Three Men and a Woman: Evangeline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read online

  Evangeline got an occasional postcard from her mother, a strange anachronism in the day of electronic communication. It seemed that Fancy just took a notion sometimes, making a random connection to her daughter. She traveled about, never settling in any one place. And once in a while, apparently, a cheap postcard brought her daughter to mind.

  Over time, it had become a little easier to look at Fancy sympathetically. She’d been a child herself, just seventeen when she’d given birth. She’d spent her pregnancy in a county home for teen mothers—the only thing, Evangeline imagined, that saved her fetal self from the harm of alcohol.

  Then Fancy had been on her own, raising a baby when she could hardly care for herself, depending on booze to get through her day, sharing the meager favors of her body for another bottle or help toward the rent.

  Evangeline could no longer hold against her mother the limitations of the person she was, the abysmal failure she was as a parent. She could only be thankful—and she was, to her bones—for that single flash of light she’d seen when she was six. Sitting on her front step, trying very hard not to hear the ugly sounds of mean sex going on inside the trailer, she saw it. Like a bright ray from heaven. Salvation.

  * * * *

  Giovanni Diorio leaned against a pillar on the back terrace of the somewhat pretentious, swank old clubhouse and smiled. His night had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

  He seldom came back to Cartersville anymore. It had been divorce that took him there as a kid. His ma had given up on his dad and escaped to a brother who’d left Brooklyn a decade before and had a decently successful construction company near Buffalo.

  His dad had been no bargain, though better as a father than as a husband. Gio had loved him, and Pop had loved Gio best. But for his mother, who’d grown up as the princess of her family, there was no living with a man whose inclination to stray became just too obvious. For his father, there was no living with her. It turned out princesses didn’t make great wives. Gio didn’t think his mother cared all that much about her husband’s wandering eye, but she needed to be able to hold her head up in church.

  Gio’s younger brother worked with their uncle in the construction firm and then drank beer in front of ESPN. Their sister Iz had married and was raising a couple kids, two boys he liked okay. But Izzy was like their mother, ever angry about losing the princess status she’d had as a girl.

  He’d remember that, if the time ever came. Raise no princesses. Don’t marry one, either.

  His ma was a great cook and loved all her children, but she’d never accepted that Gio spent time with his dad in New York. All in all, the whole crew in Cartersville were a cranky, unhappy bunch. A couple good homemade meals just weren’t worth it.

  He’d determined that a single phone call a week would have to keep his mother satisfied. When he showed up at the house, like he had last night, things inevitably ended in tears and bitter regret.

  This morning, in the accusatory silence of his mother’s home, he’d made a call and found a room at the resort for the night. He’d go to his cousin’s wedding—he hardly liked the bastard, but his schedule had the opening, and he hadn’t had the sense to say no to the invitation. At the reception, he’d have as many beers as he wanted, which wasn’t so many these days, as the short high just wasn’t worth waking up not at his best.

  How often did it happen that he didn’t care if he felt like shit when he woke up? He liked his life now. He’d worked hard to get it that way. He didn’t want to go through it drunk or hungover, unlike most of the family he’d see today.

  After a couple cold ones, he’d have a quiet night to himself and head to Buffalo Niagara in the morning. He had a redeye out of JFK that night.

  He hadn’t really known the bride. She’d been a year behind him in school. Evvie’s age, in fact.

  Which explained—

  He hadn’t seen her at the ceremony itself. He’d hung toward the back, not big on all the pomp that went along with the rituals of a big wedding. He figured the marriage to be a short-lived one in any case. Unless the bride really did care for a bully and a drunk.

  But here, at the reception out on the terrace facing the lake, with music from the dance floor that had been laid under a gaily decorated tent, he’d spotted her. Just a glimpse at first—a flash of silver and that sleek, black hair. His heart had recognized her even before his brain and had given him a jolt. He felt a sudden pleasure, warm and pure and—

  Not so pure. She was freaking hot. She was walking back up from viewing the lake, chatting with a small group of women who’d likely been in her class. He didn’t recognize any of them.

  Evvie was the standout. She managed the grassy terrain in those ridiculous, absolutely stupendous fuck-me heels she wore, striding along swaying her curvy hips. Her dress fit tightly, and a little vee formed as her thighs moved with each step, right at her—

  Jesus God.

  She had beautiful breasts, too, nicely displayed by the low cut of her dress and the tiny straps that held it up, against gravity and all odds.

  Holy fucking…

  He’d only just started his beer, taken that first, best swig of it. But he reached out blindly to set it on a table and moved.

  He walked swiftly, cutting her from the herd and bringing her to an abrupt stop before she knew what happened.

  She looked up at him, breathed his name, and let him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor.

  He had her in his arms before he thought to consider what it might have meant, that stutter when she said his name, the way her cheeks lost color.

  He hadn’t seen her since the night of Shep’s funeral. He’d gone to her that night, blind with need and grief, and found blessed comfort in her body.

  There’d been a little blood—he’d wondered, even, if she’d been a virgin. He hadn’t used a condom or taken the least bit of care to see to her needs.

  It hadn’t been his finest hour.

  * * * *

  Evangeline couldn’t believe what was happening. Giovanni held her, moving her body with his as they danced. His face was close to hers, so close she could feel his breath. She wasn’t looking at him, hadn’t, since that one quick glance had confirmed what her heart knew the moment he’d taken her hand. But he was there, his scent in her air, his six-one frame putting him a few inches above her even with her heels.

  She was stunned, hardly able to process the unexpectedness of Giovanni’s presence.

  It had been different when she’d run into Briggs. She’d known it could happen, had prepped herself for it. Given their professions, that had been a meeting that was bound to happen sometime.

  But not this. As far as she knew, Giovanni had all but severed his ties in Cartersville. His relationships with his family there had never been easy. She wasn’t aware that he’d been back since they’d buried Shepherd.

  Suddenly, unreasonably, she was angry. It was enough to have seen Briggs, to have that heartstring pulled from the past, a reluctant but inevitable probing of a connection so critical to her, but past, past. That was more than enough.

  This, she wasn’t ready for. She had healed, dammit. She was happy. Whatever wounds her old friends had helped her survive were closed now. She didn’t need one more occasion to have her heart poked at.

  “Why are you here?”

  She looked at him, finally, and realized her question was abrupt and rude. But he looked back gently, simply drawing her closer and running his fingers along her cheek.

  “The groom is my cousin.”

  Staring over his shoulder, she searched her memory for any recollection of that relationship. If she’d known, she might have declined this invitation. “I didn’t know.”

  Giovanni looked at her with a slightly amused gaze, as though he was perfectly aware of her thoughts. “On my mother’s side. We didn’t hang. Honestly, he’s an asshole. I’m afraid your friend hasn’t made a very good bargain.”

  Evangeline didn’t think so, either. She had pre
tty good radar for men with mean streaks. Kaitlyn had gotten involved with Vito too soon after a previous, long-term relationship had ended. She didn’t think her friend would be happy for long, but Katie wouldn’t be cautioned.

  “I’ve had the same concern. I didn’t realize he was your family.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s nothing to recommend him. You remember I’m the white sheep of the bunch.”

  He flashed those gorgeous dimples of his, and she had to smile.

  “Yes, that’s what I remember, all right.”

  He chuckled and ran his hand along her back, a caress. “It’s good to see you, Evvie. You look…amazing.”

  “Thank you.” She tried hard not to be seduced by those dimples, or his hand warm on her back, or his words. “It’s good to see you, too, Giovanni.”

  He smiled again, indulging her. She’d never used his nickname, or Shepherd’s either. They were too important to her to be thought of in diminutives.

  “Come on,” he said then. “Let’s walk.”

  * * * *

  Gio had started to remember Kaitlyn a little better. Realizing her relationship with Evvie had put her in context. She’d been kind a waif, and he recalled now that Evvie had taken her under her wing.

  That was entirely like her. She’d grown up acutely observant and aware of what those around her were feeling—her safety sometimes depended upon it—and she had a soft spot for the lonely. She wouldn’t hesitate to take in a sad heart. Like the rest of them, she’d learned that from Shep. And, better than the rest of them, she would put herself out in those circumstances.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a learned behavior. Maybe that was who Evvie was at heart. She had this glow about her, even when she was just a kid.

  It hadn’t been all due to Shep’s influence that the guys had agreed to take her into their group. None of them had ever seen her before, except in that distant way, through binoculars when she was perched forlornly on her front step, or as child too young to matter sitting by herself on the bus.

  But from the first moment Shep had pulled her up into the tree house, when she’d sat in the middle of it, looking around that goofy nest of boyhood, she’d become their center. Their heart.

  She shared that glow them, like a lamp whose light fell indiscriminately on all.

  As the four friends had grown up together, Shep had been their acknowledged leader, their compass. In Gio’s mind, that had been a narrative they all lived with most easily. But to his observation, it had been Evvie who brought them to their best. He knew even Shep had realized it, had seen Shep watching her, basking in that essence of her at the same time he suffered at least a small, human resentment about it.

  She had a depth to her, a soul that was all grace and a natural, calm acceptance. It felt good to be with her, to be in her presence.

  Of course, it didn’t hurt that she out and out adored them. The blessing of her love was no small thing for them—though you’d have to have them by the short hairs to get them to admit a thing like that back in the day.

  Evvie would have done anything for them, given anything. Like she’d given her body on that night of loss.

  He got her down to the beach and happily went to his knees to unfasten those stupid hot girl shoes she wore. It was a little embarrassing to be turned by just that—nudging her ankle as he loosened the strap, brushing the arch of her foot and then her sexy polished toes as he slipped the sandals off. She balanced herself with a hand on his shoulder, and he liked that, too. So did his dick.

  He sent a suppressive message there, took her hand, and walked her toward the sunset. Ontario had been a working lake and still was a reasonably active shipway. A lot of it had been built up, with function in mind rather than beauty. But it was pretty here, the narrow, sandy beach clean and the water blue and clear.

  “I’m sorry about the night of Shep’s funeral, Ev. I’ve always regretted that. Not coming to you, I don’t mean—” He looked over and held that deep, open gaze of hers. “But not going back. Not making sure you were okay.

  “Coming to you was …it was sweet.” Important, he wanted to say. “Something I’ve never forgotten.”

  There was more truth to that than he’d realized until he said it.

  Gio liked women, and they seemed to like him back. Even in high school, he’d gotten a lot of experience. And it wasn’t just girls. Plenty of the women in the community found him attractive.

  When he and his buddies Briggs and Chase bragged about their sexual conquests, he was the one who wasn’t lying.

  He’d never boasted about the night he’d gone to Evvie, though. Never would have, even if they hadn’t been past comparing notches on their bedposts by that point. Mostly.

  That time with Evvie—brief, silent, shadowed in grief and need—had been something different. Something that, surprisingly, stirred him now. Called to him.

  Oh, not that urgent coupling, but the comfort of it, the solace, the finding…home.

  He was pretty sure she’d come. She hadn’t needed any foreplay, any stimulation other than the fast, hard presence of his body in hers. She’d quickened immediately, and she didn’t make much of it. He wasn’t sure she had the experience to even know what an orgasm was.

  But she’d had one. Like she was meant for him. Like he was it for her.

  He wondered why that hadn’t occurred to him until now.

  She’d looked off over the lake as he’d spoken, and when the silence went on too long, he gave her hand a squeeze.

  Slowly—reluctantly, he guessed—she turned her face to his.

  “I haven’t forgotten either, Giovanni.”

  She hadn’t wanted to say it. But she would never lie to him. Suddenly, he wanted her. Powerfully. Sexually, yes. Oh, so—yes.

  But more than that. He wanted her to be his. To be a part of his life, the most important part.

  “And I was fine. You needn’t have worried.”

  It took a moment for those last words to register. He was looking at her, seeing her in a new way. Or not a new way. She’d always been what she was right now, lovely and gentle and…grounding.

  But it felt new. It felt like a switch had turned. He’d hardly thought of her in eight years, or even the four before that except for those intense moments when he’d found surcease in the incredible comfort of her body.

  He hadn’t thought of her, but he’d felt her. Like she was with him every day, a part of the fabric of his life. Not the surface, the shiny part everybody could see, but the warp and woof, the underpinnings.

  Like his friendships with Briggs and Chase. He saw them a handful of times a year. They’d get together at Chase’s place a couple times in the fall, drink some beer, and bitch about another losing season for the Bills. Or he’d cross paths with Briggs in New York or LA when Gio was flying out of there. Sometimes they’d get Chase to join them.

  But even when he didn’t see them, they were there, a part of him. That included Shep, too.

  And Evvie, obviously. Why he hadn’t seen it until now, he couldn’t fathom.

  He squeezed her hand again and walked on with her. After a while they started to chat about things—her job, his job, her home in the Finger Lakes.

  They didn’t talk about Chase or Briggs or even Shep.

  He turned her around after a while, walking back toward moonrise this time. About halfway back they fell into silence. And when they got to the lawn of the clubhouse, he stopped her. He held both of her hands then and looked down at her, a head shorter than he with the sandals dangling from her fingers.

  They could go back to the reception. More dancing would be good. There would be food, too, and more alcohol.

  There would be family and loud cheer, true or false.

  Instead—

  “Come to my room with me.”

  She looked up at him, her warm fingers twining gently with his. Her blue eyes were open, unguarded like they always were. She bit her bottom lip, a motion that had him dying to swoop in and taste.
/>   She wasn’t going to answer. She wouldn’t say yes. He was pretty sure she couldn’t say no.

  When he’d waited long enough, he dropped one hand, kept the other, and pulled her with him.

  * * * *

  Evangeline should have given him an answer, and it should have been no. She should think about how she’d spent the previous night. She should remember how it had felt when she’d heard her mother referred to as a whore.

  But she wasn’t her mother. She hadn’t made love to Briggs out of a desperate desire to console herself, to fill her emptiness, to gratify her endless need to be wanted, acknowledged.

  She’d made love to him out of—love.

  And she let Giovanni take her to his room for the same reason.

  She couldn’t say no. He was so handsome—his curly hair a dark brown with eyes to match, his body still hard under that suit, she was sure, fit like in his hockey days. His touch so warm and comforting, validating. His dimples sweet, even when he wasn’t smiling but just watching her, waiting.

  She loved him.

  She surrendered, and he made no effort to be subtle. He strode through the reception, her hand firmly gripped in his. He completely ignored the people who called to him, not stopping for either of them to make contact or chat.

  She was still barefoot, nearly having to run to keep up with him. He took her up the stairs of the veranda, across it, and through the clubhouse. From the entrance, he started her across the drive to an old carriage house that had been converted to guest rooms. She hopped once as her feet hit the rough gravel.

  He gave her a quick backward glance, then scooped her up in his arms.