Double Daddy Trouble: A Groomsman Menage

by Violet Paige

  “Oh, really? That’s nice of you.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s turning out to be a pain in my ass,” I lamented. “You’ll never guess who the seller is.”

  “Who?” she said, turning to stir some concoction on the stove.

  “Bruin Kincaid.”

  She stopped stirring and looked back into the camera with her mouth open in a wide O.

  “What? Bruin? That Bruin?” she repeated.

  “Anna Kate. What other Bruins do we know?” I said, deadpan.

  “Good point. But why? And how? And what does he look like nowadays?” she asked.

  “Still hot.”

  “Hotter than Florida?” she chirped.

  I sighed. “Way hotter than Florida.”

  “Well, what’s the deal? Are you going to buy his boat? And more importantly, are you finally going to ask him out?” she prodded.

  I shook my head.

  “God, no. Anna Kate, he’s still the same womanizing jerk he used to be. Just older. And sexier than he was back then. Everything I should avoid.”

  “That’s saying something.”

  “I know,” I said weakly. “He was always hot. But now he’s, like, ripped. I mean, really. He’s definitely been hitting the gym. Hell, he might be living at the gym.”

  “Ooh. How do you know that? What is he wearing, a sheer tank top?” she asked, confused. I took a deep breath.

  “Here’s the thing,” I began slowly, “I might have… uh… seen more than that.”

  “Jillian.”

  “I saw his… everything.”

  “Jillian!” she gasped. “Did you fuck him already?”

  “No! God, no. I just happened to walk in on him while he was naked. Just out of the shower. In his bedroom on the yacht. Right after he slept with some girl. They were showering off together. It was horrible,” I explained.

  Anna Kate clucked her tongue.

  “Oh, that’s so awkward. But did you see his—”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “And it was?”

  “Massive, yes.” There was no way to deny the size of that man’s cock.

  “Jillian, you have to sleep with him. You know that, right?” she said, biting her lip. “This is a high priority now.”

  “What? No. That’s fucking crazy, Anna Kate. I can’t sleep with my brother’s friend. First of all, I’m way over that crush, and second of all, Jeff would kill me. He’s in town and you know how protective he is. He’d flip his shit. Third of all, Bruin has never been interested in me. He just likes teasing me,” I explained. “Like a kid sister.”

  “You saw his package. You’re already halfway there.”

  “That’s not how it works,” I laughed.

  She shrugged. Something started beeping and she whipped around to look at a timer on the counter.

  “Oh! Shit, those are the soufflés. Look, I have to go. But seriously, you should go for it. I mean, you’re both adults. You’re both stuck there in Florida. Go on and scratch that itch, Jillian. You’ve had that itch for, like, a million years. Just do it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Go get your soufflés. I’m going to go now.”

  “Do it,” she commanded with a smile just before she hung up.

  I stared at the phone, shaking my head. It was tempting to try, but I was smarter than that. A guy like Bruin would never go for a girl like me. I was sure he still saw me as that awkward little fourteen-year-old who had a crush on him.

  Nope. A guy like Bruin would just break my heart, and I just couldn’t afford that.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Nine

  Bruin

  As I jogged down the concrete along the side of the road that hugged the shoreline, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Last night, I’d exchanged emails with some of my colleagues in Edinburgh, one of them complaining about the cold rain.

  Sure, Florida got cold, but with it being later November and still hovering around the upper seventies, I couldn’t complain. It was perfect jogging weather.

  I’d been jogging since before the sun rose. There was something beautiful and addicting about getting up before almost everyone else in the city, hitting the streets with nothing but an outfit and a phone, and just going.

  I monitored every step my long legs took, felt every shift in my weight as I ran. Over the years, I’d come to make my cardio workouts as controlled as my breathing, and my routine was almost as regular. Years of soccer in and before college made it an essential part of my life. Even when I was in countries that were totally foreign to me, even if I was visiting for just one morning for a business meeting, I’d try to find time to go running and explore the area just before dawn.

  Jogging around Lima while on vacation and running by puzzled locals was still one of my fondest exercising memories, but Ft. Lauderdale had a special place in my heart, too. As I felt the salty air kiss my swelling leg muscles and hug my chest as I ran, I got to watch the sun rise to the east, colors bursting over the horizon as boats began to lazily drift out for business or pleasure.

  And all the while, my body marched on like a machine, every part of my honed physique working in perfect harmony to keep things moving, always improving, always staying fit. I made my body a temple.

  It paid off this morning, like most mornings. I was rarely the only one out running along the coast. There were plenty of others, old and young, who came running the opposite direction or made way for me to run past them.

  I got a lot of looks from the women, too. There had been more than one occasion when a morning run had turned into a conversation with some other young professional out for a jog, and that conversation had turned into a cardio workout of a very different kind in my yacht’s bedroom.

  This morning, though, I just pushed myself, hard. None of the looks I was getting from the young women out here was doing anything for me. That kind of thing hadn’t interested me since—her.

  I clenched my jaw and tried to control my breathing better as I ran, focusing that energy into my workout. I didn’t listen to music when I ran. A long time ago, a trainer told me that a workout was as much about the mind as it was the body, and if my mind was distracted, I was missing out on half the workout. I still took that to heart.

  So when thoughts of Jillian haunted me, I fought tooth and nail to focus that frustration into my jogging, blood coursing through my body, swelling my muscles, keeping my heart in perfect condition.

  But the distraction came in waves, and I wasn’t always able to keep it at bay.

  It had been a week since I’d seen Jillian and Jeff. A week since Jillian had walked in on me, a week since old memories came flooding back to me in ways I’d never expected, a week since things had gotten tense with Jeff over the subject of his little sister.

  So, why did it feel like the past week had been one long, drawn-out day?

  My workouts had gotten more intense since seeing Jillian, and not just my cardio. I found myself spending more time in my gym, pushing myself harder than usual, really wanting to feel burns I’d never felt before in my body. If my physique was like a statue, I wanted to be a master sculptor. Nothing but perfection was acceptable.

  But are you doing this for you, or for her?

  That thought pestered me the whole time.

  My phone buzzed in its holster on my bicep, and I brought my jogging to a slow stop so I could take it out and look at it. My heart jumped at the sight of Jillian’s name on an email.

  Fuck. All that focus, and just the sight of her made this ironclad routine of mine get all worked up.

  I checked the email, and to no surprise, I saw that it was the offer on the yacht. I paused for a moment, my thumb hovering over the attachment.

  Normally, I never checked work emails while out on runs, both because it was hardly the environment to do anything productive and because I didn’t like distracting myself from the workout. But Jillian made me feel impatient, somehow.

  I opened the document and scrolled through it. Sinc
e this was Jeff’s company, I really didn’t care about the price, if I was being honest. I could afford as many yachts as I cared for, even if I wanted to keep the Mirabella. As for the rest, I’d read through enough sales proposals to know what words to hone in on and which paragraphs to ignore.

  Jillian had sent me a solid offer. I knew it was totally reasonable and fair, based on the condition and quality of the yacht. Yet I found myself looking for something, anything that might be unusual or unsatisfactory.

  There was nothing like that, of course. Jillian was genuinely good at her job. Despite the tension between us, she was professional enough that I’d have wanted to hire her if I could have.

  But was that about to stop me?

  I thought for a moment, then closed out the email and called Jillian’s number.

  “Good morning, Bruin,” her voice chimed after a few rings, and I was surprised by how much the sound of her voice made me feel genuine cheer. “If you’re calling for the proposal, I just sent it over.”

  “Hey, Jillian,” I said, keeping my tone level and professional. “I saw. Just looked it over, in fact.”

  “That was fast,” she remarked.

  “I knew what I was looking for,” I said. “The Mirabella isn’t the first yacht I’ve sold and won’t be the last. There are a few clauses in the offer I wanted to discuss, though.”

  “Oh?” she asked, sounding a little surprised. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, I’ve got some time right now.”

  “I’d rather discuss it in person,” I said, a smile growing on my face. “I’ve always preferred dealing with my contacts face-to-face when it comes to these kinds of things. Can you meet on the boat this evening?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Bruin, I-I… ”

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot last time,” I continued. “I’m not taken by surprise very much, but you pulled it off. I’d like to show you how Bruin Kincaid really handles himself.”

  Maybe it was the blood still rushing through my body, or maybe it was the thought of bending Jeff’s little sister over my dining table and fucking her between those round ass cheeks until she was crying my name out, but I couldn’t keep the husky edge out of my voice.

  I knew Jillian was picking up on that, too. I knew it would be easy for her to just insist on having a video conference. If she was business-savvy, she could just make up a story about another important client she’d already agreed to meet. There were plenty of ways to try to turn me down, if she wanted to.

  The pause on the line was so heavy I could feel it.

  “I can do five,” she finally said, and my smile grew into a grin.

  “I’ll see you then, Jill,” I said, and I ended the call.

  My heart was racing faster than it had been when I was jogging. I still couldn’t believe the effect this woman was having on me, but god, she gave me a rush.

  And I’d meant what I’d said.

  I was going to show her how Bruin Kincaid really handled himself.

  And I was going to leave her desperate for more.

  Ten

  Jillian

  I had barely gotten a wink of sleep last night. My hotel room was a luxury suite. Thick walls. Mood lighting. The softest, cushiest king-size bed a girl could wish for. I had poured myself a couple glasses of cabernet and taken a bubble bath while listening to quiet instrumental music, as was my favored bedtime routine. I had abstained from doing too much work or even thinking about looking at the stacks of paperwork in my briefcase. I did everything I was supposed to do to ensure a good night’s sleep. But it just was not happening.

  Not when my mind and my heart were in an epic battle over how I should feel about my meeting with Bruin Kincaid. The logical, reasonable part of me was desperately begging me to just chill out and put him out of my mind, pretend this was going to be just a regular, boring business meeting. Paperwork. Negotiations. A firm handshake and a curt goodbye at the end of it all. But that emotional, wilder side of me kept poking at it, asking me all kinds of awkward questions I did not want to answer or even consider.

  What if I lost my cool and started blushing? What if I got all tongue-tied? What if he was cruel? Teasing me? What if he made fun of me for looking at him and his package the way I did when I walked in on him? Did he do it on purpose, planning for me to walk in on him that way to catch me off-guard? Was it all just a big, mean joke to him? Did he still see me as that same shy, awkward, nerdy little girl who got all twitchy and nervous whenever he glanced at me for even half a second?

  And to be honest, I had to wonder—was I that same girl?

  I mean, all it took for me to fall apart was a glimpse of his naked body. Here I was, twenty-five years old, an ambitious, hard-working, no-nonsense businesswoman, reduced to a blushing heap with one look.

  I tried to imagine how I would have reacted if it had been anyone else other than Bruin. If I had walked in on any other client naked, there would have been hell to pay. On their end. It was totally unprofessional. It was borderline criminal. And I would never have allowed anyone to make me feel cowardly and anxious. After all, it was his mistake. His fault. Surely he knew exactly what time I was due to arrive onboard Mirabella, and he would have had plenty of time to clear out and prevent my seeing his whole damn naked body. Add to that the audacity of not only being present on the boat, not only being naked in front of me, but to have just slept with some random girl right before I arrived?

  It was downright offensive.

  And these thoughts were the culprits. The ones to keep me up all night, tossing and turning, alternating between anxiety, righteous fury, and, I had to admit, a little bit of excitement. That was the emotional, stupid side of me. My heart. Pounding along as I retraced every sharp line and angle of Bruin’s body in my mind, urging me to think about how it would feel to lay a hand on his hard stomach, his powerful arm. His enormous cock.

  I swallowed hard, standing in my en suite bathroom, staring at my reflection.

  “It’s just a routine business meeting,” I told myself aloud, but I wasn’t convinced.

  I sighed and splashed my face with water, trying to break myself out of my anxious haze. It was early, still, but I had not been able to sleep anyway. I stepped into the shower and let the warm water rush down my body. I closed my eyes and immediately the image of Bruin sprang to the forefront of my mind, as usual. I bit my lip, my whole body feeling like it was on fire.

  My hands slid down my chest, over my stiffening nipples. Down my smooth, flat stomach and down to that sweet spot between my legs. I inhaled sharply. The very thought of Bruin, the fantasy man of my dreams and my romance novels, made me wet.

  What the hell was I doing?

  I quickly shook myself off and rushed through the routine of washing my hair and body, then stepped out of the shower and toweled off. I blow-dried my hair and got to work putting on my makeup. I had to resist the urge to add a little more glamor to my usual look. But I kept reminding myself this was just a normal meeting. Bruin, as hot as he might be, was no different from any other client. I had to treat him the same way as anyone else.

  Still, I couldn’t stop myself from adding just a dash of red lipstick. I told myself it wasn’t to impress Bruin, it was just to make me feel more confident, but that was a lie. And I knew it.

  I got dressed in a form-fitting black dress that came down to just above my knees, then added an understated silver necklace and some red pumps. I looked pretty damn good. Professional, but with just a slight hint of sexy.

  “Perfect,” I murmured, checking myself out. Would it be enough to make Bruin take me seriously? I sure hoped so. I needed to get through this for Jeff’s sake.

  The sun was shining and the seagulls were crying over the water as I boarded Mirabella, helped up by the same uniformed attendant as before, Miguel. He smiled at me, albeit a little embarrassedly. I think he had to know what I saw in that stateroom the last time I was there.

  “Good to see you again, ma’am
,” he said cheerily. I gave him a nod.

  “Same to you, Miguel. Where can I find Mr. Kincaid? I’d like to get started right away, please,” I told him with a weak smile.

  He led me downstairs to a lower deck, the same hall that contained the fated stateroom. My heart pounded, my mind running in circles. To my relief, we didn’t go into that room. We went down the hall to a smaller bedroom. I had hoped to meet with Bruin under the utmost professional circumstances. An office. With a desk between us. But that wasn’t Bruin’s style, of course.

  Miguel let me in and I walked in, trying to keep my breathing normal. And there he was. Standing by the bed. He was fully dressed this time, but that did little to tame his sex appeal. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with a casual blazer over it. He gave me a brilliant, devilish grin, and I could feel my knees buckling beneath me.

  Be strong, Jillian. You can do this.

  “Miss Hargrove,” he said, his tone cocky as always, “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Of course,” I answered flatly. “Jeff wants me to move forward with the purchase.”

  “Good to hear. Come sit,” he said, gesturing toward the bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I frowned.

  “No… no, thank you. I’ll stand,” I answered. He raised an eyebrow and slowly started walking over to me. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  He stopped short right in front of me, his body heat radiating warmth over me. I could scarcely remember to breathe. “No need to be so shy now, Jillian. You’ve already seen all the tricks up my sleeve,” he said softly. His voice was more like a growl. It made me shiver.

  “Can we just cut to the chase?” I asked shakily.

  He smirked. “Sure. We can do that. But you might be a little overdressed. In fact, I think we both are. Let’s fix that. I’ll start,” he said, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it behind him.

  I gulped.

  “Th-that’s not what I mean and you know it,” I told him, my voice barely over a whisper.