Edwards, Willa - Midnight Mirage (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (3 page)

In his arms, Gabe felt Mallory’s body still. He turned toward her, sweeping away the pool of her ebony satin hair, to see her stare cast over his shoulder. Her eyes, large as disco balls, watched Lincoln with frightened intensity.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her breath forming a soft cloud in the frosty air. “I overreacted.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lincoln growled from behind them, his words clear, concise, and undeniable. “We all did.”

“The man had no right to scare us like that.” Anger vibrated through Gabe’s chest. If he hadn’t been concerned with Mallory, he’d have pounded him into pâté.

Mallory shivered in his arms. Gabe pulled her tighter to his chest, holding her close, savoring the contact. He prayed it was the cold that produced her trembles, an effect his warm body could cure.

He hated to think of her scared of them, or scared at all. He never wanted her to feel that kind of fright again. And as long as he or Lincoln were around, she never would.

“Almost there,” Gabe whispered in her ear, his face so close, he could almost brush his lips against hers. Her warm, soft body pressed into his made the idea seem better and better with each second. The orange and cinnamon scent of her skin floated to him through the air, an intoxicating respite from the sweat, stale beer, and cigarette smoke that filled the venue.

Gabe took the stairs two at a time. His boots banged against the metal and carpet as he moved quickly into the bus interior. He raced three long strides into the living area, before reluctantly depositing her on the lumpy living room couch.

He stood before her for a moment, merely looking at her. He’d wanted so long just to be able to look at her, to show her he cared, how much he wanted her, how truly she was valued. He shifted his hands anxiously at his sides. His breath gusted from his chest in great waves.

Around them the bus was quiet. The only sounds ringing through the air were the thuds of Lincoln’s feet as he ascended the stairs behind them, and Mallory’s deep breaths. Lincoln’s brunet head poked up the covered stairwell to meet her confused stare. Above Mallory, their eyes made contact, sharing a silent moment of communication. Beyond them the city raged its own party, celebrating the New Year as only New Yorkers could.

None of that mattered to them, to either of them. They finally had Mallory in their bus, in their arms, and would very soon have her in their bed. Nothing else in the world mattered.

“We better make sure she’s okay,” Lincoln commanded, spouting the words as if they were law.

“Of course.” The only way Gabe could think to respond was a roll of his eyes.

* * * *

Mallory clenched her jaw. She wanted to scream at them for talking about her as if she wasn’t there, making decisions for her as if she didn’t have a mind of her own, for caring so much about her safety when she couldn’t see any reason they should. Sure, her blood still pounded with panic, and her brain was foggy from being held in Gabe’s arms for so long, but that didn’t mean she was incapable of making her own choices.

But just as she was about yell, Gabe dropped to the ground in front of her. Mallory almost swallowed her tongue as she watched the lead singer of the chart-topping band kneel before her, concerned with her ankle. Lincoln settled into the couch beside her, tilting her head back with a finger to inspect for bumps or cuts. The slight whiff of his spicy aftershave teased her senses.

Mallory looked up at him, watching his dark eyes narrow. She took a moment to study him, realizing she’d never seen either of them this close before, and would probably never get the opportunity again. His dark brows bent in contemplation, wrinkled lines of worry streaking across his forehead, his square jaw clenched tight, his eyes as dark as a midnight sky.

“How could you not twist your ankle in these boots?” Gabe’s tone sounded more reprimanding than she could understand, his finger tracing her five-inch heel as if he held some responsibility for her protection. “You don’t have to wear anything like this for us.”

Mallory opened her mouth to say she hadn’t worn them for anyone, but before she could speak, Gabe’s hand smoothed up her leg, stopping her words cold.

“If your ankle’s sprained, it will swell up like a balloon if we don’t do anything about it,” Gabe continued at her feet.

But there wasn’t a chance of that. With how tight her boots were, her ankle didn’t have anywhere to grow.

“I’m fine, really,” Mallory protested, the rock stars around her still refusing to listen.

“Where else are you hurt?” Lincoln asked, his voice a deep, husky sound, smooth and rough at the same time, like twenty-five-year-old whiskey. His fingers combed through her hair, exploring her forehead for bumps or bruises.

Yet even as the logical part of her brain knew his touch was for clinical purposes only, her scalp tingled beneath his contact, zipping with electricity with each minute movement. She loved when people played with her hair, from soft strokes and combing fingers to orgasm-eliciting tugs.

She tried to slow her heartbeat, the panic still fresh and hot in her blood. The heightened thump pounded in her chest like her own personal aphrodisiac. No matter what they’d said before the incident, they couldn’t seriously want her.

At her feet, Gabe unzipped her boot in one quick pull, the rip of the zipper screaming in the otherwise quiet air. He delicately pulled her jeans from her boot, careful not to knock or shift her ankle, afraid of causing her any more pain. Wouldn’t their fans be amazed to see how these bona fide rock stars transitioned into such careful nursemaids? It was enough to warm any heart, even in the January chill.

Gabe’s thumbs flicked up her pant leg, his warm hands smoothing up her calf, pushing the denim away from her injury. All thoughts of the cold outside vanished with his touch. Unexpected heat simmered within her as his gentle fingers massaged away any ache in her tense muscles, more due to wearing stiletto-heeled boots for over an hour on concrete than her fall.

Mallory looked down to see Gabe’s intense eyes focused upon her. The bright golden color glowed with fire, with a heat and desire that shocked her. She couldn’t be seeing that right. Maybe she had hit her head too hard? His chest had certainly felt hard enough to cause injury. The concerned expression alone had been insane to consider, but interest from a smoking-hot rock star who could get any woman he wanted? Why would he be interested in a klutz like her?

His lips pinched firmly together in concentration as his fingers worked their way up her leg, no longer focused on her ankle or other possible injuries. Instead his gaze settled on her, pinning her to the lumpy dark gray couch tighter than the talk show host’s French twist outside in the windswept New York night.

She bit her lip to keep from moaning at the pleasure of it all. The drugging look in his eye overwhelmed her mind. The smooth confident touch of his fingers along her body spiked her temperature another ten degrees. It was probably just concern shining in his eyes, but with the combination of his touch, their previous declaration, and his intimate position before her, her body didn’t recognize it as such. Against her will, her pussy clenched, slick and wanting.

She’d resolved to have a fling tonight, to get laid before the New Year started. Maybe they were the ones to coax to her bed. Maybe she should consider taking them up on their offer. Two yummy rock stars were more than she’d anticipated, but she was not about to look a gift concrete divot in the mouth.

Lincoln’s fingers skimmed down her cheeks, turning her head from side to side, testing her neck for trauma. His forefinger traced the outline of her collarbone. A shudder cascaded down her spine at the light touch as he continued his search for further injuries.

She probably should have told him the only place that hurt was her right knee. From the three dots of rust color collected along her jeans, she must have skinned it in her fall. But their combined touch was so intoxicating, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to prematurely end their search.

They probably wouldn’t listen even if she tried to tell them to stop. They’d ignored all her other protests. What was the harm in enjoying the moment of being the center of these two talented men’s attention?

Gabe’s hands shifted, unzipping her other boot and pulling it off her foot with just as much tenderness as the one before. Again, his fingers moved up her foot, circling her ankle, massaging her calf. The urge to protest bubbled back up her throat, more insistent than before.

She had no injury on the left side of her body. Her right foot had caught, twisted, sprained. There was no reason to even touch her beyond her right side, where they’d already examined.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mallory dropped her eyes to Gabe again, but this time he smiled up at her, as if enjoying her awkwardness.

“You might be injured and you don’t know. It could be the shock.” His words might have sounded clinical, especially in his smooth accent, but the heat in Gabe’s eyes held a playful glimmer. The same mischievous nature flamed in his gaze that motivated droves of fans to pay seventy-five dollars a ticket just to see what he’d do next.

Lincoln’s fingers skimmed over her shoulder, her every nerve standing on high alert, desperate for his touch even through her thick leather jacket. Every tiny vibration of his movement against her arm amplified along her entire body. He released a muffled curse when he finally reached her hand, inspecting the red heel and the tiny, sliver-size cuts across its base.

The irritation in his curse roused her from the haze, like being thrown out into the cold after napping before a fire. She must have scraped it on Gabe’s necklace as she fell. Her wrist throbbed slightly, though she hadn’t noticed before Lincoln mentioned it. It didn’t ache that bad.

For a moment she considered asking Lincoln what he was so angry about. No one had ever sued over a few scrapes. But before she could say a word, Lincoln rose from his seat beside her, stomping on angry feet toward the back of the bus.

“What’s…wrong? Did…I…do…something?” Mallory stuttered as Gabe laced his thumbs into her party-hat-covered socks, in honor of the holiday, and stripped them off her feet in seconds. Leaving the sock balls beside her boots, he pulled both her feet into his hands, gently massaging her heels, pushing between her toes. The sensation was so amazing, Mallory almost melted into the couch.

“No. He’s just like that. Moody artist.” Gabe’s words floated to her from the region of her ankles, but they sounded much further away as the pleasure of his touch absorbed all her other senses.

“Something more to add to your article, I guess.” That playful tone was back in his voice, surrounded by pleasure, and Mallory laughed along. She wasn’t prone to fits of laugher, but somehow with Gabe, in the otherwise quiet bus, it felt right.

“What’s so funny?” Lincoln grumbled as his hard feet pounded his return.

Mallory rolled her head to reply, only to find him standing before her, head ducked like a child trying to give a gift as he held a shiny silver bucket tight to his chest. He plopped the bowl down on the nearby table, the ice tinkling against the sides as she glimpsed the contents of the container. Clear, perfectly formed ice cubes surrounded a very expensive-looking bottle of champagne, a slight cool fog covering the green glass bottle.

Her heart lurched at the elegant image. They must have had some plans for night, some celebration or party filled with glamorous people and beautiful women. She was pretty sure men didn’t drink champagne on their own, and very few actually brought out silver buckets filled with ice. Most of her ex-boyfriends had been hard-pressed to drink from anything but the carton or liquor bottle.

Now, because of her stupid stunt, they’d miss the event they’d planned, the gathering with friends or family she longed for as well. Maybe they had made a resolution to get laid tonight too, though she couldn’t imagine they had to work hard at finding women willing to help them with that goal. They could have their pick from the sizable number of women who’d thrown themselves at the duo while they were onstage tonight. Even though she had no idea which women they’d invited into their tour bus, or beds, she was instantly jealous of them.

Lincoln fished out a handful of ice cubes, piled them in the center of a dark bandana, and tied the black ends of the fabric together. His fingers, cold and damp from playing with the ice, reached out for her. Yet where he gripped her, she felt only heat. Her body reacted to his touch, warming her blood with overpowering lust.

He placed the bandana on the heel of her hand. She flinched at the cold against her tenderized skin. Her fingers curled toward her palm in some instinctual urge to protect herself.

“I know it’s cold.” Lincoln attempted to soothe her with his thick whiskey voice, instead setting her heart pounding faster. His rough tone stoked a tingle between her legs, threatening to overcome her common sense. “This will make it feel better.”

Mallory nodded. Oh, she was feeling better, all right. She was feeling so good he could have placed that ice pack anywhere and she wouldn’t have cared. The soft, smooth stroke of Lincoln’s hot breath caressed her skin, curling around her cheekbones and tickling along her neck. Around her feet, Gabe snaked both his hands up her legs to massage her calves at the same time.

A small, contented sigh slipped from her lips. Shocked and embarrassed by the sound, Mallory picked her head up only to see Lincoln’s eyes burning, hot and desperate, fixed on her. His nostrils flared like a beast in heat. The expression made her heart pound.