Her Three Protectors [The Hot Millionaires #3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

Anderson was wearing a tank top and cargo pants, combat boots on his feet. She got a close-up view of his torso and didn’t find anything to object to in his toned musculature, bulging biceps, and trim waist. This guy spent a lot of hours keeping in shape, and she suspected his ripped body didn’t result exclusively from time wasted throwing weights about in a gym. He was a man of action, and in spite of her perilous situation, she wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of the type of action he reserved for the opposite sex. It had been a while, and being constantly in fear for her life appeared to be the ultimate aphrodisiac.

“Georgio should have warned you that he’d sent us mob handed.” Anderson’s voice was pitched low, a hint of anger resonating in his tone, like he didn’t appreciate people wasting his time.

Porcha shrugged. “Georgio is a law unto himself.”

“I’m Troy Anderson.” He extended a large hand, and Porcha instinctively gripped it, feeling a reaction all the way to her pussy when his long fingers closed firmly around it and held it for a protracted period. Porcha had large hands and feet to go along with her large breasts, but Troy’s grasp made her right hand feel small. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Er, Jean Ballantine.” She flashed a brief smile. “Likewise, I think. Sorry about the less-than-enthusiastic reception. I guess I’m a bit on edge.”

“Which, presumably, is why Georgio sent us.” Troy shook his head. “He didn’t actually enlighten us as to your precise needs.”

“Me either. I still don’t know why he thought I needed three of you.”

“If you tell us why we’re here, I’ll figure it out.”

“Huh-hum.”

Troy turned to the cause of the interruption.

“This is Adam Cole.” Troy indicated another tall hunk with blond beach-boy good looks and a body to match. Porcha’s hand disappeared in his as he took his turn to put the make on her, deep blue eyes sparkling with good nature.

“Nice to meet you.”

“And last but not least, this is Beck Easton.”

“Damn right I’m not the least.”

Beck flexed impressive biceps to prove the point. He was long haired, too. Deep brown locks curled round a resourceful face that sported soft gray eyes, a square jaw, and a beautifully shaped mouth that constantly drew her eye.

“Pleased to meet you, Beck.”

Porcha shook his hand, feeling rather breathless at the invasion of her space by these testosterone-fuelled jocks. She noticed Troy glancing round, taking in the closed shades and the fact that the furniture was arranged well away from the windows. Porcha turned the dead bolt and then two other locks, observing the speaking look that Troy shared with his buddies as she made the penthouse secure.

“A beautiful lady locking me in with her,” Beck said, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t know it was my birthday.”

Damn it, they weren’t supposed to think she was beautiful! That’s partly what the disguise was all about. Porcha wasn’t the slightest bit vain, but she’d discovered this past week that, along with her body, her looks drew the type of attention she could well do without.

“Quit fooling about, Beck,” Troy said sharply, “and give the lady a chance to tell us why we’re here.”

“Who’s fooling?”

“How can we be of service, ma’am?”

Adam actually made her laugh when he accompanied his question with a courtly bow. It sounded unnatural, mainly because it seemed like forever since she’d had anything to laugh about. It felt good to relax her vigilance, even momentarily, and she was aware of just a little of the coiled tension trickling out of her.

“It’s nothing really, which is why I’m embarrassed that Georgio sent all of you. I’ve lost my passport, that’s all.” She wasn’t ready to trust them yet and said the first ridiculous thing that occurred to her, accompanying her words with a helpless flap of her hands. The scatty-female bit usually did the trick. “Georgio’s an old friend and said he’d arrange for a new one so I could get home to England.”

“You’re British?” Beck asked.

Porcha smiled. “What gave me away?”

Beck clutched his hands dramatically over his heart. “I adore British women.”

“You adore all women,” Adam pointed out.

“Hey, what can I say?” Beck spread his hands and grinned boyishly. “I’m just a red-blooded male who likes to—”

“This lost passport. You couldn’t go to the embassy?” Adam asked.

Porcha shook her head. “That wasn’t an option.”

“I don’t have time for this bullshit!” Troy’s angry outburst caused all heads to swivel his way. “Georgio clearly knows you personally and likes you, or he wouldn’t have sent us. He’s not in the habit of sending his best operatives on fools’ errands.” He fixed Porcha with an icy stare. “If you want our help, and something tells me that you need it rather badly, then you’d best start leveling with us.”

At his acerbic tone, the woman calling herself Jean Ballantine instantly lowered her gaze to the floor. She lifted it again just as quickly, but Troy didn’t miss her instinctive reaction.
Well, well, who would have thought it?
This uptight, seriously frightened Brit was a player. The way she responded so automatically to a dominant male voice spoke of a very well-trained sub. Beck and Adam would have noticed, too. Beck liked to play the fool, but it was all an act. He was as sharp as the rest of them. Both of his partners were now probably as intrigued by the female they’d come to help as he was. Something about her caught Troy’s attention the moment she let them into the apartment, turning his annoyance at being screwed with into a genuine desire to help her.

“Let’s start with your name,” Troy suggested. “That ought to be easy enough. Your real name.”

The woman flashed him a defiant look. “I already told you that.”

“Who or what has frightened you?” Troy softened his tone. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what we’re up against.”

Beck stood and glanced out the window at the park opposite, careful not to move the blind more than an inch or two. He nodded once, telling Troy that the person they’d noticed loitering there earlier was still watching the building. It was too much to assume that someone else living in this high-end apartment block was under surveillance—someone other than the petrified woman who’d done such a poor job of disguising herself. The watcher was good. So good that Troy’s crew had almost missed him. They were up against fellow professionals, which told him just how urgently this woman needed to trust them.

Their client sank into the chair opposite his and dropped her head into her hands. She was teetering on the edge—scared half out of her wits. Who the hell was she? One thing was for sure, she wasn’t a natural blonde. Good. Troy wasn’t big on blondes. He’d put money on her not needing those hideous glasses, either. She was a beautiful woman—Beck had got that right—and her disguise…well, it simply wasn’t one. There was no altering the high cheekbones that made her heart-shaped face appear so exotic, the wide mouth with full lips that cried out to be kissed, the delicate little nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end, the narrow forehead currently creased with indecision.

There was squat all she could do about those aspects of her appearance, but she’d been slightly more successful with her eyes. They were huge—almost too large for her fragile face. They turned up like a cat’s at the corners and were fringed with thick lashes that definitely weren’t blonde. The glasses only magnified their size and the fear lurking beneath what Troy guessed were coloured lenses.

The subject of his fascination was tall for a woman—probably five nine or ten, with not an ounce of fat on her. The baggy jeans she wore couldn’t hide the length of her legs. Christ, they went on forever! The seat of those jeans flapped round her buttocks, telling him there was a cute little ass beneath all that extraneous fabric. Troy’s cock stood up and took a lively interest in the proceedings. Now was definitely not the time to be entertaining such thoughts, but his prick didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

Troy lifted his gaze to her upper body, almost smiling at the inefficient job her loose shirt was doing of hiding her assets. Most people didn’t realize that loose clothing gave as much away about the body it was covering as its tighter cousin did. The fabric flattened against her breasts when she moved, giving all three men a clear impression of the firm flesh contained within an outsized bra.

Jesus!

“Talk to us, love,” Troy said through tightly gritted teeth. “You trust Georgio, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Completely.”

“We’re the best he’s got,” Adam told her. “Troy here wasn’t too pleased when he thought we were being sent on a babysitting assignment and almost turned it down. You have me to thank for our being here. I told him there had to be more to it than that.”

“I’m not. I…That is—”

“Georgio never sends us out without fully briefing us first,” Beck mused. “This time he told us nothing. That means he doesn’t know exactly what problems you’ve gotten yourself involved in himself but cares enough to want you protected by the elite of the elite.”

She flashed a brief smile at Beck’s immodest statement, but it was gone again almost immediately. Troy reached forward, pulled the glasses from her face, and peered through the lenses. As expected, they were clear glass.

“You don’t need these.”

“How did you know?” She scrunched up her lovely features. “I thought they made me look rather secretarial.”

“You’re not a blonde, either,” Troy said, avoiding her question.

“She’s not?” Beck pretended to be distraught, but Troy knew he and Adam would already have reached the same conclusions he had. “I’m devastated.”

“Oh, what the hell!”

The woman reached up, pulled off the wig, removed the cap beneath it, and shook out a flowing curtain of rich chestnut hair. There was a sharp intake of breath from all three men.

“The damned wig itched like hell anyway.”

“I think I’ve gone right off blondes,” Beck declared dramatically. “Chestnut’s the only colour for me now.”

Troy hitched a brow. “Lenses?”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“Much as I’d like to agree with you, we’re no better than the people who’re after you. You won’t fool them, either.”

Her head snapped up. “What makes you think I’m being pursued?”

“Oh, little things like the disguise, the fact that you won’t even tell us your name, that you’re scared shitless—”

“And that someone’s over the road watching this block,” Adam added.

“What!” She leapt from her chair. “They’ve found me already. I need to get out of here right now.”

Troy grasped her arm and forced her back into her chair. “No one will get to you while we’re here.”

“Count on it,” Beck added.

“But you can’t be sure of that. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

Troy spoke in a tone of rigid determination. “The same could be said of us.”

“Trust us, angel,” Beck said softly. “At least tell us your name.”

“Didn’t Georgio even tell you that much?”

“Nope.” Adam shook his head. “Which is damned odd.”

She reached for her bag at the side of the chair, extracted a small pot, and lowered her head over it. At first Troy thought she was taking medication. They he realized it was a container for the lenses she was removing from her eyes. When she completed her task and looked up, all three of them audibly gasped. Adam went one stage further and swore. The largest, greenest eyes Troy had ever seen blinked at them as their owner adjusted to the removal of the lenses. A man could possibly drown just looking into those damned emerald-green eyes with flecks of gold ringing the irises. He’d definitely go that extra mile to rid them of the sheer terror reflected in their depths.

Troy exchanged a glance with his partners, their expressions mirroring what was going through his own mind.

They were in trouble. Big trouble.

“Good.” Troy somehow managed to talk in a normal voice, ignoring the raging hard-on that he didn’t have a hope in hell of quelling. He didn’t need to look at his buddies to guess that they’d be similarly afflicted. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Unlike me
. “Now, how about your name.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Porcha,” she said.

“Unusual name.” Adam smiled at her. “I like it.”

Yeah, it was an unusual name all right, and Porcha was one beautiful woman. Uniquely so. He’d heard of that name connected to another beautiful woman. Could they be one and the same? He sure as hell hoped not, because if she was they were in deep shit.

“Tell me you’re not Porcha Gonzalez,” Troy pleaded.

Beck shot him a look. “Salvador Gonzalez’s wife?”

“The Mexican drug lord?” Adam looked shocked, and it took a lot to shock Troy’s outfit. They’d seen and done it all, and then some. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m afraid so, but I go by my maiden name of Ballantine.”

Porcha held the gaze of each of them in turn. Troy wasn’t sure what she read in their expressions, but it caused her to burst into tears. And Troy was betting she wasn’t the type to cry easily. Troy looked at her, then at his partners, and shrugged.