Her Three Protectors [The Hot Millionaires #3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (13 page)

“Your wish is my command, boss man,” she said.

Troy rolled his eyes at Adam. “Damned right it is.”

“What do you have planned for tonight?” Adam asked.

“Does it have something to do with this?” Beck asked, bounding up the stairs from the garage and handing a package to Troy. “I just went out for a run and caught the delivery man on my way back.”

“Ah yes, that would be it.”

Smiling, Troy showed his buddies what he’d purchased and told them what he had planned for the evening.

“Christ!” Beck scrubbed a hand down his face. “Do you think she can take it?”

“I think she’ll take everything we ask her to and still come back for more.”

“Roll on this evening,” Adam said with feeling. “I’ve just fucked her, and I’m rock hard again already.” He shook his head. “What is it about her?”

“Hell if I know,” Troy said, “but I feel it, too.”

“And me,” Beck agreed, nodding. “Best not to fight it. Just go with the flow and see where it leads.”

“I think we know where that will be.” Adam raised his eyes to the upper floors.

“No,” Troy said quietly. “Well, yes, actually, but there’s a damned sight more to it than that. She’s gotten right to me.”

“No arguments there,” the other two said, practically at once.

Adam and Beck both headed for the shower while Troy pulled together a sandwich lunch. He thought about Porcha as he worked, about the profound impact she’d had on their lives in the short time they’d known her, and where they’d stand with her once they’d sorted her problems. The thought of her returning to England wrenched at his gut. If he had any say in the matter, it wasn’t gonna happen, and he was pretty sure that the others felt exactly the same way. They’d never factored a permanent woman into their thinking, but Porcha was special. Her sort came along once in a lifetime—if you were lucky—and they’d be idiots if they let her go.

Troy and his buddies had shared so many women in the past that he’d lost count. He’d certainly forgotten most of their names. None of them had left even a temporary impression. Porcha, on the other hand, had breezed into their lives and turned their organized existence firmly on its ass without being aware that she’d done it.

Against all the odds, it appeared that the unthinkable had happened. In just a few short days, Troy Anderson, a hard man with a “love ’em and leave ’em” reputation, had fallen head over heels in love.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said aloud, not nearly so afraid of the emotion as he’d thought would be the case.

“Very likely,” Adam agreed, strolling into the room. “What’s condemned you to hell on this particular occasion?”

“I think I’ve met my match in Porcha,” he admitted sheepishly. “Never felt this way before.”

He expected Adam to guffaw. Instead he merely shook his head and smiled. “You and me both, buddy. Beck, too, I shouldn’t wonder. We can’t let her go.”

“She might not want to stay.”

Adam’s grin was positively lethal. “Then we’ll just have to persuade her, won’t we?”

“Persuade who to do what?” Beck asked as he joined them.

“Porcha not to go back to England.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Beck said with absolute certainty. “She’s staying right here with us, where she belongs.”

The three guys shared high clenched fists, just as a naked Porcha walked into the kitchen.

“What are you celebrating?” she asked.

All three of them ran their eyes down the length of her body and grinned.

“We’re celebrating having you, darlin’,” Troy told her, pulling out a chair for her at the kitchen table.

“You have
the
most amazing tits,” Beck told her, sitting across from her and ogling them shamelessly. “I could look at them all day.”

“You have been,” Adam reminded him.

“Just sayin’.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Adam grinned. “And if we get tired of looking at the tits, there’s always those legs and that cute butt to offer us a different view.”

“There’s something about having a beautiful, naked woman sitting at the table that gives me an appetite.” Troy took a healthy bite of his tuna-and-mayo sandwich to prove his point.

“Eat up, Porcha.” Adam held a sandwich to her lips. “You need to keep your strength up. Troy’s got plans for us all tonight that will require stamina.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

“What is it, sweetheart?” they all asked together.

“You got me excited, and I just leaked all over the chair.”

The three men roared with laughter.

“Doesn’t take much to excite you, does it?” Adam remarked.

“If you think that your three cocks aren’t much, then I guess I’d have to agree.”

“Well, Adam’s might not be much to write home about,” Beck said, grinning, “but I’m packing a huge woody right this very moment.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Troy told him curtly. “Our little sub needs to get some rest this afternoon so she can service us all later.”

“I can wait,” Beck said, fingering his prick through his shorts. “I can wait ’cause I know it’ll be worth waiting for.”

As soon as lunch was cleared away, Troy took them all into the study and told them he’d decided to go ahead with the e-mail to Georgio.

“The way I see it,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “is that Sal went to Mexico with Woollard and we don’t know who else and got knocked off. Whether or not Woollard’s still alive is uncertain. Whether he was involved in setting his boss up is another unknown. Porcha saw her home overrun with gunmen who might have been looking for her or something she possesses. Either way,
someone’s
out to get her, and I don’t intend to sit back and wait for that someone to come to us.”

“Glad to hear it,” Beck said.

Adam nodded. “Me, too.”

“If Woollard’s alive then he’s either a hero or the villain of the piece.” Troy paused. “The limited information we have points to the latter.”

“I agree,” Beck said.

“But we don’t even know if Woollard got out of Mexico alive,” Adam pointed out. “We’re just assuming he’s behind all this.”

“More an educated guess,” Troy said. “I never make assumptions.”

“I could ring the house and ask for him,” Porcha said. “And then hang up if they said they were going to get him.”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t. They’d recognize your voice. One of us could make the call, but I already rang the guardroom without a valid reason. I suspect that both the house and guardroom numbers aren’t in general circulation.” Porcha nodded. “Well then, if Woollard is alive he’ll have been told about the bogus call to the guardhouse. If you call the house as well, it’ll alert him that we’re up to something.”

“I suppose.”

“I think we should call anyway,” Adam said. “It’s ridiculous setting up a campaign against a man when we don’t even know if he’s in the country.”

Troy grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s the house number, babe?”

She told him. Troy picked up the secure line, dialed the number, and asked for Woollard when it was answered.

“A friend of Mrs. Gonzalez’s,” he said, presumably when asked who was calling.

Troy hung up. “They were going to get him,” he said.

“Well,” Beck said cheerfully. “At least we know now who we’re up against.”

“What we know,” Troy said, “is that Woollard went to Mexico with his boss. That boss got whacked, but Woollard came back, presumably unscathed, and took over Sal’s operation.”

“Looks that way,” Adam and Beck said together.

“I spoke to Georgio whilst Adam and Porcha were playing earlier, and he knows what we’re doing.” Troy clicked a few keys and a laptop screen sprang into life. “This is what I think Porcha should say in her initial contact.”

They all peered at the screen, nodding their approval.

“I’ve said that she’ll be meeting her contact at that particular mall because it’s small, out of the way, and easy for the three of us to cover if we get there far enough in advance. It doesn’t get a lot of traffic, so if things get nasty, the likelihood of any passersby getting caught in the cross fire is remote.”

“Will our reputations ever recover?” Beck asked, acting the fool as usual. “You’re encouraging this gorgeous creature to pretend that she’s immune to our charms. Once her words are committed to cyberspace, there’s no pulling ’em back.”

“You don’t have any charm,” Adam pointed out.

“Don’t need it with what I’ve got here,” he responded, grabbing his groin.

“Shut it, you two.” Troy waved a hand at them. “What do you think, Porcha? Still wanna do this?”

“Absolutely!”

“Okay, turn your iPad on. This will need to go from your account, obviously.”

Once she’d logged on, Troy quickly transferred the message to an e-mail from her address and pressed send.

“Now then, we’re going to teach you a few more things about taking care of yourself that you might not already know,” Troy told her.

“We always plan for the best but prepare for the worst,” Adam added.

“If we’ve missed something vital and you get taken and held,” Beck said, “there’s almost always some way out, or something to help you defend yourself, if you know what you’re looking for.”

For the next hour they drilled stuff into her head. Porcha was a quick study and seldom needed to be told anything twice.

“Of course,” Troy said. “The easiest way out of any locked room is simply to pick the lock. Ever tried it?”

“No. They make it look easy on films, just running a credit card along the slot and it magically opens.”

“Can’t rely on having a credit card on hand, but these little babies are easy to conceal.” Troy flashed a lockpick beneath her nose.

“So are these.” Adam waved another tiny gadget at her. “Small but ever so tough.”

“You could slip both inside your bra and no one would ever notice,” Beck said, grinning. “What’s a little extra weight when you’re already packing so much?”

“We’re serious about this, Porcha,” Troy said. “Come on, I’ll give you a beginner’s course in lock picking.”

Half an hour later she had it down pat and was able to open a lock blindfolded.

“Not quite the situation I had in mind for a blindfold,” Beck said, “but I guess it’s a start.”

“Okay, that should do it.”

A screen flashed to tell Troy that he had an e-mail.

“It’s from Georgio,” he said, clicking on it. “I asked him to see what he could find out about Woollard.”

Troy read quickly. “Ben Woollard is twenty-eight and has been Sal’s right-hand man for eight years, completely loyal, hard as nails, blah, blah. That jibes with what you told us, Porcha.”

“Present whereabouts unknown,” Beck read over Troy’s shoulder. “Fat lot of fucking good that is.”

Troy clicked on the attachment and a picture of a fit-looking guy with close-cropped blond hair filled the screen. “That him?”

“Yes.” Porcha shuddered. “That’s the creep.”

“Well, at least we know now who we’re looking for,” Adam said. “Presumably, he’ll turn up in person.”

“Time will tell,” Troy said grimly. “Porcha, go and get some rest. We’ve got stuff to do, and then Adam’s gonna cook us a feast to prepare us for the games to come.” Troy placed an arm round her bare shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll come and wake you in a couple of hours with the clothes we want you to wear at dinner.”

She dropped her eyes when he made it obvious that his mind was no longer on the battle with Woollard but games of a very different nature. She looked indescribably endearing as she submitted to him so instinctively. Troy somehow resisted the urge to bend her over his desk and fuck…No, not fuck. He was amazed to discover that his feelings were tender. He wanted to make love to her—give her every possible pleasure, mindless of his own needs—right here amongst his precious computer screens, for the rest of the afternoon. Troy
never
made love. He fucked, pure and simple. What the hell was she doing to him? To them all?

“Yes, masters,” she said, turning on her heel and heading for the stairs.

All three of them watched her cute ass until it disappeared from view.

“Geez, she’s killing us,” Beck said for them all, running his hand through his hair and expelling a long sigh of frustration.

* * * *

Troy surfed through a dozen incoming e-mails, turning down two potential jobs without referring them to the others. Whilst they worked for Georgio a lot of the time, they also freelanced, picking and choosing their assignments because they were the best, much in demand, but didn’t need the money.

“Christ, a spoiled rich kid needs protecting.” He turned up his nose and deleted the proposed assignment without bothering to respond. “What the hell do these people think we are? Fucking nursemaids?”

Adam was taking his turn in the gym, and Beck was sprawled on a couch, reading a political biography. Anyone who didn’t know him well tended to think he was an airhead, which was precisely what he wanted them to think. But Beck was at least as smart as the rest of them. He certainly pulled his weight in the crew, even if he was sometimes a bit of a hothead.