Take Three, Please (2 page)

She murmured her thanks. Then Mark stepped over, also kissed
her cheek.

“Gorgeous,” he said softly, before he rose up.

Heat rose on her cheeks.

Brandon didn’t blink at the way his friends’ complimented
his date. He leaned forward in his chair. “You do drink, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think to ask before.”

Ethan filled their tumblers with water, set them on the
table, then he filled the wine glasses from a bottle of wine that had been
cooling in a bucket of ice next to the table.

Morgan sipped the wine and complimented the selection.

Mark thanked her from nearby, confusing her for a moment.
Mark had selected the wine. Well. Hmm.

He had pulled out a chair from somewhere and was settling
himself down with the guitar. He began playing the instrument with hands that
seemed impossibly large to create such a soft, romantic melody. She didn’t
recognize the piece, though she recognized his skill.

“Has Mark ever told you that he’s a musician?” asked
Brandon.

“No.” Mark had never told her much of anything, what with
him being rather mysterious and reserved in general.

“That’s his own composition he’s playing.”

“It’s lovely.”

They listened to Mark play. She noted Ethan leaving the
roof, heading down the stairs.

A few minutes later, Ethan rejoined them, carrying another
tray, this one covered with several plates of hors d’oeuvres and a basket of
bread.

Morgan and Brandon enjoyed the tasty appetizers, which Ethan
said he’d made, and the crusty bread which she recognized as coming from her
own bakery. They chatted, listened to Mark’s lovely music, bantered with Ethan
whenever he popped back up to remove the plates.

Next, Ethan served up the salads. And after that, the entree
Brandon had promised of steaks and potatoes.

Ethan served them with a flourish and a, “Your man food has
arrived, milady.”

She grinned and wasn’t certain if he’d intended the double
entendre or not.

After Ethan cleared their plates, Brandon asked her if she’d
like desert or a dance first. She took off her shawl, chose the dance.

It was lovely and romantic on the roof, being held in
Brandon’s powerful arms for the first time, the soothing tones of Mark’s guitar
in the background. Brandon wrapped his hands around her waist and he seemed
huge to her. She felt utterly feminine with him, and appreciated the hardness
of his muscled shoulders under her own hands.

Soon, he pulled her closer, and she pressed her head against
his firm chest, wrapped her arms around his neck. One of his hands caressed the
bare skin of her upper back, in the open spaces between the crossed straps of
her dress. His other hand rested on the small of her back, just there, so close
to more.

Having him there, touching her, and her touching him, it was
heady stuff. Her heartbeat quickly flew uptempo and her mouth went dry. All
those weeks of waiting, wondering which one of these men she might eventually
date, be with, do ... possibly everything with. Yes, her imagination had
stretched to everything. She was a healthy woman with healthy appetites, after
all.

Now she was dancing with Brandon, and it was even better
than she imagined. And it being better had nothing to do with Mark watching
them while he played his guitar, or with Ethan leaning against the door,
waiting for who-knew-what, and following her with half-hooded, sexy eyes.

No. The audience of two other, hot men didn’t add to her
growing desire. Surely not.

Okay. Maybe it did. A little.

She pushed it aside, closed her eyes and swayed in Brandon’s
arms.

Brandon’s fingers were electric, and his touch on her
exposed skin tingled, tickled. His other hand inched lower down her back, now
resting on the tops of her buttocks. Tantalizingly close to cupping her ass.

She could practically hear his heart beating hard in his
chest. She lost herself in the feel of him against her, around her.

Then came the sound of a voice clearing and the words, “Do you
mind if I cut in?” broke her out of her reverie.

She pulled back, and looked up at ... Ethan. He grinned down
at her, his tousled dark hair pushed casually behind his ears, his expression
mischievous and intent all at once. Sexy. Damn.

She turned to Brandon. He appeared to be waiting for
something. An answer? From her? Wasn’t Ethan asking if Brandon minded him
cutting in? The way they were both staring at her, suggested the question may
have been directed at her.

Barring the possibility that Ethan wanted to dance with
Brandon (she nearly let out a bark of nervous laughter at the thought), this
was her call. Wasn’t it bad form to dance with your date’s best friend at a
time like this?

Yet Brandon didn’t look like the situation perturbed him. He
looked like ... well ... like this was expected. She wasn’t sure what the
appropriate protocol was.

Bottom line, though, was that dancing with Ethan was an
enticing proposition. Fine. She’d be honest about it, and see what came of it.
He was probably just being polite anyway.

A small voice warned her about thinking nonsense. Polite.
Pure bunk.

“Okay,” she told Ethan, “I don’t mind if you cut in.”

Brandon nodded politely, and without further comment,
stepped away from her. Ethan swept her up into his arms and twirled her away,
calling for Mark to play something lively, and he soon had her whirling around
the rooftop.

He smelled of sandalwood and lightheartedness. She laughed
out loud and clung to him, letting him lead, trying to keep up, not stumble.

He held her tightly against him, so she had to throw her
head back to look up at him. Her hair swirled around her, and his hands, like
Brandon’s, set tingles leaping over her skin.

Soon she was flushed, and gasping for breath. Whenever
Morgan caught a glimpse as Ethan twirled her past, Mark’s fingers were a blur
over the frets of his guitar. She caught sight of Brandon occasionally, too,
sitting in his chair, leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles
crossed. He regarded them with a keen expression, belying his casual pose.

When Mark strummed the close of the song, Morgan was left
gasping in Ethan’s arms.

“Again,” Ethan said.

“No, no. I can’t. I can’t breathe.” She laughed.

Without thinking, she rushed over to Mark and bent down,
kissed him firmly on his smooth cheek. “That was wonderful! Thank you.”

He smiled, reached up and pushed her long hair back from her
face, an intimate gesture that she wished she didn’t enjoy so much. “Thank you
for the show,” he said, his voice deep and rumbly.

She let Ethan lead her over to the table and onto her chair.
He pulled out another chair from behind the plants and joined Brandon and her
at the table. Mark pulled his chair over, too.

She looked at the three men, each of whom watched her
closely, inspecting her perhaps. Alike, they were, in a way. All muscular,
tanned, handsome and robust. At the moment, they appeared to be far too
interested in her person to be considered, strictly speaking, polite. And yet,
she couldn’t be offended if their warm gazes fell too often on her breasts, her
lips, her long legs.

She admitted to herself that she enjoyed their appreciation.

They chatted about the dancing, and even Mark chimed in a
time or two. But it was apparent that no one was much interested in the
conversation. Morgan certainly wasn’t. The men kept looking at her, and not in
an innocent way.

This wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined her date would go.
And yet, didn’t she have her own secret hopes?

Oh yes, she’d had her little fantasies. Brief flashes of
might-be’s, maybe’s. A glimpse at possibilities before she shoved them aside as
greedy fancies.

Perhaps she wasn’t being so fanciful after all.

Everyone at the table slowly fell silent as the conversation
dwindled under their growing attractions to one another. They waited for
something. What? Morgan had no intention of breaking the silence. One of them
would have to do it.

Brandon eventually reached over and took her hand in his
own. “I don’t know any other way to do this than to just say it.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“We’d like to take you downstairs now, into our apartment.”

Ethan and Mark added their agreement with a lifting of their
heads.

She eyed each of them. “We ... and our. You live together?”

“Yes,” said Ethan.

“Are you ... well ...”

“We’re not lovers, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” said
Ethan.

“It is.”

“We don’t bend that way. We like to share, though,” he said.

“You understand, don’t you?” asked Brandon, his expression
more intent than ever.

“Maybe,” she answered.

“You want me to say it.”

“I do. Just to make things clear. No mistakes.”

Brandon nodded. “You’re right. Would you have said yes if
I’d been clear when I asked you out?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem easily frightened. It’s what drew us to
you,” said Ethan.

“I’m not. But three of you ... it’s ... different. I’m not
sure.”

“But it’s clear, now, what we’d like from you, what we’d
like with you?”

“I think so.”

“We’re not just talking tonight, Morgan,” Ethan said. “We
want you, yes, but not just for tonight. We can wait longer if you want. Longer
than we already have, if there’s hope.”

And there it was. The truth, at last, spoken aloud. They’d
been wooing her from that corner booth for nearly three months and they were
prepared to take even more time, if that was what she wanted.

Everything fell into place then. It was past time to
recognize what she’d been hiding from herself all these weeks.

Part of her had known how it was, that these men were a
package, a trio become one, and she had known it a long time. And of course,
she’d understood that they all wanted her, each of them, separately, and in
combination. Even Cecile had sensed it, in her own way.

How long had Morgan known, understood? She hadn’t admitted
it to herself because it defied belief, went against expectation and standards
of normality. Three friends, wanting one woman. Wanting to share.

Her heart pounded now. Yes, behind her guise of pretense,
she’d known deep down. And tonight when Mark and Ethan became part of her date
with Brandon, she’d tried to find it strange, inappropriate. Instead, she’d found
it arousing. Exciting.

Brandon glided a fingertip over her palm. Ethan leaned over
and touched her thigh. Under the table, Mark pressed the side of his foot
against hers. It was sweet. And her heart skipped a beat.

“Say it,” she said, looking at Mark.

“We want you,” he said, his eyes sparkling under the party
lights. “All three of us, together. If you’ll have us.”

Well, there it was then. No misunderstandings would be
happening tonight.

Brandon shifted in his chair. “If it’s too much, all of us
at once, we can try one at a time, if it would be better for you that way.”

“But it’s not how you’d prefer it,” she said.

“No,” said Ethan. “Not how we’d prefer it. But better that
than nothing of you.”

Their desire for her and their willingness to compromise conspired
to send a jolt through her core.

“You can take us however you want,” said Mark.

Morgan considered.

One. She stroked a fingertip across Brandon’s big knuckles.

Two. She laid her hand over Ethan’s.

Three. She nudged at Mark’s foot.

She moistened her dry lips, looked at her handsome suitors,
filled her lungs with the fresh night air. She lost herself for the briefest of
moments in the idea of what they offered. Lost herself in the way they wanted
her, enough to try to change for her.

But change wasn’t necessary, not for Morgan.

She smiled, slow and sultry. “Let’s try it your way.”

____________________

Ethan carried her to the bedroom and tossed her on the
gigantic bed. It was bigger than king-sized. Did beds come in triple emperor
size?

Brandon kissed her first. He shucked his jacket and crawled
onto the bed after her, and it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a true scorcher
from a man who’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. Exactly the kind
of kiss Morgan hoped it would be.

He tasted of the wine they drank with dinner. She opened her
mouth, and now he drank of her.

Large hands held her foot, tenderly removed her shoe. Then
came a caress, skimming over her instep, sending an electric charge skittering
up her leg and through her torso. Then her other foot. Her other shoe. Another
charge. Another shiver.

Who’s hands? She didn’t know.

She knew Brandon’s hands were far from idle. He played
across the plane of her stomach, then brushed upward, cupping the undersides of
her breasts. A second hand followed. But it wasn’t Brandon’s other hand. No, it
couldn’t be. That hand was behind her head.

She opened her eyes to see, peeked around Brandon. It was
Mark, his gaze fastened on the rise and fall of her chest, his fingertips
stroking over the up-curve of her breast.

Brandon lifted up and Mark bent over her, claiming the lips
Brandon had ceded. He tasted of wine, too, and faintly of cinnamon. Mark’s kiss
was forceful, a surprising thing, really, considering how reserved he always
was.

He pressed his tongue inside her mouth and groaned when she
touched him with her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him
down closer, tighter. He squeezed her breast and made her moan.

She heard the rustle of clothing, the sound of shoes and
belt buckles hitting the floor. Then Mark pulled away and she looked around.

He got off the bed and began stripping away his clothes.
Morgan drew a deep breath when a very naked, very aroused Ethan crawled onto
the bed, his brown eyes gleaming as he took her in, sprawled there before him,
legs akimbo, dress rucked up.