Woman on Top [McQueen Was My Valley 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  It was another aspect of her stubborn character that Adrian’s rejection of her made her even more determined to win him.

  “I know, I know,” said Brooke, anticipating Xandra’s lecture. “But I blew it with a guest.”

  Xandra rolled her eyes and hid them behind her hand. “What did you do, Brooke?”

  “I…I sort of offended one of them.”

  “Let me guess. A man. Which one?”

  Brooke spoke hurriedly now. “Just this redheaded buffoon from Ireland. I’m sure he’ll be gone soon back to Connecticut, but Xandra, I just can’t go back to the spa. I can’t face him! I can’t go back there—put me over at the ski lodge, operating the chairlift, anything other than the spa! I’ve cooked before—put me in the kitchen with Leif.”

  Xandra grabbed her wrists to calm her and spoke directly. “Redheaded buffoon? Dear Lord, Brooke. Was it that prisoner of war, Adrian Kinsey? Handsome, tall antiquities expert for the military?”

  Holy shit. What have I done? “Yes, Adrian Kinsey, that’s it. I did get the feeling he was military. He was a POW?”

  Xandra’s exasperation was threatening to overwhelm her. “Yes! He spent a frigging month being tortured in Damascus over some stupid frigging statue he was trying to recover.”

  Brooke temporarily forgot to be mortified, becoming interested in Adrian’s story instead. “Really? That’s fascinating. So he’s some kind of spy?”

  “I guess you could call it that,” Xandra said wearily. “He works for the same private military contractor that Nathan works for.” Nathan was Xandra’s new husband, a dashing, athletic man who looked as though he should’ve been cast as James Bond. Brooke didn’t know too much about Nathan other than that he’d given up the spy life, having some kind of PTSD after a traumatic event in Africa. He now ran around teaching fly-fishing to visitors and didn’t seem traumatized at all.

  Nathan was absolutely drenched in virility, and Brooke was more than slightly jealous of her sister. Perhaps there was a bit of competition with her sister that she wanted her own virile commando, too. “So that’s how you know this about Damascus? Through Nathan?”

  “Yes, Nathan had Adrian fly out here a few months ago to…to help Nathan with a case.”

  “Some antiquities needed analyzing?”

  “Something like that. Now listen here, my irresponsible sister. Adrian doesn’t need you stalking him, shoving your bosom in his face, or otherwise trying to seduce him. Word is that he’s avoiding women for now, and possibly for a long time to come. You’re just spinning your wheels with him. I’d prefer it if you didn’t stalk anyone, but I know that’s asking too much.”

  Brooke slumped down in her seat. “I know. And the chairlift would be just as bad. Adrian skis, and I’d constantly run into him there. What about the restaurant?”

  “Leif has all his little culinary friends working for him. How’s about you go and help Cass Cameron? Cass always needs help.”

  Cass was the director of the front office and seemed to be Xandra’s closest friend—she had stood as maid of honor at Xandra’s recent wedding and had actually knocked down a couple of women in her zeal to grab the bouquet. “All right,” Brooke said timidly. “I’ll help Cass. Anything. Anything to avoid seeing that poor man again.”

  Xandra nodded with approval and relaxed now that things were ironed out. “Good. It’s best you leave him alone for now, although you’re right. He is quite handsome. It’s horrific what happened to him.”

  Chapter Two

  They kept a ridge trail plowed in the winter, Adrian was told, to give the ranch hands access to the cattle trails. It also gave access to the Department of Wildlife conservation officers, like the warden Julian shacking up with Adrian’s friend Nathan. Adrian had chosen to ride a horse out to the Inkwells off of Prism Canyon. Why not? It was a crystalline day, the snow topping the rock formations like cupcake icing, and Adrian had to wear his darkest shades. Riding horses reminded him of his childhood in Connecticut.

  Nathan had told him about these Inkwells. A popular skinny-dipping spot in the summer and autumn, only the hardiest morons came out here in January. Since Adrian knew he was a hardy moron, he’d even eschewed the snowmobile that Nathan offered him, choosing the horse instead. It was peaceful riding the horse

  Truth was, he was still reeling from his encounter with that luscious babe, Brooke. He’d been eyeballing her sitting behind that desk for days now. But since a woman was the absolute last thing he wanted to rub up against, he’d made a disaster out of their encounter. Why did he have to overreact so strongly? I mean, I know why I overreacted like a douche bag. But why couldn’t I have covered up my crippling terror more smoothly? I acted like a bull in a china shop. Hardly the actions of a smooth, suave black ops commando.

  She was a sweet, young thing in a peasant blouse, for fuck’s sake! And she had an ass you could do Shakespeare from. Big deal if she was getting a bit too familiar with me. That’s bound to happen once in awhile. I need to learn to react like a trained operative, not a trained monkey.

  The longer Adrian rode, the more self-loathing seeped into his heart.

  He had definitely overreacted like a freaked-out asshat. He’d been watching her sitting behind that reception desk, next to the fake rock fountain that trickled so soothingly, her little stereo playing the same space music they played underwater in the outdoor shiatsu pool. This buckle bunny almost had an Irish look, with her dark brown hair undulating in curls over her shoulders, framing her face. Lovely rounded cheekbones, full luscious lips. She seemed so young and fresh she practically had apples in her cheeks.

  She usually seemed to wear leggings, oversized fur-lined boots, and a puffy peasant blouse that displayed her white shoulders, as though she worked in some kind of alpine chalet. Adrian had even dared to picture her lying back, naked on a bearskin—she would look so choice there, with her squiggly brunette hair splayed out against the fur—but he’d stopped himself there.

  No. He wasn’t even going to fantasize about any woman. Not after what had been going on back home in New Canaan while he was being beaten within an inch of his life in Damascus.

  Next time he saw Brooke he’d be polite and friendly to her. He’d reacted like an epic douche when all she was doing was massaging his lower back. How had she known he’d had a painful back for years? Some of that therapy probably involved fondling his tailbone, and it was his own horny fault that his prick had been harder than a hammer when he’d stupidly lashed out at the poor girl. Jesus. His balls had been throbbing, begging her to touch them. Then he’d run down the hallway like a scared kitten. He had to get it together! He couldn’t be freaking out every time anyone looked in his direction.

  Besides. He shouldn’t be afraid of women. He should be afraid of huge, hairy Syrians in need of dental work.

  The Inkwells were cuplike depressions in the red sandstone, carved after millennia of being sanded down by rushing water, a creek that passed through boring rounded sinks in the rock. Today that creek was nothing but melting ice, so Adrian walked the horse down to the larger, swampy lake area—Inkwell Lake, he supposed it was called. He tethered the horse to a dead pine and walked round to where he saw steam rising from the water’s surface. Today there was no one here, luckily, for Adrian really wanted to wash his sins away by stripping buck naked.

  The dazzling sun immediately warmed his shoulders, and his prick instantly expanded as he eyed the steaming water. He threw down his towel, chugged some water from a bottle, and splashed into the warmest part of the lake.

  Ah. He sank down to his neck in the bubbly, sulfuric waters. He didn’t even need to find a rock to sit on, because he quite literally floated like a dead leaf. Mossy, creepy things tickled his ass and back, but he soon learned to relax back into these plants and let the geothermal waters soothe him.

  This was what he needed. He had gladly agreed to help Nathan and his friends—wife Alexandra, and that game warden Julian—resolve the mystery of that liberty head nickel. But
the truth was, he was glad of an excuse to get out of DC, out of the entire eastern seaboard. He had imagined that Utah would scourge his soul of the terrible wrongs that had been committed in Damascus, and for the most part, he was right. He’d arrived here in October and had just stayed on, fly-fishing alongside his commando buddy Nathan then skiing after the first snow had stayed. He had used his skiing skills on more than one mission—once, going cross-country across the Hindu Kush to find a fine art forger. Another time, escaping from an art thief in Turkey.

  For Adrian, skiing meant freedom, so the past couple of months had helped him forget about the Damascus nightmare, and the perhaps even worse nightmare that had been waiting for him when he returned to Connecticut. Nathan’s call had come at an opportune time, a moment when Adrian could care less if he never saw the East Coast again. Because Nathan’s fiancée owned the entire lodge—and the surrounding countryside as far as the eye could see—Adrian had just sort of lingered, stayed on, attended Nathan’s wedding, relaxed. And relaxed some more.

  Until that saucy miss Brooke had stepped into his treatment room, her fingers squiggling over the globes of his ass, stiffening his dick until it pressed into his abdomen as he lay facedown on the table.

  His cock stiffened now as he floated in the rotten egg-smelling, rejuvenating waters of Inkwell Lake. That Brooke vixen. It was no damned healing thing to brush her oily fingertips across the rise of his ass. A lesser man could have sued her for lewd and lascivious conduct. That, or taken her up on her offer. Spread his thighs, offered her his cock, mauled her lovely uplifted cleavage. Damn, she looked like a Swiss Miss in those peasant blouses she insisted on wearing. She would be a regular snow bunny in a parka with a fur-lined hood.

  Adrian’s hand went to his cock as he ran through all the things he could have done. He heard the lowing of some cattle as he fisted his burgeoning cock. Brooke was a fresh, clean beauty. Instead of reacting so belligerently, he could have spread his thighs, indicated he wanted her to massage his cock. He could have grabbed her by the wrist, suggested that she pump his dick, like he was now doing.

  Ah. It was a good sign that he got a hard-on this easily just thinking about the Swiss Miss’s face. Adrian was relieved to know he didn’t loathe all women, even after Lyla in New Canaan. No, Brooke was arousing in the abstract, perhaps, now that she was safely hidden miles away at the lodge. Adrian imagined her lounging in the waters across from him, her long thighs crossed one over the other, her pert and regal face casting him seductive looks.

  Within a minute, he felt on the verge of coming as he pumped his dick. The lowing cows seemed to encourage him in his base activity. In fact, the semen was surging up the underside of his penis, when all of a sudden he found himself sputtering, splashing about in the pond, looking up at a giant, looming silhouette. Adrian knew authority figures even by their silhouettes, so he felt around for the edge of the pool, spitting out water he’d nearly swallowed.

  “Sir!” barked the authority figure, placing one booted foot on a snow-covered rock. “Did you know it is a Class B misdemeanor violation under Title 76 to masturbate in public?”

  Rising from the water, Adrian circled around the game warden, out of the direct sun so he could discern some features of the authority figure’s face. Yes, he was ridiculously tall, and nearly as broad. He had brutal, sensuous features. Full, bowed lips and a three-day-old beard marked him as something of a Cro-Magnon man, just a lumbering doofus.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” Adrian laughed and bent to scoop up his towel, but the warden gripped his forearm.

  “Kidding you about what,” the warden snarled in a low voice. “That you were masturbating in public? Or that it’s against the law?”

  Is this guy serious? He’s not even going to let me cover up? Adrian still couldn’t believe the warden was harassing him in the boondocks over something so stupid. He supposed it was part of the guy’s job to be lurking in the middle of nowhere, but honestly. Public masturbation? The closest other human was five miles away, at the lodge. Adrian tried to yank his arm away, but the warden had a firm grip on it. He tried to laugh, but it was difficult with a boner pointing directly at the warden’s crotch. “Well, I can’t lie that I wasn’t jacking off, officer. But there’s no one around to complain, is there? Can’t you just let me off with a verbal?”

  Officer Verona—so the nametag above his jacket pocket said—looked Adrian up and down. His heavy-lidded eyes drank in Adrian’s entire form, as though the thought of giving Adrian a verbal was foremost on his mind. Adrian’s prick hadn’t even gone down to half-mast but stubbornly insisted on jutting right out there. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Lewdness is an offense against public decency.”

  Adrian still could not fathom that this asswipe was this serious about such a trivial offense that no one had noticed. “Listen, can’t I just pay the fine right now? That’d save you writing a tick—Oh, c’mon!”

  In a flash and a couple of clicks, Verona had cuffed Adrian’s hands in the front, cinching his rebellious cock up against his pubic bone. He’s got to be kidding! Apparently Verona took his job dead seriously, though, for he now hitched his thumbs into his heavily armored belt and backed Adrian up against a sandstone cliff face. “You’re out here just jacking away at your dick when anyone could walk along. The Inkwells are a well-used spot out here in Prism Canyon.”

  Being handcuffed, naked, and helpless brought back bad memories. Not only of the recent time he’d been held prisoner in Damascus, but other similar experiences. Tel Aviv, Khartoum, Cyprus. For some reason, people seemed to like to take him captive. “Well,” Adrian stuttered. “I’d like to think I would hear someone coming, and—”

  “You didn’t hear me.” Verona stood so close to him, practically breathing down on Adrian’s forehead, he was beginning to think Verona was the lewd one. Indeed, it may have been Adrian’s imagination, but it seemed as though he could feel the heat emanating from the crotch of Verona’s tightly packed pants.

  Was it titillating Verona to handcuff a naked man then back him up against a wall? Verona had chosen a cliff face that was under an extreme overhang, away from most potential prying eyes. He could’ve ticketed him or even forced him to mount his horse to go to whatever station was in this godforsaken wilderness, but no, Verona had chosen to press his body against a nude, defenseless man. Adrian could use this to his advantage. Spreading his feet in the icy sand, Adrian brought his cuffed hands under his protruding cock, displaying it even more prominently. It fairly pulsated as it hung above his cuffed wrists. Verona’s eyelids flickered as he ran his eyes up and down Adrian’s torso.

  And it definitely wasn’t Adrian’s imagination that, even stuck in this predicament, his cock had failed to go flaccid. Was it possible the run-in with the twisted authority figure was turning him on as well?

  “You must be awful quiet,” Adrian agreed. “You must be awful good at doing things without anyone noticing.” He might let me go if I comply with his wishes. No one’s out here. Who’ll ever know?

  Verona chuckled. “I’m an expert at espionage.” He raised the back of his hand to Adrian’s bare chest, running the knuckles ever so lightly over his nipple, making his cock jump. “What’re you doing out here in January, anyway? Staying at the lodge?” Verona asked in a low, sultry tone.

  Adrian could have mentioned that he was good friends with the new lodge owner’s husband, potentially getting himself out of any ticket at all, but he wanted to see where this was going. He’d never engaged in any sort of gay antics before, but suddenly his curiosity—and more—was piqued. It was sort of a unique situation to be in. He was handcuffed, so he had plausible deniability. “I swear,” he could already envision telling future girlfriends, if he ever had one again, “I had no choice. My hands were literally tied.”

  And besides, he’d been raring to come for over twenty-four hours now.

  He returned Verona’s sultry look. This muscular buck with his sun-browned skin was probably a wild animal
between the sheets. “On vacation from DC. Don’t know anyone in the entire state, so no one told me the laws.”

  When Verona pinched a nipple, sending arrows of lust shooting into Adrian’s groin, Adrian was convinced. The utterly scandalous situation was turning Adrian on. His penis leaped every time Verona tweaked his nipple, and both men panted so heavily a layer of steam misted Adrian’s face. “You’re a real hot number,” Verona breathed.

  All at once he grabbed Adrian. One hand gripped the cuffs, the other his shoulder. Verona twirled him around to face the wall, and he let go of the handcuffs to fumble with his own clothing. Adrian saw the official brown jacket with the official patches and badge tossed to the sand, and heard a radio crackle as Verona fiddled furiously with his belt.

  Oh, fuck. He’s going to do me up the ass. This scared Adrian. Lots of men at his company engaged in homosexual play. Commandos were often stuck in the field for weeks at a time, bored, doing surveillance on targets that sometimes barely moved, or even turned out to be dead. Having been stuck once in Equatoria State in the Sudan with Nathan Horowitz and his partner Rory, Adrian could attest to that. While they waited in the hangar for the okay to fly their mission, Nathan and Rory had gone at it like two stallions in heat. They were loud and brutal and didn’t seem to care who had to listen to them. Adrian, as usual, had been miserable. Horny and unable to do anything about it other than jack off in the malaria- and bug-infested jungle, away from prying eyes, because he was proper, straight, and moral. He never got to have one minute’s worth of fun when he was out of the country. Having to listen to those two studs even made it worse.

  But suddenly, Verona paused. Adrian glanced over his shoulder and saw the officer looking him up and down again, not with lust this time. What had changed? Adrian was actually becoming disappointed that the cop wasn’t whipping out his dick and mounting him, though Verona even had his baton extended in one hand in preparation for some rough play.