Tiny Dancer [Divine Creek Ranch 13] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (10 page)

“You’re really selling yourself short if you believe that.”

“Honestly, I just can’t take the risk. I need peace at my job. I want to own my own club and I need a clean relationship with them. The entanglements would just complicate everything. I’ve been down that road before.”

“True,” Grace said reasonably, “but you know there’s a big difference between being involved with an embezzling dickhead and being in love with Ben and Quinten. I believe there’s something there between you worth taking a chance on.”

Camilla was shaking now at the possibilities Grace was stirring with her words, or maybe it really was hypothermia. But hypothermia didn’t create a storm of heat and need in her the way thoughts of Ben and Quinten were doing at the moment. She kept talking, trying to convince herself, secretly hoping Grace would exhaust all the arguments she’d been repeating to herself like a mantra for the last year.

“The entanglements would just complicate everything. I need to maintain a business relationship with them. Ben and Quinten have already shown signs of being territorial, and when it all goes south, I won’t have that business relationship to rely on.”

“What if it doesn’t all go south? What if you have something
more
in the end? And why do you suppose they’re territorial? Do you think that’s because they
don’t
want you?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Get your precious little frozen tush in the tub and I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“I’m taking a shower.”

“Are you crazy? You’re not trying out that gigantic—never mind. Get in the shower.”

“What were you about to say? Gigantic what? Have you been over to their place, Grace?”

“Um…yeah. With the guys…for a football game. Yeah. Get in the shower and I’ll talk to you later. Gotta go! Bye!” Camilla made a face at the phone when she heard Grace giggle before the call disconnected, and she put the phone on the counter.

The bathroom was steaming up nicely as she stripped her clothes off, wondering if Grace hadn’t somehow set her up after all. The matchmaker. She caught a glimpse of her nude body in the mirror and cringed. She was pale, and her skin was blotchy and red where she’d been exposed to the elements.

Three miles in late October in a soaking downpour? In short-shorts and a top that was little more than a bra. The Windbreaker might as well have been at home too, for all the good it did. What were you thinking?

A shudder and heartfelt moan escaped her as she stepped into the shower and closed the glass door. The water felt so good. She stood under the heavy spray coming from the broad showerhead and eventually noticed the other lever located by the faucet, labeled “steam.” She stood stock-still as jets located in the walls of the shower produced a fine hot mist.

I’m in heaven.

Her fingers were pruney when she finally picked up the bottle of bodywash and the puff hanging from the faucet handle. She paused and sniffed at the puff.

Has another woman used this shower recently, or do men use these puffs too?

She satisfied herself that it smelled new and looked unused and poured bodywash on it, in no position to complain. The fragrance that was part of Ben’s natural scent filled the steamy enclosure, and Camilla moaned softly. Closing her eyes, she fantasized that she was surrounded by him. As she shifted and stroked the soapy puff along her inner thighs, she noticed that her labia had swelled. It wasn’t any wonder, with his scent filling her senses the way it did. The puff teased her clit as she lightly stroked those delicate tissues a little longer than was necessary to get clean.

She was startled from her erotic reverie when a knock came at the bathroom door. “Camilla? You okay?” Quinten’s velvety tone served as fuel for her fantasies.

“Oh—yes, I’m fine.”

“You’ve got it steamy enough in here. Feeling better?”

Soooo much better, baby.
“Yes, I’ll be out in just a few minutes.”

“I figured your clothing was soaked and muddy, so I put a T-shirt and some sweatpants on the bed. Do you have everything you need?”

No, not quite. Would you join me?
“Yes, thank you, Quinten. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Take your time.”

Left alone, Camilla lost the edge of the fantasy which competed with the reality of what lay beyond the bathroom door. Grace asked what was the worst that could happen. Barring losing her job for some unknown reason, she was currently living a worst-case scenario of sorts. She was at odds with Ben and Quinten, or had been, and wanted to fix it. And maybe part of her wanted to see where the night would lead. She turned off the water and pulled a towel from the bar outside the shower.

Once she was dry, she toweled her hair. After searching the mostly empty drawers in the vanity, she located a brush and made use of it as she looked around the bathroom with appreciation. It was a fantasy come to life and must’ve been part of the renovations that Ben and Quinten had mentioned.

She peeked out of the bathroom door to find the bedroom door closed, allowing her privacy. She strode to the bed, wondering at her attack of modesty as she clutched the towel around her. In her own home, she walked around naked all the time, comfortable in her skin. She dropped the towel and looked at her reflection in the tall mirror that stood in a beautiful wooden frame beside the bed, next to a pair of French doors that led out onto a dimly lit deck area.

Since she was no longer dancing on a nightly basis, her curves had rounded out some, but for the most part she liked what she saw when she looked in the mirror. Full breasts tapered to her toned waist then flared to curvy hips and thighs. In order to appeal to a wider audience, Jake had employed dancers of every shape, color, and size, from tall and athletic to petite and shapely, like her. Dancing had given her a great amount of confidence in herself, as had hearing from men that they liked a woman who was curvy
and
confident about her appeal.

She stretched and smiled at her reflection, feeling warm again all over. Warmer in some places than in others, judging by the way her wet lips rubbed against each other as she moved.

She gazed at her face, washed clean of her smeared mascara and makeup. Having her veneer of sophistication stripped from her when she was about to see the two men she wanted so much scared her a little. A tiny part of her wondered if they’d be interested in her without that mask she showed the rest of the world.

A little voice whispering in the back of her mind warned that she was on a slippery slope. Before she let her fantasies get too far out of control she needed to know what they wanted to talk to her about. She only half listened to that little voice of reason as she put on the T-shirt Quinten had provided and was enveloped in his scent. Arousal swelled inside her accompanied by a need for both men that went beyond the physical. What was the best-case scenario? The thought of both of them loving her and wanting her made the butterflies in her stomach shift and tumble in acrobatic maneuvers.

She held the T-shirt against her nose and breathed deep, and the fantasy returned. She was in the middle, surrounded by their warm, masculine bodies, their hands gently stroking her arms, her shoulders, her breasts, and her pussy. She pulled the lightweight sweatpants on, acutely aware that she didn’t have on any undergarments and got even wetter at the thought.

She sat on the enormous bed and looked around at the furnishings. Everything looked and smelled new, from the obviously custom-made bed, to the dressers and highboy in the corner. There were three smaller pieces of cabinetry located beside it, but she didn’t snoop. She sniffed at the T-shirt and smiled as she went to the door and opened it. She’d never felt this vulnerable walking through the Dollhouse, dressed in considerably less.

Time to take the bull by the horns.

Two bulls, actually.

Ben looked up from the light snack he was preparing at the kitchen counter and the knife dropped from his hand with a clatter onto the cutting board.

Quinten said, “You okay?” as he rose from his squat in front of the refrigerator, where he’d been looking for the juice Ben had asked him for.

Quinten stood silently beside him, gaping at the fresh-faced angel who entered his kitchen dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that were much too big for her. Her cheeks were rosy from the hot shower. Camilla was beautiful all the time, but this side of Camilla was one he’d never seen before.

Ben imagined that Camilla took a lot of time with her appearance, judging by how put-together she always looked, and seeing her like this humbled him. With her makeup gone, the slight upward tilt at the outer corners of her eyes and the unusual color of them almost hypnotized him. Judging by the uncertainty in her gaze, Camilla felt at a disadvantage. She bit her soft, rose-colored lower lip, and the vulnerability in her expression brought out all kinds of protective instincts in Ben.

Please, this has to work. I’m a goner.

Camilla stepped into the kitchen barefoot. “Hiya, boys.” Her gray-green eyes flitted from one to the other of them.

Make her comfortable so she won’t ask to leave
.

“Hi, sugar. Why don’t you take a seat at the bar. We’re making a little snack. Thirsty?”

Camilla nodded as she climbed up into one of the barstools, and he regretted not coming around to lift her into it. The thought of doing that for this petite, independent beauty made him happy. Quinten poured her a glass of orange juice.

“Would it be possible to go get my overnight bag from my trunk? I wasn’t thinking when I left the car and forgot it.”

Hating to disappoint her but grateful for the opportunity they’d been given by the weather, he pointed at the radio, tuned to the local station, on the kitchen counter. “Sorry, sugar. They’ve closed the river bridge and a bunch of the low water crossings. I doubt we’ll be able to get back into Divine until tomorrow.”

Camilla nodded. “Grace told me that might happen. You could take me down to her house if you wanted to. There’s no low water crossings between us, at least not that I recall.”

“Is that what you want? Really?” Quinten asked, his tone reserved. He and Quinten had hoped for the possibility of a night like this, and neither one of them wanted to fuck it up.

Camilla’s gaze skirted left and right as she clasped her fingers together on the counter in front of her. “You did say that you wanted to talk privately with me?” Her words were toned as a question rather than a statement. Was she asking to stay?

Ben replied, “Yes, we did. Why don’t you stay then? You’re safe here—safe with us. We can deal with your car in the morning.”

She picked up her glass of juice, slipped from the barstool, and went to the window by the kitchen table, which looked out over the backyard. Ben joined her just as lightning flashed, and he could see the water standing on the saturated ground, as much as a foot deep in some areas.

“I’ll stay.” Her beautiful face was reflected in the window glass as she looked out over the yard. He watched her expression, trying to gauge her emotions and whether that was what she really wanted, and their gazes met in the reflection. The image was dimly lit, but he thought he saw vulnerability in her eyes that she didn’t often show.

The scent of her freshly washed hair wafted in his nostrils as he gently brushed it from her shoulder. Speaking to the issue worrying him the most, Ben murmured, “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave Divine, sugar.”

“You know the last thing I ever wanted to do was get crossways with either of you.” Her tone was apologetic.

Ben stroked her shoulder then let his fingertips trace down her upper arm, raising gooseflesh there. “Come sit. Let’s eat first.”

She nodded and returned to her seat and thanked Ben when he put a turkey sandwich on a plate for her. She seemed to collect her thoughts for a moment, then murmured, “Before you say what you need to say, can I ask some questions?”

“Sure.” If it would help her settle, he’d tell her whatever she wanted to know.

“Did you fuss so much about the girls dancing together
before
I came to work for you?”

Figuring that answering in as few words as possible was good, and honesty was the best policy, Ben said, “No.” He shared a quick glance with Quinten, who seemed content to let him speak for the both of them.

“Do you fuss at Corinna and the rest of the girls about their work clothes as much as you do me?”

“No.”

“Do you fuss at me so much because you think I’m unprofessional?”

“No. I don’t have any problems at all with the way you conduct yourself, and never have.”

“Then why are you both being such assholes to me about dancing with my friends and the way I dress?” The need for an honest answer was in her eyes as she transferred her gaze from him to Quinten. “
You
answer this one, Quinten. And ‘no’ is not an option.”

“We’re jealous of other men looking at you. We understand you want to make as much in tips as you can. We understand you want to enjoy breaks with your friends. We can’t take the way men look at you like they want to eat you alive. Like they want to strip you naked, lay you on the bar, and eat you up, like we—”