No Simple Sacrifice Page 3

  He arched a brow. “Like I could forget?”

  Again, as if cued by a stage director, Anya twirled her way over to us. “Auntie Talia, aren’t you going to have cake? It’s a really big one, with pink and blue roses, and Aurora and Elsa, and rabbits and butterflies.” She peered up at Drake and me, too. “My mama said you two could have some, since you’re Auntie’s friends.”

  “I would love a piece—of cake.” I slid Talia a sexy grin. “I really hope it’s chocolate.”

  “How did you know?” Anya grinned and grabbed my hand—the one not occupied with stealing a fast feel of my woman’s delectable ass. Later, I’d blame Drake for starting the feel-up-fest—which he had. “Well, part of it is,” the little girl went on. “And the icing is fluffy, not that yucky kind. I made sure Mama got the right kind this time. Last year, at my circus party? The goat from the petting zoo ate the cake!”

  Anya towed us back to the heart-shaped table where the dessert was being sliced. She talked nonstop until we reached the others, covering every subject from rude goats to her favorite crayon colors to an upcoming trip to visit the Magic Kingdom princesses in a few weeks. “Look!” she cried out at last. “I found them. They were over in the corner, hugging. Weren’t you, Auntie?”

  “Anya, that’s enough.” Katrina—Anya’s mother and Talia’s sister—finally stepped forward to curb her enthusiasm. “Let’s serve the cake. Then we can open presents.”

  The little girls chorused their wild approval of present opening. Apparently, the love of gifts started young in the XX genetic camp.

  Fifteen sugar comas and at least thirty presents later, Kat declared the party a success. Drake and I, through a silent but mutual pact, had blended our way farther into the background during the gift opening—and thanked ourselves for it. We’d been treated to the pleasure of watching our girl interact with her family and the children. She’d been, in a word, amazing. Over the course of an hour, she’d captivated me in at least a hundred new ways. Always patient with the young ones, then loving and gentle with her elders, she was everything a true princess should be.

  That made it all the harder to process the tense air between the woman and her mother. I hoped our presence hadn’t made things harder on Talia, but none of the other guests seemed fazed by the scowling and mumbling, so it would stand to reason that it was the nature of their relationship. This was definitely something we would chat about tonight—but not until after Drake and I made her scream our names a few times.

  Maybe more than a few.

  Tapping once more into the telepathic line she seemingly had to my brain, Talia lifted her head. Circled until she found my gaze…and met it. Goddamn. Her sexy brown eyes sparkled with new desire and her lips parted in the tiniest, most perfect O.

  Yeah. The woman could sure as fuck read me from across the room. The last time I’d beheld that look on her face, it was just after I’d made her come hard. My face had been buried between her legs, my cock aching to replace it.

  I pushed up from the wall, arching a brow at Drake. He nodded in support.

  It was so time to collect our woman.

  We waded into the thick of the party again, saying polite but hurried goodbyes. Already, my body sizzled from the electricity between us. Drake appeared to have a fever as well. No goddamn way was Tolly not coming home with us. The only struggle between Drake and me would be who drove, and who got to entertain her in the back seat.

  I leaned toward Drake. “I’m so glad you drove, control freak.”

  “Fuck off,” he gritted. “I’ve let you drive my Range Rover. Even while I was in it, which is basically putting my life into your hands. And, besides, you had her last time on the way home, dickhead.”

  “RPS, then?”

  He rolled his eyes at my suggestion. Just then, Talia joined us. “What’s RPS?”

  I chuckled. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

  “Oh, is this the way high-powered executives make decisions these days?”

  “When the stakes are this high, it’s the only fair way.”

  “I think I’m afraid to know what you’re trying to settle right now.”

  In a coordinated response that only came from years of close friendship, Drake and I answered, “You should be.”

  Chapter Two

  Talia

  “You’re riding with us.” With a powerful hand at the small of my back, Drake easily steered me out of the ‘castle’ doors and toward his rented SUV. That didn’t stop me from attempting to dig my heels in.

  “Okay, come on, you guys. I really can’t just leave my car here. What if it gets stolen? I can’t afford to buy a new one at this point.” Sweeping up two fingers, I nodded at them both. “Scout’s honor. I’ll follow and meet you back at the condo.”

  Fletcher swiped his phone off, stored it in his gloriously fitted jeans, then extended his hand, palm-up. “Alfred’s on his way to get it. So just give me your keys.”

  “Wha―? Alfred who?” Why did these two make me so jumbled? And why did I always kind of like it—especially when they moved just like they did now? Fletcher, stepping over with his impossibly long legs, blocked me from the front. Drake pressed in from behind. And just like that, I was trapped.

  Fletcher lifted a big hand, stroking my cheek while explaining. “Alfred. Kil’s guy? You remember him?”

  ‘Kil’ referred to Killian Stone. Yes, the same Killian Stone Fletcher had brought up during his little blast at Mama. The Killian Stone with whom they were both drinking buddies—at least at one point in time, if half their crazy stories were true. Not a lot of those antics happened anymore, now that Killian was about to be a new father. The woman making that dream come true, my friend Claire Montgomery-Stone, was apparently not keen on the drunken adventures—though evidently, butler sharing was still fine.

  “Yes. Of course I remember him. But—”

  “But nothing.” He dipped his head, causing the sunlight to play along all the facets in his beautiful eyes, while tipping my chin up. “He’s on his way to get your car. He will drop it at our house and leave the keys in our mailbox in the lobby.”

  I sighed, trying to force incredulity into the sound, but failing. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  He pulled back and shrugged, toppling his sandy hair over his forehead. Holy crap. Was he the sexiest man on the planet? The question was entirely rhetorical. Just thinking of the last time my fingers had been twined through that thick, soft hair made my belly swirl. My pulse answered in kind, quickening in all the right places in my body. And all the wrong places too, considering we stood in a strip mall parking lot between the tackle shop and the princess palace.

  Fletcher’s pupils enlarged, giving me a glimpse of the flared nostrils and aroused lips of my reflection. “I know, baby.” He leaned in once more to press a kiss to my mouth. It was slow and soft, just a tease of what I knew he was capable of…and it went on forever, but not nearly long enough.

  When he pulled back, I stumbled forward. Literally. Anything, anything to keep the connection just a bit longer. There was something so unique between us, almost on a cellular level. His body was so dialed into mine, his mind just one thought outside my own.

  At the same time, I was achingly aware of Drake’s energy, as well…every hot drop of it. He watched us, ever hawk-eyed, and caught me from behind as my balance wobbled. I sank into his embrace, letting him engulf me, sighing again as he nuzzled my ear with his full lips.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His voice was deep and husky, spreading goosebumps over my sparkle-sprinkled arms and denim-covered thighs.

  I climbed into the back seat, figuring they would take the two seats in front. My heart skipped a beat—or five—when Fletcher got behind the wheel and Drake crawled in beside me.

  “Okay, really? I can ride in a car all by myself. Next, you two will be strapping me into a damn car seat.”

  His eyes grew impossibly dark.

  “What?”

 
He slid closer on the bench.

  “Mr. Newland.” I put out my hand. Ohhhh, wrong move. When my fingers met the brick wall of his chest, I instantly longed to explore more.

  “Miss Perizkova.” He lifted my hand. Without shifting his inky gaze from my face, he turned my palm so he could kiss it. His mouth was warm and tender but firm and demanding. Thick, dark spikes of hair tickled my wrist as he kissed up my palm, toward my forearm.

  I gulped. Whimpered. Squirmed a little, as moisture thickened between my legs. Damn these two.

  “Drive, Fletch.” Drake rumbled it, still not breaking our eye contact, but when I glanced up into the rear-view mirror, the glass was filled with Fletcher’s Caribbean-blue stare. He let out a coarse huff as the car shifted forward.

  I swung my gaze back to Drake. He still clutched my arm by the wrist and used the hold to lift my hand back to his mouth, weaving a brand-new spell of erotic heat over me. That had to be the only explanation. He was a warlock, so dark and beautiful, and I, the enraptured subject of his enchanting arts.

  He started with my index finger…a small kiss on the tip followed by a gentle nibble, growing firmer in pressure until I almost couldn’t take the pain. As my chest pumped, he lifted a wicked grin, just before replacing his teeth with the flat of his tongue. He swirled it around and around, bathing the whorls of my fingerprint in his wet attention, eliciting my full gasp of desire. I wanted to rip off my pants and crawl into his lap for relief—and the gorgeous animal knew it, meaning he continued the process on the other four fingers. By the time he was done, we were both panting and glassy-eyed. Didn’t stop him from grunting at Fletch when the tires peeled a little on a corner.

  “Dude. Slow the hell down.”

  “Seriously? With what you’re making me watch from up here?” Fletch drummed his fingers on the wheel as we paused at a stoplight. “I just want to get home so we can all be together. We need to start using Alfred or Andre more. This is bullshit.”

  “Do you want me to tell you how she tastes today?”

  “No!” The drumming became thunder. “Fuck. Yes.”

  I was speechless—partly from shock, mostly from lust. Their banter…it was heady, intoxicating. Through it all, Drake still held me prisoner with his stare, despite continuing to clutch my wrist like a lifeline.

  “Her fingertips are sweet,” he declared in a voice like crushed velvet. “Frosting, maybe?” He nuzzled my wrist again. “And she smells like she always does, like fresh wildflowers. And perfection.” With a quick tug, he pulled me closer to him. I swallowed hard past the lump of lust lodged in my throat as our noses nearly touched. When he spoke again, his rumble was deep and sexy. “I’m going to eat you up when we get home, little girl.”

  “Oh—oh, okay.” God. I was always so smooth. But my head spun with excitement. My blood pounded with need.

  Drake’s nostrils widened as he continued taking me in. He leaned closer, finally covering my mouth with his. Hot and demanding, as he plunged forward with his tongue, always in control…

  Heaven.

  He wrapped his fingers to my nape, twisting the hair there, and tugged. Jolts of heat met at my core, so familiar yet so new. Why was his demanding touch so alluring? I had never experienced anything like it, and only he could bring it on like this. Ever since our night of incredible passion during that business trip to Vegas, I’d recalled it so many times…and during each, had craved them like my next breath.

  “Drake…” I whispered.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Don’t tell him to slow down again.”

  A grin, starting at one corner of his mouth, spread across until a small chuckle erupted from his chest. “Agreed.”

  We kissed and teased each other for the next five minutes, interrupted only by pained sounds from the front seat. “Fucking scissor,” Fletcher mumbled. “Really? Scissor never wins, shit-for-brains.”

  Drake laughed as he held me close, finger-combing my hair. “It does if you’re stupid enough to be paper.”

  “Paper beats rock! It’s not stupid to choose paper.”

  I gave in to the urge to smack Drake’s chest. “My God, the two of you. Have you both had too much sugar, too?”

  Fletcher reached up to a remote control on the visor. With a low hum, the condo complex’s gate rolled open.

  Finally.

  As he pulled into the assigned spot, I did a quick check in the mirror to make sure I was decent. Okay, there was a relative term. My lips were already bruised, the color high in my cheeks. As for the needy sheen in my eyes…there was only one way to satisfy it, and getting inside was the first part of that solution. Wow. Who was that creature in the mirror? I didn’t recognize myself when I was between these two. Or was it all reversed? Was this the real me, unlocked at last?

  Even considering that answer wasn’t an itch I dared to scratch.

  Drake slid out then extended his hand to help me. I put my palm in his, unable to avoid the awareness of how right it felt. So much for dodging the whole ‘real me’ thing. He smiled, surely feeling how my heartbeat sped again from the force of our touch. But, this time, there was nothing roguish about the look. His fingers wrapped so perfectly around mine, always protecting, always caring.

  I gazed up into his eyes, returning his smile with a semi-shy one of my own. While I was giddy and excited, I was also unsteady and unsure. Was there a saint to beseech for that? If so, I couldn’t remember their name. I barely recalled my own. I was so out of my league, feelings swirling through my head and body, nearly overwhelming. I couldn’t tell if this was just lust—compounded by always being sandwiched between two gorgeous men who dripped with sexuality—or did my heart really know what it was talking about?

  Another itch best not scratched…but oh so hard not to—over and over again. Because if my heart was even slightly correct, the tale here was so much different. Much deeper. Much more dangerous.

  Inside the condo, Fletcher pulled me from Drake’s side and pinned me against the wall. I cried out, but the sound was pure passion. My cleft responded at once to his erection, an incessant press through our clothes. His eyes were dark, dark blue, stormy and heavy-lidded.

  “Talia.” He whispered it before covering my mouth with his own. His lips crushed then he dove in with his tongue, coaxing mine to come and play. I gave in, a full and willing participant, no longer needing convincing. Why had I even resisted to begin with? This was all I’d been able to think about since Vegas. This was what I wanted. There was nowhere—nowhere—I’d rather be than between these two men. Inside the safety of one of our homes, no one could judge us, misunderstand us. I just wished it would last longer. Like forever.

  Ignore the itch.

  I refocused to the man pressing me against the wall. My head needed to stay front and center. I would have plenty of time to overanalyze things when they’d left for Chicago again. As involved as they were with their many projects at SGC, the bulk of both their businesses—and their lives—was still in Chicago.

  Drake had left the room but was back, shirt thrown off somewhere, fabulously bare from the waist up. Dear Lord. That man’s abs…

  “Bedroom.” He simply barked the word, and Fletcher and I complied. The stark honesty of it spoke to every cell of my blood, pumping my pulse with new awareness and arousal. We all knew what we were here for, no sense sugar-coating it—until Fletcher scooped my legs from under me, cradling me in his arms, sweeping his lips across my forehead. Okay…a little sugar-coating wouldn’t hurt, especially from him. Though not as bulky as Drake, he was long and strong, his lean muscles making his task effortless…and coaxing a small sigh from my lips.

  As soon as the sound spilled out, he halted. I looked up at his face. His tawny brows were pulled in tightly. His voice was low but just as gruff. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course, but…” I toyed with the hair on his chest through an open button on his shirt. “Why are you carrying me?”

  “Because I can.”

  “Hm
mm.”

  “What? Hmmm?”

  I shrugged, hoping to lighten how his semi-growly and thoroughly protective tone rippled through every part of me. Wow. And damn. He wielded such thrall over me. They both did.

  “I don’t know,” I finally blurted, trying to ease the pressure from his unblinking scrutiny. “Just hmmm.” I used my other hand to tug on the soft ends of his Tuscan-sun colored hair at the back of his neck. “You need a haircut.”

  He grunted. “I know. It’s getting crazy. I’m waiting until we get home. I have a girl in Chicago.”

  Drake snorted from behind us. “Again about the girl?” he jibed. “Is this the same one who paints your nails?”

  “No, ass.” The rumble in Fletch’s chest reverberated through the one breast mashed against him. “You’re such a barbarian. Angelique does my hair, and Crystal does my nails.”

  Drake smacked his own forehead. Their bantering interaction had me giggling at once. Sometimes, everything was so easy and fun and carefree with them, a perfect justification of why the equilateral triangle was conceived. Why couldn’t geometry give us forever, as well?

  No more time for pondering that answer—not when I was too busy squealing—as Fletcher unceremoniously plopped me down onto the enormous bed. Mischief danced in his brilliant blue eyes. I tried to scramble back, but he caught my ankle and quickly climbed on top of me.

  “What’s so funny, miss?”

  “You.”

  “Really?” He stared down while sliding his hips, crushing my body with his.

  “Mmmm hmmm.” Attempting to push up into an escape was pointless. He had me pinned. Not that I was particularly complaining—or actually fighting—but the more I challenged him, the more alluring his face became. He really was in the mood to play—and when he dug his fingers into my sides in tickling sweeps, I knew I was in trouble.

  I screamed. Like that made any difference to the ruthless rogue. With a sultry snarl, he intensified the attack. Soon, between laughing hard and trying to wiggle away, I could barely breathe. Fletcher laughed too—though his mirth was wicked, taunting…one of the sexiest sounds I’d ever heard.