Mastered By The Mavericks (20 page)

Rebel’s barking laugh conveyed his understanding of that fact, so she bit her thoughts
into silence as he confronted Rhett with a narrow glare. “I’d state the obvious, but
clearly, Sergeant Lange, you’re into ignoring the obvious lately.”

The corners of Rhett’s eyes tightened. Other than that, he hardly moved. “I’m well
aware of our present challenges. I just choose to look at them differently.” He nodded
toward the patio. “This gives us a window to gather intel and form strategy.”

Brynn released a resigned breath. “He’s right. We can whine about the setback or embrace
the opportunity.”

“How very Zen of him.” Rebel snorted softly before parting his lips, revealing a clenched
smile. “On the other hand, who can’t be Mr. Zen when they’re pumping a load into the
world’s most perfect redhead every night?”

And there went her dilemma about remaining polite and silent. “Excuse the
hell
out of me?” Followed, weirdly and wildly, by the world’s most inappropriate follow-up
thought.
The world’s most perfect redhead? He really thinks that
?

Now was
not
the time for giddy and stupid—unless they were discussing Rebel’s idiocy. Rhett was
all over it. He lunged two steps forward and snarled, “You want to reconsider that,
Sir Douchebag, before I beat that three tons of bullshit out of you?”

Rebel shoved away from the wall. His chest ended up an inch from Rhett’s. Brynna winced,
instantly recognizing the irony. In any other situation, the sight of them like that,
matched nearly muscle-for-muscle, would have her squirming and wet. Right now, she
didn’t know whether to scream or bawl.

“You want to tell me it’s not true?” Rebel slung back.

“It’s not true!” But her outcry might have been a damn dog whistle. Neither of them
heeded it, despite reminding her of a Doberman and a Pitbull in a growl-off.

“You want to tell me you didn’t jump on her during the plane ride, just to tick me
off by getting there first?”

“You want to tell me I didn’t?”

“Oh my God,” Brynn blurted.

Rhett pushed forward. Rammed Rebel hard enough to make him stumble back. He began
to follow but stopped as if an invisible rope caught him short. His balled fists were
yanked back; his heaving chest was thrust up. “You disgust me,” he seethed. “She’s
a woman, not a pawn in your twisted game with
me
!”

Rebel straightened. Smacked his hands together in mocking claps. “Nice, man. Real
nice. Pretty speech. Now do you understand all of it? She
is
a woman. A
woman
—not an angel in human form, not a goddess without a pedestal, certainly not the hole-filler
for all the shit your parents didn’t get right.” He stopped, too. Leaned over, dipping
one shoulder and arching both brows. “How does
that
play on your little chess board?”

Rhett blew out air like a bull about to charge. “You really going there with the Freudian
baggage, asshole? Oh, wait. They don’t know what luggage is in the swamp, do they?
Hold for a mike while I find that sack on your stick.”

Rebel, already poised to pounce, took two seconds to twist his hand into Rhett’s shirt.
Shockingly—or maybe not—Rhett leaned into the hold. The pair snarled at each other,
though almost seemed to smile about it, leaving Brynna’s bloodstream to fend on its
own in a mix of fear and fascination. There was no denying the effects of the charged
testosterone on the air. As horrified as her mind might be, her pussy was a pure zing
of heat.

What the hell is wrong with you?

What the hell is wrong with
them
?

“Ha fucking ha. I’m so offended now,
couillon
. You going to make a joke about the voodoo priestess who popped my cherry now, too?
I have a thousand chicken sacrifice jokes that’ll go well with that.”

“Imagine that,” Rhett rebutted. “Jokes. From you. Best coping mechanism there is—especially
if anyone starts to mention real feelings. And you wonder why I keep my distance?”

Rebel colored. At least she thought he did. His skin, perpetually tanned, turned the
shade of coffee beans. “Your ‘distance’ has nothing to do with my jokes.”

“But everything to do with what I deserve.” He jerked his head toward Brynna. “And
what she deserves, too. Which is better than your damn jokes.”

“And
you’re
the better, is that it? She’s better off with your glass tower over my swamp and
sack?”

“Enough!” Brynn’s throat hurt from the violence of it. The effort was worth it. She
stunned the hulks so thoroughly, she was able to push between them. Both only budged
back by a step, but it was a start. “First,
she
is right here, you baboons.” She ziplined her glare back and forth between them.
A much-needed moment of levity came from imagining them both with bare red asses,
chomping on fleas from their own fur. “Secondly,
she
isn’t anyone’s damn playing piece!”

Rebel’s skin darkened again. Thank God she was more pissed at than attracted to him
at the moment, because the richer mocha brew beneath his skin was a finer-than-fine
compliment to his thick black hair, full pirate lips, and delicious cinnamon scent.
“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up. I don’t care what you meant. This is about what
I
meant.” She curled a hand into his shirt, feeling a little heady when his pupils
dilated, his forehead clenched, and his nostrils flared. “I appreciated what you did
for me on the plane, but don’t think I bought your lame little excuse of ‘distracting’
me from the take-off. I’ve faced scarier shit than that flight in the last year of
my life alone, Moonstormer.” Dear God, how he fulfilled that call-sign so perfectly—at
some times more than others. Like now. His gaze was a thousand shades, all of them
deep as ocean waters under moon-drenched skies. “I wanted you as badly as you wanted
me.” She tugged him closer. “
Wanted
, not
needed.
Got that?”

His focus dropped to her mouth. His stubbled jaw gained new angles of tension. “Yes…ma’am.”

They stared at each other through long seconds, marked only by her pulse in her ears,
perfectly synched to the thrums in her feminine flesh. Oh
God,
how swiftly he could make her wet…

She breathed hard, fully expecting Rhett’s snicker to cut in anytime. He was still
back there; she could feel him. Hovering? Waiting? No way would he let this chance
for a gloat pass by, especially after all the venom the two of them had spat.

Finally, her curiosity relentless, she released Rebel’s shirt and turned around.

Double-Oh hadn’t moved. Or, it seemed, blinked. Immediately, she was enthralled by
his
thrall, his stare taking in Rebel and her like a newb in his first strip club. And
yeah, she knew what she was talking about. A dancer in Vegas, even employed by the
shows that required her to cover up, had been to a few skin joints in her time. Dumbstruck
was as irresistible on him as the blush was on Moonstormer. His normal shit’s-all-together
scowl was replaced by a lost boy parting of his sinfully full lips.

A pout she couldn’t help kissing.

Just a short buss, but more than enough to charge the air all over again with his
essence, sage and sea and all man, that was solely his. God, she’d missed that smell.

“For the record, and just in case you’ve forgotten,”—she stabbed a censuring look
at Rebel over her shoulder—“and because
nothing’s
happened since—what went down between you and me was just as consensual.” She set
him free then moved back, making sure her vision could include them both. “Let’s get
something straight, gentlemen. There are no ‘pawns’ or ‘playing pieces’ here. As you’ve
both astutely noted, I’m a woman—but not one of the submissive things you usually
like playing with, so I’ll cut you some slack for not getting a clue before now. That
being said, listen carefully.” She angled up her chin and cocked a hand to a hip.
“I know how to identify what I want and with whom I want it. I also possess the full
capacity to understand the expectations—or not—that are involved in that choice. I
enjoyed the times I spent with
both
of you, got it?”

The demand opened the pause she needed for regaining composure.
Enjoyed
was a damn huge understatement of how both these men had deep-fried her blood, fondue-dipped
her heart, and hot-wired her libido. Only four days with them, and she almost couldn’t
imagine life without them. And no, it wasn’t because they’d both opened this whole
rodeo with their unique versions of warrior sex. Correction: unique and
incredible
warrior sex. That hadn’t hurt, but it wasn’t everything. Not by far.

That truth shone even brighter as she looked at both of them again.
Damn
, what a sight. How did the room physically contain them both? Her Viking and her
pirate. Her North Sea and Caribbean Sea. Her gold-haired god, her black-haired demon.
They were two halves of one very perfect bond. Inseparable. Balanced.

Until…they weren’t.

Because she’d entered the picture.

Which means they can’t ever really be yours.

Which meant the sooner they found Zo and disbanded this triangle peg in a round hole,
the better.

She just wished the guys appeared more on-board with that plan.

Jamming hands in his front pockets, again practically pouting about it, Rhett mumbled,
“Yeah. Got it.”

He joined her in pinning expectant stares at Rebel. Who wasn’t pouting. Or mumbling.
Or stabbing his hands anywhere near his pockets.

Instead, he stepped over and wrapped both of them around her nape. Curled his fingertips
into her hair, yanking her head back—so he could kiss her with blatant, consuming
intent.

“Sorry. I don’t ‘got it’. I need to be reminded of how much you ‘enjoyed’ everything.”

He dictated the last of it against her lips, somehow opening them at the same time.
As soon as the words were done, his tongue got busy.
Real
busy. Plunging, taking, swirling, so wet and strong and dominant…

Holy.

Shit.

It was one of those moments she’d always read in books but wrote off to pure fiction:
of shock so thorough, nothing but numbness reigned for several seconds. She couldn’t
take a breath, make a sound, think of a movement. When she finally could, the sensible
answer checked in at once.

Slap him.

But oh God…she didn’t want to slap him.

She wanted to sigh and melt and open for him more, to acquiesce completely, to make
the desperation and frustration of the last three days go away, if only for a little
while longer.
Oh, please…just a few moments more…

Like that was going to be possible, with Rhett all but breathing down her neck too.

Rhett.

Hell! She was all but sucking face with Rebel, while Rhett—

Made all of it even better.

Ohhhhh…
wow
.

He really
had
been breathing down her neck—as she learned when he did it even harder, pushing in
to get a better view of every stab Rebel thrusted down her throat. For several seconds,
she fell into numbness again. Could she trust the feedback her senses were sending?
Were those really Rhett’s growls against her ear, growing with arousal? Was that really
his cock, swelling and insistent, against her waist? Was the new scent in the air,
all turned-on spiced musk, really swirling from
her
sex?

Was she okay with this? Were
they
?

Those answers were still a blank space—but wouldn’t be for long.

Rhett emitted a louder snarl, punctuated by lifting his hand to Brynn’s neck. Chafed
her by pushing beneath Rebel’s hold and taking charge of her head with brutal force—twisting
her around for his tongue’s ferocious assault.

The abrasions were worth it. The inability to think beneath his mouth’s possessive
claim, also worth it. But the best reward of all came with the fresh force in his
eyes, sheened with lust but strong as steel, as he jerked away and spoke
his
filler for the blank space.

“Maybe you need to remind us both, sweetheart. Right now. Together.”

‡

R
hett watched the
yes
fire up her eyes before it lifted her lips. The light, piercing as dawn through autumn
leaves, mesmerized him just as thoroughly—until she turned to give its magic to Reb—

Who was just as worthy of the words.

Mesmerizing. Magical.

Christ. He’d never seen Moon look like this. The man illuminated rooms no matter where
they went, but his luminosity always copied the celestial satellite he was nicknamed
after, borrowing the glow from something else. Now, for the first time in their friendship,
the joy on Rebel’s face was an inner thing, inspired by something that was purely
his…

Magnified as they locked eyes once more.

The guy’s happiness ricocheted at Rhett like a rocket, decimating his chest with its
intensity. Rebel had gotten it—thank God. Had understood everything Rhett was trying
to communicate with this proposition. Though he couldn’t give Reb that extra step
in their relationship—fuck,
regular
friendship still wasn’t something he knew how do correctly—this was his way of trying.
A bridge, in the form of this beautiful, passionate woman, to at least connect them
halfway. And God only knew, all
three
of them needed reconnection right now. No guilt. No strings. Just heat, desire, bonding,
fulfillment. Just this. Just now. It was a win-win-win.