Three Men and a Woman: Evangeline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 7

  He’d earned his upcoming days off, and he was going to spend most of this one asleep. He walked through the main doors of the ED, planning to take the longer, outdoor route to the ramp garage. A little natural light and fresh air would wake him up enough for the short drive home.

  He shaded his eyes from the reflection of the sun as it shone through the glassed-in walkway between the hospital and the garage. And because of that he almost missed her. But he caught a glimmer of black hair swaying down nearly to her ass. A slim, well-curved figure with shapely legs bare under a short swing skirt.

  Hot damn. It had been years since he’d given her any conscious thought. Evangeline.

  Suddenly he was running, his fatigue forgotten. Like an idiot, he leaped over the half-height cement wall of the garage, chancing having to explain to his oncoming colleagues how he broke his ankle with skirt-chasing, sleep-deprived gymnastics.

  But the important thing was he reach her, and he did, just as she was taking the stairs to an upper level.

  “Evangeline. Evvie.”

  She paused with one hand on the rail, one foot just touching down on that first step. She was still for a moment before she turned.

  God, it was good to see her, the way it felt sometimes when he dropped his battered body into his hot tub after a rough shift. Only, for the soul, the heart, instead of the body.

  But maybe she didn’t feel the same way. Her expression, when she faced him, was a little wild. Maybe she was remembering the last time he was with her, the night of Shep’s funeral.

  Not his finest hour.

  She turned slowly, her fingers touched to her mouth. She didn’t move any more than that, so he walked to her. “Evvie.”

  Finally she dropped her hand and smiled, more composed than he’d thought. “Hello, Chase.”

  It felt good just to be with her. He’d forgotten that about her. He didn’t even feel tired anymore, just—happy.

  He took her hand. “What are you doing here?” She looked good—very good—but most people didn’t come to the hospital for happy reasons.

  Except for up on the third floor, where there were midwives and brand new babies.

  “I have a friend in hospice.”

  In a totally Evvie-like way she read his concern. “An old friend who’s lived a good, long life. She’s okay.”

  He nodded, glad to hear it wasn’t tragedy that brought her.

  “I’ve lost track, Ev. Do you live in Rochester?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m local, though. I have a place down by Keuka.”

  “Come have breakfast with me.” The request—well, it was kind of a request—was an impulse, but the moment he uttered it, he really, really wanted it.

  In fact, he was getting a little offended that she hesitated so long. He squeezed her fingers to draw her attention back to him from wherever it had gone.

  She focused then, seeming to really look at him for the first time. “Are you just coming off a shift?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  With a deep breath, she went on. “Shall we just go to your place? I’ll make you breakfast, and then you can sleep.”

  Yes. That was exactly what he wanted. Her in his house. Food. And a bed. Exactly.

  He walked her to her car and told her to wait until he drove his own around. Then she could follow him home.

  Exactly.

  * * * *

  Evangeline was going to end up in his bed with him. She knew it, and she knew he hoped it.

  It was inevitable, inescapable, like destiny, and she accepted it from the moment he said her name.

  Apparently, this was her fate. She loved her boys, her three men, but she lived without them. In compensation, every few years she got to have sex with all three of them. Urgent, needy sex, three times in a matter of a few hours. Or over the course of three days, wild monkey sex, hot and stirring and satiating, incredibly seductive.

  Of course, that last remained to be seen in Chase’s case. But she figured he was game. And likely had the skills.

  She couldn’t fight it, wouldn’t. If this was what she was given, well, she would take it.

  Somehow, it made having spent the night with Giovanni seem better. She wasn’t being slutty. She was just living out her fate.

  So when Chase stopped and blinked the lights of his little red sports car, she pulled in behind him. He led her to East Avenue, to a long drive between homes that could be reasonably termed estates, to a house settled on a smaller property.

  It wasn’t, like, a cottage. Not the small guesthouse to a separate mansion. It was of an impressive but not overwhelming size, a sweet Queen Anne with a hexagonal, tower-covered extension at one corner of the large front porch, slate roof, and fish scale shingle siding. It was painted in varying shades and tones of sea green. He drove around back where there was, presumably, a garage. She stopped and parked in the little paved area at the side.

  She got out and enjoyed the architecture and craftsmanship of the house, waiting for him to join her. He walked slowly, taking in her appreciation of his home. When he reached her, he took her hand.

  “It’s lovely, Chase. Perfect for you.”

  He raised his brow at that. She knew his roots were here, among the mansions. He’d often been uncomfortable about it when he was young, but it seemed he was contented, easy with it now. With his upscale home, his pricey car. She was glad that he’d found a place for himself.

  He looked up at it, like he was seeing it again for the first time. Or in new light. “Yes,” he said. “I’m happy here.”

  He took her up steps attractively adorned with container plantings and flowering baskets. He opened the door with a key from a ring in his pocket and gestured her in.

  The décor was spot on. Some old pieces meshed with the architecture—oval tables with cabriole legs, formal, upholstered wingback chairs. But there were modern elements that blended well and made the space livable—heavy leather couch and chairs, man-sized for comfort, clean surfaces, simply framed artwork. Mostly local artists, to judge by the settings.

  He kept his hand on the small of her back as she took it in. “Were you serious about breakfast? You don’t have to, but if you wouldn’t mind, you could get started. In there—” He gestured. “I’d like to shower before I join you.”

  She looked up at him. “Of course I was serious.” She started toward the kitchen, a great space with lots of window, light wood, glass, and granite. The large island accommodated a cooktop and a good-sized eating space fit with high padded stools. “It’s lovely. Go ahead. I’ll manage fine.”

  He touched her face, a slow caress with the backs of his fingers against her cheek, before he nodded. “Thanks.”

  Evangeline investigated the provisions and decided on eggs benedict with smoked salmon and asparagus. She was just settling the poached eggs in place when Chase came back.

  She had to suppress a sigh as he walked toward her. At six feet he was just a bit shorter than Briggs and Giovanni, but leanly muscled in the same way. His hair was still damp from his shower, the dark-blond ringlets shaded to brown now. Those curls had embarrassed him as a kid, but Evangeline had always loved them. She still did. He hadn’t shaved, and the darker tone of his whiskers gave him a rakish look.

  He wore only silk pajama bottoms, the drawstring keeping them casually low at his waist. He looked at her like he was hungry for more than breakfast, his light-brown eyes glittering. Walking up to her, he lifted her face and gave her a quick, soft kiss. “Looks good.”

  Just like this was normal for them, their usual, she there in his kitchen making a meal. That was settling in her heart even as he got out glasses and orange juice. He set bamboo placemats out and furnished them with silverware and bright cloth napkins. When she centered their plates on the mats, they sat. Close together, so his knee touched hers as they ate.

  And then it was more than his knee. They’d both taken a few bites when he leaned in to kiss her again. Just another touch that time, but then it
was more, after a couple more minutes. He tangled his fingers in her hair and held her when he took her mouth. Longer but still soft, almost casual. As though they’d sat in those same places and shared meals many times before. As though it was entirely ordinary.

  She’d hardly finished chewing her last bite when he got to his feet and took her dishes away. When he came back, he stood at her side. He cupped her face, turning her toward him. He pressed against her thigh, and she could feel his cock, not erect yet, but full, prodding. He brushed her lips again.

  “Come to bed with me, Evvie.”

  “Yes, Chase.” There was no doubt for her, no hesitation. Somehow, this made it all right.

  Heat in his eyes told her he liked her quick, acquiescent response, and he didn’t seem to want to give her a chance to change her mind. He pulled her to her feet and tugged her along behind him.

  He’d come down a set of back stairs into the kitchen, but this time he took her around to the main entrance. The staircase there was a grand one, wide and curved with carved wood and marble banisters. But his room was up one more flight, a lone, large, round room that formed the entire third floor. It had windows all around and a raised, domed glass cupola at its center.

  Glass block shaved off an arc of the room at the far wall, and she figured that for his private bathroom.

  His big bed was backed up against the glass block with its foot just reaching the space under the dome. The bed was framed, with drapes that could be closed around it and even a retractable canopy. It took her a moment to understand. The room was full of light, lovely, and entirely not conducive to daytime sleeping. Rather than spoil the finely worked wood and metal casings of the dome and windows with shades or curtains, he’d cleverly made himself a sleep cave.

  It was so—Chase. A solution at once practical and extravagant, meeting his physical needs but still indulging his appreciation for beauty.

  “I love it, Chase. This is beautiful.”

  But he had other physical needs in mind now, impatient with her impulse to stop and admire. Murmuring, “yeah, yeah,” so quietly she almost didn’t hear, he towed her to the bed. It was open—the bedding as well as the canopy and drapery. He’d readied for her. Even to the extent of having placed a little pile—a pile!—of condoms on the bedside table.

  He caught her looking and had the grace to blush a little. “I never have sex without a condom.”

  Oh, yeah?

  He read her mind and actually blushed more. “Okay, with one exception. About that night, Ev—”

  She really didn’t want one more apology about it. She got it anyway.

  “I acted like a jerk. I’m so sorry I came to you that way.”

  “It was a horrible time for all of us. And I wasn’t sorry.”

  He held up a hand, realizing he’d offended her. “No, that’s not what I meant. Making love to you that night was the single moment of comfort and hope in that whole week of shit, and for the weeks of shit after. But I was an idiot, not the least careful of you or your feelings. Or—of the consequences.”

  “You were young and hurting.”

  “You were younger, Ev, and hurting, too. I should have done better. I regret that, a lot.”

  He was holding her, face to face, and touching her gently. Soothing.

  Shit. She loved him.

  “It gave me comfort and hope, too, Chase.” More, way more, than he knew.

  He kissed her. The gentlest touch of his lips that had her body thrumming. “I’m glad.” He held the kiss now, making more of it. “I’m so glad, Evvie.”

  “Anyway, you don’t have to use a condom. I’m sure you get tested, right?”

  “Yes, I get tested. But the other—”

  “We’re good there.”

  He looked at her in question.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Nothing’s one hundred percent sure.”

  “I know. But we’re good.”

  He looked at her for another minute and then bent over her, looming tall with her in flat, slip-on sandals. He circled his arms hard around her and lifted, groaning when she wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock was centered right between her thighs, her loose skirt doing nothing to hinder that sweet pressure there.

  Kissing her deeply, he took her up onto the bed. She kicked her feet free of her sandals and fell into the soft plush of the bed. He was right on top of her, his weight held on his elbows and knees, but his chest and his cock rubbing against her in all the best places.

  When he was done kissing her, he lifted to look at her breasts. She wore a cotton top that buttoned down from the vee-neck and then tied at her waist. He put a hand below her breasts, spanning her ribcage, holding her as he looked into her eyes. “Open your blouse for me.”

  The fierce heat in his gaze sent a shiver through her. Slowly she moved her fingers to the top button. When she’d loosened it, he used his thumb to pull at the fabric, revealing as much of her as he could. The action tightened the cloth over her breast and stimulated her hard nipple. She could hear the excitement in her own breath.

  “Keep going.” His voice was rough, stirring.

  She did what he said, one by one opening the buttons and then the tie, pausing between as he savored each new bit of territory uncovered. He nuzzled her breasts all the while, slipping his tongue or finger under her bra to nearly—nearly—reach her eagerly waiting nipples.

  She wore the elastic waist of her skirt low, below her navel. He spent a long time there when her blouse was all the way open, running his lips along her abs, delving into her belly button. His hands gripped her rib cage on either side, bringing her up against his roving mouth.

  Finally, he moved back up, not stopping now until his mouth reached one nipple. Her bra got in the way as he tongued her, and she moaned in frustration. Arching up, letting him help, she lifted enough to reach back and unfasten her bra. She tore both it and the blouse away before she collapsed back onto the bed.

  He admired her work. He kissed her mouth once—a reward for her efforts—and then took her breast. He drew the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, intensely, erotically. He moved his hand to the other, grasping her nipple between thumb and finger like he was working a dial.

  “Aaah.” She moaned and writhed, practically coming with just that. She flexed, trying to get a little more stimulation against her clit, but his cock was off-center now, not where she needed it. “Chase.”

  He looked up briefly. “Patience, sweetheart. I’m not done here.”

  But she was. She was.

  She flexed again, but his weight was too much for her. She flopped back with a little huff of complaint.

  He lifted his mouth again, but not his hand. “All right, my needy little girl. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  He pushed up on one elbow and used that hand to take over at her breast. She couldn’t complain about that—he had very, very skilled fingers. With the other he reached for the hem of her skirt.

  His touch was hot on her skin as he dragged the soft cloth slowly up. He watched what he was doing until he got it all the way up, so his hand was at the very top of her thigh and her panties were just visible. Then he looked at her, watching her eyes, as he let his fingers drift over.

  It was just a brush, a touch over silk, so soft she might have imagined it. But her body was primed for it, waiting, overly sensitized. That one light stroke sent a shock of pleasure through her.

  “Mmm. Chase. Mmm.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Let it happen.”

  He draped one leg over, his thigh across hers and his foot hooking back to secure her. Then he flicked at her clit, still through the silk of her thong.

  It was sweet torture, the way he confined her, made her subject to that light, tantalizing stroke of her clit. She wanted to rock, to open for him, to seek more pressure, more pleasure.

  But he held her captive, allowing her to have only what he would give. She started tossing her head, but he took that, too, moving his hand to tangle fing
ers in her hair.

  She moaned in complaint. “Chase. More. Hurry.”

  “No,” he said, running his tongue along her neck to her breast. “This is enough.”

  It wasn’t. It wasn’t. And then it was—almost. Just that light stroking, hardly a touch at all, nearly had her coming. She cried with it, trying to buck against him, but held there by the weight of his body.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yes, baby. Yes.”

  Then finally, finally, it was enough. His fingers didn’t just brush but gave her good, hard pressure. She shuddered, quaking as a storm of pleasure rolled through her. She wailed, riding it to the end as he encouraged her.

  “Yes, sweetheart. That’s it. Yes.”

  “Chase.”

  “Yes, Evvie.”

  It was wicked and so, so pleasurable. To be held by him, contained. At his mercy. He was a powerful man. He’d taken control of her, bent her to his will.

  And she’d liked it. Loved it.

  She wanted more. And he was going to give it.

  He slipped out of his pajama pants and went to his knees, settling between her legs. He grasped the waistband of her skirt, sliding his fingers underneath in a slow, deliberate way that made her feel the pressure of each fingertip. He nudged her hips up so he could slide it under her ass, then lifted her legs to remove it.

  He kept his hands on her legs, controlling them with a grasp on her shins, keeping her knees bent up. Slowly, he pushed them apart, opening her.

  He spent some time enjoying the look of her little yellow thong.

  Evangeline had a limited supply of sexy underwear, most of which she’d never worn. Typically, she wore cotton bikini briefs under her jeans. But she’d tapped into her small lingerie drawer when she’d dressed on Friday. That fuchsia silk seemed to call for it.

  Or maybe, if she were honest, it was the thought of seeing Briggs, even though she hadn’t imagined that he’d have the opportunity to learn what she wore under her suit. Not really.

  Anyway, he’d apparently got her sex switch turned on, and when she’d chosen clothing for the wedding, her fingers had gone for the hot undies.

  A fact she was grateful for now, given Chase’s keen appreciation.