Three to Play

KRIS COOK

Copyright © 2009

Chapter One

Clint Moore walked into the radio station’s control booth and smiled at the shiny, black and stainless steel equipment. Very cutting-edge for a market this size. Nice. Best of all, no Beth Taylor. At least not yet. Not that she mattered.

Due to his agreement with the station’s management, he’d have to allow her a trial period on the show he usually shared exclusively with his pal, Dustin Lake. They made a successful broadcasting duo that stations brought in to boost sagging ratings. He had no plans to make it a trio. After a few weeks, he would demand Beth’s dismissal from the morning time slot. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You must be one of the new guys.” Said the overnight announcer, who looked to be in his mid-fifties, gray hair matching his mustache.

“Clint.”

“You’re early. You even beat Beth.” The announcer extended his hand. “I’m Ted.”

He shook Ted’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And the other guy on your team?”

“I always come in earlier than Dustin. I like extra prep time for the show.”

Clint looked at the digital clock on the wall.
Three-fifteen a.m
. Their airtime started at six, but he always arrived early. Dustin, who buzzed in near show time, give or take thirty minutes, constantly laughed about that.

Though they saw things from opposite sides of the universe, they’d been close friends since college.

“Good luck today.” Ted smiled and donned his headphones.

Most anyone would find the overnight guy easy to trust. Clint rarely let his guard down. Besides, he and Dustin would only be around long enough to learn names and boost ratings, not long enough to remember anyone once they’d gone to the next assignment.

The other man turned his mic hot. “You’re listening to ninety-four point seven FM, Talk Radio. I’m Ted Scott. Today’s forecast, cold, temperatures dipping to…”

As Ted gave the weather, Clint quietly moved to the adjacent studio, the location of most of the station’s live broadcasts. Three positions for the announcers, with mics, keyboards with flat screens, and comfy chairs faced each other. Two other spots for guests rounded out the space. Clint spotted the chair he would claim: the one facing the control booth window.

“Don’t even think about it.” A female’s voice jolted him from his inspection.

He turned and found one helluva sexy woman standing by the door, glaring at him. He guessed early thirties. Piercing blue eyes. Dark shoulder length hair half-tucked under a ball cap. Her lips were plump, naked, and naturally red. Nicely curved body. She wore hip-hugging jeans that clung in all the right places. A snug V-neck icy-blue sweater made her full breasts impossible to ignore. A wave of hot lust coursed down to his dick.

“About what?” he said as innocently as he could muster.

“That chair. It’s mine.” She arched a dark brow. “At least for the time being.”

This was day one of the new gig. The pissing match had already begun.

“You must be Beth Taylor.”

“In the flesh.” She cocked her head to one side in defiance.

And boy, what flesh. How amazing it would be to plunge deep into her. Every move she made pulled at him. His dick responded in record speed as he imagined how she might look cuffed to his bed as he stuffed every one of his inches into tight pussy.

Clint frowned. He never mixed business with pleasure and never had difficulty restraining his hormones. Something about Beth jacked with his control.

Unacceptable. He needed to keep his mind on business.

“Which one are you?” Beth flung each word like a dart.

 
Already he liked her. No beating around the bush, just in-your-face brashness. He’d always had a thing for slightly older women, hot and comfortable in their own skin, like Beth.

“Clint Moore.” He pointed to the closest chair to him. “This one will work for me.”

“What are you, twenty-one?” she scoffed.

He sat, hoping Beth hadn’t spotted his arousal. “I turned thirty a couple of weeks ago.”

Beth rolled her eyes and walked around to
her
chair. Then she plugged in her headphones and waved at Ted behind the glass. “How old is the other half of your duo?”

“There’s a month difference in age. We’re old enough to be good at our jobs.” He heard the steel in his voice and hoped she did too.

“Well, we should lay down some ground rules for you
boys
.”

Boy? He’d love to lay her down and show her differently. And rules? Hell yes—but his, while she learned to call him master.

“We’ll wait for Dustin.”

Trying to have a conversation that made any sense when more heat pulsed into his dick would be next to impossible. The woman and her confidence were getting to him. Clearly used to calling her own shots, Clint itched to bend her to his will, to tame her. Visions of her tied up, spread-eagle and ready for him swamped brain.

He needed to find his bearings. Once Dustin arrived, he could let his friend charm Beth. That was his buddy’s gift. Clint had other talents.

“You need backup to work this out? Hoping to double-team me?” Beth glared at him. “Don’t think I’m a pushover.”

Double-team?
Clint and Dustin had been drunk a few times and shared women. They never stayed too long in any market to develop a relationship, so ménages happened. E
E
xpedient and fun, though the encounters leaned to a tamer side of sex than Clint typically enjoyed.

Above it all, he and Dustin had one rule: no sex with other announcers. Especially not this announcer, no matter how badly he suspected having her between him and Dustin naked and moaning would be amazing.

Damn.
He shouldn’t be thinking about fucking Beth. His job was to minimize her role on the show, not coax his way into her panties.

In the past ten years, only two other stations made them take on the current time slot holder. Every underperformer had been relegated to a less important time or canned altogether inside a month. Clint didn’t care which fate befell Beth. He had a goal: land a job on New York radio, to ink a syndication deal, make it big. When it happened, only Dustin would be by his side.

* * * *

Clint Moore didn’t just piss Beth off; he got under her skin.

He didn’t look like any announcer she’d ever worked with. Short brown hair, matching goatee. Carmel-colored eyes. A square jaw. He wore a white button-down shirt that couldn’t hide the killer body underneath. At least four inches over six feet, muscled chest, biceps as big as her thighs, a perfectly round butt that made her drool. He looked built for a football field, not a broadcasting studio.

Corporate had made it very clear that he and his friend would join her on the station’s morning show.
 
She wasn’t dumb. She knew that meant she was fighting for her job. Worse, Clint, a man ten years her junior, affected her libido.

The hot stud adjusted the microphone’s height so it lined up with his sexy mouth. No wonder he and his friend dominated the female demographic. Every in-person broadcast at a car dealership or new store opening would ensure the women stayed tuned in and turned on. No doubt Candi, the station’s program director, would put that handsome face on billboards beside every major freeway in the city.

All last night, she’d strategized how this meeting would proceed. Boy, she’d missed the mark. She hadn’t expected him to be so scrumptious. For him to throw her off balance.

She needed to back away, think and wrap her head around a new plan.

Why the hell did he avoid her interrogation? It seemed highly unlikely that she intimidated him. His demeanor of careful restraint told Beth that he rarely let anyone get to him and that he retained tight control of most situations. She must not allow him that power, or she’d be just another casualty of Clint Moore and Dustin Lake.

“Why are you afraid of some harmless questions?” Beth challenged.

“Beth, trust me. You want to wait. I’m not here to be your buddy, and I don’t give a shit what you think. If you want a conversation, it will go better with Dustin. He’s more…” Clint frowned, clearly in thought.

Was she tripping up the whiz kid? Goodie.

She pushed him. “What?”

“Affable.”

She couldn’t figure out his accent. His diction seemed to place him as a native of the Midwest, but some of his phrasing seemed like he might be from New England. She’d known many radio broadcasters who worked to change their accents, thinking it would help their careers. According to the boss, real or not, Clint absolutely delivered ratings that soared to the top of any market he invaded. She wasn’t surprised that he sounded so damn sexy.

“If you can’t handle it, I’ll wait.” Beth looked down at her notes,
but she wouldn’t wait for long. She didn’t have much time. According to Google and her broadcasting buddies around the country, Moore and Lake left a trail of unemployed announcers in their dust. Beth refused to go down without a fight.

Taking in a breath, Beth planted her hands on the desk. She dared not pick them up lest Clint would see her hands shaking. Her reaction stemmed, in part, from anger. How dare he come into her studio and think he could run her out. The other part? Well, a woman couldn’t help but appreciate such a fine specimen.

“Until Dustin shows, where can I get some coffee, Beth?”

God, his voice could hypnotize anyone, no matter how unwilling.

“Out that door, turn left. The break room is at the end of the hall.” Was he testing her with the little request? Damn, she’d answered too quickly. Like she was
his
subordinate.

“Got it.” He stood up and stretched his massive arms over his head, revealing the most delicious slice of his six-pack.

A wave of light-headedness swept over her. Clint took two steps to the door before Beth shook her head. She would
not
lose herself to some schoolgirl fantasy. Corporate may be in charge of the station, but Beth would not willingly turn the reins of
her
show over to this hotshot or his absent friend. Best he learned the pecking order right now.

“Bring me a cup, too.” An order, not a request. She smiled tightly.

He raised a brow, as if acknowledging that he understood her game and found it amusing. “How would you like it?”

Naked. Sweaty.
She cleared her throat. “Cream. No sugar.”

He turned, and she lasered in on his butt.
Oh my God.

She better get a grip. He was the enemy. His name now held top billing in the new morning show, not hers.

Beth couldn’t imagine how much salary Candi gave the new duo, but it must’ve been enormous. Ratings ruled broadcasting, and paychecks. Always had. Beth eked out some good numbers over the years herself. In fact, until the arrival of the two men, she’d expected to continue delivering the best ratings at the station. But for the past two years, she’d slipped a few points. Nothing too alarming, but Beth felt the pressure, especially since the family who had owned the station for years sold out to an Atlanta-based national conglomerate six months ago. With Candi running things now…

When the door shut, she let out a long sigh just as Ted walked in.