Her Alpha Saviors [The Hot Millionaires #2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

The Hot Millionaires #2

Her Alpha Saviors

Skye Harrison’s British country pub has been in her family for 300 years, but faced with fierce competition from the big conglomerates, she’s about to go under. American entrepreneurs Jay Blanchard and Luke Savage, impressed by Skye’s fiery determination to fight for her home and livelihood, come up with a plan to save the Fox and Firkin, uncovering evidence along the way that someone is trying to sabotage Skye’s efforts.

Embarking on a steamy three-way sex fest with the feisty landlady, Jay and Luke get distracted by their nightly games, leaving Skye unprotected during the day whilst they chase down clues. Kidnapped by the bad guys who want her out the way so they can get their hands on The Fox, Jay and Luke must race against time to rescue the woman they’ve both fallen in love with.

But will they be too late?

Genre:
Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length:
61,357 words

The Hot Millionaires #2

Zara Chase

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

HER ALPHA SAVIORS

Copyright © 2012 by Zara Chase

E-book ISBN:
978-1-61926-816-6

First E-book Publication: June 2012

Cover design by Les Byerley

All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Her Alpha Saviors
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HER ALPHA SAVIORS

The Hot Millionaires #2

ZARA CHASE

Copyright © 2012

“Go, baby! Let’s do it.”

Skye shortened her reins and leaned forward over Rio’s withers. Exhilaration streaked through her as her mare responded to the light pressure of Skye’s thighs against her flanks and extended her stride. The beautiful palomino thrust her neck forward, put in a playful buck just like she always did, and then broke into a flat-out gallop. Without a crash hat, Skye’s unruly hair didn’t stand a prayer of staying confined to a scrunchy she’d wound round it and soon made an unauthorised bid for freedom. A bit like her, she supposed, grinning into the wind.

Skye’s hair snapped out behind her like a flag caught in a sudden gust of wind, escaping just like her. She revelled in the temporary release her spontaneous decision to drop everything and go for a horseback ride afforded her. Something inside her must have been telling her just how badly she needed this. It was as though a switch had flipped inside her head and weeks’ worth of tension drained out of her almost as fast as the ground sped past beneath Rio’s flying hooves. She was tempted to shout aloud, simply with the joy of living, wondering when she’d lost her British reserve enough to even consider something so impulsive.

This
was
living. It made the agony of her failures seem less significant somehow. They could take away her job, her home, her independence, her
raison
d’être
.
They could destroy her confidence and her pride
but no one, especially not the bossy Yank who was due to pitch up tomorrow and tear her business plan to shreds, could take away the simple pleasure of riding a spirited horse at breakneck speed across open common land. Especially when she had it all to herself that early in the morning. Especially when she was playing hooky. She ought to be in her office, slaving away over the endless columns of figures that simply refused to tally. Right now she didn’t give a shit.

What would the American be like, she wondered, leaning forward a little more and encouraging Rio to leap over a fallen log. The little mare gathered her haunches beneath her and took off on a perfect stride, ears pricked, enjoying herself as much as Skye. The Yank had sounded businesslike to the point of being brusque during the few telephone conversations they’d had. His e-mails were brutally frank, not offering any clues as to his personality, which seemed unfair when he’d probably done his research and knew so much about her.

Skye hated being at a disadvantage and had wasted precious time doing countless Internet searches, looking for anything she could find about Mr. Jay Blanchard. She learned lots about the man’s business acumen, which was apparently legendary. Well, it would be. Otherwise he wouldn’t have earned a reputation for one hundred percent success in rescuing ailing businesses and turning them round—in return for a healthy chunk of the profits, naturally. The strange thing was that she couldn’t find out anything about the man himself. Not a single picture graced the World Wide Web, which seemed a bit odd. Blanchard wasn’t just a recluse. He was a fricking phantom. She had no idea how old he was, if he was married, why he’d chosen to relocate to England. He was a complete enigma, which bothered Skye.

“He’s probably sixty if he’s a day,” she told Rio as she reluctantly turned toward home and slowed to a walk. Her horse was bathed in sweat, steam rose from her flanks, and she needed to cool down before they got back to the yard. “I expect he’s fat, dictatorial, and a right know-it-all. He might be clever with money, but I’m willing to bet that he knows sod all about the complexities of running a country pub.”

And the bugger of it was that she’d have to bow to his dictates, however impossible they might be. He was her last hope to save the tavern that had been in her family for generations. If she couldn’t convince him that her business plan would actually work if she had an injection of cash to bring it about, then the bank would repossess and she would be homeless.

“It’s not going to happen,” she said to Rio, arriving back at the ramshackle yard where the horse was stabled and slipping nimbly from the saddle. “I shall save The Fox if I have to sell my body to do it. There, now you know how desperate I’m feeling, old girl, but keep it to yourself, right?”

Rio turned her beautiful head and nudged Skye’s hip, almost as if she realized that she’d been entrusted with her owner’s darkest secret. Either that or she was after a treat. Laughing, Skye delved into her pocket and produced a packet of mints.

Skye worked quickly and efficiently. She removed Rio’s saddle and rubbed her down, all the while talking aloud to her. Rio, munching on a hay net, was a good listener and didn’t interrupt, making do with twitching her ears as though she understood every word. Skye was convinced that she did.

“I shall wow the old codger with my charm and business sense,” she said, nodding emphatically. “We shall make a huge success of reinventing The Fox,
and then you, my lovely, will be able to move to more salubrious accommodation.”

She threw a light rug over the mare’s back and turned her out to grass, making a mental note to return later and muck out her box. Skye then covered the mile and a bit back to The Fox on foot, her long legs striding out, her mind in full business mode again. They had no visitors staying in the six guest rooms. It was only early April and Easter was late this year, so it was too soon for tourists. That meant no customers for breakfast, for which she was grateful. Saved her a bit on staff wages.

It was just a case of opening the bar at ten thirty and making sure there was a good fire going before the locals arrived. They kind of expected it. Although they were loyal, their numbers were gradually dwindling as they either died off or took to drinking at home rather than risk driving and getting caught with alcohol on their breath. When the drink-drive laws first came in, people didn’t take them that seriously. Now they did. Country dwellers couldn’t survive without their driver’s licences, which was part of the reason why her business was struggling. Skye let out a weary sigh. Ever conscious of the competition on her doorstep, the cost of the logs for the fire was one area in which she simply refused to economise. Her lovely roaring fires were one of the few advantages she had over the nasty, plastic pubs that operated to a formula, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other.

She would need to check with Steve, her young, talented, and rather temperamental chef about the day’s special dish before she got involved in anything else. Then she’d need to check the level of supplies and place the day’s order for the kitchen and the bar, pay the most pressing bills…the list of jobs awaiting her attention was endless. She could already feel the weight of her responsibilities bearing down on her again and now felt guilty for wasting precious time riding, even though she justified it by reminding herself that Rio needed the exercise.

She let herself in through the kitchen door. The cavernous room was cold, and completely devoid of human presence. Steve ought to be here by now, prepping for the lunchtime trade. Not that there would be much of it, but what few customers they had needed to be cherished. Never mind, he’d show up eventually. His timekeeping left a lot to be desired, but he came cheap because he wanted to gain experience. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Skye had learned to live with the fact that he danced to no one’s tune but his own.