The Sextet - Dirty Dancing [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (20 page)

Brand nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the living room as soon as I'm done up here.”

Reese pushed past him. “You have two minutes. I’m ready to sleep.”

After a quick search of the first floor, he waited by the fireplace. Even as Brand descended the steps, Reese knew she wasn’t here. The front door had been unlocked, and he’d found her boot prints on the porch.

“She isn’t upstairs. Her purse and bag are gone, and the towels I gave her are dry.” Brand rubbed a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “She must’ve left after I followed you outside.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I texted her to find out if she made it home, but she hasn’t answered.” He was worried. Should they go out searching for her?

“Damn it. I can’t believe she took off in this mess.”

Reese aimed for the mudroom, taking a flashlight with him. “I’m going to her office. You check her apartment.” He slid his feet into a spare pair of work boots and grabbed a dry coat. “Call if you find her.”
Cell phone. Where the hell did I put it?

The florescent bulb above the sink flickered on and the refrigerator hummed.
Power’s back on.
Had she made her way home safely?

“Reese, I just got a text from Laynie.” Brand stood in the kitchen, holding out his phone. “She says she’s fine.”

Kicking off his boots, Reese swallowed his sigh of relief. Disappointment wasn’t far behind. She hadn’t answered the text he’d sent but had contacted his brother.
Big fucking surprise there.
“Good. I’m going to bed.”

“You okay?”

Did the answer make a difference one way or the other? He nodded, not trusting his voice. The wound was too fresh. Too painful. Too deep. Forcing his legs into a slow gait, he walked past his brother to retreat to his room until morning.

Chapter 3

Reese unscrewed the cap on the thermos for a second cup of coffee before starting to work. Sawdust pretty much ruined the taste, and once he began cutting lengths of molding, he wasn’t quitting until lunchtime.

Downing the last swallow, he tossed the empty container onto the seat with his cell phone. No point in carrying the thing around when the miter saw would drown out the ringing. Brand would probably send him a text at some point, bitching because he’d skipped their morning meeting and taken all the coffee. Who the hell needed that? He might decide to check his messages at the end of the day. Or maybe he’d let the battery die, grab dinner at the Lucky Dog Saloon, and crash at the motel out by the highway.

He unrolled the extension cord, plugging in the saw and a pair of halogen work lights. Within fifteen minutes, the heat from lights would warm the garage to a tolerable temperature. Roaming through the ranch house, he flicked on several lights and started taking measurements.
Measure twice, cut once.

Half an hour later, the saw drowned out the images and sounds in his head.
Focus or lose a hand.

* * * *

Shoving a hand through his shower-damp hair, Brand walked into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Thank God, he’d remembered to reset the timer before he went to bed last night. After little sleep and strange dreams, he needed the caffeine. The pungent odor had him sucking in a deep breath. Too bad that alone didn’t wake him up.

He started to reach for a mug when he noticed the nearly empty pot.
What the hell?
Reese’s thermos wasn’t on the counter, and a spot in the cabinet was empty. He’d left already? Brand glanced at the clock on the microwave. Not quite six-thirty. They usually drove separately because they occasionally worked on different jobs, but they always sat down together in the morning to discuss their plans for the day. Until today. Until Laynie had come between them.

“Fuck.” He’d have to talk to her, tell her they’d made a huge mistake. Blood was thicker than his damn erection. Brothers first.

Pouring the last few dribbles into his cup, he brewed another pot while he reviewed their current projects in his head. Only one would allow Reese to start work this early—the vacant remodel on Willow Bend Drive. With only baseboards, window and door trim, and a final coat of paint in the new closet remaining, he’d finish by five, even by himself. He probably preferred it that way.

Brand wrestled with the need to fix things with his brother and giving him some time. Not that time would change what had happened or their feelings toward Laynie. He filled his mug.
Work at the house on Hemlock Ridge or try to make peace with Reese?

Gulping his coffee, he popped a couple waffles in the toaster and put on his boots. He’d have a quick breakfast then go off to the job site. Mrs. Reynolds would appreciate his presence more than his brother. Too soon to face Reese. First, he had to explain the situation to Laynie, make her understand why they could be friends and nothing more. Maybe in a day or two, his brother would forgive him. A year or two from now, he might forgive himself.

* * * *

Julayne troweled on another layer of concealer beneath her eyes. She’d gotten almost no sleep last night. What little sleep she did get had been interrupted by lights blinking on at midnight and bizarre dreams. Crazy, erotic dreams. Dreams that, as much as she wanted, couldn’t possibly come true. Regrouping hadn’t helped at all.

You’re nuts, Julayne. Why couldn’t you be content to want one of them?
Of course, that solution wouldn’t have worked, either, assuming she’d correctly overheard Reese and Brand’s conversation last night. Well, not exactly
conversation
. Argument.
You know what assuming often makes you.
She was already an ass for responding to Brand’s accidental brush against her breasts. If Reese truly had feelings for her, she must’ve hurt him terribly with her actions. Her stomach knotted.
Way to ruin a perfect friendship.

Unable to face her reflection in the mirror any longer, she finished dressing for work. Boots, coat, gloves. Cell phone, purse, portfolio. With any luck, Edwin would have a pot of coffee ready and waiting for her when she walked in the door.

The half-mile walk wasn’t much warmer than her jog home last night. Stomping the snow from her boots, she nodded a greeting at her amazing secretary. “Hazelnut? What’s the occasion, Edwin?”

“You didn’t tell me yesterday was your birthday, Ms. Donahue.” He frowned. “A birthday is a day to celebrate that you were born.”

“Even if I feel old?” She sat in one of the waiting area chairs to swap her boots for a pair of suede pumps.

“Old is a state of mind. From the pictures of the gangly teenager and her father on your desk, I have to say you’re aging quite well.” He poured a cup of coffee, adding a spoonful of sugar and two of creamer. “You take excellent care of yourself—most of the time. You’ll only become more beautiful as you grow older.”

She reached for the mug he offered her. “Thank you for the coffee and the compliment. I just figured I’d be involved in a serious relationship by now. You know, thinking about marriage and kids.”

He smiled, a rare event. “From my own experience, I have to say not all of us are cut out for conventional relationships.”

She lifted the steaming cup to her mouth in an effort to hide her surprise. Edwin seldom talked about his personal life.

“Perhaps you and the Hilliard brothers are meant for a…
nontraditional
association.”

Sucking in a coffee-filled breath, she choked, covering her mouth to keep from spitting all over the carpet. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Excuse me?”

He tsked and shook his head. “Those two young men fell in love with you the first time they met you. You, young lady, can’t decide who you want more, the fair-haired Brand or the dark and dangerous Reese. Have you considered…the alternate option?”

The alternate option?
Yeah,
neither
looked like her only choice.

“Sometimes
and
works better than
or
.” She stared at Edwin as he winked then turned to pick up the phone. When had it started ringing?

And instead of or… Oh, my God! He means…both of them? A…a…threesome?
She was hardly a prissy sexual novice, but making love with two guys at the same time was beyond the realm of her experience except in her masturbation fantasies. A relationship with Reese
and
Brand? Even if she mustered the courage to ask, they’d never agree to it. Would they? No. Men fantasized about having two women in their beds, not one woman and another man.

Wondering into her office, she plopped in the chair behind her desk and picked the birthday card her dad and mom had mailed from Mexico. A second honeymoon after thirty years together. They’d almost turned down her anniversary gift because they hadn’t wanted to miss her birthday. They hadn’t missed much.

She stood the card up next to the plant from Mrs. Hilliard she hoped not to kill and tried to remember what accounts she’d planned to work on today. How would she concentrate on year-end taxes, Schedule Cs, and profit and loss statements with thoughts of kinky sex skipping through her brain? The term “double date” took on new meaning. The more she imagined sharing a bed with them, the more she liked the idea. How bizarre was that?

She stared at the blank computer screen, mulling over her choices. Both or neither? Lovers or friends? Happy or discontented? In any case, she had to talk to Reese, make him understand she hadn’t chosen Brand over him. If she asked him to meet her later, would he refuse? Only one devious way to find out.

Having plumbing problems upstairs at the office. Can you stop by after work today? Please???

Tapping Send, she set her phone on the desk.
Will he answer? What do I do if he ignores the message?
She rolled her eyes and pushed the power button on her laptop.
Get to work.
The coffee shop account.

The columns of numbers calmed her enough to file her problems in the back of her brain for a while. Income minus expenses still equaled a profit for most of her clients. They trusted her advice on how to cut costs without sacrificing quality and good customer service. Many of them had recommended her to friends, growing her own business into a profitable venture. She’d go insane if she couldn’t afford a secretarial salary and had to organize the office herself.

Knock, knock
.

Speak of the devil.
“Come in, Edwin.” She looked up from her laptop to the open door.

“You have a visitor.” He pursed his lips and came as close to rolling his eyes as she’d ever seen him. Stepping aside, he waved her caller into the room.

A bouquet of white roses entered first, followed by…
I thought yesterday was awful.

“Julayne, happy birthday.” Not a flaxen hair out of place. Manicured nails. Immaculate clothing. “These are for you.”

She stood, taking the flowers and biting her tongue to keep her comment to herself. “Thank you, Westin. They’re lovely.”

He tucked a hand in the pants pocket of what had to be at least a thousand-dollar suit. “I’ve missed you since you moved away. I’m hoping I can convince you to come back to Cincinnati with me.” Withdrawing his hand, he handed her a small blue Tiffany’s box. “Marry me, J. Please.”

J?
Oh, what the hell. “My birthday was yesterday, and my name is not J. I told you before I wouldn’t lie about my background to your friends, you pompous, self-absorbed elitist. So, no, I won’t marry you.”

“Yesterday? Are you sure?” He drew his plucked eyebrows downward and frowned.

No, let me check my birth certificate. Gads!
“I know when I was born.”

“Please think about it, darling. Keep the ring. It’s three full carats. I’m sure you’ll say yes when you see it.”

Was the idiot deaf? “Really, Westin, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“You will, Julayne.” She wanted to smack the condescending expression off his face. “The ring is yours to keep.”

He wanted her to keep the damn thing? Fine, she’d keep it, but only long enough to find a buyer. “Edwin, would you please make arrangements for me to stop by the jewelry store after my twelve o’clock appointment? Tell Frank I have a ring I want appraised for sale. I’m donating the proceeds to the Children’s Home.”

Westin smiled, nearly blinding her with his veneered teeth. “Now, see? You’ll make a perfect wife for me. You can keep busy with charity work.”

Ack!
“I need until the end of my workday. I’ll email you my answer at four-thirty. You have to promise me you’ll accept whatever I say without argument.”