Chapter 1
One
“ S o you’re saying sex with two men is better than one? Just want to be clear I’m hearing my sister, the strait-laced school teacher correctly.”
Zahara pressed her lips together in the attempt to smother a laugh. With her cell phone balanced between her shoulder and chin, it proved to be a challenge to wipe leftover food off tables, gather empty plates left behind by the lunch hour crowd and convince her younger sister she wasn’t as uptight as she wanted to make her out to be.
“I’m just saying. Maybe if you were to come up and find a handsome Alaskan man or two of your own you could see what I’m talking about.” Not that she’d had a lot of time on her hands outside of teaching and working part-time as a waitress to help her sister through med school. As it was, school loans would be haunting them for the next decade, if not longer.
“Sounds like an adventure, for sure.” Restlessness strung across the wires and Zahara did everything not to sigh too heavily in her sister’s ear. Over the last few months, something had changed with each phone call home to Texas. Every time she pushed the subject Ivy became cagey and ended the phone call before they really had a chance to talk about whatever it was bothering her sister.
Something was up, but she wouldn’t get any answers over the phone. So she went for neutral ground.
“Mrs. Silva still giving you trouble about Jinx?” Their black cat earned the infamous spot at the top of their landlord’s shit list the second day they moved in and remained number one ever since.
“This time the little rascal found a way out to dare sit on her balcony. The chaos that ensued earned me a solid ten-minute balling out. I timed it this time.”
Zahara shuffled the phone to the other ear and propped it up with her shoulder as she moved to another table. “Ivy, we can’t afford to get kicked out of this apartment.”
“I know, I know. I’ll keep the little furball inside.”
“Please. I don’t want to come home to miles of boxes and bubble wrap when school lets out.”
“When do you get back home?”
Zahara cleared her throat and scraped at a piece of something on the polished surface of the table. “Soon-ish.” She gathered several empty plates and stacked them in her tub rather than talk about leaving or what—or rather who— awaited her back in Houston.
“You know he still calls here asking for you? It’s gotten to where I’ve canceled our landline. A couple of your friends spotted him circling the parking lot outside the school where you used to teach, too.” Her sister's slight southern twang drew concerned.
Zahara shuddered as though the reaper raked his deadly claws over her cold grave, looking for the soul he’d nearly collected. Instinct drew her hand to her lower abdomen where the knife her ex used to convey the message that if he couldn’t have her, no one could. He’d left a jagged scar on more than just her body.
Stick to the facts. The facts provided safety, she always told her sister and it would do good for her to remember as well. He couldn’t reach her anymore. He couldn’t hurt her again. No one would have that power over her again.
Suddenly metal grated against the hardwood flooring, tearing her attention away from the past. She jerked her head around as several rowdy tourists, muddied and pumped full of adrenaline from a successful morning climb, kicked back from their barstools, cheering for a brave soul who was just dared to try the limits of his manhood with the drink that carried the bar’s namesake.
She let out a shaky breath.
She almost felt sorry for the college-aged showoff with too much muscle and not enough brain. She’d witnessed plenty of poor fools push through her friend’s bar doors thinking they were all that and then some. They always ended head first in the toilet in less than ten minutes heaving, but it sure as hell made for good entertainment.
Zahara smiled. That dude wouldn’t forget Savage Ridge anytime soon.
Another fact, nor would she.
Feet pounded the wooden flooring and roars bounced off the four walls until she thought the hanging glasses would vibrate loose from the fixed strips above their heads. As it was, bottles rattled on their shelves as five guys the size of linebackers knocked their glasses against the polished wood of the bar before tossing back some hardcore alcohol.
“Geez! There’s enough commotion there to wake the freaking dead. In Russia.”
For a second Zahara had forgotten she had her sister on the line.
Zahara scoffed. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve witnessed happen here. Crazy tourists fall for Damon’s fire drink every damn time.” Shot glasses rimmed with Habanera pepper juice and filled with home-brewed shine so damn pure it put her hometown Southern boys’ hooch to shame. The man responsible for the Alaskan ‘experience of a lifetime,’ as he called it, tossed a knowing wink her way.
Damon, the quiet one of the Savage siblings, had a bit of a dark, humorous side to him not many witnessed. He and Riley, Holden’s best friend, had a lot in common. Even their quiet voices were similar, but neither needed a booming voice to be heard.
When they spoke, people listened.
Damon leaned against the back bar; arms crossed over a barrel chest with his sleeves rolled up to reveal bits of tattoos on his thick forearms.
Zahara shook her head at his antics and turned her attention back to the phone as she moved to the other end of the bar and grill to clear the last of her tables before her break.
“So, back to your two lovers, how do they feel about you leaving Savage Ridge?” her sister pried unapologetically.
“Holden and Riley?”
Ivy snorted causing Zahara to pull the phone away from her ear slightly. “Unless you have another pair of mountain men stuffed in some closet I don’t know about.”
“You’re such a smart ass. I don’t know. I haven’t really discussed it with them.”
“Don’t you think that might make for an awkward parting if you don’t and soon? I mean, just sayin’.”
Zahara rolled her eyes. “Look who is full of such sage advice. Wanna talk about what’s going on with you since you for a change.”
“But being serious for a sec, sis, maybe you should stay. It’s safe there.”
Her sister was right, but that meant Ivy would be left all alone in Houston. She couldn’t have that. Zahara shuddered at the thought of seeing those dead black eyes and that sneering smirk of his again. Maybe if she had been the kind of woman he wanted. Quiet, dainty, and a good little politician’s wife with a servant’s heart, things would have worked out differently.
She tensed at the memory. Her chest filled with a silent sigh and when she let it out the world seemed a shade darker than usual.
Picking the wrong man to get engaged to left a woman’s soul tainted. It just did.
“You’re right about one thing. I need to tell them.” Staying wasn’t an option, but that didn’t make it any easier.
One week wasn’t a lot of time to mentally prepare to leave Savage Ridge and all the connections she had forged, Procrastinating the inevitable didn’t help.
Her final paycheck cleared in five days and there wasn’t anything else tying her to Savage Ridge. Except them. The two obsessive, mountain men who somehow managed to whisk her into a very extended trio romance.
But casual sex didn’t translate into commitment.
Neither Holden Savage nor Riley Ashwood made a move beyond enjoying her company in the evenings and she didn’t voice anything to the contrary or try to hold them back as they slipped from her bed long before morning.
It didn’t bother her.
She swallowed the lie, the lump hardening into a ball of weighted dread before she could swallow it. She dreaded the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place as they retreated yet lived for the whispered promises of their return. Both men occupied her thoughts every free minute of the day which meant one cold hard fact: she’d formed a connection despite her efforts to the contrary. How did she end up in this mess?
Two sets of sexy whiskey-colored eyes and husky voices is how.
“You there? Did you hear my question? Entertain me a little while before I have to go to class. Dish on what makes the men up there so damn special?”
Special? Sometimes she had to stop and wonder too. Zahara pressed the phone close to her mouth and whispered, “I swear there’s something in the water. The men here are well hung, well-built and fuck like they are made to pleasure women twenty-four/seven. Which by my experience, they are, and if you wanna know how I know all the men are well endowed, two words: Risky Whiskey.”
Silence fed through the line before a string of bubbly laughter met her ear.
Snickers and a few sputtered laughs sounded from a few tables down. She dared a look over her shoulder. Heat climbed the back of her neck as Damon shot her a quizzical look from across the bar with a smirk on his face as if sensing the Savage crew was being talked about.
Lord help her, that Savage smirk as she liked to call it. Every single one of the Savage siblings had it and used it like a weapon of mass destruction on the poor female population of Savage Ridge.
Whether tourist or homegrown, the effect was the same on everyone that came in contact with a Savage. She should know. Holden used his all the time to get out of things he didn’t want or, more recently, things he wanted to get into, such as her panties. Riley was the perfect partner to complete their trio with his warm golden eyes and heart-melting ability to peel her clothes off with his tender words. The man didn’t talk much, but lawdy, he knew exactly what to say to her when it counted and when he had his hand in her pants, fingers slid between her cum-drenched folds and working her clit, she was his to command.
What could she say? She was shameless in that respect.
With a single shoulder shrug, Zahara wiggled her eyebrows at Damon, turned on her heels and shuffled to the last table in her section.
Still gasping for air, Ivy asked through all her laughter, “How did you ever land two of those bad boys?”
She scanned the booths next to her to make sure it was all clear of eavesdroppers, not that many could hear over the racket from the front of the bar. Everyone in town knew her business with Holden and his best friend Riley, but she didn’t have to openly talk about it in front of them and feed the gossip. Men could sling dirty laundry better than the potluck ladies any day of the week.
“I can’t believe it either, but it’s just a passing thing. Not like it’ll last forever.” She flicked her towel and wiped at a ketchup splatter before gathering leftover bread baskets. “It’s just a little fling to clean my palate.” Another fact she repeated to herself more and more.
“Right. A totally typical move. You know. Happens to all of us.” Ivy’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“After Mom died, I had to raise you. Followed by a rotten ass engagement. What’s holding you back?”
“That’s easy.” Her sister snorted. “People. And have you tried dating doctors?”
She agreed. Until Savage Ridge. Despite the abrasive winters and plummeting temperatures, the people were warm and friendly. But her sister didn’t trust easy smiles and friendly people. Truth be told, neither should she, but Zahara never could be as cold and calculating as her little sister. Probably how she ended up with the asshole fiancé, to begin with.
“Lucky duck is all I’m saying. Two men? Damn, where do you put it all? I mean, you know?” Despite the undertones, her sister’s words struck her hard.
Zahara fumbled and caught herself as a sudden wave of heat struck her in the midsection. Some of the men beside her stood, hands outstretched to help her.
“Hey, sis, everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Zahara waved off her rescuers with a smile as they helped right her and the massive tub of dirty dishes she carried.
“I just tripped,” she answered, “I’m more worried about you. What’s up? You okay?” She deflected her sister’s worry.
“Yep. Dazzling,” Ivy drew out, no doubt kicking back in her favorite chair with some kind of action flick playing in the background of their apartment.
Being dumped at an orphanage and passed around from home to home from the age of ten had a way of hardening a girl’s heart to the world. Zahara understood her sister’s reservations. But she could see through the tough act. Always had.
“Look, I’ll be flying back home by the end of the month. Then maybe we can have a full weekend of just us, some pizza and beer and John Wick .” Nothing stood a chance against a Kennedy girl’s night of cheap, cheesy food and drinks.
Zahara waved at an older couple coming in for the early bird special before she turned the corner and walked to the back part of the kitchen. “Hey, Mave, got another round for you.”
“Thanks, Teach.” Her student threw up a sudsy hand and tossed her a smile before returning to his task. His head bopping to the tune in his earbuds. Ah. The bliss of being a teenager.
Cinder blocks weighed down her steps the longer the day dragged out, and her fingers still throbbed from slinging all the frosted mugs and piping hot plates she handled.
Zahara dodged a couple of waitresses and eased out of the way.
“It’s a date, but you sure you wanna come back for old movies when you have two men waiting for you?”
She rounded the corner to the right into the storage room.
“I can hear the hesitation and you didn’t even say anything, sis. You like them, don’t you?”
Like them? She was pretty damn sure she was head over heels for them and that was the problem.
Holden was the alpha. Pure 100% panty-melting male who took control with both hands and not an ounce of regret. Riley knew exactly how to take control without her realizing until it was too late and she was deep under his wicked spell. The way he worked her body with his whispered words meant only for her had a way of releasing the weight of the world from her shoulders.
Together her men drove her crazy in every possible way and were a lethal combination that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to shake.
Even now just thinking about them had the walls of her vagina spasming and hot liquid spilling free to wet her folds.
Several waiters bustled behind her, busy preparing for the dinner crowd due in a couple of hours. Zahara tucked herself around the corner and lowered her voice.
Keep to the facts, she reminded herself. “It’s time to cut loose,” Zahara began. She no longer had control over herself. All she had to do was think of them and her body was ready for a fuck-a-thon. “I never planned for this. All I had to do was one year. Collect my bonus check to pay off your tuition for the year and then be back there with you. It’s time I get my ass back on track.”
“I’m a grown girl. You don’t need to mother me anymore, Zahara. Plus, you can’t keep everything tidy and by the book all the damn time. Nothing ever goes according to plan, anyway so why the hell are you beating yourself up for enjoying two hot bodies? Life’s messy as fuck. You already know that. Or at least you should .” Her words softened. “Or when things don’t go right, you just end up hurt.”
She snorted fidgeting with the plastic wrap protecting a stack of paper napkins on the shelf beside her. “That’s a freaking understatement. Since when are you the reasonable one?”
Glass dishes clanked followed by bellowed orders one after another from the cook overseeing evening prep work. Zahara winced.
“I’ve soaked in a few things despite many efforts to the contrary,” her sister teased, and out of nowhere, a punch of nostalgia hit Zahara head-on. A memory of them as little girls, her sister clutching her hand as the lady from child services with the steely eyes and clipped tone led them away from their mother’s slumped body. As the older sister, she understood the needles and pills spilled across the coffee table, but to Ivy, their mother had left them. Abandoned them to live or die. In a way, she was right.
“You know it's okay, right? To be happy for once?” It seemed her baby sister had grown up in the last year and found a few answers of her own.
She braced her forearm against the wall. Handing over the reins for a few hours for some sexy times was one thing, but to trust them with her heart? Her future?
Not that easy. Besides, neither ever took the fun times further. They searched her out after work and they left before the sun had a chance to heat the summer air. Apparently, her feelings were one-sided.
One week and the heat of Houston would be the only thing caressing her body. Reality pressed into the cracks of her resolve and weakened the foundation she worked hard to build up over the last month. She just needed to work out how to keep it from crumbling the second Holden’s fingers intertwined with hers or Riley teased her with soft kisses.
She touched her neck where last night’s memories whispered across her senses.
“Staying isn’t such a good idea. My teaching term is up. They’ve already hired another linguistics teacher to replace me so I can’t change that. It has to happen. And, I can’t stay here forever.” She shrugged. “Texas is home. I’ll be there in a few more days once I submit my final reports and scores for the students’ final exams.”
Her sister grunted. “Who are you trying to convince?”
Zahara’s blood pressure rose a notch as she buried her forehead in her hands. Her sister was right. Who was she trying to convince?
“Where is she?”
Zahara sprang up and nearly lost her grip on her cell phone.
A hot twinge, like a red-hot poker straight out of the fire pit stabbed at her heart. A pronounced silence settled over the bar as the booming voice blasted through the entire diner. Anger reverberated in her bones, barreling over her sister’s voice.
She slowly turned on her heel, edged out of the storage, and peeked around the stacks of Styrofoam containers stacked in three neat rows behind the wall separating the kitchen from the front of the main dining area.
“Uhh... hey, sis gotta go. I’ll call you with flight numbers and all that jazz tomorrow.”
She pinned her gaze to Riley’s father.
This outta be good . Zahara flicked the end button, stuffed the phone in her back pocket and stopped in front of the bar where another waitress paused, mouth gaped open.
“You.”
A long fat finger gnarled by age pointed her way.
Fuck.
Zahara took half a step backward as the old man’s scathing tone lashed out at her.
Riley’s father took up the space of two men and stood a good head and a half taller than her five-five height. He aimed her way, pushing through chairs and tables, empty or not,
Wild, furious, eyes landed on hers as the double doors to the diner swung shut behind the man that carried the same face as her lover, only a few years older. Handsome, with a streak of silver through his sideburns and a thick beard trimmed close to the chin.
The man never held a kind word for her, but today he seemed riled up more than usual. As soon as he’d learned about her, Holden and Riley, he’d been angry and the crinkled skin at the corners of his eyes only grew deeper. If wrath had a color she would say it matched the same stormy blue clouds swirling a nasty tempest in his irises. His mouth pulled back in a fierce grimace making him appear ten years older and meaner than a hell-bound priest.
Zahara’s back went straight and her eyebrows inched up at the wall of muscle plowing toward her.
He tossed people to the side as though they meant nothing. Probably didn’t. Not to him.
Show no fear.
From halfway across the room, she noted the way the old mountain man curled his fingers into an iron fist.
She couldn't back down. She swore under her breath. This was going to hurt like a mother if he landed one of those clenched fists in her face. From toes to shoulders, every muscle in her body tensed.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Ashwood?” Her voice wobbled but grit glued her backbone together. She never let his gaze wander as he drew closer. With his teeth bared in a snarl, he growled down at her, a cold glint in his eyes. “If it weren’t for your hussy ass, my boy wouldn’t be in this mess. Putting himself in danger just to impress the fucking likes of you, bitch.”
Hussy? Bitch? What the hell was he talking about? Her hands dropped from untying the slipknot holding her half apron in place.
She eyed the door opposite them then snapped her gaze back to him. Too far to run. Old memories clogged her throat. Her heart raced. Old habits had her hand running along her stomach.
Puzzled, she glared back the huffing bear of a man, her anger mounting.
“What the hell are you talking about, old man?”
“Like you don’t know,” he scoffed, hands raised above her head and looking at her like she should be able to read his mind.
Damon walked out of his back office and stepped up to her side before she could press for more information. Or before the pissed off man could deliver on the murderous glare he nailed her with.
“We got a problem, Ashwood?” Damon asked with brittle patience. She caught his underlying threat laced with a dangerous undercurrent. As a former cop who’d spent the better part of his career busting up drug rings from the inside, a pissed off mountain man in his bar was an easy day.
“Apparently, I’m the cause of Riley nearly getting hurt? I don’t know” Her gaze danced between the two men, her concern growing.
“What the hell does that mean?” Damon asked, as baffled as she was by the accusation.
“My boy is working a job he was supposed to leave a month ago.”
What? “Leave? He’s worked as a search and rescue climber for almost six years.” More than that, Holden and Riley were childhood friends despite the feud between the two families. She didn’t pry for details, the time she spent with them wasn’t for talking usually, but she knew it came down to land and money.
“He’s supposed to looking to build a family and getting ready to take over the family business as the oldest. And he would be if you hadn’t shown up.” His hands worked overtime, clenching into fists at his sides as his words became more of a deathly low growl. He took a step back as if to walk away but turned abruptly and nearly toppled her as anger slurred his next words, “Always count on a piece of pussy to fuck everything up.”
His arrogant superiority drove her heart to the floor. Each second that ticked by the shock wore off and her blood pressure spiked until all she could see was murderous red. Teeth clenched, she battled the tears that burned the rims of her eyes. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but her fingers itched to ball up and give him a good reason to hate her.
Off to the side several waitresses gasped at his vehement words and turned a worrisome shade of gray that matched their uniforms as they looked on, trays clutched to their chests. As if a flimsy piece of plastic could protect them against an angry drunk. The closer the Ashwood elder came, the farther they retreated until several booths separated them.
At least they had the common sense not to go toe-to-toe with the drunk, but Zahara didn’t have a choice—he’d called her out. Growing up in an orphanage taught her a thing or two. Fighting back was at the top of that short list.
For once Zahara was relieved Holden and Riley were not here to witness this outburst. Riley would be devastated and then he would be forced to protect her against his father. She didn’t want to be the cause of more friction between the two or give more fodder for the loose lips of the town.
Zahara took a half step forward before he could gain the entire floor for himself. Every bit she took removed a bit of control from the other guy, and she refused to give up one inch of ground to the pushy, egotistical asshole.
“If Riley dies today it will be your fault.”
Her heart constricted. Please, God, don’t let him die.
The blood left Zahara’s face and her mouth grew dry as she stared into the dead eyes of a man that lost all connection with emotion except for an unhealthy dose of spite and hate.
“I’ve heard enough,” Damon cut in. “Out Ashwood!”
“My business isn’t with you, boy. Now step aside.” Ashwood flicked a fat thumb at Damon, which only pissed him off more, judging by the way his eyes narrowed and he clenched his fingers into fists. By now everyone was looking at them. Even the rowdy crowd behind her piped down as they looked on.
“You’re in my bar, talking to my friends and family. I say it’s my problem. Like it or not.”
Family? Did he mean her?
“Her? Family? What the fuck has my boy done? You pregnant, bitch? With my boy’s baby or the other boys? A filthy Savage?” Disgust twisted his once handsome face into a pucker of hatred.
His tone lacked even the slightest of emotion one would expect from a loving parent. Blazing eyes turned on her, his condescending finger hovering in front of her nose.
“You don’t have to worry. That option isn’t even close to being on the table. So sorry Ashwood, won’t get any little mountain babies from me in this lifetime.”
Ashwood shot her with a look as if every word she said was a lie.
She only wished it were. She offered a tight-lipped smile in return. She had a hard enough time telling Holden and Riley about her injury and the past that led up to her being sterile. She didn’t need the whole town knowing all the sordid details too.
From the cold anger splashing across Damon’s expression, the shit was about to get real. Another minute and the one Savage brother who valued loyalty above all else looked ready to teach the old man Ashwood a life lesson his momma must have skipped over.
She sidled to the left a fraction for when fists joined the conversation. Which ultimately ended with blood and busted bones in this isolated part of the world, she’d quickly learned.
Her sister would make a fortune up here patching up headstrong, foolish men once she graduated.
Ashwood brushed Damon’s warning aside as if a pesky fly buzzed in his ear. That didn’t bode well for the older man. “Because of you, I’ll be lucky if he comes home at all. When are you gonna listen? You’re bad for him. Bad. I’ve said it from the beginning.” He pressed on, turning his wrath away from her and pinning Damon with a steely-eyed glare.
His words cut deep, but she had learned the hard way that verbal wounds healed. If something happened to Riley? Nothing would ever be okay again. She raised her gaze, locked eyes with a man she should fear and demanded an answer.
“Tell me where Riley and Holden are right now and don’t you dare give me some pompous, high-handed bullshit, old man. I want answers.”