Rhythm of Three (Rule of Three) (17 page)

“Yeah, baby, suck me, just like that…” Dylan’s hoarse words reached her ears, but before she could turn and get the hell out of there, his eyes flickered open and met hers. The bedcovers started moving and Brooke’s gaze moved over the shapes beneath the duvet. Oh dear God…

A head emerged from beneath the bedcovers, a woman with long blonde hair, kissing her way up Dylan’s chest, and then another woman emerged, this one with long dark hair.

Heat swept up from Brooke’s chest into her face, scorching her cheeks.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dylan drawled, his white smile flashing in the dim room. “Have you come to join us?”

Pretty, but way overdressed. Dylan smiled across the dim bungalow at the woman standing in his door. Her pulled-back dark hair revealed a perfect oval face with big dark eyes and a small mouth. That mouth was now parted in surprise, her eyes going wide enough for her eyeballs to pop out and roll across the floor.

Hell. She apparently wasn’t there to make the threesome a foursome.

“Oh God,” she said. Then she straightened her shoulders and pressed those pretty lips together. “No, I’m not here to join you.” Her gaze flickered to Suri and Lexi. “I’m here on business. And you need to get out of bed and get dressed.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Who the hell was this? Jesus. This day was going from bad to worse. First Matt called and got him riled up by asking him to be best man at his wedding, the last wedding in the world he wanted to be at, then he’d been so rattled he’d actually had a hard time getting it up with two hot chicks.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he said, pulling Suri and Lexi back down. “We’re a little busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” she snapped. “And you’ll have to finish your little ménage à trois later…like maybe in a year and a half when your contract with Jackson Cole expires.”

“Huh?” Jackson Cole?

“I’m Brooke Lowry, Assistant Manager, Marketing and PR,” she told him. “And we have important business to discuss. If you want to keep your lucrative contract with Jackson Cole.”

Annoyance and a quick shiver of fear ran through him. “We can talk later,” he told Brooke Lowry, Assistant Manager, Marketing and PR. Suri went to slide out of bed, and he caught her wrist. “Hey babe, don’t go.”

“I think we’d better,” Suri said, slanting him an apologetic glance. He watched in dismay as both girls walked over to the dresser where they’d left their bikinis. Apparently being naked in front of a stranger didn’t bother them one bit, and they donned their suits and retrieved sunglasses, flip flops and their big beach bags. Then Brooke stepped aside as they exited the bungalow with cheery waves.

“Catch you later, Dylan,” Lexi called.

Well, he didn’t give a shit about being naked in front of a stranger either, and this uptight Marketing and PR manager needed to loosen up a little. He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stood. Brooke’s eyes dropped briefly to his junk, went wide again and even in the dim bungalow he could see the pink flush that tinted her cheeks.

She half-turned away and folded her arms across her chest. “Put some clothes on. Please.”

“Meh.” He sauntered over to the bar in the corner and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He had no problem being naked. “I’m good. Would you like one?” He held up the cold bottle.

She glanced over at him, then did that little straighten of her slender shoulders again and turned to face him, although keeping her eyes on his face. “No thanks.”

He leaned casually against the bar and guzzled down half the bottle of icy cold brew. Damn, that was good. “So what’s up, buttercup?” he said, lifting one eyebrow.

Her mouth tightened. “I really think this conversation is one you want to have with your clothes on.”

Alarm bells went off in his head. “What conversation is that, sweetheart?”

“Please don’t call me sweetheart. This is business. Fine, if you want to do this here and now, let’s do it.” She drew in a breath and looked up at the ceiling briefly. “Head office sent me to talk to you about your recent conduct.”

“My conduct?” His insides contracted.

“Yes. Your exploits have made it into the news, which has gotten back to the executives at Jackson Cole. They are not pleased, to put it mildly.”

He kept his face neutral. He hoped. “What ‘exploits’ would those be?” he asked, his voice bland.

“Things like group sex in the middle of the afternoon.”

He narrowed his eyes at her again and lifted the bottle. “Hey. We were in the privacy of my bungalow and
you
came barging in. What I do on my own time in my own bedroom is my business.”

Her cheeks pinkened again and those dark eyes flashed sparks. He wanted to grin. Yet somehow he knew this wasn’t going to be funny.

“Other things then,” she conceded. “The drunken partying. The orgies that people
do
know about. The dope-smoking and nudity on the beach. We’ve managed to smooth things over with the media on some of the other things you’ve done, not the least of which was being arrested for that Quantas Flight having to turn back to Sydney.”

His back teeth ground together a little at the mention of that. Yeah, that hadn’t been one of his more epic moments, even he had to admit. It had all just been in fun, a little flirting with the flight attendants, and yeah, he’d had a few beers, but Jesus, they’d totally overreacted by turning the plane around. It wasn’t as if he was dangerous, for God’s sake.

Suddenly being naked didn’t feel quite so comfortable, and he set down the beer on the bar and reached for the board shorts draped over the nearby chair. He stepped into them and quickly tied them loose and low on his hips.

Brooke’s gaze dropped briefly once more, tracking over his abs and the shorts, then jerked back up to his face. “For God’s sake, take those off,” she snapped.

“Uh…” He gave his head a little shake. “Okay, sure sweetheart, but I thought you wanted me dressed.”

“Those are Billabong shorts!” she snapped. “You can’t be seen wearing the competition! Do you have some kind of death wish, or what?”

Her words made his insides leap and he stared at her.

“Where did you get those anyway?” she demanded. “Why would you even
have
them?”

He looked down at them blankly. “I don’t know where I got them,” he said shortly, fingers fumbling with the ties. He let them drop to the floor, kicked them aside and strode over to the dresser. He yanked open the top drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts. He had a hundred pairs of them and he was pretty sure most of them were Jackson Cole. He stepped into the shorts, this pair a black and white flowered pattern. He picked up the offending garment and held it over the waste basket, catching her eye and then dropping it in.

“That’s better,” she said. “Geez.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said in a dry voice. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Who knew my nudity would be less offensive than a pair of board shorts made by the competition.” He held out a hand to the small sofa and chair. “Have a seat. Sure you don’t want a drink? I have water, pop…”

“No thanks.” She did move toward the sofa and took a seat, perching stiffly on the edge.

He took a seat too, on the chair adjacent, and gave her one of his most charming smiles. “So, I’m in trouble.”

She eyed him for a few seconds then jerked her chin. “Yes, Dylan. You’re in trouble.”

Great. Just freaking great. “Is Jackson Cole pulling the plug on me?” he asked bluntly. He leaned back, trying to appear casual, but his heart had started to beat a little faster.

“Not right now. But you have to turn this around or they will be. One more chance.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means, they sent me here to get you and bring you back to San Amaro. Next stop on the tour, right?”

It’ll take more than rope to tie down the man they love.

Unbroken

© 2013 Em Petrova

Country Fever, Book 3

When Christian comes out of the bar to find a bat-wielding country girl beating the hell out of his best friend Tucker’s truck, he does the only thing he can—he flirts with her. Unfortunately, he knows her pain—he’s in love with Tucker too.

Claire plans to nurse her bruised heart alone, but inevitably Tucker draws her back in—along with Christian—and the three of them tumble headlong into delirious passion. Then she and Christian wake to find that Tucker has fled his horse ranch, leaving them to care for the animals and each other.

Still grieving the death of his fiancée, pressured to sign over mining rights to a coal company, Tucker is boots-deep in emotional turmoil. Running only sharpens his longing for what he truly wants—Christian and Claire in his bed, in the barn, and under the stars.
 

But roping themselves firmly inside the circle of love will take everything they have—bulldogged determination, flying fists and aching hearts.

Warning: Wrangle one heartsick cowboy, and the man and woman who love him. Throw in weeks of working in close quarters, bales of pent-up lust, and feel the burn of prairie-fire-hot desire. Now just try to walk away with your heart unbranded.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Unbroken:

The bartender tucked a hand under the brim of his cowboy hat and peered across the dim space through the grimy window of The Hellion.

Christian Davis grunted. “You gonna hand over that six-pack of Budweiser before I hit middle age, Shady?”

A few sharp metallic
clinking
noises sounded from the parking lot. Shady’s thick white mustache twitched as he winced. Three more sharp raps and Christian turned to follow the bartender’s gaze.

“You drivin’ that big ass Ram truck, Davis?”

“Uh, yeah.” He ducked his head, trying to get out of the shadow of his Stetson and see what the hell was going on in the parking lot.

The grating sound of glass breaking filtered into Christian’s senses just as he spotted her.

“Looks as if you’ve got a jilted lover taking her frustrations out on your truck with a Louisville Slugger.”

Adrenaline surged to the tips of his boots. “That’s not my truck!” he managed as he swung out the door without a care for his beer.

The big red Ram truck Christian had borrowed from his best friend, Tucker, stood in the gravel lot, both headlights bashed out and so many divots in the hood and fender that it looked pocked.

A gush of air froze in his throat as a little gal in teeny cut-off shorts and cowgirl boots danced around the side of the truck. Swinging.

“Jeezus, lady!” Christian hollered as she landed the bat full force and smashed in the side mirror. He took off running, boots digging into gravel and heart thumping.
Tucker’s gonna wipe the floor with my ass.
He’d sent Christian on the beer run in his truck because it was parked in the way of Christian’s own vehicle.

Springy curls bobbed on the girl’s head as she cocked the bat for another blow. Christian caught the tip, ripping it from her hands before she swung.

She whirled on him, hands fisted, face pink with exertion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He gaped at her. “Are you crazy, girl? Or don’t you realize that destroying a Ram will earn you three-to-five in these parts?”

With a growl, she lunged for the bat, but he flipped it behind his back, out of her reach.

“Not crazy and I don’t give a damn about jail sentences. I’m related to just about every man with a badge in Reedy. Now give me back my bat!”

He looked at her harder, noting the tears standing in her almond-shaped brown eyes and the way her lower lip trembled. What the hell was going on?

“You got a problem with this here truck?”

“No, I’ve got a problem with the owner of this truck.”

Ah. So Tucker had pissed her off and she was reaping revenge. Not surprising, since Tucker’s screw-’em-and-walk-away creed had gotten him into more than one jam.

She circled to Christian’s side to make another steal for the bat. “Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Give me your name.”

Shifting her weight to one hip, she dug her knuckles into her upper thigh. “Who wants to know?”

“Christian Davis, driver of this truck.”

Her eyes widened. “But…it’s Tucker’s truck. I know by that cross he has dangling from the mirror.”

Christian raked his gaze over her, starting at the curly roots of her dark hair, down her upper chest exposed by a white tank top, past the Daisy Dukes, and then lingered on her round thighs. Lightly tanned. Smooth. Perfect for tucking around a man on a cold autumn night.

Forget the Budweiser. He wanted to curl up with her. What the hell was wrong with Tucker that he’d walk away from this glorious little darlin’?

His fiancée’s what’s wrong with him.
Tucker’s fiancée had died in a car accident two years before and he couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t see the sun shining all around him because he walked in shadow.

Christian met her gaze, only to find a pained smirk twisting her pale pink lips.

“I can see you aren’t any better than Tucker,” she said.