The Sextet - Dirty Dancing [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (9 page)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elizabeth Raines makes her home in Indiana. A fan of all genres of fiction, she enjoys blending her love of science fiction with romance in the books she writes exclusively for Siren Publishing. Her favorite movies are
Pride and Prejudice
and
Love, Actually
, and she spends far too much time watching shows like
The Tudors
and
Mad Men
. Elizabeth has been happily married for almost thirty years and tries to express that kind of enduring love in all her stories, hoping to help all her heroes and heroines have their own happily ever afters.

Also by Elizabeth Raines

Wicked Missions 1:
Locked In

Wicked Missions 2:
Marooned

Wicked Missions 3:
Bounty

Wicked Missions 4:
Sold

Also by The Sextet

The Sextet Anthology, Volume 1:
Sharing

Available at

BOOKSTRAND.COM

DEDICATION

For anyone who isn’t content to drool over the drummer or the lead singer, but wants to dance with the whole damn band.

Chapter 1

“So, Gen, darlin’, are you ever gonna ditch that loser and be our girl?”

Having heard that question so many times she’d made a hobby of coming up with an assortment of snappy comebacks, Geneva Tirey was beginning to form a retort when she realized two things. One, she had already ditched the loser, and two, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be anyone’s “girl.”

Well, actually, the loser had been the one doing the ditching. Geneva had been an innocent bystander on
that
deal, having something akin to an out-of-body experience while Hugh plucked out her heart and stomped on it. Setting herself up for the chance to have
four
men take a shot at doing the same was nothing short of suicidal.

Rolling her eyes when she’d have preferred to break down and cry, she blurted out the first response that came to mind. “Soon as I did, you guys would’ve already found someone else.”

Rhys shook his head. “Not likely, m’dear. We’ve pined for you too long. Our hearts are yours, and always will be.” Rhys was a sweet-talking Welsh charmer with a roguish grin and lips that could have… No. She shouldn’t be thinking about what his lips could do. She was having enough trouble holding herself together as it was.

She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t thought about it, though. Normally, she dismissed them as flirts—and Rhys was the biggest tease she’d ever met—but,
now…

Sean strolled over and leaned against the bar. “Guess what a little bird just told me.”

Geneva’s heart dropped to her navel. Tall and dark with ice-blue eyes, Sean looked more like he belonged in a Regency romance novel than a rock band. Not that jeans and a T-shirt didn’t work for him, but Geneva couldn’t help but envision him in boots and breeches, sporting an intricate cravat, his ensemble topped off with a coat tailor-made by Weston. His British accent was simply the icing on the cake.

In the two years since she’d traded her New York advertising career for that of a Caerphilly pub owner, the accent still hadn’t become commonplace. Sean could have melted granite with his voice, and when he and Rhys sang together with Nigel…well, calling it pure magic was a hopeless understatement. Plus, what Sean could do with a guitar—or any of the three, for that matter—should have been enough to make her take their silly teasing seriously and call their bluff.

It
had
to be a bluff, didn’t it? No way would a hot foursome like the Crying Shame want to single out
one
woman to bestow all their affections upon. Granted, Brayden was one of those drummers who followed a different beat, but even he had joined in on the “our girl” routine. Geneva had about decided they only wanted a woman who could mix any drink known to mankind as their cook and housekeeper, but there were definite sexual overtones to their suggestions. She’d never encouraged them to elaborate, but if what the “bird” had told Sean had anything to do with her love life, there was every chance that the heat was about to get cranked up a notch.

“Seems that our dear Geneva is now a free agent.” Sean punctuated his sentence with a flick of his brow as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth—a combination of gestures that made Geneva’s mouth turn dry.

“Ah, so you’ve been holding out on me.” Rhys took a sip of his Guinness. “Naughty girl.”

“Not really,” she replied. “Just an automatic response. Sorry.”

Rhys glanced at Sean. “Obviously she doesn’t care to discuss it.” His brown eyes slid back to hers, reminding her again of the odd combination his dark eyes made with his shoulder-length blond locks, which was apparently their natural color. That is, if his facial hair could be trusted.

A fresh-faced young girl popped up between the two men to call for a glass of white wine.

Thankful for the excuse to avoid Rhys’s gaze, Geneva filled the glass and rang up the bill. As she handed the girl her change, she couldn’t help noticing the studious manner in which both Sean and Rhys ignored the little angel’s existence.

“Hi, I’m Linda,” she said. “You two are in the band, right?”

Sean nodded. “Yes, luv, and don’t worry. We’ll be sure to sing a song just for you.” He spoke quickly, his gazed fixed above Linda’s head, never meeting her eyes at all. His reply was a pleasantry, no more.

Linda darted a glance at Rhys, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “Do you ever dance with your fans?”

Rhys’s signature charm slipped for an instant. “Rarely.”

Linda stood waiting for a moment, but neither of them asked for a dance. “Oh, well, then. Maybe after the show?”

Geneva decided it was time to intervene. “I’ve never seen them dance with anyone, honey.” She almost added, “Run along, now,” though, in truth, she welcomed the distraction.

Sean and Rhys, however, were obviously in no mood to be fawned over by a lovesick fangirl, no matter how cute she was. Geneva hated to see Linda’s feelings get hurt, but, fortunately, the girl took the hint and backed off.

“You could have been a little nicer,” Geneva scolded.

Rhys shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who made her leave.”

“True,” Sean agreed. “Why would you do that?”

Geneva shot him a grim smile. “Oh, I think you can guess.”

Sean shook his head. “No clue. Enlighten me.”

“I’ve heard the stories. Four men and one woman? You guys would kill her.”

Rhys grinned. “Possibly. You, on the other hand, would be perfect for the job.”

“You astonish me,” Geneva said dryly. “The way I hear it, I’m not ‘perfect’ enough for any man.” She didn’t bother try to tone down the bitter edge in her voice. Hugh had pushed her tolerance to the limit and beyond.

“Ah, but you
are
perfect—or would be if you gave us a chance.” Rhys cocked his head to one side. “You’ve never taken us seriously, have you?”

“Is there a reason I should? The idea is preposterous.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to try.”

“No? Actually, I think it would. I already feel a bit maimed, and that’s only what
one
man did to me.”

Sean nodded. “So it’s true, then.”

“Oh, yeah—and it’s not like I tried to keep any secrets from him, either. Still, to have him throw it in my face like that…”

“Throw
what
in your face?” Rhys asked gently, the concern in his eyes a shocking contrast to his previous attempts to charm her.

“That I can’t have children. I told him right up front. He said he didn’t want to be a parent. He changed his mind, of course. At least, that’s what he told me. I think it was just a convenient way out for him. He wouldn’t admit it, but I’m betting he’s already found someone else who still has her uterus.”

“Which, I take it, you don’t?” Sean concluded.

Geneva nodded. “I got pregnant when I was seventeen. I was almost to term when I was in a car accident. Lost the baby and damn near bled to death from a ruptured uterus.
That
boyfriend didn’t stick with me, either.” Drawing in a shuddering breath, she wished she wasn’t working the bar tonight. A whole array of intoxicants stood in sparkling rows behind her, and she daren’t touch a drop. Thank God for tea…

With her eyes fixed on the time-worn surface of the bar, she’d missed Brayden’s approach. “Sorry about the baby, Gen, but I’m glad you didn’t die, too. I’d take you over your uterus any day.”

Brayden had a tendency to make odd comments, but this was a sentiment no one had ever expressed before, and it struck a chord with Geneva. She smiled up at him through the tears in her eyes. “Bless you for that, Brayden.”

Grinning bashfully, Brayden ran a hand through his mop of red hair. “’S the truth, though. Got no use for uteruses—or is that uteri?”

Biting back a laugh, she glanced at her watch. “Isn’t it time for you guys to get started?”

“’S what I came to say, actually,” Brayden said with a nod. “Didn’t know I’d be getting into a gynecological discussion.”

“That’s not
exactly
what it was,” Sean pointed out. “You’re right, though. We’d better get on stage or Linda will make one of us dance with her.”

Brayden frowned. “Who the fuck’s Linda?”

Geneva couldn’t help but smile. Brayden was one hell of a drummer, but more often than not, he was completely clueless. A befuddled expression became him, however, and his guileless green eyes had stolen sterner hearts than Geneva’s. Unfortunately, he tended to be clueless in that respect, as well.

As she watched the guys head toward the stage, she wondered what her grandfather would think of such an arrangement. Probably roll over in his grave—though he couldn’t complain about the way she’d run the business she’d inherited from him. She’d kept on the same help he’d had—Elton still dished up the best pub grub in Caerphilly, and Helen had been the waitress for at least the past forty years. Geneva had hired a part-time bartender and another waitress to give herself and Helen a night off once in a while. The pub was doing quite well, though she still thought it odd that he’d leave it to her—the last child in the American branch of the family—when there were others in the UK who would’ve leaped at the chance to own the Dancing Cow. Geneva suspected that it was his way of getting his progeny back into the fold, as it were, though she had no proof of that. She’d been properly shocked when the will was read, but it didn’t take her long to fall in love with the place—both the pub and the town.

She’d also fallen in love with Hugh, whom she’d met when he’d been the liaison between the New York and London advertising offices. After she relocated to Wales, their not-so-long-distance romance had bloomed. He was tall, nice-looking, though not gorgeous, a bit older than she, and having children didn’t figure into his plans. Not then, they hadn’t.

The boys in the band had been referring to Hugh as “The Loser” ever since she’d taken over the pub. It had been prophetic in a way, either that or simply true—Geneva wasn’t sure which—but right now, she didn’t care. He was gone. Out of her life. Period. Exclamation mark.

The pub was already rocking to the sounds from the stage. The guys were good—
very
good—but had seldom played much outside of Caerphilly. She’d heard them mention gigs in Cardiff once or twice, but they seemed to prefer the smaller venues and played at the Dancing Cow at least twice a month, sometimes more. Lately, they’d become a Saturday night fixture. They lived together in a rambling stone house that had once belonged to Nigel’s aunt and was situated at the foot of a hill near the town. It was the epitome of the English country home—unless your dreams ran to something more along the grand lines of Caerphilly Castle, and Geneva’s did not.

Leaving New York behind had not been a hardship. She had grown to love the life she led in Britain, but something had been lacking even before the breakup with Hugh. She took another order, glancing at the stage as she mixed a whiskey sour. Were
they
what was missing? She closed her eyes, grimacing as she shook her head. No. That couldn’t be it. After all, what woman needed four men? On the other hand, if the music they could make together in the bedroom was anything like their harmony on stage, why would anyone refuse them?

Self-preservation, perhaps? A relationship like that would be impossible to maintain. It was difficult enough to please one man. Keeping four of them happy while maintaining her own sanity? Flat-out impossible.

* * * *

Rhys glanced over at the bar at least ten times during the first song. He hadn’t been kidding about wanting Geneva to be their girl, but was wholly unprepared for what she’d told them about The Loser—and everything else she’d been through. So much loss… It was a wonder she could still function. All the teasing they’d done… First about being a bloody Yank, and then about her boyfriend.

Her granddad had been a fixture in his own life ever since Rhys had first set foot in the pub, and he missed the old man. The heart attack that killed him had taken everyone by surprise. The best anyone could tell, George had never been sick a day in his life. When they found out he’d left the pub to his American granddaughter, the regulars figured she’d sell it, but Rhys had been hopeful. He’d fallen for Geneva on sight—something that had happened very seldom in his thirty-two years.

He stole another glance at her. Not many women could understand the relationship he and the guys had, but Geneva was different. He was finally beginning to understand why.

She had such a warm heart—she’d even felt something for the little chickie who’d asked for a dance—and there was passion there. He’d seen the fire in her expressive eyes many times. It was deep-seated and strong…just waiting to be explored.