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  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

  THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: GEMINI

  Rachel Billings

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: GEMINI

  Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Billings

  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.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  DEDICATION

  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.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  THREE MEN AND A WOMAN: GEMINI

  RACHEL BILLINGS

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  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.

&nb
sp; 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.

  The woman’s smile was unsteady at the edges. Clay remembered it had been just the two of them, brother and sister. The father had been a pilot, too, and he and the mother had died in a glider accident Cap’s second year at the Academy. Cap had nearly quit then, thinking he had to take care of his kid sister.

  Clay had been one of them who’d talked Cap down. He’d even helped find a boarding school for the kid. She’d been thirteen.

  He’d always felt a little guilty about that, but it was Cap who was his buddy, not the girl. And he’d understood it had worked out okay. She’d gone on to college—nursing school—and then become a…midwife, maybe? Something like that.

  What the hell was her name? Something goofy, a match to Capricorn James Walker. Apparently, the parents had had their own brand of crazy.

  She helped him out. “Gemini.”

  Oh, yeah, that was it.

  More quietly, she added the rest. “Walker Tomlinson.”

  So she’d married—an abusive dick, by the look of it. He could see the bruise at her shoulder now, where the leather strap of her bag pulled an edge of sweater aside. Her marriage would be the reason they hadn’t found her when they’d all gotten back in-country after Cap’s funeral.

  Clay felt a new twinge of guilt. Apparently, they hadn’t looked hard enough. It was clear now they should have done more. He had the skills to find her if he’d really tried.

  He sighed heartily, if silently. He knew for certain what Cap would expect of them.

  The others would know it, too. Every one of them let a heavy silence pass. Soft-hearted Quinn broke it.

  “Hey, Gemini. You’re right about those two—Jace and Clay. And I’m Quinn Cavanaugh.” He put a hand out and gently held the woman’s. “Any sister of Cap’s…”

  Shit. Did he have to say it?

  Clay rolled his eyes at his pal for form’s sake. “You look like you’ve had some trouble, Gemini Walker Tomlinson. You need a handout?”

  She took her hand back from Quinn and turned a slightly sour eye on Clay. Clay wasn’t moved by it, and after another moment she turned back to Quinn.

  “What I need is a job.” She glanced over, clearly still wishing she had Quinn alone. “And a place to live, until my first paycheck.”

  Clay figured his friend would fall for whatever her story was and considered it his job to protect his buddy. “Show a little T and A, you could probably rake in some tips. But you don’t need another barmaid, do you, Quinn?”

  She shot Clay the stink-eye again. Clay still wasn’t quelled. But he watched with interest as she turned, that nice ass swaying as she walked to the end of the bar. She used her right side only to lift the hatch as she walked through.

  Grabbing the green bottle of Redbreast 15 on the fly, she set a shot glass down in front of Clay. Eyes purely on his, she uncorked it and, with the bottle a good five inches in the air, perfectly poured a shot.

  Then she pulled down a martini glass and placed it in front of Jace. Exactly like he’d seen Quinn do it dozens of times, she mixed up Jace’s dirty martini. Only she did it with a little more style and looked damn hot while doing it. She poured it into the glass with another flourish and added the olive.

  Sending Clay another dry look, she walked down the bar to the taps. She drew a pint of Kilkenny like a freaking pro, the head frothing up above but not spilling over the rim. She set it on the bar and slid it down. Quinn put his hand out to stop it, but the damn thing came to its own stop about two millimeters from his palm. And there wasn’t a drop of Kilkenny on the bar.

  She looked at Quinn. “That one’s just a guess.”

  Quinn threw back his head and laughed. He lifted the beer in acknowledgement. “And a damn good one.”

  Jace was grinning, too, and even Clay had to hand it to her. The sweet little bitch had class. He tipped his whiskey to her.

  Quinn took a good swallow and then motioned her to join them. Clearing the stool he’d been using, he set her on it. He gestured to the bottles behind him, offering a drink, but she shook her head.

  “Okay,” Quinn said. “You have a job. And we can work out the place to stay, too. But the cop, here, thinks you’re on the run. So first, you have to talk to us.”

  She clearly didn’t want to. She avoided Clay’s gaze entirely, but gave Jace an assessing look. Finally, she settled for Quinn. The man had stones, no doubt, but he was a bit m
ore subtle about it than Jace and Clay. They all waited more or less patiently while she thought it over.

  “It’s nothing you can’t guess. I’ve left my husband, and he’s…vindictive.”

  “And a wife-beater, you forgot to say.”

  She only met Clay’s gaze for a moment, then looked down at the bar. “Yes, but—”

  “More,” Clay guessed. “He took your keys, your cards, and your cash. He isolated you, so you’ve got no one to go to. Your pockets are empty and all you have in that bag is, at best, a change of clothes. Yeah?”

  Pretty, forlorn Gemini took a breath. “You’re asking me to admit that I’ve been a complete, helpless idiot, but, yes.”

  “You’re not the first woman to be taken in by a controlling bastard. They’re very good at seduction.” That was the extent of the sympathy he was willing to give, at least until he got a better idea about her. “Cap would expect us to kill him for you.”

  She lifted her head and almost laughed, but stifled it when she got a look at the grim, dead-serious looks on three men’s faces.

  “Thanks,” she said with little enthusiasm. “It’s just the job I want.”

  Clay reached across the bar and lifted the curl that had worked its way out of her braid away from her shoulder. Finger marks were there, fresh enough to still be an angry red. The thumb print curved over her neck, visible under a layer of makeup. She tried to pull back, but he’d kept hold of that curl. “He’s mean,” he said. “Dangerous. Where is he?”

  She hesitated, then gave over. “Sacramento.”

  “What’s his name?”