Two Sirs, with Love [McQueen Was My Valley 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  McQueen Was My Valley 4

  Two Sirs, with Love

  Felicity McQueen, fresh from her Dominatrix lifestyle in Europe, isn’t supposed to mention her past when she arrives at her sister’s Triple Play Lodge in Utah. Ian Lawson is a mild-mannered accountant. The highlight of his year is extending a tax deadline. He longs to bust out in a wild adventure like the commandos he works for.

  When he sets eyes on the tigress Mistress Felicity, he knows she’s the one who can fulfill his most forbidden fantasies. But Dr. Victor Reznik has the same ideas. He’s in town to nab a sicko transporting illegal exotic animals, and the three band up in an undercover sting.

  With Felicity’s pleasure chest of toys, she instructs the innocent men in the bondage arts. The men become play partners to satisfy Felicity—and themselves. Will they learn to play nicely with each other? Or will they throw down their toys and go home once the smuggler is caught?

  Note: Each book in the McQueen Was My Valley series is stand-alone and can be read in any order.

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

  Length: 54,095 words

  TWO SIRS, WITH LOVE

  McQueen Was My Valley 4

  Karen Mercury

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  TWO SIRS, WITH LOVE

  Copyright © 2013 by Karen Mercury

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-973-8

  First E-book Publication: May 2013

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  DEDICATION

  I want to dedicate this to all the lovers in the world. And I suspect that might be everybody.

  —Bobby Womack

  TWO SIRS, WITH LOVE

  McQueen Was My Valley 4

  KAREN MERCURY

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  Bird in Hand, Utah

  “I heard that she runs around in a strapless bustier with four-inch heels,” said Brooke McQueen. Ian Lawson knew her as the wildest McQueen sister.

  “Yes,” agreed Cass Cameron, a six-foot-tall gal who was the director of the front office at the Triple Play Lodge. She leaned confidentially over the coffee table and looked from side to side. “And that she was the meanest most sadistic flogger the place had ever seen.”

  “Oh, come now,” said Sasha McQueen. As a medical doctor, Ian knew she was the most logical of the sisters. “This is all hearsay. Just because poor Felicity runs away to Stockholm and doesn’t talk to us for a few years, we can imagine all sorts of wild things. Let’s give her a chance, shall we?”

  “Actually,” said Xandra McQueen, apparently a former “wild child” herself, “I did hear this from Dad in one of his lucid moments a couple of years ago. It’s a definite fact that she worked at a bondage club in Stockholm called The Fat Shaft.”

  “That could be anything,” said Sasha. “That could be an indoor archery range.”

  “I don’t know,” Xandra said skeptically. Although not the oldest, she had evidently lucked into inheriting the lodge directly from their father, who was back home in Charleston in the last stages of dementia. “One of the few times Felicity e-mailed me, she sent me a photo of herself. True, she was wearing a sweater, but I swear you could see the outline of a nipple ring.”

  The other women gasped, but Ian’s prick elongated as he thought of nipple rings on women.

  Ian was crowded on the couches in the corner with the four beautiful women. It wasn’t such a bad position to be in. The three sisters—although all spoken for—were stunning, and Cass was a hottie in an Amazonian way. Ian spent his days in the accounting office of his corporate headquarters in Washington, DC. There were a couple of battleaxes in the office, and the rest of the accountants were all men. He didn’t get out much into elegant society such as this, and it was a stimulating pleasure merely to be around several women, much less hotties. This vacation was shaping up to be the best thing he’d done in years.

  “Are you sure it was a nipple ring?” Ian asked. He wasn’t accustomed to drinking this much alcohol, either, but it was a rehearsal dinner for Sasha’s wedding to Ian’s buddy Rowan, and pretty much everyone was cutting loose. “I mean, it could have been a…” Now he felt idiotic, but he knew his attractive British accent would make up for his stumble. Women loved British accents.

  Brooke punched him lightly in the upper arm. “Oh, come on! You know you love it, Ian. You know you’re just dying to meet this wild party girl who knows how to give a good flogging. I’ll bet there’s an unrestrained savage lurking beneath your sweater vest.”

  While all the women laughed, Ian wanted to protest. Just because he was a chartered accountant didn’t mean he wore a sweater vest. The three sisters had hooked up with operatives, men who worked for private military contractors such as Ian and Rowan’s company, Hawkeye Corp. These commandos worked in the field doing daring
things like dismantling bombs, taking down terrorists, and parachuting out of planes. Still, Ian knew there wasn’t the slightest comparison between what Rowan did, for example, and what he did. They had only become friends because once Rowan had come to the accounting office to complain about a paycheck error. They had discovered that, besides both being from the British Isles—Rowan hailed from County Kerry in Ireland—they were fans of Heroes of Order & Chaos. At first they had played the game on their phones. It was exciting knowing he was up against someone who was currently sitting surveillance on a terrorist’s house in Palm Beach. But since they had found out they lived close to each other, Ian had started visiting Rowan’s DC loft to manipulate their immortal warriors on a bigger screen. Rowan lived in a vast man cave full of exercise equipment. He was so manly he didn’t have a gun safe—he had a gun room protected by Pentagon levels of security.

  Rowan’s cave resembled Tony Stark’s invention lab, with its massive ammo reloading table, state of the art work-out equipment, and kitchen like a mad scientist’s workshop. Ian was allowed to see the macho, ripped, courageous side of working for Hawkeye Corp. Ian was bonded to work on top secret projects and had signed a nondisclosure agreement, of course, and was allowed into Rowan’s world of electronic divining rods, facial recognition software, and high-value targets. Ian had graduated with honors from Oxford sixteen years ago and had chosen to work for Hawkeye because he thought it would be dashing. But until meeting Rowan O’Shea, it hadn’t been. He worked in a windowless office and his coworkers gossiped about which operative was in Cuba, Panama, or Iraq. But rarely did they see the operatives unless they came in to complain about their paychecks.

  Now Rowan had invited Ian to his wedding in southeast Utah, and Ian was saying asinine things about nipple rings in front of a crowd of hot women. He sat up erect and straightened his tie impudently. “There’s another side to me, yes,” he admitted slyly. “I’ve been Rowan’s wingman on more than one occasion. A festive partier lurks beneath this square exterior.”

  This sent the women into a whirlwind of laughter. If Ian couldn’t be an operative, this was the next best thing. Being the best friend of a decorated mercenary meant he could move in colorful, glamorous circles such as this. The rehearsal dinner was being held in Brooke’s “cabin,” Two in the Bush, but it was more like an impressive chalet with its two-story-tall windows, enormous river rock fireplace, and exposed beam ceilings hung with antler chandeliers, just like in the Triple Play’s lobby. This style was known as “Mountain Craftsmen,” so Ian had heard, and he greatly admired it.

  “Well, you’re single, aren’t you, Ian?” Sasha asked.

  “I am,” Ian admitted, unsure if this was good or bad.

  “Then maybe you could squire our, ah, our unusual sister around for the next few days.”

  It wasn’t just Ian’s heart that swelled at this proposal. He was glad his double-breasted suit jacket was buttoned. He knew he had a rather large cock, but he didn’t think even these racy ladies would want to look at his erection. “Of course, I’d be honored—”

  “I’m single, too,” groused Cass Cameron, crossing her long gams and flipping her hair in disgust.

  Ian knew the proper thing to do. He wasn’t that inexperienced with the ladies. “I can squire you both, but you know your way around the lodge better than she will.”

  “And you’re my maid of honor,” whined Sasha, putting a hand on Cass’s arm. “You have more important duties than amusing Rowan’s best friend.”

  Cass looked down her nose at Sasha’s hand. “I do?”

  As everyone laughed, Ian stood and took Cass’s highball glass. “I’ll get you another.”

  The knot of macho commandos was conglomerated near the bar, so after Ian got the Long Island Iced Tea from the bartender, he insinuated himself into the group. Besides the manly operatives, there were at least two game wardens who worked for the state. One of them, a Perry Donovan, was Rowan’s best man, and Ian was vaguely jealous of him. He wondered why he wasn’t best man, when Rowan had gone to the trouble to invite him to Utah for his wedding. Further, there was an odd intimacy between Rowan and Perry. They had held the bachelor party last night at a shit-kicking bar in the nearest town, Bird in Hand. Rowan and Perry were falling all over each other, wankered like everyone else in the bar. But the way they looked at each other seemed to go…beyond wankered. Ian knew that many operatives had poofter leanings. They spent a great deal of time in the bush with nothing better to do, apparently, than to try their hand at uphill gardening. But why would Rowan be marrying the elegant, graceful Dr. Sasha McQueen if he was going to be giving a hummer to another fellow?

  Ian had been irritated at his own jealousy. He knew that he worshiped Rowan O’Shea, and at times had even wondered if his feelings went beyond a man crush. Did Ian harbor homoerotic feelings? Thinking about it wasn’t entirely appalling, not when it involved the studly Rowan. He found himself now shooting Perry Donovan narrow-eyed, suspicious glances. Perry couldn’t be a day over thirty. He was much too young for Rowan. Yet there Rowan was, slapping Perry on his manly shoulder, literally hanging onto his every word.

  Rowan was telling a story. “Perry finally got him in a headlock—”

  “And his hand reached up, trying to nail Perry in the eyes,” Doug added. Doug Ostrovsky was some kind of goofy, distant stepbrother to the McQueen girls. He seemed to run the cattle ranch that was connected to the lodge and called everyone “buckaroo.”

  “—trying to get Perry’s eyes,” Rowan agreed, “so Perry bites his hand!”

  The men laughed until tears made their eyes shine. Ian wondered why Perry the Great didn’t just take his gun out to subdue the suspect. He was a game warden for the state. “Why didn’t he just handcuff the guy?”

  “Handcuff who?” Rowan gasped for air, he was so full of mirth. “Handcuff a kangaroo?”

  Now everyone seemed to be laughing at Ian’s expense, because he hadn’t known that Perry had been fighting with a kangaroo in the story. He sipped at Cass’s drink. It would make him look even feebler to now ask what a kangaroo was doing in the Utah high desert, so Ian was relieved when the McQueen family lawyer, a Sol Greenspan, stuck his head into the group.

  Sol slashed the air with his hand. “All right, you bon vivants. I’m heading back to the lodge. Got a phone call from Miss Felicity McQueen that she arrived, so I’ll bring her back here. Get all your dirty jokes out of your system before she arrives.”

  “Hey,” protested Adrian Kinsey, another commando, as his friends elbowed him knowingly, “I’m only repeating what my wife told me. This Miss Felicity has apparently gone over the edge.”

  Doug goofed, “Or should we say Mistress Felicity?”

  Sol jabbed a forefinger in Doug’s face. “Never you mind that, Emo McGee. She’s a McQueen sister, so she’s a valued client of mine. I want to make her feel welcome. You’re all married to McQueens, you should know how they are.” He stood tall and tried to look down his nose at the black ops men and rangers. “The sisters are just like their lawyer. Only the very best with just the right amount of dirty.”

  Sol must have expected the hailstorm of protests and epithets that were showered on him now as he made his getaway. Ian had the feeling Sol was smiling as he exited the house, and the men yelled after him.

  “Do you need a spanking, Sol?”

  “Have you been a bad boy?”

  “Do you need a gal with big boobs to punish you, Sol?”

  Still laughing, Rowan drifted away from the group and told Ian pleasantly, “I should talk. I get a kick out of BDSM now and then. We’ve been known to get into a little light flogging or fire play.”

  Fire play? Ian had no idea what that might entail but didn’t want to show his ignorance. He looked out the enormous plate glass window at the snowy panorama beyond. Utah was really quite gorgeous, with its sandstone spires, cathedrals, and pinnacles that resembled frosting-topped cupcakes now in January. The desert was far from boring, but Ian was di
straught Rowan was moving there, away from DC. “Oh, yeah? You, Sasha, and…”

  He had hoped Rowan would fill in the blank, but Rowan only said, “Oh, yes. Nathan too. He and Xandra have quite the handcuff collection.”

  “I imagine these game wardens have the top of the line handcuffs.”

  Rowan didn’t pick up the bait. “We shouldn’t tease the women’s sister. Who knows what she’ll be like? Since she’s their sister, I’m sure she’s perfectly gracious and beautiful.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ian, honestly. “We’re just being insensitive cads, typical men, making schoolboy jokes because she worked in a bondage den.”

  Rowan’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. But you have to admit, it is fun thinking of her all done up in a patent leather bustier, whipping some lardass who demands to be punished for stealing candy.”

  Ian couldn’t help smile, too. “I’ve been asked to squire her around the next few days.”

  Rowan instantly sobered up. “What? Who asked you to do that?”

  Ian frowned. Why should it be so impossible to believe that he could squire around a bondage dominatrix? Just because he was an accountant did it mean he had never dated a woman who was slightly racy, a little bit edgy? On the strength of his British accent alone he had lured in many naughty gals who had expanded his horizons. He had been told he was good-looking—handsome, even. He had just studied business because it was reliable and he needed to send money home to his mother. He could not have afforded to dash about on some dodgy shenanigans like Rowan and his ilk. “Your wife.”