Her Mile High Mates [The Hot Millionaires #4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

The Hot Millionaires #4

Her Mile High Mates

Fabia Brook goes to the Spanish resort of Tosca Brava, searching for her missing sister. Something’s off about the way Tosca Brava’s being run, and clues lead Fabia to hunky owners of the flying school, Peyton Ascot and Clyde Wilson. If they know what’s happened to Sonia, they aren’t saying. Instead they distract Fabia with promises of help, trade on their mutual attraction by keeping her occupied with red-hot sex, and get her over her fear of flying by initiating her into the joys of the Mile High Club.

As details of the Russian Mafia laundering money through the resort's casino come to light, so too does information regarding Sonia’s whereabouts. She’s being held in an impregnable fortress. Except that Fabia’s two protectors don’t know the meaning of the word, nor do they play by the usual rules...

Genre:
Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length:
50,210 words
 

The Hot Millionaires #4

Zara Chase

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

HER MILE HIGH MATES

E-book ISBN:
978-1-61926-999-6

First E-book Publication: August 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 Mile High Mates
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HER MILE HIGH MATES

The Hot Millionaires #4

ZARA CHASE

Copyright © 2012

“Move your feet!” Fabia might as well have saved her breath. Simon didn’t budge as the ball whistled past his backhand wing. “You could have reached that one if you’d prepared better.”

Simon jogged up to the net to join her, out of breath and sweating profusely. She’d been feeding balls to his forehand for the past forty minutes. He’d barely had to move a muscle but still looked completely out of it. The one she’d blasted past his backhand was hit during a moment of sheer frustration. She might as well have reserved her energy, since it did little to relieve the mind-numbing tedium of coaching a mediocre player who didn’t listen to a word she said. Who but a crazy Brit would schedule a lesson for midday in July when the Spanish sun was at its fiercest? She was a Brit herself, and crazy was her middle name, but even she knew better than that.

“Sorry,” he said, his grin landing on her tits with the pinpoint accuracy that was sadly lacking in his forehand. “You took me by surprise.”

“You think your opponents won’t notice that you do all you can to avoid your backhand? Trust me, they’ll pummel it and, unlike me, won’t send a telegram in advance.”

“Well, I guess not. Sorry.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with his towel. “I just lost focus there for a moment.”

“No harm done. Take a break and get some water inside you.” Fabia felt a moment’s sympathy for the guy. She needed his business and couldn’t afford to have him keel over on her. Bad publicity for the club to have a client turn his toes up on court—something that could well happen in Simon’s case if he didn’t do something about his fitness level. He was a heart attack waiting to happen if ever she’d seen one. He had to be forty if he was a day, was twenty pounds overweight, and not nearly as good a player as he thought he was. “You can dehydrate quickly in this heat.”

Fabia took her own advice and slugged back water from the plastic bottle she’d brought on court with her. It was now baking hot and tasted of plastic. Still, needs must.

“What brings you to this part of the world anyway, Fabia?” he asked, probably thinking that his smile was charming. Even if it had been, it was too late to score points with her. He’d blown his opportunity when he addressed his remarks to her breasts. “Pretty girl like you.”

Oh please!
“I grew up here.”

“What, in Spain?”

No, Outer Mongolia.
“My parents moved here years ago.”

“Ah, so you speak the lingo, then?”

“I went to school here,” she said with exaggerated patience, “so yes, I speak Spanish.”

“I ought to learn, given that I’m doing business here.”
Yes, you should.
“Trouble is, everyone speaks perfectly good English, so it doesn’t seem worth the effort.”

“It’s polite to try,” she said with commendable restraint.

“You know that I’m into software, right?”

“You did mention it.”
Like twenty times already in the lessons I’ve given you.

“Money for old rope. Everyone
has
to have the latest app for their
must-have
devices.” He shrugged, failing to look as casual as he obviously wanted to. “Who am I to deny them?”

Fabia laughed politely when all she really wanted to do was puke. She knew what would come next and tried to postpone the inevitable.

“Ready to resume the lesson?”

“Bought one of the biggest houses on this development. Paid cash for it.” Fabia somehow refrained from rolling her eyes. “Right near the runway. I shall have to get some hours in so I can resurrect my private pilot’s licence. Just as soon as I’ve polished up my tennis game, that is.”

“Well, the flying should be no problem. There’s a school right here on Tosca Brava.” She shrugged. “But obviously, you already know that.”

“Yeah.” He winked at her. “But the instructors don’t look as good as you.”

“Come on, Simon. We’re going to spend the rest of the lesson working on shot direction.” She placed an upturned bucket about halfway up the court, midway between the centre service and tram lines. “If you learn to place your shots, instead of just scrambling them back, it’ll work wonders for your game. Come on, I’ll show you.”

They walked to the other end. Fabia bounced a ball and hit a smooth backhand that struck the centre of the bucket.

“Blimey!” Simon actually looked impressed. “How did you do that?”

By divine intervention.
“Focus on the bucket, which is where you’re planning to place your shot. Then, eyes on the ball and give it a good whack.”

She threw a ball to him. His shot went miles wide. So did the next one. And the next.

“I was thinking, Fabia,” he said when they’d finally run out of time and were making their way back to the clubhouse. “When I get my licence back, I shall buy myself a small plane. Easier to get about that way. Can’t be doing with all those low-cost airlines that treat you like cattle. How about I take you up for a ride?”

This time Fabia did roll her eyes. She’d only been working here for two weeks, and it was already the third plane ride she’d been offered. Except the randy bastards making the offers weren’t doing so out of the kindness of their hearts or to show off their skills in the air, either. She’d be expected to return the favour in kind, and since she didn’t have time for men in her life right now, that was a definite no-no. Not that she’d had the slightest difficulty turning any of them down. None of them exactly rocked her world. Besides, she was petrified of flying.

“Thanks, that’s a tempting offer, but we’re not supposed to fraternize with the clients.” She remembered how badly she needed to stay employed here if she was to stand any chance of finding her missing sister, and she managed to dredge up a regretful smile. “Can’t afford to lose my job.”

“I’ll give you a damned sight better job than this one. You’re wasted here.”

“What?” She pretended to misunderstand him and made a joke of it. “My coaching’s that off?”

“No, you’re good at what you do, but anyone can hit a ball over a net.”
Anyone except you.
“I could use you on my marketing team. You’d go down a storm, making presentations to potential clients. There’s a confidence about you that holds the attention.”

He’s making it pretty obvious what it is about me that holds his attention.
“Did you have any lessons with my predecessor?” she asked, thinking that, if she couldn’t get rid of him, she might as well ask him something useful. “Sonia, I think her name was. Everyone I’ve spoken to raves about her.”

“No, I didn’t. I only took tennis up again recently. I’ve been travelling a lot on business.” He looked reflective. “I think I saw her once or twice, though. Attractive girl. Looked a bit like you, as a matter of fact.”