Winding Her Up Read online

  "I think refreshments are in order." Ian took one hand and placed it on his arm.

  "Second the motion." Tad took the other.

  Thus bookended, Marielle was left with little to do other than stroll with her escorts to the beverage cart and allow them to wait on her.

  It was, all things considered, a most delightful experience.

  Chapter Three

  She'd made a date. With two men. And shocked herself silly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  Yes, she'd like to visit the store. And yes, next Saturday afternoon would be fine. Both statements were true. So why she woke up the morning after the Steampunk Society affair and found herself staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Marielle wasn't quite sure.

  Her face still looked like her face. It hadn't changed overnight into the depraved and decadent kind of desperately horny bitch who'd even think about doing two guys at once.

  Just the quick notion flashing across her mind, as it had done during the night, set up a small sensual tsunami which built throughout her body until it roared down to her groin and made her inner empty spaces ache to be filled.

  What the fuck was going on with her? Was she due for her period? Coming down with the flu? Hitting pre-menopause too early? Having a hot-flash?

  Just because two very attractive men had flirted with her and made her feel...what? Exactly how had she felt when they'd smiled at her, touched her, laughed with her and given her "that" look—the one silently hinting that they'd like to see her naked?

  She sighed. She'd felt sexy. The feminine aura, initiated by those damn Victorian silk skirts, had developed into a full-blown experience. She'd been ripe for gentlemanly flattery, flirtation and fun. The three f's of a wonderful evening. There was no question that Ian and Tad excelled in all of them.

  But they worked so well in tandem, she couldn't help but make the association, arriving at a somewhat extraordinary conclusion. They had operated as a pair, these two handsome creatures. And perhaps they were offering, in their subtle and charming way, an evening with both.

  Or maybe she was just coming down with the flu and hallucinating the implications of their conversation last night.

  So they'd asked her to come to the store. No big deal. She loved clocks, and had already shown off some of her knowledge. Yes, that hadn't been her finest moment, but she'd been possessed with the urge to correct any errors about her intelligence from the minute she'd laid eyes on them.

  It sounded as if they had a good assortment of clocks in their store, and she could say with all honesty that Time Travelers had been on her list of antique shops she planned on visiting over the next few months.

  So there was nothing she could identify as being indicative of any subtext whatsoever in their invitation.

  Except the looks on their faces and the matching heat she knew she'd glimpsed in their eyes.

  She was a little afraid it might have matched the heat in hers.

  Staring into the mirror once more, Marielle tugged at the hem of her oversized t-shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor beside her. Critically she stared at her body, nude and warm from sleep.

  She would be thirty-four on her next birthday, but liked to think that eating as sensibly as anyone could these days, in combination with her love of walking, kept her in pretty good shape. She certainly had curves, but she was a woman and therefore supposed to have a rounded ass and a pair of abundant breasts. They'd sag soon, she knew, but at the moment gravity hadn't put its nasty hold on them. They were full globes, tipped with large dusky areolas and nipples that were more than a little sensitive.

  She cupped herself and gently flicked her thumbs across the darker flesh, biting her lip at the frisson of fire licking down to her pussy and watching as the tiny buds hardened and emerged beneath her gaze.

  She didn't think of herself as a sexual woman very often. She wasn't averse to sex and enjoyed an average relationship with her vibrator, bringing herself to orgasm in a speedy and satisfactory manner.

  It wasn't as easy with men unfortunately, since for her, sex needed to be an emotional package, not a tumble in the sheets followed by pizza. She was less than satisfied most of the time, even though she could not fault her lovers. She assumed the problem—if there was one—lay at her door. So she'd let her social life dwindle away to nothing over the past year, finding no pressing urge to change the situation.

  And yet last night...

  Last night two men had set off her sexual radar and it was still pinging as it swept around her. Thinking about Ian and Tad kept her nipples hard, throbbing even though she no longer touched them.

  A rosy hue stained her cheeks and her lips seemed fuller at the idea of standing, just like this, with the two of them behind her, looking over her shoulder at her nude reflection in the mirror.

  She released one breast and lifted her hand to her head, unfastening the clip that held her hair away from her face at night. The deep red mass fell around her, almost covering her breasts and framing her body with burning embers.

  It felt soft, a kiss of silk...perhaps Ian's lips would feel like that on her spine if he were there. Or Tad's mouth against the tight nipple—would it be soft and warm like that long curl resting there? Or would he suck hard, making her whimper a little with the pain of such delight.

  She let her free hand drift slowly down her torso, over her belly to her mound and pulled down the waistband of her panties. Her red hair was brighter here, tight curls glowing with tiny sparks from the morning sunshine.

  It was strange and erotic, looking at her body from what seemed like a new perspective. Releasing the lace, Marielle rested her palm on her lace-covered mound and let her fingers touch her pussy. She needed more. She stroked along the crevices, arousing herself, finding the vision of this woman strangely appealing. As if she'd stepped to one side and was now a voyeur, watching her own pleasure.

  The material grew damp beneath her fingertips and her hips moved; she was a puppet controlled by someone pulling all her sexual strings. She wondered how it would be if Tad were behind her, his arms locking hers against her sides while his hands toyed with her breasts. She would be feeling every inch of him against her back, heated skin to heated skin.

  For a moment the fantasy was almost real and she swore her spine flared with another's touch.

  Ian would be on his knees, his head between her outspread thighs. Moisture soaked her panties as her hand became his tongue, lapping at her, tasting and teasing her, driving her upward.

  Eager and needy, Marielle ripped off the wisp of white lace and thrust two fingers inside her body, seeing not her own hand but Ian's dark hair and feeling not her own touch but his hungry tongue.

  As she pinched her breast she saw Tad's hand toying with her nipple, pulling it away from her almost to the point of pain.

  She saw the men with her, saw herself surrendering her body to their desires and taking everything they gave her. She saw herself, tense and shivering, buttocks clenched hard and soul teetering on the edge of an abyss.

  And she saw herself orgasm, strong spasms rippling through her belly as her hips thrust violently into the fantasy. Whimpers of release caught in her throat and her mouth opened on an almost silent scream of ecstasy.

  She shook and shuddered in front of her bathroom mirror, lost in her imaginings, amazed at the power of her physical response to little more than a dream.

  When it eased and left her with a slowing heartbeat and thighs soaked with her own juices, Marielle leaned wearily against the sink and dropped her gaze away from her flushed body.

  "Holy fucking shit. This can't be. Two of them would kill me."

  The sound of her own voice surprised her as she spoke the words aloud. But even as she said them, she knew she lied to herself.

  If it was to be, she'd like it very much. And if it wasn't to be...well, it had been one hellaciously fine fantasy. Whichever way it turned out, she remembered to enter their number into her ce
ll phone calendar.

  She was definitely going to call them on Thursday and confirm.

  *~*~*~*

  When it came to acquiring stock for the store, Ian and Tad took turns roaming the countryside for a day or two. It was Tad's turn this week—he'd heard of an estate sale in Vermont and had headed off early that morning.

  It was Tuesday already, and Ian found himself struggling to keep to his regular schedule. Distraction wasn't usually something he experienced, and he wasn't real happy that it had hit him with a vengeance. He wasn't twelve years old, for fuck's sake, about to get a glimpse at his first naked pussy.

  He was a grown man. Sexually experienced, with plenty of notches on his belt. So why was he continually haunted by the thought of a fine pair of blue-green eyes, red hair and a woman who had enchanted both him and Tad? And why did he seem to be walking around semi-aroused most of the time at the idea of the two of them sharing her?

  Fuck.

  He tore up a price ticket and tried again, writing the correct number this time in his precise copperplate style. It wouldn't do for a customer who collected cloisonné to discover this lovely Russian box was reduced for clearance and priced at twelve dollars and ninety-five cents.

  It was actually twelve hundred and ninety-five dollars—and a bargain at that price. Ian knew of one in inferior condition that had sold for more at auction in New York only last month. He'd already contacted the buyer with a description and hoped to hear back soon.

  His phone rang, the ringtone letting him know that Tad was checking in, so he tapped the little headset resting in his ear.

  "You minding the store?" His friend's amused voice came tinnily through the tiny speaker.

  "How's Vermont?"

  "Green. I've got an appointment with the executors this morning. From the sound of things this is a small estate but with a lot of heirloom stuff. Sadly there aren't any heirs to loom it."

  "End of the line, huh?" Ian absently rubbed his chin as he listened.

  "It happens." Tad sighed. "Anyway, I'll get a better idea after this meeting. I'll let you know what the chances are."

  "Sounds good."

  "How's business?"

  "Slow right now." Ian glanced outside. "It's very hot and I reckon that's keeping people beside their air conditioners."

  "Yeah. August will do that. Not so bad up here, but still on the sticky side."

  "Hey. I had an idea." Ian's gaze strayed to the small poster he'd put up on the glass door to the store. Sometimes they helped out local events with a little advertising.

  "What?"

  "About Saturday. Marielle."

  "You too, huh?"

  "Huh?" Ian frowned.

  "I have to confess this might have been a casual idea but damned if I can get it out of my head."

  "Join the club." Ian chuckled. "Think we're having a mid-life crisis?"

  "I thought expensive sports cars were supposed to be involved."

  "Point taken. Okay. We're having a boner-inducing crisis."

  Tad laughed. "That about sums it up, yeah. What was your idea?" He paused. "If you're going to talk dirty, let me make it clear up front I don't do phone sex with guys."

  "Me neither, asshole." Ian's voice was affectionately insulting. "I wasn't going to anyway."

  "Stop fucking around then. What's your idea?"

  "Something different. This is the last weekend in August."

  "So?"

  "You and I both know what's going on this weekend, Tad. C'mon. End of August? Heat? Prosciutto? Capicola? Lasagna on paper plates? Molto vino?"

  Ian smiled as he heard Tad's indrawn breath.

  "Shit. Yeah. Genius, man. We'll take her up to the North End and introduce her to the Feast of St. Anthony."

  "Food, wine, songs—parades and more parades—all that good summer stuff." Ian could almost taste the Italian sausages.

  "Then back to the store..." Tad paused dramatically. "For fireworks."

  Ian swallowed. "That's the plan."

  "You okay with it?"

  That was all Tad needed to ask since Ian caught the reference immediately. "Yes. You?"

  There was silence for a few seconds. Then "Yes. I'm working my head around the whole sharing thing. I don't want you, Ian. I've seen you naked many times and you don't do a damn thing for me." He laughed. "No insult intended."

  "None taken. And ditto for me."

  "But the thought of us naked with Marielle, doing things as a threesome? Well, fuck, man. It's hot."

  "It is. Surprisingly hot. It's not like we're twenty-two and fucking everything that breathes and has a pussy."

  Tad's low laugh thrummed through the headset. "Don't sound so dismissive. That was a good year. For both of us, if I recall correctly."

  Ian's laugh rang out. "Yeah. Can't argue with that."

  "D'you remember Janice and Jeanette? I think those were their names..."

  He broke off and Ian could hear another voice in the room. Patiently, he waited for Tad to come back on the line, still smiling at a few of those memories. His gaze fell on the colorful poster for the Feast of St. Anthony. And St. Lucia, although she got second billing beneath the big guy.

  It was a famous and massive festival, always held on the last weekend of August, which went on for several days in Boston's picturesque Italian neighborhood known to all as the North End. Decorations went up everywhere, lights were strung across small winding roads, and already the scent of cooking was probably spreading down Endicott Street.

  The Italian heritage of magnificent food was alive and well in the North End and the restaurants there were justifiably proud of every dish they served, from pasta to calamari to pizza.

  Rumor had it there were two things you'd never find in the North End. A bad meal and a parking space.

  Tad interrupted Ian's mental meanderings. "Gotta go. Looks like I might be able to get a quick tour of the house before the meeting. One of the executors had her schedule shift so I'm outta here."

  "Good hunting." Ian tapped the headset, ending the call. If there were treasures to be culled for Time Travelers, Tad would find it. He had a nose for small pieces of furniture that others might overlook and several times had unearthed something that might class as "important" in the antiques world.

  A bit of a clean up, a gentle polish to remove the spider-webs and century of grime—et voila. A Sheraton side-table. Or that amazing set of Hepplewhite chairs he'd unearthed from an old barn in New Hampshire. Those had covered their expenses for two months. After they'd cleaned off years of rat droppings.

  Ian knew they complimented each other, he and Tad. While he might not have such an educated eye for furniture, he could look at a clock or a small objet d'art and know instinctively if it was something they should buy.

  Both men had pooled their interests and Ian was standing in the result—a small antique shop that was already gaining a steady client list. They added names to it on a weekly basis and—gratifyingly—even found themselves written up in the Sunday Globe. That had been a turning point. That had been when Ian knew they would make it. Up until then, it had been touch and go.

  Tad was always the confident one, while Ian was cautious. Again, a good blend for a business like theirs.

  And when it came to women...well, they'd started out from different points on the compass, that was for sure.

  Ian smiled as he took a small bundle of price tags from beneath the counter and started marking the estate jewelry shipment, which had arrived the day before. Nothing massive, but a nice collection. The sort of thing that would bring a smile to a woman's face. Some deco pieces, a cameo or two—these wouldn't last long. His hands worked as his thoughts strayed.

  Women liked sparkles, and he and Tad liked women. In their early playboy days, Tad had gone for the breasts and the hair, liking the evident physical sex appeal. Ian liked his women to have breasts and hair, but he also liked them to radiate a subtler kind of sex appeal. The one that whispered of naughty things in the bedroom if you we
re man enough to take it.

  His lips curved into a smile. Marielle was one of those women. She looked elegant and sleek, like a Siamese cat. He wanted to reach out and pet her, yet there was something in her eyes that warned a man not to take anything for granted. She might either purr at his caress—or scratch deep enough to draw blood. It was that "something" Ian found incredibly appealing.

  He shook his head and dragged his mind back to his work. Saturday would be there soon enough, as would the Feast of St. Anthony. His mouth watered...but whether for a taste of Italian sausage or Marielle he wasn't quite sure.

  *~*~*~*

  "St. Anthony? Yes, I've heard of him. Why?" Marielle blinked as she talked to Tad on Thursday evening.

  "We thought you might enjoy the Feast. It's this weekend."

  "Oh, yes, the one in the North End. I've heard of it, but I've never gone."

  "You've missed something extraordinary, Marielle." Tad's tone was reverent. "There's nothing like it in New England. Or probably anywhere else, for that matter. People come thousands of miles just for this."

  "Food would be involved, I'm guessing?" She chuckled.

  "Food? Simple food?" Tad's voice was scandalized. "Good God, woman. You insult the brilliance of every North End chef. It's not food, it's...it's ambrosia. The food of the Gods. Manna from heaven..."

  "Hmm. Calorie-free, of course?"

  "It's a well known fact that anything you eat standing up is calorie-free."

  She couldn't help the peal of laughter at that one. "Yeah, right."

  "Seriously, Marielle. Would you like to do this? To come with us on Saturday evening and experience the Festival? It's worth seeing, you know. The parade of St. Anthony himself, the marching bands—everyone sings and dances and yes, there's more food than you can imagine. All of it wonderful..."

  "You're making my mouth water, you know."

  "Good. Say yes." He paused. "And then we'll bring you back here and you can explore Time Travelers to your heart's content."