Ruff Trouble Read online

Not that he minded the sexual excess, but here and now, in what should be after bliss, he lay separate and isolated, while Bobby petted and caressed his woman. Her head lay cradled in the crook of Bobby’s neck, a wide grin stretching her lips. Dawn had broken, and the light brightened from charcoal to silver even as he watched. What was the time? They must have been awake most of the night. They all needed sleep, but…Sam doubted his ability to sleep while the two of them lay cocooned in their love like this. Tears pricked his eyes. Pretty enticements had fooled him into believing he could be part of this, and now…

  Idiot!

  Sam swallowed, the flavour of unshed tears bitter. Despite feeling secluded, shut out from the other two no matter what they’d shared, he could not hate them. Any hateful emotions were all directed inwards. This was his fault. His own longing had coloured the truth.

  Bobby opened his eyes and met his stare. “What are you waiting for? Get over here.”

  Huh? Took a few seconds for his brain to catch up but his body followed before he accepted what he did. Overstressed muscles screamed in defiance as Sam scrambled up the bed. Bobby’s left arm curled around him, and Chantelle’s right hand went to his hip. Sam pulled the sheet over all three, and for the first time in his life, he spent what remained of the night in bed with two people he cared about.

  Chapter 5

  “We have to tell him.” Chantelle buttered toast.

  “Yeah, sure. Like, how are your eggs?” Bobby stirred those he’d cracked into a pad, scrambling them. “And, oh we are a more unusual couple than you know. We like to chase cars and bark at the moon.”

  Chantelle narrowed her gaze. “We do neither of those things.”

  They talked in hushed tones in the kitchen while Sam took the last turn in the shower. Bobby was uncertain whether Sam liked watching them putter about, or he’d felt too lazy and not wanted to move from the warm patch in the bed. Whatever the reason, he’d chosen to shower last. Maybe part of him still believed he dreamed all this, and, if he moved, it would end.

  Sam should have got over this being an illusion when Bobby had stepped on the cold discarded rubber, Sam, in his laziness, had dumped over the side of the bed. The condom squelched, Bobby had cursed, and Chantelle’s laughter had peeled around the bedroom. Sam’s response had been to pull the sheet over his head, peeking out, and his expression all innocent. The fact of this situation being a reality was…complicated.

  “I’ve seen you chase a cat,” Bobby muttered.

  “I’ve never…” Chantelle stood with a butter-smeared knife in her hand all trembling indignation, until she met his eyes. She clearly took in his smirk, and the tension eased out of her.

  “You tied to me last night,” she hissed, glancing to the door. Sam made noises in the bedroom. He’d join them for breakfast in a minute or two. “You pushed Sam out of me.”

  “I know. I couldn’t help it. The excitement…” he mumbled, hoping not to blush for the first time in his life. The sensation of Sam’s cock so close to his, moving in sync, sharing the woman he loved with the man he loved, watching the pleasure in their faces, had all been too much. Chantelle’s scent had overloaded Bobby’s senses. Sam’s…had been something else. Surprise and shock rode Sam along with the pleasure. Sam had enjoyed Chantelle’s body. Bobby could tell by the way the man gazed at her, the way he touched her. Chantelle said she’d felt it too, had known when Sam’s attitude to what they were doing changed, and when he’d at last enjoyed it all.

  “You can’t put this off. If you—”

  “I know!” Bobby spoke through gritted teeth. Sam’s emotions were fragile. If he put him off, Sam would doubt himself, but if Bobby had sex with him, and the same thing happened again—probably would—that would frighten Sam off more. He’d noticed the doubt in Sam’s eyes and no wonder, but Bobby hadn’t meant to leave him isolated even for a moment. He had no way to explain he lay there, still inside his woman, unable to pull out without hurting her, and maybe not even then. “Not this morning.”

  Frustration shone out from Chantelle’s eyes, an emotion he shared. They needed to dampen their feelings until the right time arrived.

  “We need to calm down,” Chantelle said, habitually reading his mind. “He’ll notice our tension.”

  Bobby flicked his gaze to the door. His hearing and even sharper sense of smell told him Sam left the bedroom, now crossed the living room.

  Sam entered a quiet kitchen. Great! That would quiet everything down…not! Sam’s gaze flicked between them.

  We look guilty.

  “Eggs?” Bobby lifted the pan.

  “Toast.” Chantelle sounded too bright.

  “Surprisingly, yes.” Sam scratched at an ear, peering at them from under a lowered brow. “After the…late night,” he flushed a little, “and all the tequila, I’m surprised I’m hungry and not hung over. Plus, I’m not a morning person.” He made a show of ignoring their sniggers as he crossed the room.

  “Exercise,” Chantelle said. “Makes you hungry.”

  “Adrenaline,” Bobby added. “Kicks back the hangover.”

  Sam moved to sit in a chair at the table. The others joined him, sitting opposite. Was it possible to make him feel any more fenced off? They needed a round table. They all sat devouring breakfast, all avoiding the topic foremost in their minds. Sam was on his second cup of coffee when he blurted, “If you two regret this—”

  “No!” They both shouted in unison. Bobby peered sideways at Chantelle. She stared at him, then Sam, then the table.

  “We need to sort out a few things.” Bobby pushed food around his plate. “But not our feelings.” Doubt shone out from Sam’s eyes, sharpened his smell. “Our future requires we make many decisions.” He and Chantelle had discussed this while Sam showered. “Work, living arrangements…”

  “Shit!”

  “Okay, not the response I was hoping for.”

  “No. I mean,” Sam rubbed at his brow. “I was moving my stuff into storage today.”

  Bobby blinked.

  “You were moving already?” Chantelle sounded shocked, and well she might. Bobby wasn’t far behind.

  “No, but I planned to give in my notice by the end of the month. My lease is up. I’d have needed to sign a rental agreement for another six months. I planned to put my stuff in storage and get a cheap hotel room for a week or two, or book into a B&B. Even a holiday rental for a month while I looked for another job. The landlord’s got someone new coming in on Wednesday.” He worried his lower lip with his teeth, eyebrows rising at their expressions. “No. I know what you two are thinking.”

  “What’s that?” Chantelle’s innocent act was a tragedy.

  “I know it seems like fate or something, but…” He didn’t finish the thought and didn’t need to.

  “I have a spare room you can use.” Bobby put down his cutlery. “No one at the station will think anything of you living here. They have no reason to believe we’re together, and we can say it’s temporary.”

  Chantelle was nodding. “Might look odd if you stayed at mine, though I’m usually here, but it would take more explaining to my flatmate and at work. You staying with Bobby does make more sense.”

  Did she try to convince Sam or try to make it clear she didn’t plan to offer Sam a stay at her place?

  “Yeah, sure. Like, if I accepted, you’d give me five minutes peace.” Sam sounded disgruntled.

  “I would. We would.” Bobby looked at his woman and she gave him a nod. “If it’s between giving you time or lose you, we’ll give you all the time you need.”

  Sam stared across at him before looking at Chantelle. “We would,” she confirmed. “And it’s not like we don’t have to make life-changing decisions ourselves. As Bobby said, work and living arrangements need sorting out.”

  Sam shook his head, but not in denial. “I don’t get you two. What can I offer you don’t already have?”

  “Here’s where our opinions differ.” Bobby resisted reaching out to take one of Sam’s h
ands. “We feel you giving us yourself is good enough of a reason to have you here. It’s a pity you don’t see yourself the way we do.”

  A picture on the wall took hold of Sam’s attention, but Bobby would not let him avoid the topic. Chantelle might say this better, but coming from him—from another man—would mean more to Sam. Chantelle was right. Men didn’t talk emotions. Maybe it was time they did.

  “Of all the people I’ve worked with, you were one of the best. I trust you with my life. I trust you with Chantelle’s life.” That got Sam to meet his gaze. “I trust you with my heart. In the next few days, I hope to prove how deep my trust runs. In the meantime, let’s get you moved in here.”

  Bobby at last gave in to his instinct, reached across, and squeezed Sam’s arm. Sam blinked at Bobby’s hand. A flush of pleasure followed.

  “Even if I do this, not everything’s changed. I still want to leave the police force.”

  “We don’t have a problem with your choice, if that’s what you want.” Chantelle poured more coffee. “It’s not like it’s written in stone lovers must have the same job. In fact, most don’t.”

  “In fact…” Bobby didn’t complete the sentence. No one in the office knew they were an item. Not officially. Chantelle spent most nights at his place, but once someone high up found out they were a couple, one of them would be reassigned, and that was the least they could hope for. “We’ve been avoiding such complications. Chantelle’s still listed as sharing a flat with a friend.” Which she did, but it grew increasing difficult to explain so many nights away from home when she wasn’t supposed to sleep over at Bobby’s. Waste of money. Time things changed and not solely for Sam’s sake.

  “We’re crap,” Chantelle added.

  “What?” Bobby failed to see the correlation.

  “At our jobs.” Before he protested, she went on. “We’re police officers and we’re being dishonest.”

  They sat in a stunned sort of silence for a minute before Sam laughed. Bobby frowned at him. “S-Sorry,” Sam snorted between giggles. “I was wondering what they would think if we told them not only are you two a couple, but I make it a triple.”

  It wasn’t funny. Not really…yet, it was. Amusement twisted Bobby’s lips, pleasure at seeing Sam laugh even if beneath the laughter not all their problems were easy to solve.

  * * * *

  The man behind the wheel of the car had shaved hair and a small scar under one eye, which he scratched at absently, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he did. If Charles were there, he’d tell Carl not to touch it and he was right, the itch was phantom but it didn’t stop Carl from scratching. He didn’t like even his brother telling him what to do. Close as siblings could be, they still managed to irritate each other. Their personalities were where the similarities ended. Apart from the green eyes, Carl looked nothing like his brother, Charles.

  Carl Manning narrowed his gaze as the cop bitch came out first. The bungalow was too suburban for his liking, but it suited fucking pigs and their idea of respectability. He’d respectably shove his cock up the bitch’s arse if he had a chance. Show her what a real man was like. Did those she worked with know she shacked up with another pig? He couldn’t figure out what it was with the third guy.

  He’d followed them the previous night, as soon as he’d discovered the name of the arresting officer who had detained his brother on some trumped-up charges made by some equally tight-arse whores. So, Charles slapped them around. It’s what most women deserved. This bitch, throwing her head back, laughing and flirting…She needed a slap or two. More than a slap.

  Carl fumbled the bulge in his lap, but let go as the three got into a car and drove off. Turning on the ignition, he followed. He wouldn’t have time to do what he wanted with the bitch, but one or both men meant something to her. Humiliate his brother, would she? Throw him against a car? How had she done that, anyway? Drugs? Steroids? Something was wrong here, but he didn’t care what. The important thing was he wanted to hurt her.

  Best way to do that was to damage whichever of these guys she loved. Two men made his choice difficult. Carl needed to be certain. Unless he saw definite signs of which one of these men the woman loved, he’d take both out. This wouldn’t be his first hit-and- run.

  * * * *

  “You’ve got friends in high places.” Chantelle pulled a crooked smile and winked. Sam hadn’t fallen back into sullen moodiness, but she wanted more from him than this. Some kind of sign things would work out, they would be all right.

  “Yeah, one who can give me a clapped-out van on the weekend.” His grin was rueful. They were almost through loading the last of his stuff.

  Sam definitely intended to hand in his notice, so his moving in with Bobby wasn’t an issue. Maybe they should wait, but to hell with it. She wasn’t the only one surprised by Sam’s ready agreement, though. His fear fragranced the air. Even now, he stood with enough tension in his body for it to vibrate under her hand. He peered to where she touched his arm.

  Bobby came out carrying another box, entering Chantelle’s awareness, a vague perception. Sam might not know he was there at all. If her suspicions were correct, he still believed he hallucinated, or they shared a joke at his expense. Yes, she was sure. Sam expected them to recant the offer, and so he rushed into this before they did, or to get the pain over quick, like ripping off a plaster.

  “There’re two more boxes.” Bobby stood to one side having loading whatever he carried into the van. Neither she nor Sam responded. “I’ll get them myself then, shall I?” Mumbling, Bobby went back inside.

  “We’re not playing with you, you know. We both care about you.”

  Sam’s mouth twitched. “Care,” he mumbled.

  “Love,” she stressed.

  “I know. I do know. I just…I’m not used to people who care about me. I’ve never had much of a true family, and this is unconventional.”

  “Which makes you not trust it, trust us.”

  “I want to.”

  “We want to trust you, too.” She hesitated, knowing Sam had noticed. How much should she say? Here in the street wasn’t the place for it. Besides, she and Bobby needed to tell him together. Better to change the topic. “Have you ever wanted to do something besides be in the police?”

  An internal cloud passed through Sam’s eyes. “Lots of things.”

  “Like what?”

  He grimaced. “You’ll laugh.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “I’ve always wanted to detect. I love noir movies, and I’ve always wanted to be a gumshoe, maybe a private investigator. I doubt I can do it now with this leg of mine. I’ve toyed with opening a restaurant which is another love. I can cook. I mean really cook, but even that would mean being on my feet all day. Even driving is a problem now as you know. I love messing about with boats though. Maybe I could do something with boats.” Suspicion darkened his eyes, and she took a moment to realise it was because her face had lit up with delight.

  Since their earlier discussion, Chantelle had considered the possibility of following suit and changing jobs. Law enforcement wasn’t her life calling either. Even before things had changed with Sam, she had mentioned to Bobby her uneasiness in the city. Didn’t he ever want to get out in the woods, to run? He’d agreed he did, but he struggled to picture himself giving up his career. He’d told her he’d happily be a country cop, though. Pay wouldn’t be so good, but Bobby owned his own bungalow outright. He could sell and move on without hassle and without debt hanging over his head.

  Chantelle had saved all her life, having lived much of it with family during her early years, more recently sharing with friends. As a couple they weren’t rich, but they had enough between them for a new life, maybe even a business. With Sam on board, a real possibility presented itself. If Bobby didn’t wish to run some kind of establishment with them, it wouldn’t matter as long as he found a job he liked doing.

  “I’d love to help get a business off the ground,” she blurted. “I want a fresh start.
Bobby and I have talked about moving to the coast, maybe with some nearby woodland.”

  Under her hand, Sam tensed. Didn’t he believe her? “Sam, I’m not bullshitting you. I just had this wacky image of Sanders’ floating restaurant and investigations. Discuss your case over dinner.”

  Sam laughed. “That is crazy.”

  “I guess so, but the point is we have choices.”

  “It sounds…”

  “Yes?”

  “Too good to be true.”

  “So, it must be, right?” Chantelle nibbled her lower lip. “How about we take one step at a time and follow where it leads us? How about we promise no lies, no falsehoods?”

  “Chantelle.” Bobby’s voice came as a warning behind her. She jerked, stiffened. Ah, hell. Yet again, she alluded to the most important thing they had yet to tell Sam, having forgotten the most profound issue they still must discuss. Bobby’s tone and her reaction gave them away. Suspicion didn’t even begin to describe Sam’s expression.

  “Let’s get on our way.” Bobby dumped the last box in the van. “Once we’re…home, there’s something we need to tell you.”

  Sam took a step back.

  “It’s nothing bad.” Chantelle held onto his arm half afraid he would flee.

  “Then why do the two of you look so guilty?” Sam shrugged off her hand. “If it’s not bad, tell me now.”

  Chantelle peered to both ends of the street. Bobby took a step toward her, but stopped, so clearly not knowing what to say or do. Neither did she. Sam backed away, paced. He came to a halt with an anguished expression on his face. What began as the perfect companionable and quiet Sunday disintegrated, peace shattered. They stood in the hush of a side road, the rush of cars a constant backdrop peppered with the hoopla of children playing nearby. The sounds struck her as soft, sibilant. Hard to believe her rioting heartbeat didn’t drown out the noises. The three of them stood separated by more than distance. She longed to reach out, hold him in place with her supernatural strength, but her instinct steered her wrong; she would only frighten him. The only arsenal she had were words, but what to say?