by Lora Leigh
There was a ritual to this. Caring for the women who allowed them to share their bodies in such a way. It was a ritual Mac had begun with the first woman he had ever taken with the assistance of another male. It was one Jethro had readily embraced himself once he and Jethro began sharing their lovers.
Or rather, after Mac began sharing his. Jethro had learned early in their friendship that Mac had a way of attracting the gentle, caring women, whereas Jethro always seemed to scare them off.
He moved through the house and headed up the stairs, feeling Keiley's small hand caress his chest. She thought he was Mac. She was still lost in the dazed aftermath of the powerful orgasms that had torn through her. She didn't know who held her. She couldn't know or she wouldn't be stroking him so gently.
As he stepped into the bedroom she shared with Mac, Jethro couldn't help but stare at the peaceful, warm atmosphere as he walked through it.
Traditional dark wood was softened with touches of her feminine presence. The flowered comforter over the bed, the vase of dried flowers on the bureau. There was a print of an aerial view of the farmhouse and surrounding pastures on one wall. A print of a fairy in flight on another.
A violet silk robe lay over the end of the bed; a teddy bear that he knew Mac had bought her sat on one end of the dresser.
In this room, the fact that she and Mac suited each other to a tee couldn't be more apparent. And the fact that he had no place in it had never struck as hard as it did now.
Tightening his jaw, he moved into the bathroom, shifting his precious burden in his arms as he sat on the rim of the large tub.
Son of a bitch. Mac had installed a tub big enough for five people. It was easily the size of the hot tub on the deck behind the house.
Adjusting the water, he kissed Keiley's head as she began to move about.
"Easy," he murmured. "You need a hot bath, then you can sleep."
"I'm hungry," she muttered.
Jethro grinned at the telling comment. She had burned off enough calories climaxing between him and Mac that she had every right to be hungry. Hell, he was damned hungry himself.
"We'll feed you after you soak for a while." He grimaced as he pressed his cheek to her hair, closing his eyes briefly before forcing back the regret.
He was the third. He couldn't let himself forget that. Mac and Keiley were the whole; he was just there to add to the fun for a while.
Where the hell had his mind been when he came here thinking it would be like it had been all the times before? Fun and games. Laughter and pleasure. He hadn't expected to be affected by Keiley's warmth and generous spirit, but in the past two days, he had found himself more than affected.
"Are you okay, Jethro?" she asked quietly, still resting against him as he poured the salts into the water and tested the temperature.
"Just making sure the water's not too hot." He closed his eyes again, only to open them again at the sound of movement at the bathroom door.
Mac stood there, dressed in jeans, his chest and feet bare, his gray eyes thoughtful.
His best friend. And Jethro was doing more than lusting after his best friend's wife.
"She said she's hungry." He copped a grin, flashing it quickly before turning away and lifting Keiley into the steaming water of the tub.
"I'm starving." She settled into the water with a blissful sigh.
"What's your pleasure, sweetheart?" Mac padded into the room, kneeling on the step of the tub to lean in and kiss her swollen lips.
His hand cupped her cheek as her slender fingers curled against the back of his neck.
Jethro felt more like an interloper than he ever had in his life. And he had felt that way often.
"I want pizza," he heard her murmur as Mac leaned back, bracing his arms on the rim of the large tub as his fingertips caressed her cheek.
"You rest, I'll order your favorite," Mac promised her softly, his voice low, intimate as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Jethro can wash your back for you," he finished teasingly.
"He should be offering a full back massage." Her laughter was low, teasing, rueful. "I don't think I can walk straight for a while."
"We'll carry you." Mac came to his feet and glanced back at Jethro. "I'll order the pizza. You okay to stay up here?"
Never leave a woman alone after shattering her previous impressions of pleasure.
Cuddle her. Spoil her. Keep her comfortable. Mac knew how to do it, and over the years he had taught Jethro how to do it.
"I'll take care of her." His gaze flickered to her, watching as she relaxed back into the water and Mac stood.
"I'll leave her in your hands." Mac clapped him on the shoulder as he left the bathroom.
Jethro looked around the steamy intimacy of the bathroom. Here, Keiley's influence was more felt. It was softer than the bedroom, with slate-gray marble cabinets and sink and several narrow shelves that held an array of feminine products: soaps, lotions, and scents. He knew that beneath the cabinet was a built-in drawer system that held makeup.
Hanging on an inner wall was a blow dryer and assorted curling irons.
A French door led to a balcony that ran the length of the bathroom and bedroom, the pale gray sheers covered with darker pearl-gray curtains that were presently pulled back.
"You're too interested in the bathroom walls," she said with an edge of uncertainty.
"I'll be okay by myself."
Jethro whipped his head around, staring at the water lapping at her breasts before he let his gaze meet her wide hazel eyes.
He shook his head slowly as he knelt on the lower step that led up to the rim. "Not a chance." Snagging the bath sponge, he lifted a bottle of bath gel from the wide back rim and soaped it slowly. "Taking care of you will be my privilege."
"I should be totally embarrassed," she said as he caught her hand and drew her toward him so he could reach her back. "I've never made love with anyone but Mac until now."
He watched, entranced, as the bubbles gathered on her back, and then her words slammed into his chest. Made love. Had he ever made love until now?
"Did you enjoy it, though?" he murmured as he smoothed the sponge over her shoulders.
She sighed heavily. "Very much. Too much. I'm sure I should be feeling embarrassed or something by now."
"Don't have the energy for it?" His lips quirked into a smile.
"I don't know." Her voice was reflective as she stared back at him, the short strands of her hair clinging to her cheek and neck as she stared up at him. "Maybe I should be more frightened that I'm not."
Confusion filled her pretty eyes. They were hazel now, the blend of browns and light greens that he loved so well. But earlier, her eyes had sparkled with green fire. Like gems held suspended within a brown velvet background.
Jethro shook his head at his wary suggestion. "No reason to be frightened, sugar. Mac loves you. You know that. Nothing that happened tonight changed that. I'm just here to help him give you a little extra. That's all."
A frown flitted between her brows. "And what do you get out of it, Jethro?"
What did he get out of it? A chance to feel loved, at least the periphery of it. A chance to feel alive as he never had until he saw her.
"More pleasure than you can imagine, Keiley," he assured he softly.
More pleasure than he had ever believed possible. The darkness of his past and a lifetime of loneliness receded when she was near.
"Enough pleasure to stick around a while?" Mac's question had him jerking around, almost guiltily.
"You never know." Jethro grinned, injecting a humor he didn't feel. "Director's in no hurry to have me fill my desk right now."
'Jethro likes to pound on the criminals." Mac glanced at his wife, his gaze assured, confident of his place in her soul. "I'm trying to convince him to take a vacation when his suspension is up at the end of the week."
Jethro watched the silent communication between husband and wife. Th
at bond that allowed them to read each other. To see each other without words.
"You should," Keiley agreed softly, turning her head slowly to meet Jethro's gaze.
She didn't say anything more. Instead she took his wrist, the sponge still held loosely in his hand, and pulled it to her shoulder.
Jethro couldn't speak. There was no need to speak. Aware of Mac behind him, he did what he had done many times in the past: he bathed the woman they had shared. Unlike those other times, he didn't tease or joke. There was no teasing in him tonight. Nothing to joke about. This was more serious than he had ever imagined it could be.
She had given him a gift that shook him to his soul, and he couldn't even explain exactly what it was.
He washed her thoroughly, even going so far as to ignore the blush that seemed to blaze across her enter body when he nudged the sponge between her thighs.
As he cleaned her, Jethro watched the languorous pleasure that suffused her, the drowsy sensuality that began to bloom on her cheeks once again.
After rinsing her, he stepped back, glancing at Mac as he leaned against the doorframe, staring at her with a gentle quirk of a smile and an expression that Jethro had never seen him use with anyone but Keiley.
"Come on, princess." Mac grabbed the towel before Jethro could reach it and moved for the tub. "Let's get you dressed before that pizza arrives."
Jethro moved back, watching as Mac drew his wife from the tub and wrapped the towel around her body. He dried her slowly, peppering kisses over her shoulders as she leaned into him, clearly luxuriating in her husband's touch.
Her husband. She belonged to another man, and he couldn't forget that. He didn't want to change that, but he had to consciously force himself to remember it.
Her soft laughter as Mac lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom stroked over his senses. It melted something hard and tight inside his heart and chipped away at the shield that guarded his soul.
"Come on, Jethro, pizza will be here soon," Mac called out. "I'd prefer we be dressed and at least pretending to be decent when they arrive."
Hell. Small-town life. Mac should have kept his ass in Virginia. Now Jethro was going to have to get up close and personal with the demented and country-loving inhabitants of this small town to find out where the rumors against Keiley were originating. And he would find out.
Something dark and vengeful flared within him then. He'd be damned if he would let some petty, jealous witch strike out at her in this way. Delia Staten wanted Mac; he had learned that much earlier in the day. Even now, fifteen years later, lust and hatred drove her.
Mac had told him about her and various other members of this fine community. How they had stood aside and kept silent whenever old man McCoy had beat the shit out of his son and publicly humiliated his wife. How they had gossiped and made Mac's mother's life more of a hell than it already was.
How Mac had found it within him to return here, to be sociable and polite to these damned people, amazed him.
Shaking his head, he moved from the bathroom and through the bedroom. From the corner of his eye he could see Mac dressing Keiley. Drawing another pair of those loose pants over her legs, kissing her stomach as he pulled the elastic band just over her hip bones.
The intimacy that connected the two had his teeth gritting in a hunger that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with a threat to his soul.
Naked, aroused, he moved through the hallway to his own room, coming to a hard, abrupt stop at a whisper of sound from below.
Jethro eased back into the shadows of the hall, staring down the stairs with narrowed eyes. There it was again, almost not there, like the slide of displaced air over a sinister whisper.
He eased back the way he had come, moving quickly back to the bedroom and giving Mac a hard, warning glance as his friend's gaze jerked suddenly to him.
Mac clamped his hand over Keiley's lips as she began to utter a surprised question.
Jethro was jerking a pair of pants from Mac's closet, dragging them over his legs even as he gave Mac a quick hand motion for a weapon.
"Stay silent!" Mac mouthed to Keiley, pointing to the corner of the room that would hide her from the doorway.
She eased back, her eyes widening with fear as a tremor shook her frame. They had discussed this, how if trouble ever came, she would make certain Mac wasn't hindered by her inexperience.
Silently, he jerked a dresser drawer open as Jethro zipped up the jeans and pulled two Glocks free along with the extra clips. The third, a smaller version, he loaded quickly, and strode to where Keiley was hugging the wall. He pressed the weapon in her hand, pointed to the safety, then pointed to the floor. She flattened herself to the carpet.
Rounding back, Mac caught Jethro's attention and pointed to the door. They moved from the room quickly, weapons at their shoulders, bodies prepared.
It had been three years since he had been with the Bureau, but Mac hadn't forgotten the chill of danger that he felt racing up his spine.
Following Jethro's hand signals, they moved to the stairs, Mac covering him as he started down the stairs. He couldn't hear whatever Jethro had heard, but he could feel it.
Someone had invaded his home.
Jethro held up a hand, a finger flicking to the living room where they had just given Keiley the pleasure he had dreamed of giving her.
Mac listened carefully, but all he heard was the ticking of the clock just inside the room and the silence of the dim house.
Jethro was tense, listening as he flattened himself against the wall. His finger curled toward the room, indicating he would go in low and fast. Bracing himself, Mac moved into place on the opposite side of the steps and nodded at Jethro's quick glance.
Jethro moved fast, throwing himself into the living room before Mac ducked and rolled into the opposite side of the doorway. His weapon came up, his senses alive with the silence that filled the room.
There was nothing but silence. His gaze swept over the dimly lit room. At first, nothing seemed out of place until his gaze speared to the cushioned stool and chair where Keiley had lain.
It had been moved. Her clothes were inches from where they had been, and her panties were missing. White lace that had been wet with her sexy juices.
"Keiley," he hissed, turning and racing back up the stairs.
His chest tightened with sudden terror, fear pumping through his mind as adrenaline raced through his body. He tore into the bedroom, coming to a hard, furious stop as he glimpsed Keiley. She stood in the corner, her back flat against the wall as she stared at the French doors that led onto the balcony.
She was out of line of a shot, but her weapon was held in a two-handed grip and pointing at the door latch. Ominously, with sinister intent, the brass door latch shifted.
Mac didn't think first. He fired.
"Motherfucker!" he yelled, running to the shattered doors as Keiley screamed and Jethro threw himself through the glass.
Following, Mac came to a crouch, weapon raised as he heard Pappy's furious barking below.
"Pappy, down!" he yelled as he gripped the railing and threw himself over the banister.
He hit the ground in a roll, coming up behind the heavy cement fountain that sat feet away. He was aware of Jethro rolling to the opposite side, taking cover behind the aging dogwood that grew alongside the house and led to the balcony.
A motorcycle roared to life from the front of the house, and even as Mac dug in his heels and raced for the front drive he knew he was too late.
"Bastard! You fucking bastard!" he snarled as he caught the receding lights of the dirt bike in the distance.
Aiming, he emptied the clip into the distance, rage beating through his blood as he heard Jethro cursing behind him.
"Son of a bitch!" His fist slammed into the side of his pickup. "You bastard!"
"Mac." Jethro rushed to his side. "He's gone, man."
"Keiley." Mac turned
and rushed for the house, ready to kick in the front door rather than pausing to unlock it when it suddenly opened.
His weapon came up, pointing straight into Keiley's horrified face as Jethro cursed violently behind him.
"God damn you! Damn you, I told you to stay put!" Mac yelled into her pale, tear-soaked face as he gripped her shoulders and pushed her into the house.
Fear was an entity possessing him. Rage beat at his brain as he pressed her against the wall, glaring into her wide, horrified eyes as he restrained himself from shaking her.
"What don't you understand about staying put, Kei?" he yelled. "I could have blown your fucking head off!"
"Let her go, Mac," Jethro said in a dangerous voice, his hands locking on Mac's wrists.
"God damn it, you're hurting her. Let her go."
He was thrown back as Jethro moved between him and his wife.
"Get the fuck out of my way." He went to push past his friend, to get to his wife, to make certain she was alive even if he was madder than hell.
He had never been so furious in his life. Never so terrified as he was at the thought that that bastard had slipped upstairs and nearly caught her undefended.
"Not until you calm down!" Jethro yelled back at him. "She's fucking terrified. Don't make it worse."
"I nearly fucking killed her." He pushed Jethro back, then stared at Keiley's crumpled form.
"God. Kei. Baby."
She was sobbing silently against the wall, her face pressed into it her hands, her shoulders hunched against the force of the violence raging through her room.
Gripping her shoulders, he turned her to him gently. So gently. His hands touched her hair, her shoulders, his arms contracting around her as he closed his eyes against the moisture suddenly filling them.
"Kei, baby," he whispered at her ear. "I'm sorry. Ah, God. Sweetheart. I almost killed you, Kei. I would have died. Do you know that?" He pressed his lips to her brow as she shook in his arms, sobs tearing through her. "Keiley, I would have died. I couldn't live, baby. I couldn't live—" He couldn't live without her.