A Very Lusty Christmas (3 page)

“Did that sound like a dare to you, brother?” Gerald clearly addressed Patrick, but his gaze never left Kate’s.

Patrick chuckled. “Now you’ve done it, Katie. Gerald simply can’t resist a dare.”

“Allow me to correct the major’s misconception, then. That, sir, was not a dare. It was a statement of fact.”

“I never knew being called ‘sir’ by my woman would arouse me so.”

Kate gasped, not so much out of outrage but because the words he said and the way he’d said them aroused her, too.

“I am
not
your woman.”

“Say that again, after.”

“After what?”

“After this.”

Kate could barely breathe as he pulled her into his arms. She kept her gaze locked on his even as he lowered his head. In some corner of her mind she realized he’d let go of her, allowing her to escape, if that indeed was what she truly wanted to do.

Rather than escaping as she should have done, Kate gave in to her own impulsive side and did what she’d wanted to do since the first time she’d laid eyes on these men. She stepped just a half inch closer, so that her body touched his. And then she fisted the lapels of his uniform jacket and tugged him closer.

“If you’re going to kiss me, Major, make it a damn good one.”

She felt everything within her melt when his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Before she could take her next breath, he wrapped his arms around her, drew her in and up, and laid his mouth on hers.

Kate never used to understand what all the fuss was about two mouths meeting, but she sure did now. She felt as if she’d stepped off a ledge and was falling far and fast with no end in sight. Gerald Benedict tasted wet and wild and just subtly of the beer he must have enjoyed earlier. His tongue came into her mouth and stroked hers with a firm, relentless rhythm that made Kate fully understand all the lectures she’d endured from her mother about allowing a man license.
Kisses really are an upper persuasion for a lower invasion.
The thought scattered as heat infused her, making her nearly dizzy. The sensation of Gerald’s hand stroking down her back and across her bottom anchored her and sent her reeling at the same time.

Her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples hardened, and everything inside her shivered with joy.

Gerald tapered his kiss and then eased back, and Kate blinked. At some point in the last few moments, Patrick Benedict had moved closer, so that she could feel his body against her side. Now the heat of him surrounded her while the scent of him teased her senses. It mingled with the heat and aroma of his brother and created a hunger within her, a never-before-imagined hunger that she instinctively recognized. The idea flitted for just a moment that maybe he’d stood close to shield her and his brother from sight. Not many people used this side entrance, but anyone coming out those doors in the last few moments would have gotten an eyeful.

That thought, as well as every other, shattered when he ran his hand down her back.

“Jesus, Kate.” Gerald exhaled heavily and pressed his hips toward her. Something hard beneath the fabric of his uniform pants caressed her belly. “You
are
hot and spicy, and a hell of a lot more thrilling than flying.”

“Mmm, sounds delicious.” Patrick’s words puffed against the side of her face. “My turn.”

“Your…” Kate never got a chance to finish repeating his outrageous claim. Patrick took her mouth in a fast and accurate swoop. She felt herself turned, gathered close, and then she was falling again, with the same shiver of excitement, the same thrill.

The same odd sensation of destiny
.

Patrick’s kiss might have been more drenched in finesse, but he lacked nothing in skill and the ability to seduce her.

It felt as if a lifetime unfurled as she was kissed by one brother and caressed by the other. Yet Kate knew only minutes had passed before Patrick ended their kiss.

“We’ve waited a long time for you, Katie.”

Kate began to shake her head. She’d just kissed not one major, but two. She’d been aroused by not one man, but two.

Maybe her mother’s lamentations were closer to the mark than even she could have guessed.

“Hush.” Gerald pressed a finger against her lips, despite the fact that she hadn’t said a word. “You’re still very much a lady and one that we both respect enormously. Sharing a woman—a wife—is simply the Benedict way.”

“
Wife
?” Kate sputtered. The audacity of these men was beyond the pale. “I’m not
marrying
either one of you arrogant Texans.”

“He’s arrogant,” Patrick said. “I’m charming. Although I can see how in the heat of the moment you might overlook that small difference between us.”

“I…I…” For the first time in her life, Kate Wesley was completely speechless. Before she could gather her wits, each of those very dreamy men once more picked up one of her hands. They each kissed the hand they held, and then, as one, stepped back.

“Sleep well, Kate. We’ll be seeing you soon.”

And then, they were just gone. They’d turned and headed back inside the dance hall. Kate didn’t dare follow.

Her fingers came up and rested against her lips. Shivers quaked inside her and for the longest moment, she couldn’t even think. It seemed to take forever before her brain would function.

She didn’t want to dance anymore. She wanted to go home, but she needed to fetch her jacket. Instead of going inside using the door she’d come out of—the door those two majors had just used to reenter the hall—she walked around the exterior of the building, to the front. Thankfully, Kate was able to avoid most of the crowd. The music held sway, and few people noticed her. She didn’t dare look inside where couples danced or mingled and chatted, in case she saw those two aviators. It took only a couple of minutes to go to the coat check, present her ticket, and get her jacket. Her roommate, Eloise, would still be on duty at the hospital as she’d been on the afternoon shift today. It wasn’t even ten o’clock!

Kate could be home and in bed in no time. That idea held tremendous appeal. Of course, she’d likely never see those two majors again, despite their parting words. It was just as well, for there was no future in a romance between a lieutenant and a major, let alone two, in this woman’s army.

Still, there was no harm in spending the rest of the night thinking about the two most handsome men, and amazing kisses, she’d ever experienced.

* * * *

Neil Brown looked up from his desk, his eyes scanning the outer office, wondering what had just pulled his attention away from his figures. He’d been immersed in his work, altering the entries in the ledger, making other entries in his secret ledger, and verifying his bank balance.

Beyond the small halo of light, everything else appeared dark, and, if he was the fanciful sort, foreboding.

He got up from his desk and left his private office, taking a quick walk around the outer one. No one should be there because the night crew had their own small shack out near the tanks. He stopped at the door and checked. The lock was still engaged.

He didn’t want any unexpected interruptions.

Brown knew his workers all marveled that the boss man put in such long hours. By now, no one thought twice about the fact that he could often be found in his office well after quitting time. He was lauded as a man who gave his all for the war effort, and that suited him just fine.

He paused a moment to open one of the several windows that lined the outside wall, because the room had become stuffy.

A soft breeze wafted in, one that carried the varied aromas from the business that had become the center of his life.

He accepted the fact that many people disparaged the smell of oil, of kerosene, and of the gasoline that ran like blood through the heart of the oil refinery he owned.

But he had long ago equated that odor with the smell of money. The crude oil that came into his plant by the rail tank car from the oil fields, he firmly believed, was the key to wealth, and to every one of his biggest dreams coming true.

He believed in that possibility for himself, even though he was the owner and manager of a fairly small facility.

It had been easy, since December of 1941, to put on the hat of patriotism, for war had brought even more wealth flowing into his coffers.

The war effort needed
all
the gasoline it could get. The major oil companies and refineries had a veritable pipeline through Washington, to overseas, and contracts in place to ensure their monopolizing of that very lucrative market.

But their greed opened the door for smaller refineries to cash in, too—something Neil Brown was determined to do.

He’d been forty-five years old and had believed he’d reached the limit to which he could aspire when war had erupted. He understood in an instant that his refinery could help fill the gap, help supply domestic needs. And in the last few months, the airfield on the other side of San Angelo—the newly named Goodfellow Field—had become a major center for the Army Air Corps. This was one of the busiest training facilities the army had, and it was within his area.

What not long before had been a vacant patch of ground outside of the city now hosted thousands of servicemen training to fly, and hundreds of aircraft.

The small two-seater BT-13 Vultee Valiant—the bulk of the training aircraft—needed to be fueled. In fact, they needed a lot of fuel, and Brown’s refinery was in line to supply the lion’s share of it.

Neil Brown knew this was his chance to strike it rich, to leave behind forever the poverty of his childhood, to surpass what he’d already accomplished and achieve the high degree of success he believed was his destiny, and his due.

In America success was interpreted by the number of dollars a man had at his disposal, and Neil Brown planned to become exceptionally successful.

Early into the year, Brown had decided it wasn’t enough that he was already shipping out more refined gas, oil, and kerosene every month than ever before. When it came time to sign the contract with the airfield, he’d been frustrated as hell. The government was being picky about the price they would pay and the quality of product they wanted to put into the tanks of those aircraft. He’d been expecting profits by the truckload, and instead, the government was squeezing the life out of his refinery, expecting him to forgo good business practices in the name of the war effort and patriotism.

It was all bullshit as far as Neil was concerned. Did they think he didn’t know what kind of wheeling and dealing went on behind closed doors in the nation’s capital? Did they think he didn’t know how the rich played their games, making fools out of the rest of them?

It was just like politicians to beat their chests about leading the war effort, about everyone sacrificing for the greater good, and all the while they were lining their own pockets and feathering their own nests with secret kickbacks and outright bribes.

He saw through them, and fully intended to grab his piece of the wartime pie. He wasn’t born yesterday and he sure as hell could see through the bullshit they were trying to serve him up, calling it beefsteak.

For instance, they insisted those planes needed a higher-octane fuel with all those expensive additives, when he knew for a fact that the local flyboys had been mixing their own gas cocktails for years to save money—and making out just fine, thank you very much.

The avgas the government demanded was more expensive to make, and with the price per barrel the government was willing to pay fixed at such a low amount, there was no way in hell a small businessman like himself could hope to make the same kind of killing as the bigger companies were making.

Neil had decided to take matters into his own hands. Shortly after getting the contract to supply some of the fuel needed at Goodfellow—and it galled him down to his toes not to be providing it all—he’d hit on a plan to increase his profit margin substantially.

The higher the octane demanded, the more expensive the product was to make. Who would be the wiser if he mixed in some cheaper, more plentiful ingredients? He’d spent a fair bit of time palling around with some of the local barnstormers and other hobbyists, listening to their anecdotes, mentally taking notes. The information they’d provided him had been well worth the price of the beer he’d bought them.

Thanks to them he’d figured out a way to manipulate the process, substituting cheaper materials for the more expensive, and saving himself a pile of dough in the bargain.

It wasn’t like anyone was going to get hurt, after all. Sure, those plane engines might shit out a bit more exhaust and experience the occasional hiccup, maybe they’d run a little hot now and then. But hell, those kids were learning to fly in
wartime
. He figured any man who got into the cockpit of a pursuit plane ought to know how to handle the unexpected.

The way he saw it, he was actually doing those flyboys a favor.

His plan had been fairly simple to implement, the “quality inspections” the army insisted upon easy to circumvent, and already he was seeing his profits grow. No one knew when the war would be over. He’d hired a few more workers to beef up his crew, and he’d been careful in picking some farm boys who weren’t particularly smart. Production was up, too, thanks to the additional shipments from some wells right here in Texas.