Three Men and a Woman: Evangeline (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (9 page)

She was up for all of it and didn’t require that he go gentle on her. Pretty soon she was panting, humping back to get more cock. Unable to hold back any longer, he rolled on top of her. Then he banged her hard, slapping up against that sweet ass, fingering her clit good.

She was shaking, overcome, as he got her there. He didn’t let up but pushed her harder until she was shrieking, until the hot spasms of her cunt drove him to his own brutal climax.

He collapsed on top of her, involuntary tremors still rattling through him. It was several long minutes before he had the good grace to roll off and let her breathe.

It was an action he bitterly regretted the next time he woke.

She was gone.

Evangeline wasn’t proud of the way she left Giovanni. It felt a little skanky—mean, even—waiting for him to fall asleep again, lying quietly with him until the sky started to lighten and then sneaking away. She was afraid he would be hurt.

It had been different with Briggs. He was off on a trip to Scotland. There’d been no question of them hanging around, spending the day together or whatever. Well, there’d been that thing where he’d asked her to go with him. But she hadn’t taken that seriously. That had been a spur of the moment, sex-drugged ramble, not a genuine invitation.

She was pretty sure.

Briggs wouldn’t really miss her, wouldn’t really regret that she’d saved him an awkward good-bye.

She hoped.

She suspected it would be different with Giovanni. What had happened between them, well, it hadn’t been just play. She thought he’d been serious, that he’d want—more.

Maybe it was wrong of her to have let it happen. It was just—he’d taken her by surprise, appearing in front of her so unexpectedly, looking at her with heat in those dark eyes. She hadn’t been prepared.

But no, it wasn’t just those things.

She shouldn’t even try to lie to herself.

If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that, as she’d driven away from Briggs, contemplating her life and her place in the world, there’d been some resentment. The hours she’d spent with Briggs had left her wanting something.

She was a woman of twenty-nine. And yes, her life was full and happy, and she could feel satisfied loving her three friends from afar.

But there was satisfied, and then, she now knew, there was
satisfied
.

And so maybe she’d been a bit careless when she let Giovanni carry her to his room, a bit reckless. Like a drunk falling off the wagon, she’d lost all control. She’d had binge sex. She’d gotten wasted on it.

She should have done better, by him and for herself as well. She should have behaved in a way such that she didn’t have to slip into yesterday’s dress, carry her heels, and tiptoe out of a man’s room at dawn.

A man who she was pretty sure would be angry and hurt to wake up alone.

Well, she couldn’t change it.

If he was hurt and angry enough, it was possible that he would find her to complain about it. It wasn’t like she was hiding. Exactly.

She would deal with it if it happened. At the moment, her little walk of shame was the best she could manage.

She used the room she’d reserved only to shower and dress in the simple skirt and top she’d planned to wear to the brunch. She wouldn’t stay for that—it turned out she was more of a coward than she’d known.

It wasn’t until she was back on the Thruway heading east that she breathed easily.

She got to the hospital in Rochester early and sat with Aunt Winona. The narcotics she was given to help her manage pain also kept her pretty sedated, but she was at her best in the morning hours. She was in and out, waking to chat about the farm, the grape weather, and the children of Victory Farms, and then dozing.

After a couple hours, when Winona was drifting to sleep again, Evangeline kissed her cheek and told her good-bye. She’d done that three or four times in the last three weeks, never knowing if it would be the last time.

Then, as she walked out of the hospital, she heard her name called and knew that fate was really fucking with her.

* * * *

Chase Gregory worked three fourteen-hour shifts a week and on Sunday morning was just coming off a stretch of nights. It was never good when his third night landed on a Saturday. Everyone knew Saturday night in the ED sucked ass, and last night had been no exception. The area was just getting into the swing of summer, and folks were staying up too late, drinking too much, and mixing those two factors with boats and motorcycles and guns. Not good.

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.