Love Under Two Introverts [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6

  He frowned at the device, hit the “off” button, and set it on the tray. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt the mood with thoughts of business, but he was a businessman himself.

  It seemed to be a universal rule of commerce that there always was the odd customer who was a giant rude pain in the ass, but was otherwise a very good customer.

  Gord had only ever encountered a few of those. Of course, those customers were from outside of Lusty. Clay, having just recently come to Lusty and having dealt with people all over North America, would likely have more than a couple such people—really good for the bottom line, but not necessarily pleasant to deal with.

  Hell, he couldn’t even say for certain if the rude caller was male or female. Not my concern. He’d tell Clay about the call and let his friend deal with it.

  Gord stood back and looked over the tray. Cookies, coffee, cups, sugar, cream, spoons. Maybe the spirit of his mother kicked him in the butt just then, because he suddenly remembered napkins. Chuckling, he grabbed a few—and knew just a moment of really missing his parents and wishing they could have lived long enough to have met Tasha.

  Mom would have fallen for her as fast as I did. Yes, she would have. It was a nice thought, and put a smile on his face as he wheeled the cart into the great room.

  The fire crackled, adding a soft ambience to the room. The windows reflected back the interior light. Gord set the small cart close to the sofa that Clay had steered Tasha toward.

  He must have moved the furniture to take the best advantage of the fire, because the smallest sofa was now positioned nearly in front of it—and within very easy reach of the faux fur area rug.

  That was one of the great advantages of him and Clay both courting Tasha. Clay knew things about setting the mood, and other baffling rituals that Gord knew nothing about.

  “Clay, you had a call from someone who sounded really annoyed that I, and not you, answered. No message—and I don’t even know if the caller was male or female.”

  “That’s odd,” Clay said. He picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. “Huh. Creswell Enterprises.” He set the phone back down. “One of my clients. I’ll call back tomorrow. This is officially after hours.”

  “I heard when you own your own business you work harder and longer than you do working for someone else,” Tasha said.

  “Too true,” Clay said. “But one of the advantages of being your own boss is being able to decide your own hours.” He picked up the phone again, and this time, turned it off. “Melissa knows I’m here, and she and the kids all have the number here if they need to call,” Clay said.

  Gord poured coffee, then took his spot on the other side of Tasha. They had her between them, and even though they were just going to sit and talk, it felt right.

  He angled himself so that he faced Tasha and Clay, and Clay did the same on his side of the sofa. “We thought, at first, that you might not be interested in either of us.” Clay set his cup down and then picked up Tasha’s right hand. “It seemed every time we were working our way around to asking you out, you’d change the subject or leave.”

  “I did. But not because I don’t like you, or because I’m not attracted to you both—because I do, and I am.”

  “You’re attracted to both of us?” Gord knew he sounded like a parrot, but he’d been so worried that either she wouldn’t be attracted to them, or that the idea of a ménage relationship didn’t appeal to her.

  “I am.” Tasha looked at Clay and then met Gord’s gaze. As if she’d just read his concerns, she said, “And I don’t have any moral objections to entering into a ménage with the two of you.”

  “Then it’s something else. Is it because I have three children?”

  “I love children. I love your children. But yes, they are a part of what I’ve been conflicted about.”

  “I don’t understand, darlin’. You love them, but you’re conflicted? Is it because they’re the children of another woman?” To Gord the question seemed a reasonable one to ask. He knew of some men who would have nothing to do with being a father to children that didn’t come from them. Of course, he didn’t feel that way—that would, especially in his case, be the height of hypocrisy.

  “Oh, no! No, that’s not it at all.” Tasha looked at him, and then focused back on Clay again. He’d only met her gaze for a few moments, but it was enough to know that she really was in turmoil.

  “Then what is it?” Clay asked.

  Tasha hung her head, and Gord sensed she was gathering her courage. Then she looked at Clay. “When I was thirteen years old, I was in a serious car crash. I had a lot of internal injuries and I nearly died.” She stopped and licked her lips. “The doctors performed emergency surgery. One of the things they had to do was remove my uterus.” She shrugged, but Gord knew how painful this admission was for her.

  “Oh, sweet darlin’…” Gord felt an almost brutal pain, learning what she’d been through.

  “I can’t have children. I know how important it is for men to father their own kids, and I…I can’t have any.”

  Gord stroked his hand down her head. “And you’re worried that people might think you’re with Clay because he has kids already?”

  “Yes, and I’m afraid to get involved with you, because I can’t give you what a whole woman could. Gord, I can’t ever have Clay’s or your babies.”

  Gord met Clay’s gaze. They’d discussed, between them, all the possible reasons Tasha might have had for shying away from them. But this was one possibility neither of them had ever considered.

  And it was the one thing they could both address, because they had discussed it—in a manner of speaking.

  “Tasha? I’m so sorry you worried about this,” Gord said. “But I can assure you, as far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to be afraid of, or worried about.” She opened her mouth to protest, and Gord knew what she was going to say. She was going to tell him that he couldn’t be certain of that, that a man could change his mind, decide that having a son—or daughter—of his own was something he really wanted.

  Gord gently laid his finger on her lips. “We have one more thing in common, you and I. I had the mumps when I was a teenager, Tasha. I understand what you’ve been going through, all these years.

  “I understand it, because, as a result of that illness, I’m sterile.”

  * * * *

  It took Tasha’s brain a few seconds to process the words. She looked from Gord to Clay, and then back again. “You’re sterile?”

  “Yup. I guess for some teenage boys, that news might not have meant much, or bothered them. But discovering I could never father children—well, it devastated me.”

  Well, of course it would. Lusty was a community with family at the very heart of it. Tasha wondered, as she’d become aware that Gord and Clay were, together, both attracted to her why it was that Gord had never married. As she’d gotten to know people—as she’d gotten to know him, she’d been completely stumped when she’d discovered that he’d never even had a serious, long-term relationship.

  That fact was a red flag to single women hoping to settle down.

  Now she understood.

  “You really do know what I’ve been through.”

  He picked up her left hand and brought it to his lips. “I do.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “But in your case, I think there’s more to it. I see a shadow in your eyes that hurts me. When you’re ready, after we’ve been down the road some, we’ll touch on that again.” He nodded toward Clay, and Tasha, understanding his meaning, turned her attention to him.

  “I’m sorry you can’t have children, Tasha.” Clay still held her right hand. He didn’t let go, just gave her a squeeze, and then stroked her hair with his other hand. “Especially if that was something you’d hoped to do. After Vicky and I had Bonnie, we decided that three children were enough. So I went to the doctor and had a vasectomy. But, baby? Even if I hadn’t, your inability to conceive would never stop me from having a serious relationship with you—he
ll, it wouldn’t stop me from marrying you. No, don’t panic. None of us is there yet. But I think we want to see what this is, blossoming between us.”

  It took a few minutes for the truth to sink in. She’d believed, deep down, that the fact of her infertility would be an obstacle that could never be overcome. She knew where that belief had come from, too.

  Perry had done this to her, made her feel less than a whole woman, and completely unworthy. His horror at discovering her lack had shattered her and ended their two-year-long relationship. As unfair as it sounded, she’d let herself believe that all men would react that way.

  I think I can be forgiven for that since I never would have believed rejection would have been his reaction to my revelation in the first place, considering how insistent he had been right from the beginning that he never wanted children, ever.

  “Tasha?” Clay’s soft calling of her name pulled her out of her useless musing.

  “Yes, Clay?”

  “I think Gord really needs to kiss you now.”

  She could see hunger in Clay’s eyes as well. “Does he?” She grinned and turned her head so she could face the other man. “That’s convenient. I need to kiss him, too.”

  “Darlin’, this is going to be a whole hell of a lot better than convenient.”

  Where did that sexy tone of voice come from? Tasha had no time to ponder the matter. Gord Jessop cupped her face, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.

  No first kiss, this was an open-mouth, fully carnal exchange of essence. Heat, the taste of coffee, and the flavor of man burst on her tongue and set her hormones into a whirling-dervish kind of celebration.

  Bold as brass, his tongue stroked hers, the strong thrusting a particular kind of male dominance. Tasha didn’t even care that her feminine will to be strong and independent completely disintegrated.

  Oh, Lordy, hallelujah! Finally, a man who will take control.

  Then all thinking ceased as Tasha gave as good as she got, stroking Gord’s tongue with hers, drinking him down. Passion sparked, smoldered, and became a fledgling flame. Burning within, Tasha’s ardor cried out for more, begged to be fed a banquet.

  More was exactly what Gord gave her. He slipped one arm around her, and she wound both hers around his neck. Her nipples peaked when she pressed her breasts against his chest. She could sense the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt, and what she sensed felt fine—buff, strong, and very masculine.

  Her slit leaked, and her inner muscles contracted, sending a spark of electric excitement through her entire body.

  Gord eased his lips from hers, placing tiny butterfly kisses on her cheeks and forehead. Sitting back slightly, he met her gaze.

  Hot arousal shone from his eyes and mirrored exactly the awakening pulsing through her veins.

  “Darlin’, you just set me on fire.” He looked over at Clay, and gave her a slight nudge.

  She didn’t have to be asked twice.

  She turned and then moved toward Clay at the same time he reached for her. His lips moved on hers, a lovely back-and-forth greeting. Then he used his to open hers and began to devour her.

  Shivers of need coursed through her, setting her passion ablaze, turning it into a bonfire of sensual yearning and sexual churning more tumultuous than she’d ever known before.

  In a heartbeat, Tasha understood how a woman could get carried away—how the burning need for consummation could overrule all logic, and all sense.

  Clay’s arms banded around her and she held him tight. His flavor—man and a hint of coffee, differed from Gord’s only slightly in taste. In effect, it mirrored his friend’s. Pressing close, her breasts flattened against his whipcord-lean masculine chest. Her nipples tingled, so badly did they want to feel hot male flesh against them.

  “Good God.” Clay broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers. He struggled for breath, as did she. This sign that he was as affected as she was sent a sweet caress against her feminine ego.

  Gord moved subtly closer so she could feel them both pressing against her. Gord moved her hair out of his way and kissed the shell of her left ear.

  She shivered and moaned.

  “We want you,” Gord said. “We want you naked, and between us.”

  That sounded like one hell of a good idea to her.

  “But not tonight.” Clay lifted her chin and she met his gaze. Oh yes, his eyes were as lust-filled as his friend’s. But she sensed something else there, a caution she didn’t understand.

  She wanted to protest that tonight would be just fine. But then her gaze caught sight of the clock in the entrance hall. It was after eleven. Clay had children at home being watched by a teenaged sitter.

  “We’re all really triggered right now,” he said. “We want you to think about it. Think about taking us both on as lovers. We’ll call Wednesday, and if your answer is yes, then we’ll have our first official date on Friday night.” Clay’s grin was small. “Next Friday is the kids’ turn to be sleepover guests. It’s the perfect time for us.”

  Of course they would have to schedule their dates around the children—though she hoped, in time, to include them, too, in some of their activities.

  “We want you to be sure, darlin’. It’s easy to make a quick choice in the heat of passion. We want you sure, and then we want enough time to love you properly.”

  Her pussy wept with persistent arousal, and maybe a little in disappointment. But their point, that decisions could be made recklessly, was certainly valid.

  She’d take the next four days, but she already knew what her answer would be on Wednesday.

  “All right.” She relaxed against Gord and tried to even out her breathing. “All right. You be sure and call on Wednesday.”

  Clay raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you worry, baby. It’s not something either of us is going to forget to do.”

  Gord ran his hand and up and down her arm, and she sensed his trembling. It matched her state, exactly.

  Looking at Clay, she could see he had banked his fires, and if she hadn’t felt the small quivers as he’d held her, if she hadn’t had the hard beating of his heart against her breast, she might think he was being a very cool customer indeed.

  But she’d seen the wanting in his eyes, and tasted the hunger in his kiss.

  And she fully intended to draw out both and unleash them all next Friday.

  Chapter 6

  The sound of whispering woke Clay up.

  “Don’t go in there. Let Dad sleep, you little brat.” Shaun’s words carried the tone of authority—a tone that his sister obviously either didn’t recognize, or chose to ignore.

  “But I’m hungry. It’s Sunday and we always have brunch on Sunday.”

  “No we don’t. We haven’t had it for a long time. Not since we came to this hole in the wall. Everything is different here.”

  “Nuh-uh. Daddy’s made us brunch since we’ve been here. And I like it here. You’re the brat, Shaun Dorchester!”

  “You would like it here. You’ve got all these so-called relatives thinking you’re a sweet little girl. They don’t know what a holy terror you really are.”

  “I am not a holy terror and Grandma Mart is not going to take me away forever! Tasha said so, so there!”

  Aha, so that was it. Clay tried to think where on Earth Shaun would have heard—a conversation with his mother-in-law came to mind, one they’d had just before the family had left Toronto on their drive to Texas.

  “Don’t you worry, Clay. You do what you have to do for your family. I’ll be flying down next spring. I won’t be an absent granny who never sees her grandchildren again just because of a little distance. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay close.”

  He and Doris Mart had developed a relationship of mutual respect and affection all the years he and Vicky had been married. She’d felt guilty, not being able to step up and fill in full time with the children after Vicky died. He personally thought she’d done plenty, considering her age and the state of
her health.

  Clay decided to pretend to have really been asleep and just begin to “wake up” now. Shaun had the right of it in one thing—he hadn’t been as diligent in upholding some of their unique family traditions the way he had in the past.

  For children, traditions equaled stability. If anyone knew the truth of that maxim, it was him. He and his sister, Amy, had been carted all over the world, first by both of their parents and then, after their divorce, by their mother. She’d had extreme wanderlust, always wanting to see what was over the next hill, always hungry to try on new habits and social mores and experiences.

  He’d been eighteen when they’d landed in Toronto to visit his dad for the first time in three years. Clayton had dug in his heels and told his mother he didn’t want to travel anymore. She’d been reluctant to let him stay with his father, but in the end, she’d let him have his way. He’d had one phone conversation with his mother and sister a few weeks after he’d made that stand. Thank God for that, for the fact that the last words between us were loving words, and not confrontational ones.

  Two days after that final phone call, the plane his mother and little sister had been on had gone down, and they’d both been killed.

  Clay yanked himself out of the unhappy memories. Everyone eventually died. That the way it was, and it was pointless to dwell, even in his thoughts, on loss.

  Better to focus on the here and now and on the living. He had three children to care for. If his plans worked out, there would be two more adults joining him before too long in this most important task.

  The kids loved their Uncle Gord, and they were coming to really care for Tasha—and that, before the three of them had even had their first “date.”

  Clay liked Tasha a lot, and she certainly got his libido firing on all cylinders. He pushed away the guilt he felt about that, and the guilt he felt knowing he would never really fall in love with her.

  Gord loved her, and he himself would cherish and honor and care for her as a man should his wife. It would be enough for them all.