Gemini

Three Men and a Woman: Gemini

On the run from an abusive husband, Gemini Walker seeks shelter from three men—Quinn Cavanaugh, Clayton Wilder, and Jason Parsons. She’s never met them, but she knows them. She’s sure she can trust them.

Recklessly, wishing to cleanse herself of her husband’s most recent assault, Gemini makes love with all three men. Just that simply, she finds not only safety, but love. Each man wants her. Each expects that, if the others won’t give her up, then Gemini will just have to choose.

But Gemini doesn’t see that as an option. She loves them all. If they all want her, she’s not about to say no. She’ll do anything to be with them.

Except put them at risk. When her ex’s attempt to get Gemini back threatens the three men, she does what she must to protect them.

Brimming with masculine affront, the men track Gemini down. Before the night’s over, her ex is handled and Gemini is theirs.

Genre:
Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

Length:
71,216 words
 

Rachel Billings

MENAGE AMOUR

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: GEMINI

E-book ISBN:
978-1-63259-202-6

First E-book Publication: April 2015

Cover design by Harris Channing

All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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www.SirenPublishing.com

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Three Men and a Woman: Gemini
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To women of strength. I have been blessed to have many of them in my life. Most of what I have learned has come from them.

THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: GEMINI

RACHEL BILLINGS

Copyright © 2015

Quinn Cavanaugh leaned his butt onto the high stool he kept behind the bar. It was a Wednesday night and, approaching midnight, Mach One was pretty quiet. He was drinking soda and lime, but his next one was going to be a beer. That would take him to closing time.

He’d settled across from his two buddies and let his gaze go to the far corner—the same spot Clay and Jason were watching not all that discreetly via the mirror at Quinn’s back.

“She’s a looker,” he said. And new to his bar. Also drinking soda and lime.

“Sweet curves, too,” Jason added. He turned on his stool to get a direct look, not subtle at all. “You know what she’s got me thinking.”

Yeah, Quinn knew.

Back when they’d all been at the Academy, close to graduation and feeling their oats, they’d banged a chick who’d had much the same look. Long blonde hair, a lot of curves, and big brown eyes that suggested—falsely, at least in the one case—an appealing innocence.

The group of three buddies had been four then, and Cap, the freest spirit of the bunch, if not to say out-and-out wild man, had found the girl in a dive downtown. She very accommodatingly took them all to her apartment—much classier than you’d have expected given what proceeded to occur there—and, well,
accommodated
them all. One a time. And then all at once.

That had been some night. Quinn had never forgotten what it felt like, thrusting his dick into that crazy bitch’s ass while Cap fucked her pussy and she used her mouth and hands on Clay and Jace.

“Don’t even go there.”

That was Clay and, honestly, since he’d signed on with the Colorado Springs PD, the man had gotten a bit dour.

“I dunno,” Jace said, considering. “She’s been looking our way most of the night. Maybe she’d be interested.”

“She’s been watching Quinn,” Clay said. The man had wicked powers of observation, and when he said a thing like that, he was usually right. His gaze left the mirror to meet Quinn’s. “You don’t know her?”

Quinn took another good look, but there’s no way he’d have forgotten that face. Or body. He shook his head.

“Well, forget what you’re thinking. She’s trouble.”

Jace tended to go at an idea like a dog with a bone, and he didn’t want to let it go. “Why do you say that?”

Without even glancing back to the mirror, Clay ran it down. “Her eyes say she hasn’t slept in a couple nights. She’s babying her left shoulder. I’m guessing she has a bruise there that matches a man’s fist. And I’m willing to bet that every possession she can lay claim to is stuffed into that leather satchel she’s very carefully guarding.” He took a swallow of his Red Breast. “She’s on the run.”

Like he had his teeth in that bone, Jace kept looking.

And Quinn understood. Yeah, they were all approaching mid-thirties now. They weren’t cocky kids the way they’d been back in the day. But that night they’d spent two- and three- and four-waying Bambi—well, they’d never known her name, but she’d become Bambi in their minds—that had been a hell of a night.

Quinn’s dick stirred a little thinking of it. He wasn’t
that
old.

Super-powers Clay gave him a quelling look. “Trouble. Capital T.”

Quinn sighed. He wandered down the bar to collect empties while Jace and Clay went back to pretending to watch the Rockies take it to extra innings against the Dodgers. The last of his servers, Rita, came around the bar to hang up her apron and cash out.

Rita liked the late shift. She was a student at Colorado College, one of the few who had to work her way through. On the job, she wore tight shorts and low-cut tops and knew how to flirt for the big tips.

He sighed as his dick stood down. Guys were just plain stupid. Even Quinn hadn’t known that Rita was a lesbian until Clay had pointed it out.

* * * *

Clay sat next to Jace and watched as Quinn shut the bar down. He had an early shift in the morning, so he’d have packed it in already, but he wanted to see what was coming from the girl in the corner. Like as not there was a scam in the making, and his buddy Quinn, God love ’im, was just a bit too easy.

So he’d left his ass on the bar stool and Jace had stayed by his side. That one always had radar for when something interesting was about to happen. And like a damn bulldog, he’d sniffed up some interest in the looker.

Quinn said good-night to the last of the regulars. He’d built a fine bar out of Mach One, a good place where a lot of different people felt comfortable. It was a natural for all the fliers in the area, of course, but the cowboys came in, too, and the lawyers, and students. Long-timers and new transfers, pretty much everyone who drove a truck or a Subaru, an equal mix between new rigs and beaters with odometers that had rolled over at least once.

Quinn finished wiping down the bar—a ritual for him, Clay knew, a sign of the care he had for his place—before he addressed the pot of trouble in the corner. “Bar’s closing, ma’am.”

The woman stood up slowly, casting a regretful glance at Clay and Jace. No surprise, she’d been waiting for them to leave.

She slung her bag—it was nice leather, pricey, like her clothes were, even if they were just jeans and a light sweater—over her shoulder. She was some kind of class. So Clay was surprised when she lifted her glass, used the slightly damp napkin under it to wipe the table, and brought both along with her.

She came to the bar, a couple stools down from Jace, and handed the items over to Quinn. “I was hoping to talk with you alone,” she told him.

Clay left his stool and moved to stand beside Jace. Not exactly hemming her in, but enough so it made her uneasy.

Nerves showing, she looked back from that movement to Quinn.

Quinn spoke in that way he had that gentled wild things. Horses loved the dude. “My buddies here are a lawyer”—he lifted a finger toward Jace—“and a cop. Maybe they can help, too.”

“I wasn’t asking for help.”

So she had some pride and a little temper. Nothing wrong with that, to his mind.

“I—”

Clay watched her do a little stop check.

“Maybe you’re Jason Parsons, then.” Her eyes moved over. “And Clayton Wilder.”

Clay exchanged looks with the others and then had another good gander at the woman. It took a couple seconds, but he realized he’d seen those big browns and sleek blond hair before. And that put a whole other spin on it. “Hey, guys,” he said softly. “I think we’re looking at Cap’s baby sister.”

Cap was their fallen soldier. It was his death in a stupid and, the three men were all sure, negligent accident that had them all mustering out of the Air Force. Pilot error, their asses.