Masters of Ménage, Book 6
By Shayla Black and Lexi Blake
Coming April 15, 2014
Three determined bosses…
Tate Baxter, Eric Cohen, and Kellan Kent are partners for one of the most respected law practices in Chicago. But these three masters of the courtroom also share a partnership in the bedroom, fulfilling the darkest needs of their female submissives night after night. Everything was fine—until they hired Annabelle Wright as their administrative assistant.
One beautiful secretary…
Belle felt sure she’d hit the jackpot with her job, but in the last year, the three gorgeous attorneys have become far more than her bosses. They’re her friends, her protectors, and in Belle’s dreams, they’re her lovers, too. But she’s given her heart to them all, so how can she choose just one?
An unforgettable night…
When her bosses escort her to a wedding, drinks and dancing turn into foreplay and fantasy. Between heated kisses, Belle admits her innocence. Surprise becomes contention and tempers flare. Heartbroken and unwilling to drive them apart, Belle leaves the firm and flees to New Orleans.
That leads to danger.
Resolved to restore her late grandmother’s home, she hopes she can move on without the men. Then Kellan, Tate, and Eric show up at her doorstep, seeking another chance. But something sinister is at work in the Crescent City and its sights are set on her. Before the trio can claim Annabelle for good, they just might have to save her life.
* * * *
Excerpt:
One year, two months, and four days. Four hundred thirty days all totaled, but Tate hated to calculate their time together that way. It depressed him. Ten thousand three hundred twenty hours wasn’t much better, considering that was how long he’d gone without sex. Because that was how long it had been since he’d first laid eyes on Annabelle Wright. She’d walked into his office with her resume in hand, and he’d just stared, dumbstruck. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he’d found lust in that single glance. Oh, yeah. He’d taken one look at the goddess applying for a job and known exactly why he’d gone to the gym five times a week since he’d turned seventeen.
But love? He’d taken a whole week of consideration before deciding that he had fallen in love with Belle. After all, he was a careful man. He liked to think things out.
“Indulgence leads to chaos. Dominic is going to rue the day he let his sub run wild.” Kellan frowned at Kinley, then swiveled his gaze toward the dance floor. “Who is that?”
Tate followed Kellan’s line of sight and scowled. Belle danced with some overgrown ape whose smile seemed way too friendly. She looked gorgeous in her emerald cocktail dress. Its V-neck and body-fitting lines showed off her every curve. She wasn’t a tall woman, but those crazy-sexy black shoes she wore made her legs look deliciously long. Tate had no idea how women maintained their balance while walking on those high, thin heels. He was pretty sure, however, they would look great wrapped around his neck.
The only thing he didn’t like about the way Belle looked was the animated expression she turned up at the lug hanging on her. Then she laughed—a sound that always did strange things to his insides.
Eric slapped a big hand across his back. “Chill, buddy. That’s Cole Lennox. He’s a PI here in Dallas. We’ve used his company before. He’s happily married. I don’t think he’s trying to mack on our girl.”
Tate still didn’t like it. “Why isn’t he dancing with his wife?”
He was rational enough to know that jealousy was a completely illogical response in this situation. Technically, Belle wasn’t his. She’d never even gone on a real date with him. They’d had lunch exactly fifty-two times over the last year, but they’d mostly talked about work. He’d taken her to happy hour fifteen times, where she always ordered vodka tonics, Cîroc, or Grey Goose, with a half a twist of lime. They’d still talked about work. And the weather. None of that counted, though, because she’d treated him like a colleague, not a boyfriend. He hadn’t kissed her yet or made his intentions clear, so he had no right to be jealous that Belle danced with another man. For once, he didn’t care if he made less than perfect sense.
Kellan pointed to the other end of the floor. “He can’t. His brother is dancing with her. They’re twins and I’ve heard they share.”
“Really?” Tate sat up and sent a challenging glance to Kell and Eric. “I’m seeing a picture here. The Lennox twins married the same girl. Those three oil tycoons over there have one wife, and we all saw the three royal princes walk in with their bride. Hell, the whole board of Anthony Anders decided to marry the same woman. But it can’t work for us? Explain that.”
That was the argument Tate had heard from Eric and especially Kellan for the past year, ever since the night they’d sat around the office and each admitted they were crazy about their new secretary. Administrative Assistant. Office Manager. Belle changed her title more than once. She took exception to the term secretary, but Tate thought it was kind of hot.
Kellan sighed, turning toward him. “Just because it works for some other people doesn’t mean it would work for the two of you.”
“The two of us? Really? You’re still going to play it that way?” Eric challenged. “Tell me you don’t want her, too.”
Kellan’s eyes hooded. Tate had made almost a scientific study of his friends in an attempt to really understand them. Kellan had four major expressions that he used like masks. This particular one Tate had named “stubborn asshole.” Kellan used it a lot.
“Of course I want her. I’ve never denied that. She’s a beautiful woman, not to mention lovely, kind, and very smart. If I was interested in getting married again, I would be all over her. But I’m not, and I doubt she’s the type of woman to have no-strings-attached sex.”
“I want strings.” Tate needed to make that brutally clear because his partners seemed to constantly forget. They should take notes during their conversations the way he often did. But again, no one asked his opinion. “I want to be tangled up in all her strings. She’s the one. I get that what we want is unusual, though it really doesn’t seem that way today. I swear the two dogs are the only non-ménage relationship here. Belle might be surprised that we all want her, but she’s not going to be shocked. She’s fine with Kinley’s marriage.”
Eric sighed. “Maybe, but we need to be careful. She hasn’t dated anyone since she started working with us.”
Tate knew that very well since he’d been keeping an eye on her. Hopefully she never knew the extent of his observation because what he’d done was illegal. And possibly a little stalkerish.
“There’s some reason for that,” Eric went on.
Didn’t they get it? “Because she’s waiting for us to make a move.”
“Or she’s just working hard and isn’t ready to settle down,” Kellan pointed out. “She’s young, man.”
“It’s not like we’re old.”
Tate didn’t feel old. He was thirty-two. Given that the average life expectancy of an American male was seventy-six, that didn’t sound old. Then he did the math and realized that he was forty-two percent of the way through his accepted life expectancy. Forty-two percent—closing in on half. When he looked at it that way, he did feel old. He refused to waste another second.
“That’s it.” Tate stood and straightened his tie. “I’m going in.”
God, he hoped he looked halfway decent because he often got rumpled and didn’t notice. He would probably still be wearing pocket protectors if he hadn’t become good friends with Eric in tenth grade.
He’d tutored Eric through rudimentary algebra, and Eric had taught him that jeans weren’t supposed to hit above the ankles. They’d been a weird duo, the jock and the nerd. But their relationship meant more to him than any other. His parents were cold intellectuals who told him he’d failed by not going into academic pursuits—because yeah, Harvard law had been a breeze. His brothers cared more about their experiments than their family. So Tate and Eric had stuck together like blood, and Kellan had joined them after college.
But Tate realized in that moment that he needed more. He needed Belle. So did they, but she had to come first. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to offer her my penis.”
Eric’s head hit the table and he groaned. “Dude, how do you ever get laid?”
So he wasn’t smooth. At least he was honest. “She already has my heart. I would like for her to take my penis, too. Is that so much to ask?”
“If you ask her like that, she’ll just smack you,” Kellan pointed out.
Frustration welled. He sat back down. “Damn it, that’s why we need to go after her as a pack. I’m not good at the smooth stuff.”
“By smooth stuff, he means any type of actual communication with a woman.” Eric rolled his eyes.
They were totally missing the point. “I communicate fine. She’ll know what I want and how I want it.”
“Which is precisely why she’ll know where she wants to slap you next.” Kellan shook his head. “This might be a bad idea, but it couldn’t hurt for you to dance with her. Can you do that without asking her to take your penis in marriage?”
He wasn’t completely sure. His cock had a mind of its own. “I think I can handle it.”
“Good. Go on, then. I’ll talk to Eric.” Kell sighed. “I guess we really do need to figure out how to handle her. I can’t stand the thought of another uncomfortable plane trip back. She didn’t talk to me the whole flight down. Taking the hands-off approach isn’t working. I get the feeling she’s just about ready to throw in the towel and leave all of us.” Kellan’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “And that asshole isn’t married. Go. Make sure he doesn’t get his hands on Belle.”
Tate’s stare zipped to her. Sure enough, a guy was cutting in on Lennox. He leered down at Annabelle, then peered straight at her boobs.
Those boobs were his, damn it. At least he fully intended for those boobs to belong to him. Well, a third of them anyway. “You two work it out because I’m making a move by the end of the night…”