Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (6 page)

“So close.” Would they make her come this way?

Owen’s hand crept along her stomach, abruptly ending the rise. She groaned in protest.

Heath levered up on his elbow and frowned, his palm still resting on her hip. “What the hell is going on?”

Jerking away, Owen sat up behind her. “Heléna?”

She closed her eyes, withdrawal crashing over her. Heath’s touch slipped away, and she shivered from the lack of contact. Why had they stopped? Tears seeped from behind her eyelids to wet her cheeks.

“You let both of us...” Owen’s words trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish for her to guess what he was thinking or to interpret his disgust at those thoughts.

She immediately recognized the unwanted emotion smothering the erotic fire that had threatened to burn her alive only moments before.
Disappointment
. How many times had that suffocating feeling beaten her down in the last few months?

Too many to count.
She’d dealt with the knowledge that her craft was failing on more and more occasions, that she couldn’t go in search of her mates, that her family didn’t think she was capable of taking care of herself. She had no need of rejection.

Gathering the scant remains of her dignity, she scooted out from between Owen and Heath to stand. Without looking back, she strode to the beach, focusing on the gentle shush of the waves and the rippling reflection of the moon on the water. A chilly breeze lifted her hair and blew wisps in her face as the wind carried the scent of pine to the ocean.

Her stupid hormones had led her down the wrong path. Common sense had left her in the lurch, deserting her when she’d needed it most. In the hours until daylight, she’d have to figure out a transportation spell to send the men someplace safe—without harming them. Then she’d incant herself home to her room where she belonged and never leave. In seven years, the memories of her humiliation would remind her that a fertility cycle held no guarantees or promises—only the distinct possibility of disappointment.

A chill shuddered through her, and she lowered herself to the dry sand at the tide line to wait out the rest of the horrible lonely night.

You win, Kazmer.

* * * *

Willing his cock into submission, Heath glanced at Owen and then back at Heléna. Last summer he’d turned down a proposition from two women interested in a kinky threesome, but sharing a woman with another man hadn’t crossed his mind. Not even once. Had Heléna known he and Owen had both been touching her?

She instigated that damn kiss. Of course, she knew.
What a kiss it had been.

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?” The tone in Owen’s hissed whisper sparked Heath’s anger.

“I wasn’t the one feeling her up, you bastard.”

Owen snorted. “Semantics, my friend. You think I couldn’t tell you’d about sucked her face off? Her lips were swollen, and her eyes were glassy. Wouldn’t surprise me if you were trying to get inside her underpants.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Pushing to his feet, Heath paced to the dead fire and back to their sandy bed. Imprints of his and her body still marred the surface. “
Your
hand was creeping from her tit to her pussy, not mine, you lousy son of a bitch.”

“I see how it is.
You’re
allowed to touch her, but
I’m
not. She sure as hell wasn’t telling me to stop.”

That was the problem nagging at Heath’s brain—Heléna hadn’t asked either of them to quit kissing or touching her. In fact, she seemed to like having both of them vying for her attention. Her moans hadn’t been from pain or discomfort.

She wanted us both.

He bent to pick up a rock he’d missed earlier. Suppressing the urge to heave the thing as far as could, he tossed it in the air and caught it before dropping it back on the ground. “I won’t share her.”

“Neither will I.” Grabbing his boots, cap and goggles, and scarf, Owen headed south toward the dogleg bend of the cay.

Heath’s gut twisted.
Almost twenty years of friendship in the toilet because of a dame.
She wasn’t just any woman, though—evidently not for either of them. How had
that
happened?

Staying out of reach of the outgoing tide, Heléna sat down as he kept a close watch to make sure she didn’t go in the water. The moon’s light cast an eerie glow around her, as if to gauge her mood. Pale blue-green mist encircled her. Would she choose him over Owen? Would she choose at all?

Her stiff posture suggested choosing wasn’t in her plans. She’d walked away from them both, after all. Had she viewed their reactions as a blanket rejection, with no exceptions?

Rubbing at his tight chest, Heath shook his head. They were trapped on their own little piece of hell in paradise with no more than a few days to live, and instead of working together to survive, they’d already gone their separate ways.

Owen possessed the only dry matches to light a fire, but he knew nothing about catching fish. Although he was a good hunter, Heath wouldn’t be able to cook whatever he caught. Heléna's skills included seducing men in their sleep, trying their patience, and triggering their need to protect her.

He yawned, the dilemma too complicated for his tired mind and body. Based on the moon’s position, dawn was still several hours from now. Not that he’d be able to sleep with his dick drooling like the hound dog it was. What kind of spell had Heléna cast over him?

Facing south, he caught a glimpse of Owen stomping toward the spot they’d come ashore after the miracle landing. Without his superior ability to fly, the plane would’ve become a sinking ship in deep water. He’d stretched every inch out of their altitude and speed, staying calm when the experimental engine had sputtered out. Luck had been on their side.

If I live through this, that penny-pincher Kilpatrick is getting an eyeful of my fist.

The design had been flawless, the labor meticulous. The parts, on the other hand, had been made from secondhand junk. Then again, the prick most likely hadn’t given a damn since he wasn’t risking his own life. He also wouldn’t make a plug nickel off a sale to the U.S. government, especially with the plane at the bottom of the Atlantic and the plans nowhere but in Heath’s head.

Owen disappeared behind a scrubby pine. He didn’t so much as sneak a backward look toward Heléna or Heath. In all the years that they’d been friends, Owen hadn’t once lost his temper with Heath, and they’d
never
shown interest in the same girl. What about Heléna had changed that?

She now sat hunched forward with her forehead on the crossed arms resting on her knees. Did she regret allowing them both to touch her? If he and Owen could share an attraction to her, maybe she was genuinely attracted to each of them. But why would she encourage them both? Together?

Maybe with mortality staring her down, she saw no reason to choose. No one beyond the three of them would ever know what happened during their exile on Hawksbill Cays.

Her obvious innocence defies logic.

An inexperienced woman wouldn’t go in for kink.
Would she?
The sexual possibilities of two men and one woman offered more variety than two girls and one guy.
Eat a pussy or suck a tit and fuck a pussy.

Had he and Owen continued with Heléna, the list grew exponentially.
Suck a cock and fuck a cock. Eat cock and get eaten. Fucked in the pussy and fucked in the ass. Ass-fucking and mouth-fucking.
The list went on and on. It also invoked images that made his dick twitch.

Perhaps sharing her wasn’t such a distasteful idea. He and his friend could give her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined—times two—for as long as they managed to stay alive. At least they’d all die happy. His erection threatened to bust his zipper.

I’m a damn pervert for considering it.

After his and Owen’s outright denial to share her, Heléna would probably tell them to take a one-way trip to hell. They’d deserve that slap in the face if they didn’t apologize first. Could he convince Owen to go along with the plan, though? A few hours ought to cool his anger. He didn’t get pissed often, and he didn’t hold a grudge.

Heléna was the unknown factor—the woman scorned. She drew in the sand with her finger, sweeping away the writing with her palm a moment later. Repeating the action, she hesitated and then added more to whatever she’d drawn.

The concentration on her task had Heath watching her for several minutes. When she seemingly finished on her right side, she switched to the left, leaving her markings rather than erasing them. Curiosity almost made him move closer for a peek, but he wouldn’t risk inciting her temper again so soon.

She finally nodded and brushed her hands together. Did she realize that the ocean was at low tide and her scribbling would be washed away within a couple hours of sunrise?

I bet she does.

She might’ve gazed at the sea in wonder, but his gut said she’d studied every facet of it—from the shading from difference in depth to the lines of moisture along the shore. The night sky had drawn her attention as well. She probably knew all the constellations, the visible planets, and how to gauge time by the phase and location of the moon.

While she seemed untried in her interactions with men, she wasn’t stupid. Her eyes revealed her emotions and deep intelligence. At times, she succeeded in veiling her thoughts, but more often than not, a keen observer could see every nuance of her personality. She was slightly shy, a bit insecure, and more than a little naïve.

And stubborn.
She’d proven that with her insistence about not being treated like a child. As he got to know her, his first impression came in direct opposition to the facts. She had a wide streak of independence, and a fiery mane of red hair would’ve matched her temper better than dark brown. Her femininity defied her small, boyish stature. She was a constant contradiction.

His eyelids drooped, and he battled fatigue, but he wasn’t wasting a minute of his life by being unconscious. He’d sleep when he was dead in a few days.

“She isn’t worth it.”

Heath silently laughed at Owen’s low voice coming from the trees. The guy was too loyal for his own good. “Worth what?”

Creeping out of the shadows, Owen shoved his fingers through his hair. “We’ve been friends a long time. I’m not fighting with you over Heléna. You want her? She’s yours.”

“What if I say no?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I said I’m backing off.” Owen crossed his arms in front of his chest as he stopped a couple feet from Heath. His jaw flexed, hinting at how much he disliked stepping aside.

“No, you’re not. You like her too.” Heath mirrored Owen’s pose.

“I’m not letting her come between us.”

Raising his eyebrows and holding in a smile, Heath snorted. “Yeah, you are.”

Owen glared at him. “Damn it, Heath, quit being an ass. I’m not sacrificing our friendship for her.”

“But I’m so good at it.” The corners of Heath’s lips slipped upward. “Hear me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Owen huffed out a breath. “Talk.”

Watching for the slightest change in his friend’s disposition, Heath launched into an explanation of his scheme, keeping his voice low. “We both want Heléna. After what happened, I think it’s safe to say she wants both of us as well.”

Owen shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’ve changed my mind. We could’ve died yesterday, and we could just as easily die today or tomorrow. I say we let her come between us.”

The color drained from Owen’s face. “Some friend you are, you horny bast—”