Valan Playboys (12 page)

Adam’s lips had begun to tremble during Vance’s ramble, but he had restrained himself, not poking jabs at Vance’s obvious discomfort…and the small fact Vance had hid in a bathroom to escape the clutches of Queen Nilkos.

With my expression perfectly serene, I asked calmly, “Your phone’s under there?”

Vance nodded swiftly, sticking his hand under the bed, only to snatch it back when the growling from below sharpened furiously. “Hinkle’s got it.”

I pushed off the door and squatted next to him, peering under my bed. Indeed, his phone was under my bed. Clasped in the tiny jaws of the terror named Hinkle. Trying hard not to laugh as complete relief flooded my veins, I stuck my hand under the bed—no growling came forth—and swiftly extracted the phone from Hinkle, glancing at the screen. There were many tiny indentions, bite marks from Hinkle’s teeth, but the screen clearly showed he had twenty missed calls.

Keeping my expression composed, I handed it to him, murmuring evenly, “Your battery’s almost dead.” Leaning forward, he went entirely still as I neared. I kissed his soft, wide lips gently. Just once. I pulled back, lifting from my squat, explaining stoically, “You can stay if you want.” I shrugged a shoulder, reaching around Adam on my bed, grabbing two pillows and tossing them on the floor. “But you might want to take a shower. You smell of her perfume.” More, like, reeked of her perfume, but I wasn’t going to squabble any further.

Vance stood to his feet, stretching a bit with it, mumbling casually, “A shower doesn’t sound bad right about now.” I bit my lip as he gave me a wide birth as he coolly, but swiftly, headed toward my bedroom door. “I’ll make it quick.”

When we heard the bathroom door click shut, Adam snickered. “That was new.”

I slapped his muscled shoulder. “Be nice. I thought he was going to puke at one point.”

He hummed quietly, his lips still twitching, but his ice blues were serious on mine. “We still need to speak with you.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Tomorrow. There’s been enough drama tonight.” I waggled my hand at him. “Now, get off. The bed’s mine.”

His lips curved, ever innocence, right before he grabbed my waggling hand, yanking me down onto the bed, and twisted to lie on top of me. Heavy. Masculine. Warm. His lips still curled, appearing angelic, as I panted in surprise under him, he whispered on a croon, “There was no desert at dinner.” His lips grazed mine, the barest touch. “Just a little taste. That’s all I want.”

White loose curls dangling around our faces; the man made me breathless. I nodded once, my lips slightly parted as he dipped his head further, brushing his lips over mine in silent drags—gentle, but heady, strokes of promise. Shuddering against him, I ran my hand around his shoulders to wrap my arms around his neck while his warm palms curved under my shoulders, pressing me tight against him. Sinfully wicked, he held me immobile as our lips caressed one another’s softly.

He tilted his head, his moist, warm tongue gliding inside my mouth to rub against mine gently, his embrace incrementally increasing in heat, both of our chests heaving as we ate at one’s another mouths. One of his hands lowered to run along my thigh, grabbing tight, pulling my leg over his hip, nestling his erection snug between my thighs.

“Lana?” Mr. Manter’s deep voice erupted like a gunshot inside my bedroom, freezing us both in place. “What. In. The. World.”

“Oh… my,” Mrs. Manter mumbled, her tone softly surprised. Then quiet surrounded us, no one moving, before she griped in complete exasperation, “Wait, is the shower running?”

Mr. Manter barked, “Who the hell’s in the shower, Lana?”

Adam stared down at me for a beat, our mouths still together, breathing in each other’s panting breaths…before he pressed his lips more firmly against mine once more, kissing me softly. He gradually lifted his head away from mine, flipping his hair out of his face, yet keeping his head in front of mine. He gave me a moment of privacy to gather myself while he peered straight at them, clarifying quietly, “This first meeting is obviously going to be less than stellar, but I’m Adam Balar. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Manter, and I’m sorry to surprise you like this. I don’t believe Lana expected you back so soon.”

“Obviously,” Mrs. Manter muttered under her breath and then cleared her throat. She stated crisply, “If you want this to go smoother, Adam, you could start by extracting yourself from our daughter, and then explain what other guests are inside our home.” A quiet beat. “Specifically, our shower.”

Adam answered politely, “Of course, Mrs. Manter.” He released his hold on my thigh, pushing off me fluidly, sitting easily on the bed while he grabbed my hand to help me up. I scrambled around until there was a few feet of space between us, brushing black wisps of hair from my flushed face, listening to Adam continue evenly, “A friend of ours is in the shower. His name’s Vance Jerome. He’s the only other guest here, besides me.”

I peered up. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I had friends over.”

Mr. Manter’s expression was barely banked hostility as he continued to eye Adam, who was, unfortunately, only wearing one of his pairs of flowing crimson silk pajamas bottoms, the rest of his body bare, and showing oodles of tanned flesh. “You should have asked, Lana. Not told us.” Jerking his gaze away from Adam, he abruptly turned, storming out of my bedroom. My expression constricted when I heard the bathroom door fly open, and Mr. Manter order harshly, loudly over the spray of water, “Get out of my shower now, Mr. Jerome.” A beat later, the door shut, then his feet were stomping down the hallway, then the quiet, subtle creak of Hanna’s door was heard with a pause, and then just as quietly shut before he was stomping back to my bedroom. He stuck his head inside my room, grabbing Mrs. Manter’s hand, even as his scolding eyes hooked on mine. “You and your guests, downstairs.”

I nodded once, quickly jerking to my feet.

Adam rose to his feet silently, placing his hand at the small of my back, tucking my tense frame against his side, moving us forward when Mr. Manter stopped glaring long enough to yank his wife out of my bedroom. Although all four of us paused in the hallway when the bathroom door flew open and Vance hurriedly stepped outside the bathroom. Dripping wet. Only a towel wrapped low around his waist, his hand holding it together at his hip. Undeniably just as delicious as Adam, his muscled torso rippling with every quickened breath he took.

He froze, his gaze caught on us, our faces, then slid to my foster parents, intelligent dark eyes scanning them before he illuminated respectfully with a flicked finger at my room, “Mr. and Mrs. Manter, if you’ll give me a moment, I just need to get dressed.”

His jaw clenched, Mr. Manter asked, “Aren’t your clothes in the bathroom?”

Vance glanced into the bathroom, his lips thinning the barest bit before he turned his attention back to my foster dad, stating, “Apparently, the clothes I was wearing smell. I would like to put on a fresh set.”

A quiet snort. “You brought spares?”

Vance hesitated for only a moment. “Yes.”

My foster dad stared. “How fortunate.” He jerked his head at my bedroom. “Get dressed and get downstairs in two minutes.” With that, he ushered Mrs. Manter, who had been staring at the wall, keeping her expression utterly blank, down the hallway and stairs, glancing back at me once with a warning glance to get my ass moving.

Flicking his eyes at Vance, Adam muttered quietly, “Grab me a shirt while you’re in there.” Then he was herding me down the stairs where we followed them past their luggage by the front door, through the living room, while my foster parents’ eyes scanned every inch of their home. We stopped inside the kitchen, Mr. Manter turning on the lights, and both of their eyes snagged on the bottle of wine sitting on the bar and all the dishes—two wine glasses—in the sink. At least the bottle was still half full, which Mr. Manter did take a more thorough perusal of before he and his wife sat at the table.

Adam pulled out a chair for me across from them, which I took, still moving stiffly while watching them warily. Adam sat calmly next to me, placing his hand on my thumping leg under table, running his thumb back and forth soothingly. No one spoke while Mr. Manter glanced between his watch and the entrance to the kitchen, obviously waiting impatiently for Vance to arrive. Vance did walk into the kitchen within the two minute time frame Mr. Manter had given. Casually walking across the kitchen, he tossed a cotton t-shirt to Adam before silently taking a seat on the other side of me, clasping his hands on top of the table. The three of us waited quietly, both men now wearing shirts covering smooth, tanned flesh.

Mr. Manter evaluated each of them before his gaze skewered mine, his question simply asked, “Who are they?”

Too bad it wasn’t so simple to answer. My mouth bobbed before I cleared my throat. Brows puckered, my cheeks flushed deep crimson. “They’re…uh…” Nibbling on my bottom lip, pretty sure this was what Adam and Vance had wanted to talk with me about, the next logical step without being too serious, it just spewed out, “They’re my boyfriends.” My flush encompassed the entirety of my face.

Neither of my foster parents moved, just staring.

I cleared my throat. “It’s an alternative type of thing.”

Mrs. Manter’s posturing cracked. She leaned forward, crooking her elbows on the table to rest her mouth on her clasped fists. Her tone was a tad choked behind her hands when she voiced her questions. “Lana, honey, do you understand what you’re saying? What an alternative lifestyle is with three individuals?”

The flush on my face was alive and well. “Yes.”

Uncomfortable time ticked away, a sprinkling of perspiration damping my hands until Mr. Manter leaned forward, rubbing his forehead. From his face’s dipped position, Mr. Manter’s gaze held mine, his patience dwindling. “They’re older than you.” Not entirely a question, but it was.

“I wasn’t persuaded into this.” I waved a slightly trembling hand. “It just,” more waving of my hand, “happened.” I placed my hand back on my lap. “And they are older. Even though they’re both twenty-five, I am eighteen. It’s legal.” They didn’t need to know their real age. Couldn’t, actually.

Her tone still garbled, Mrs. Manter asked, “Is this a serious relationship?”

“Yes,” Vance answered quietly. “It’s a serious relationship.”

“It’s still in the beginning stages.” Adam patted the air, a calming gesture for everyone. “But Vance and I do care for and respect your daughter.”

I merely shrugged a stiff shoulder when my foster parents waited for my reply. “I like them. They like me. I’m not fond of them with anyone else and the feeling’s mutual. That’s where we’re at.”

Mrs. Manter sat back in a jerking move on her chair, tossing her hands at us, her tone shrill. “When the heck did this happen?”

“We met a few weeks ago. They have business with Mrs. Clover.”

Mrs. Manter’s eyes went squinty. “You met at camp?”

“It’s not like that,” I stated instantly. “They’re not counselors there. Like I said, they had other business dealings with Mrs. Clover. We just happened to meet there.”

“Does Mrs. Clover know about this?”

“Honestly, I’m eighteen. It’s none of her business what I do in my free time.”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, she does.”

Mrs. Manter flicked a finger between Vance and Adam, sitting forward, her own cheeks flushing as she growled with dignified anger, “Is this what you two do? Go around preying on young girls at camp?”

“Whoa!” I shouted, completely affronted, slamming a hand on the table, my own expression hardening. I held Mrs. Manter’s startled gaze firmly. “That is not the case here. Vance normally lives in California. Adam in New York. Their business dealings make them work together occasionally, but this is in no way normal for either of them. It’s new. For all three of us. Half the time we get along, the other half, they’re bickering with one another. The last thing the three of us need is you calling them molesters.” Pointed jammed finger on the table, I continued, “It is not a case of older men taking advantage of a young girl. We’re testing the waters together, and it’s not entirely a smooth ride. So the accusations stop right now. Got it?”

In the quiet that descended in the kitchen, Mrs. Manter’s shocked expression turned softly cool as she relaxed back on her chair, lifting her brows silently.

My mouth snapped shut, and I sat back myself, properly put in my place by just one glance. “Sorry. It’s just…I just don’t want you thinking or saying that. It’s not correct, and it’s demoralizing. I meant no disrespect.”

Mr. Manter stared at his clasped his hands before him. “Lana, you’re still living under our roof. You have to understand why we cannot possibly allow them to stay overnight inside our home. Realistically, can we stop you from seeing them? No. But it doesn’t mean we have to agree with it or allow them overnight visits. We are the parents. We make the rules here. Not you. We don’t have to
get
anything.”

“Lana?” Hanna’s sleep voice called from the living room, everyone freezing before our attention snapped toward the entrance. She called even louder, sounding frightened, “Lana!”