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

McQueen Was My Valley 2

Woman on Top

Wild child Brooke McQueen has promised to behave, starting a new life at her sister’s Triple Play Lodge in Utah. But she falls hard for the wounded mercenary and antiquities expert, Adrian Kinsey, and can’t keep her hands off him. Adrian wants nothing to do with another woman after he was betrayed by a fiancée back east, and peaceful game warden Gabriel Verona offers to be a buffer zone between the destined lovers.

The trio tries to pretend it’s all merely a lusty game of bondage and discipline as they hook up around the lodge. They walk a delicate balance in their power plays, but Adrian can’t avoid his passion for Brooke forever.

A despicable animal poacher they’ve nabbed vows revenge. Emotions run deep as they scramble to keep one step ahead of the unbalanced criminal. Brooke’s deepest desire is to emerge as the woman on top of every game.

Genre:
BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

Length:
52,777 words
 

McQueen Was My Valley 2

Karen Mercury

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

WOMAN ON TOP

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-354-5

First E-book Publication: February 2013

Cover design by Les Byerley

All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

Letter to Readers

Dear Readers,

If you have purchased this copy of
Woman on Top
by Karen Mercury from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

Regarding E-book Piracy

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

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This is Karen Mercury’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Mercury’s right to earn a living from her work.

Amanda Hilton, Publisher

www.SirenPublishing.com

www.BookStrand.com

To Olivia. Thanks for all the skiing info. You must be eighteen years old to read this.

And Carlita, who assisted with all the lodge business.

WOMAN ON TOP

McQueen Was My Valley 2

KAREN MERCURY

Copyright © 2013

Bird in Hand, Utah

Brooke had seen this man walking back and forth past her desk for four days now.

The most he’d done was nod at her, acknowledging her existence, that she sat behind a desk. Sat there day in, day out, doing nothing more than point to the complimentary lemonade, strawberries, and apples. Oh, sure, once in awhile there would be a newbie guest and Brooke would be required to actually get up and give them a tour of the mineral pool, whirlpool, dry sauna, wet sauna. This was the highlight of Brooke’s day, pointing at the thermostat, showing people where to hang their white terry robes. Sometimes old-timers would want to go sit on their noodles in the outdoor shiatsu pool, and she’d have to explain that it was too snowy and therefore dangerous out there. The outdoor area of the Triple Play Lodge was closed in January.

Of course, Brooke kept her e-book reader on a pull-out tray under the desk and read books between greeting guests. This was how the
real
highlight of her days became the redheaded man who passed by her desk a few times every day. With an exquisitely rounded ass and wide shoulders, he carried himself stiffly, erect as though alert for enemies. His peridot-green eyes reflected light from the skylights above, giving the impression of steely intelligence, a gritty courage.

Brooke concluded that he had a military background. She had nothing better to do, in fact, than to invent an entire background for the ginger fellow she’d heard the masseuse call Adrian. Never married, she concluded the hunk in his mid-thirties had been running black ops overseas. He’d come to Utah to ski and forget the horrors he’d seen. She knew he skied because once she’d seen him head out of the dressing room all decked out in ski attire. Brooke made excuses to walk by the mineral pool just to catch glimpses of his finely molded ass as he took a dip in his tight swim trunks. Adrian had several long, slashing scars across his back that Brooke romantically imagined were caused when he was held captive by insurgents. Of course the terrorists got no information out of him.

After a few days of this torture, Brooke talked to Adrian’s masseuse, Ashley. “That guy, Ashley. The redheaded one. What’s his story?”

Ashley’s face lit up. “Oh, Adrian Kinsey? He’s a mouth-watering morsel. He’s got game, doesn’t he?”

“What
is
his game, exactly? Is he married?”

“I don’t think so. At least, he’s never mentioned a wife. No ring.”

“And he’s not gay,” Brooke presumed. Her gaydar definitely hadn’t pinged.

“I don’t think so. He’s made some…
remarks
about women before. That he appreciates them.”

The next time Adrian showed up for his massage appointment—nodding ever so minutely to Brooke as he passed by her desk—Brooke took impulsive action. She just could not tolerate watching this delectable man walk by without becoming more intimate with him.

She waited twenty minutes before completely abandoning her desk and walking upstairs. She lingered outside Ashley’s treatment room, staring into her cup of chamomile tea, practically whistling with nonchalance. A couple other masseuses walked by and tried to engage her in conversation, but she cut them off abruptly.
He’s got game.
Brooke wanted to know more about Adrian’s game.

Then Ashley emerged, on time to give Adrian his ten-minute meditative rest listening to space music while lavender steam drifted through the room. Luckily, Ashley just nodded at her before continuing down the hallway, and Brooke slipped into the room once she was out of sight.

Adrian lay on his front, a sheet draped over his buoyant ass. His swim trunks hung from a peg on the wall. Ashley was a pert, vivacious young woman—just like every other masseuse at the Triple Play. It wasn’t supposed to be intentional, but it somehow turned out that way, probably because pert young women drew in more customers. So Brooke needed to have one up on Ashley and all the other Ashleys of the Triple Play. She needed to stand out in some way if she wanted to tempt this unusually gorgeous man.

She needed to be bold.

And since Brooke had fearlessness in spades, she snatched up Ashley’s bottle of massage oil and warmed some between her palms. She was loud about it, too, not stealthy. She smacked her palms together like a child playing patty-cake, appreciatively eyeballing the lovely slope of Adrian’s lower back. His beautifully shiny, scarlet-red hair looked to have been cut in a military style but had grown out for perhaps over a month, giving him a shaggy, boyish look. Lust surged through Brooke’s uterus, actually making her ovaries throb as she stood beside his prone body, rubbing the oil salaciously into her palms.

He didn’t jump one centimeter when she touched her palms to his shoulders. She didn’t know if she should avoid the scars, which didn’t seem that old.
Is he asleep? My, his skin is as soft as cream.
Sweeping her hands down his biceps, she squiggled each of his fingers in turn between hers. Several times she had to add more oil, and her eyes were fixed on his face. He had a pointed, aristocratic nose that gave him a very thoughtful, refined look. Of course, being redheaded, he had exceedingly white skin, flawless aside from the flogging scars that flared angrily across his milky back.

Brooke was shocked at how deeply this man had already affected her. Was she not accustomed to partying at nightclubs with many international, jet-setting men?
Yes. That’s why I was dragged here to Utah kicking and screaming against my will. Too much partying.
She had always been able to bag any man she wanted, on a whim, never a single rejection. She had a feeling this refined, aristocratic man might be her first. This made her want him all the more.
Is that my problem? Do I need to conquer every man in my sights? Maybe.

She leaned against the massage table in order to prop his hand in her lap and squirm his fingers between hers. That was when his beautiful green eyes popped open and he noticed her for the first time. His face showed no expression. “You’re not Ashley.”

Brooke kept her composure. “I have a different technique. She sent me in because I’m very good with hands and…backs.” She looked meaningfully at the florid scars that decorated his shoulder blades.

“Backs,” he stated, supporting his chiseled chin on his fist. “You’re the receptionist.”

“I’m Brooke,” she conceded, letting his arm dangle toward the floor and grabbing the oil bottle, which sat in a warmer. She poured a good palmful this time, and did not rub it in, just let it pool in her hand. “Ashley told me you had a painful back, and that’s my area of expertise.” She was bluffing, of course. She just assumed that most people, especially men, had painful backs at one point or another. Before he could respond, she poured the palmful of oil into the delicious depression of his lower back, right where an angel had pressed her fingers to create two dimples.