Three of a Kind

by Skye Warren, Laura Kaye, Vanessa Vale

  “Our shop’s fine, ma’am,” the man said. “Thanks for asking.” Jonathan. Jonathan who apparently had a shop somewhere in the marina?

  Even more curious about him, Hartley stepped out of her cubicle and tried not to stare. Or drool. She forced her gaze to her friend. “Hey, Linda. Everything go okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Just little fires everywhere that need put out,” Linda said, dropping a legal pad full of notes onto her desk. “Were you able to find anyone to do the work?”

  Hartley’s shoulders fell. “No. No one can even look before Friday.” And with a hole in the side of the cat, who knew how much more damage it might sustain over those four days.

  Linda frowned, and then her gaze swung to Jonathan. “Have you two met yet?”

  That intense gray-eyed gaze landed on Hartley, unleashing a whirl of butterflies in her belly. “Haven’t had the pleasure to do so officially,” Jonathan said.

  It was a simple statement. But something about the word pleasure from that man’s mouth made a tingle run down her spine. It’d clearly been too long since she’d been on a date. Or been kissed. And waaaay too long since she’d last had sex. Embarrassingly long. Like, she didn’t even want to admit to herself how long.

  (Fifteen months. Oy.)

  With that fantastic thought in mind, all Hartley managed to say was, “Uh, hi. Again.” Wow, that was some brilliant conversation right there, Hartley. She chuckled to cover how much she wanted to duck back into the cubicle and bang her head against the desk.

  He grinned. “Hi. Again. I’m Jonathan Allen.”

  “Hartley Farren.” Feeling Linda’s amused gaze on her, she cleared her throat. “You have a shop in the marine center?”

  He nodded. “A&R Builds and Restoration.”

  “Jonathan and his partner Cruz own the business that moved into the old Stanton space at the beginning of the summer,” Linda added helpfully.

  Hartley’s eyes went wide as her heart kicked into a sprint. “You do builds and restoration?”

  He chuckled. “As the name suggests.”

  She didn’t mind the teasing, not when he might be able to help her. “Then you might be my new favorite person.”

  “Is that right?”

  The office phone rang, and Linda excused herself to answer it.

  Hartley stepped closer to Jonathan. Why did that make her feel like she was approaching a usually friendly but sometimes lethal animal? Her stomach did a little flip. “Yes, because I need a huge, huge, gigantic favor.”

  He arched a sexy brow. “And if I do this favor, will I officially be your favorite person?”

  She grinned, enjoying his playfulness—and the fact that he was entertaining doing her a favor when they barely knew each other. “Without question. I’ll even make you a certificate. Jonathan Allen. Hartley Farren’s Favorite Person.”

  That crooked smile emerged again, and hope flooded through her. “Hmm. I don’t know. I mean, a certificate is nice and all, but…”

  Hartley braced her hands on her hips. “Are you teasing me? Because that would be evil, Jonathan, and you don’t strike me as an evil man.” Now she arched a brow.

  His chuckle this time was different. Deeper. Grittier. Sexier. With an undercurrent of…something she didn’t understand. “You never know, Hartley.”

  Her stomach did a little flip, because it had been eons since anyone had flirted with her. Or, at least, since she’d allowed herself to notice. Let alone a man this attractive. “Oh, come on. Can I at least tell you what my favor is?” she asked.

  Those gray eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear your phone conversation, so I have an inkling.”

  Wait. He knew what she needed and still hadn’t said no? Hope and anticipation rushed through her, making her feel restless and brave. “Then if my awesome certificate idea isn’t enough, what can I offer to convince you to walk out to my slip and take a look at my catamaran?”

  That eyebrow arched again, and Hartley suddenly felt like they’d been playing chess—and her words had just allowed him to put her in checkmate. But still, he didn’t make any claims of her.

  She stepped closer and dared to flirt back. “Jonathan. Mr. Allen. Mr. Allen, My Already Officially Favorite Person, are you going to make me beg? Because that wouldn’t be very nice,” she added playfully.

  Those gray eyes flared. She would’ve sworn they did. He bit back a chuckle as he shook his head. And when his words came, they were filled with a deep intensity that made her shiver. “Why don’t you show me your boat, Hartley, and then I’ll answer your questions.”

  Chapter Two

  Jonathan stared at the plastic-covered hole in the side of the catamaran. Luckily, the impact had been above the water line, but as he surveyed the less-catastrophic damage surrounding the hole, he felt the owner’s pain. He certainly felt the owner’s eyes. On him.

  And he was intrigued.

  “Boat’s a beauty,” he said, his gaze swinging from the Lipari’s white hull, with its colorful scrollwork around the logo, to Hartley. Who was also a beauty. Long-wavy brown hair, tied up in a ponytail. Big, expressive brown eyes and lashes for days. A perfect bow-shaped mouth, and a habit of biting the side of her bottom lip when she was deep in thought. She was casual in jean shorts that revealed toned, tanned legs, an oversized sweatshirt with the neck cut wide, exposing the colorful blue-and-purple edge of a tattoo on her shoulder, and a pair of well-worn boat shoes.

  Every bit as appealing, as she spoke about the thirty-nine-foot multi-hull, was her obvious love for the sea and sailing. Loves that Jonathan shared. Loves that, along with love of country, had led him to college at the Naval Academy and eight years of active-duty service before he and his best friend got out and went into business for themselves.

  “I bought her three years ago. Used a lot of my savings,” Hartley said. “But she was worth it.” She sighed. “Let me show you what I’m dealing with on the inside. She took on some water.”

  He nodded, his gut souring for her. Brackish water damage sometimes made it smarter to write a boat off as a constructive total loss. “Lead the way.”

  She moved around the vessel with utter competence and confidence, obviously at home on the deck of a boat. “I cleaned up as much as I could, but it was wet inside for probably thirty-six hours before I could get to it.”

  They descended the companionway into the salon, richly appointed with honey-colored wood, black countertops and cushions on the L-shaped corner bench seat around the table. Surrounding windows no doubt offered fantastic views when underway. Hartley led him down a shorter companionway on the port side and moved fore, past a built-in desk and cabinetry to a double cabin, where unnatural, muted light shone through the plastic.

  They squeezed together into the narrow space before the wooden platform bed, already warping from hours of holding water.

  Hartley sighed. “So…yeah.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his mind already working over all that would be required to make the Far ’n Away seaworthy again. For starters, this whole assembly was going to have to be removed and replaced to ensure hidden mold didn’t grow. Given the quality of the wood, and the details of the build—like the built-in chest of drawers at the foot of the bed and the way the molding had been designed as one continuous piece that extended into the adjacent hallway—it wasn’t a small job.

  “I know it’s a lot,” she said, echoing his thoughts.

  It was. And since they’d just taken on a new custom-build client with a January delivery, Jonathan shouldn’t even be considering taking this on, too. But, damnit, he wanted to help Hartley. They were both part of this community here at the marine center, and it was a neighborly thing to do. And, of course, he knew she was out of options given her time constraints.

  But those weren’t the only reasons. If he was being honest with himself, he liked her. He was attracted to her. Both of which tempted him to want to get to know her better. Even if that probably wasn’t smart, not when
his tastes ran in directions that the average woman didn’t share—and just because they shared an obvious interest in sailing, he had absolutely no reason to assume that he might have those other interests in common with Hartley Farren, too.

  Damnit. He still wanted to do this for her. But not without consulting Cruz. “My partner needs to see this before I can make a decision,” he said, looking at her. “He and I do everything together.”

  Expression earnest, she nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

  Oh, how he doubted that. “Let me see if he’s still over at the shop.” Jonathan put his cell to his ear and prepared to get his ass handed to him for considering this.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” Cruz answered, a slight accent to his words.

  “You have time to come over to the Lighthouse slips?” Jonathan mentally cringed as he waited for Cruz’s obvious question.

  “Why? What’s up?” he asked.

  “I need you to take a look at a boat.”

  A beat passed, and then an exasperated chuckle. “What are you getting sucked into over there, my man?”

  He’d find out soon enough, and no doubt it’d come with a shit-ton of ribbing. “Just come. East Marina, pier K, slip 55.”

  “Okay, but tell me this, what’s her name?” And there it was, already starting.

  Jonathan glanced at Hartley, who stood with her arms crossed, trying but failing to act nonchalant, like she wasn’t hanging on his every word.

  Oh man, Cruz wasn’t wrong. Jonathan was a sucker for a woman who needed him. And Hartley Farren did. The depth of her need rolled off of her, calling to something deep and fundamental inside him. The same something that drew him to sexual dominance, and always had. It wasn’t the dominance, per se, it was that sexually dominating a partner allowed him to prioritize pleasing his lover—or lovers—in every and any way they needed. And even some ways they weren’t aware that they needed.

  Cruz gave a sigh when he didn’t get an answer, and Jonathan could almost see him ruefully shaking his head. “Gimme fifteen.” They hung up.

  “He’ll be over in a few,” Jonathan said.

  “Wow, okay. Thank you, Jonathan. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” She released a deep breath, like she’d been ready for him to tell her no, too. Which only deepened his desire to avoid doing just that. “Wanna wait upstairs? More comfortable…”

  “Sure.” He followed her to the salon, and they slid into the bench seats at the corner table. “Tell me about your charter business,” he said, curious to know more about her.

  She smiled. “It’s been mine for the last three years, but I’ve been working on the Far ’n Away since I graduated from college. Really, longer than that. My father ran a charter company for as long as I can remember. I helped summers and weekends as much as I could, or he’d let me.” There was a wistfulness in her expression that spoke of fond memories—and a little heartache, too. “I offer captain-only and some occasional bareboat charters to a handful of regulars I can trust to treat her right. Everything from day sails to week-long excursions.”

  Hearing her speak, Jonathan’s curiosity about her grew into respect. Because the kinds of sailing she was talking about involved a lot of responsibility, expertise, and confidence. It meant, on any given charter, she was handling everything from being the perfect tour guide, knowing where to take her clients for great snorkeling or the perfect sunset photos, to training those clients to work as the crew and wrangling them to help with cooking, cleaning, and basic boat handling. All by herself.

  “Your father must be proud,” he said.

  Something flashed through those big brown eyes, just for a moment, before she peered at him. “I think he would’ve been, but I lost him three years ago. It’s just me now.”

  A rock dropped into Jonathan’s gut. When he thought of how close he was to his own parents, even though they lived in California where he’d grown up, it was hard to imagine being without them. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Hartley.”

  “Thanks,” she said, one shoulder rising in a small shrug. “But he gave me all this, you know? This love of the wind and the water. The freedom of gliding over the waves. The ability to pit yourself against the elements and win. I don’t know, probably sounds corny.”

  “Not even a little bit,” he rushed to reassure her. Because the words reached right inside him. “I grew up on the water myself. I was a surfer. Did the whole competition circuit and everything. Wasn’t half bad.” He gave her a wink. “After high school, I went to the Naval Academy, and spent eight years in after commissioning. Then Cruz and I opened A&R. I get exactly what you’re saying.”

  “It’s funny to think you might’ve been at Annapolis while I was at the University of Maryland, because our sailing team’s fleet operated out of the Sailing Association of Eastport, directly across from the Academy.”

  He chuckled, enjoying the conversation with her. It was easy to make the eyes of those less into the whole sailing culture glaze over, but it was obvious that she was as into it as he was. “I was on Navy’s sailing team, too. But I’d wager to guess that I passed through the Academy well before you went to College Park.” He arched a brow as he looked at her, the topic giving him a convenient way to ask a question a man just didn’t come out and ask a woman.

  She grinned and gave him a sexy smirk. “Think so, huh? I doubt I’m that much younger than you. I turn thirty-one in four weeks.”

  Ruefully, he shook his head. “A mere babe. I’m thirty-seven.”

  “Oh, you are old.” She broke into a belly laugh that made him grin.

  But then he schooled his expression, arched a brow, and gave her his stern Dom voice. Just to test her. “I’m gonna make you pay for that, Hartley Farren.”

  Her eyes flared and her mouth dropped open, though no words came out. He was dying to hear a reaction. Finally, she managed, as something that looked more than flirtatious slid into her gaze. “I think that was supposed to sound threatening, Jonathan Allen, but really it was—”

  “Knock, knock,” came a voice. Damn Cruz’s timing. “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Oh!” Hartley said, slipping out of the seat. “Is that your friend?” She rushed up the companionway.

  Jonathan followed, his gaze locked to her thighs and her strong calves as she moved in front of him. “That’s him.”

  “Hi,” she called out when she hit the deck. “Come aboard, please.”

  Cruz’s expression was all business when he looked at her, but the minute the man looked at him, Jonathan saw the knowing humor in his friend’s dark eyes.

  “I’m Hartley Farren, thank you for coming so quickly.” They shook hands.

  “Any friend of Jonathan’s is a friend of mine,” Cruz said.

  “Well, uh, I appreciate that,” she said with a little chuckle. A chuckle that doubled Jonathan’s curiosity about what she’d been about to say before they’d been interrupted. That she was intrigued by his playful threat? Tempted? Maybe even turned on? Or perhaps she’d been about to say that his threat only made her want to tease him more.

  He could’ve worked with any of that.

  And he realized that Hartley appealed to him so much that he wanted the chance.

  “So, what are we looking at?” Cruz asked, glancing from her back to Jonathan again.

  “Right,” she said. “This way.”

  Ten minutes later, Cruz had seen everything, and Jonathan recognized the expression on the man’s face—one that spoke of concern and hesitation. In so many ways, the two of them were perfect business partners. They shared interests, goals, and a vision for the types of boats they wanted to build. And they also complimented one another’s strengths—and weaknesses. Whereas Jonathan could go with the flow and think fast on his feet in a crisis, Cruz was organized and a stickler for deadlines, punch lists, and charts. And where Jonathan possessed a natural inclination for taking on charity cases, Cruz was a bit of a hard-ass who had to be won over. It was a good balance, one
he could see Cruz struggling with as he stared at the warped woodwork throughout the damaged cabin.

  Hartley seemed to sense it, too, because she said, “Maybe I should leave you to speak privately?” Without another word, she disappeared up the companionway.

  And Jonathan prepared for the ass-kicking he was no doubt about to receive.

  * * *

  Cruz Ramos turned to his best friend and tried not to throttle him. “Dude,” he said. “We just signed a contract for an ambitious custom build.”

  Jonathan grinned, and it was that fucking grin that always got to Cruz. The one his asshole of a best friend knew always broke his resolve. “I know. I’ll take it on after hours as much as possible.”

  Wow. After hours was when they usually worked at Blasphemy, the BDSM club they co-owned with a bunch of other kinky motherfuckers. Which meant one thing. “You’re interested in her.”

  Jonathan shrugged with one big shoulder, and Cruz kinda wanted to dunk his own head in the bay for how damn sexy he found the gesture. Well, everything about Jonathan Allen, really. The sexy blond surfer-dude hair. The chiseled jaw. The killer body their scenes at the club allowed him to see really freaking often.

  All of which was a problem. Because Jonathan was his best friend. And he was straight. And even if Jonathan hadn’t been straight, Cruz’s religious family would never accept his bisexuality, and certainly never accept him in a gay relationship. It was why he’d never told them about Blasphemy. And that inability to just be himself—kinks and all—was also why he’d fallen away from his family’s church, something about which his parents already disapproved. “I’m interested in getting to know her,” Jonathan said.

  Cruz pushed away the bullshit that constantly lived in his head where Jonathan was concerned and heaved a sigh. “You remember that the last time you explored something with someone outside the lifestyle, it didn’t go well, right?”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes, clearly not needing—or wanting—the reminder. But Cruz gave it to him anyway, because seeing his friend hurt had sucked ass. On Jonathan’s third date with a woman he’d met at a coffee shop, his friend had carefully broached the subject of Blasphemy and his date had flipped. Apparently, she hadn’t been able to get up from the table at the restaurant where they’d been having dinner fast enough, and hadn’t resisted throwing a few choice insults over her shoulder as she did.