the sons of the five founding families of Male Order. His mother’s death broke his fathers’ spirits and resulted in Alexander staying away from Male Order for five more years in order to spend his family’s fortune on booze, cards, and women in Europe.

  Immediately after graduating from college in Scotland, he purchased a mansion in Paris’s wealthy sixteenth arrondissement to avoid returning to Texas and the oppressive reminders of his mother in Male Order. After living in Paris for a year, he found himself traveling frequently to Monte Carlo for the wild nights of poker, booze, and sex with the most gorgeous models working in Milan. He purchased an estate in the south of France and invited Bryant to join him, ostensibly to work for him as his stable manager—Bryant refused to accept a job beyond his own capabilities—but really to have his partner in crime by his side. His fathers’ deaths in a car accident brought Alexander back to Male Order, Texas to oversee the family estate. All he wanted was his life of gambling and rough sex back. Memories of his mother haunted him constantly in this house, and his sadness sickened him.

  “Look, Robin’s a young, gorgeous—”

  “Obnoxious,” Alexander interjected.

  Bryant ignored him and continued. “—lively woman. She won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Why don’t we keep her around, train her just right so she’ll know how to please us?”

  “Bryant. I don’t keep women. Especially not snobbish, headstrong ones.”

  Bryant let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. That doesn’t mean I can’t have her.”

  Alexander was speechless, a rare occurrence. Ever since Bryant joined him in Europe, they had shared all the women in their lives. He knew Bryant wanted a wife and a family one day, and Alexander had assumed, if he could ever commit to a woman again, that wife would be his as well. He could not even comprehend the idea of Bryant having a woman that didn’t also belong to him.

  “Fine.” Alexander could feel the indignation heating his skin.

  “You won’t mind me inviting her, on your behalf, to our little shindig tomorrow night, then.”

  Determined not to let his anger show, Alexander gave a curt nod. “Go ahead.” Robin’s presence would annoy him, but he would allow it at his “shindig,” although that term was entirely inappropriate for the decadent soiree reminiscent of his wildest nights in Monte Carlo he would be hosting the next evening.

  Bryant opened his mouth as if to comment on Alexander’s unusual terseness, but the low buzz of his phone vibrating in his pocket interrupted him. He glanced at it. “Stables,” he muttered as he jumped out of the armchair and headed toward the door. He gave one last glance to Alexander.

  “Think about it.”

  Alexander watched the door as it slowly closed. He sat in the silence and let Bryant’s words echo in his head. He rose from his chair and pushed all the books off the shelf behind his desk to the floor as he let out a roar of anger and frustration. Once again in total silence, he looked at the pile of Hemingway first editions that lay scattered on his antique Persian rug.

  Fuck. Bryant wanted her, and as much as he wanted to, Alexander couldn’t deny his attraction to her.

  This girl would be his undoing.

  * * * *

  Following Bryant’s expert directions, Robin approached a rickety portable building set up against the side of one of the estate’s rolling hills. The structure looked conspicuous against the decadence a
nd sophistication displayed everywhere else on the estate. A funny feeling turned in her gut, advising her to hesitate before continuing onward. However, the temperature hovered somewhere above one hundred degrees, and the sight and sound of an ancient air conditioning window unit protruding from one of the portable building’s windows promised some sort of relief.

  Shouldering her bag, Robin put aside her uneasiness and cautiously climbed the decaying wooden steps to the entrance to the building. She pressed slightly against the door and entered into a small room filled with boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. The window unit A/C whirred loudly and blew a few stray papers across the floor. Stepping fully into the room, Robin wondered if she had found the right building. This room looked to house the family paper recycling facility, not the archival holdings of one of the most prestigious families in the country.

  A browned paper fluttered against Robin’s leg, and with an academic curiosity, she leaned down to investigate. She unfolded the paper. It appeared to be a letter dated from 1925 and addressed to someone named Audrey from…Max Abrams himself! Robin fell to her knees to study the document further, but an avalanche of papers ceased her efforts. A whole tower of boxes had toppled over around Robin, startling her into fear. Suddenly, a man’s head poked out from behind another leaning tower of boxes.

  “Ms. Lawrence!” the man exclaimed, hopping out from his hiding place. He was a short man, no more than an inch or so taller than Robin’s petite stature, with black hair covering every inch of clammy, pale skin. He waded toward her through the sea of boxes and clasped one of her hands in both of his. Robin immediately felt the impulse to recoil from his sweaty grip.

  “I’m Dr. Melvin Blackmon. You’ve probably heard about my efforts here.” He moved closer to Robin, compounding her uneasiness, and shook her hand vigorously. “Robin, yes?”