Perpetual good girl Lacey McGuire has two Christmas wish lists. One suitable for public consumption…and a private one that’s too hot to handle. Right at the top: wild, wicked fantasies about her best buddies and business partners Ryan Hollister and Bram Colton.
Besides the fact they’re both poster boys for Hunks ’R’ Us, they’ve been there for her through thick, thin and the heartbreak of a cheating fiancé. So what if her boys will never know they star in her sexiest daydreams? In her fantasy world, her heart will never get trampled again.
Ry and Bram are pretty sure Lacey never meant to email a list of some of her raunchiest wants. Particularly the one that tightens their shorts—she wants a threesome. With them. Although they’ve loved her for years, they made a pact to keep Lacey off limits in order to protect their friendship. Now all bets are off. And the quest to give her all she wants—and more—is on.
Warning: This book contains a wickedly hot M/F/M ménage that will heat up the holidays. Friends steaming things up in a hot tub. Bondage and blindfolds. Sexy shenanigans at a Christmas tree lot. And maybe even a glimpse of Santa…in a Speedo.
“Hey, Lace. What do you think? Better angle?”
Bram’s deep baritone managed to snag her focus from the data she’d been inputting into the electronic spreadsheet. Rather than a pair of firm butts, she was met with the equally tempting visual of broad, muscular chests—one covered with a sporty navy blue Henley and the other by a hunter green flannel shirt. Both men wore jeans today, making it all too easy to notice the intriguing bulges behind their flies. Not the angle Bram had been referring to, though it was definitely fantastic.
Cheeks flushing, she lifted her scrutiny to the velvet painting of Elvis that Ry and Bram had thoughtfully positioned on the adjacent wall of her office. The tacky thing was her consolation prize for chickening out on their dare to sing “Like a Virgin” on karaoke night while dolled up in the accompanying Madonna getup. Like there’d been any chance in hell of that happening.
Which meant she was stuck with Elvis. For life. Or until the damn painting perished courtesy of a mysterious accident. She transferred her gaze to Bram’s and Ry’s smug grins and ground her teeth. “You do realize I have two voodoo dolls in my drawer that bear striking resemblances to you both, right?”
Bram snickered. “Doubt there’s space left for more pins.”
“Trust me, I’ll make room.”
His hearty laugh holding no trace of repentance, Bram ducked around Ry and opened the door to her office. Boisterous noise from the bar rushed inside the small room before Bram exited and snicked the door shut, sealing off the cacophony. Ry continued fussing with the Elvis painting, obviously wanting to make sure she had the best possible view from her desk.
Despite her annoyance, her gaze lingered a tad longer than necessary on the broad expanse of his back. Although it was now covered with flannel, she’d seen it plenty of times gloriously bare. There’d been that summer three years ago, when he and Bram had worked the entire month of August at her house, installing her new deck. They’d saved her a small fortune by eliminating the need to hire a contractor, but her sanity and libido had barely survived the constant sight of Ry and Bram right outside her screen door, their tanned, buff torsos glistening with sweat from the relentless heat.
Her vibrator had burned through a ton of batteries those four weeks. If she added up the cost, it probably would have been cheaper to pay a carpenter.
Ry stepped away from the picture and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I think that looks pretty damn groovy, baby.”
She squinted at him. “You did not just say groovy.”
“I’m trying to keep in spirit with the sixties and Elvis theme.” He rocked his pelvis in a dead-on impersonation of the King.
Her mouth went dry. Holy crap, those hips should be outlawed. Squirming in her seat, she scowled and returned her stare to the velvet painting. “That butt-ugly thing should take a cue from Elvis and leave the building.”
“Not gonna happen, sweets. And in case you were cooking up an evil plot in that pretty head of yours, Bram and I paid the artist extra to use flame-retardant fabric and paints.”
Damn. They knew her too well.