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Cha114

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At first I wonder if I&#039;m seeing double; then it hits me. No wonder they seem familiar! Brock and Cody Easton are twins, first-year draft picks, and star players for the Leopards. In the NFL world, they&#039;re better known as the Beast Brothers.<br /> As I stand up, the man by the car — is he Cody or Brock? — looks me over. There&#039;s something other than concern in his gaze and he&#039;s not even trying to be subtle about it. His eyes travel down my body and up again, taking in my curves, and his expression changes from annoyance to speculation.<br /> My skin feels too tight all of a sudden, as if my nerve endings were trying to push through, leap across the space between us, and wrap themselves around him. What is wrong with me? It&#039;s only been a few hours since I packed my car and left my prick of an ex, I was just in a car accident, and here I am salivating over two men I haven&#039;t even properly met.<br /> —<br /> Megan<br /> The best thing Jason ever did was cheat on me.<br /> Not that I&#039;m grateful to my skunk of an ex-fiancé at the moment. I&#039;m crawling down the freeway in bumper-to-bumper traffic, heading into my hometown. There&#039;s a big game this weekend and the Leopards are the team to beat in the NFL, so everybody and his brother has come to see them take on the Stallions.<br /> Reaching my exit at last, I take the off-ramp to Central Avenue. It&#039;s as crowded as the freeway, crammed with cars trying to get home or to a hotel before the dark clouds overhead unleash their fury. I inch along, wishing the traffic would vanish so I could pistol the puny engine on my compact car and vent some of my emotions.<br /> Every time the scene from this morning intrudes on my mind, anger and pain flare up anew. I&#039;m sick of driving, sick of grieving, of wasting my tears on a man who doesn&#039;t deserve them. If I hadn&#039;t come home early and found Jason balls-deep in another woman, I&#039;d still be planning our wedding.<br /> I need a drink and a hot bath and some mindless entertainment. I need to be numb.<br /> My cell phone rings. I glance down and see that it&#039;s Jason. It&#039;s all I can do not to pick up the phone and hurl it straight through the windshield.<br /> It&#039;s only an instant that my eyes are off the road, but when I look up there&#039;s a truck stopped right in front of me. With no time to brake, I wrench the steering wheel, jerking my car sideways into the next lane — just as a bright blue sports car whips into the same spot from the other side.<br /> Its front bumper hits the passenger side of my car with a sickening crunch, bouncing my head off the window next to me, then snapping me back the other way. The impact spins my car around. I end up facing the wrong way, the oncoming traffic dividing frantically around me like water going past the prow of a ship.<br /> I&#039;m too stunned to move; for long moments, I just sit there staring. I&#039;m finally numb, but not the way I wanted.<br /> Maybe I messed up in another life, and today is some kind of karmic revenge. My lower lip trembles, and I bite down on it. Self-pity sucks, and no matter what, I will not start crying again.<br /> A tap on my side window makes me jump. I turn my head to see a man peering in at me. Dark hair, dark eyes, shoulders as broad as a house. Why does he seem so familiar?<br /> When I don&#039;t respond, he opens my door. &quot;Are you all right?&quot;<br /> &quot;Yes. I&#039;m sorry,&quot; I say, straightening in my seat. &quot;Was that your car?&quot; &quot;Yeah, but don&#039;t worry about that.&quot; I hear a snort behind him, but I can&#039;t see who it is because the huge man in front of me is blocking my view.<br /> Undoing my seat belt, I turn to get out of the car. The man takes my hand to help me up. Electric heat surges up my arm and through my body, flooding me with sensation. A detached corner of my mind notices my entirely inappropriate response, and wonders if it&#039;s because I&#039;m in shock.<br /> He backs away to give me room. Now I can see the other man, standing by the flashy blue car with his arms folded. Same hair, same eyes, same massive build.<br /> At first I wonder if I&#039;m seeing double; then it hits me. No wonder they seem familiar! Brock and Cody Easton are twins, first-year draft picks, and star players for the Leopards. In the NFL world, they&#039;re better known as the Beast Brothers.<br /> As I stand up, the man by the car — is he Cody or Brock? — looks me over. There&#039;s something other than concern in his gaze and he&#039;s not even trying to be subtle about it. His eyes travel down my body and up again, taking in my curves, and his expression changes from annoyance to speculation.<br /> My skin feels too tight all of a sudden, as if my nerve endings were trying to push through, leap across the space between us, and wrap themselves around him. What is wrong with me? It&#039;s only been a few hours since I packed my car and left my prick of an ex, I was just in a car accident, and here I am salivating over two men I haven&#039;t even properly met.<br /> Granted, they are the hottest men I&#039;ve ever laid eyes on. But still. &quot;Don&#039;t worry about the car,&quot; the one nearest me says again. &quot;I&#039;m Cody, by the way.&quot; He&#039;d let go of me when I stood up, and now he&#039;s holding out his hand again to shake.<br /> It&#039;s an enormous hand — it engulfs mine, and I am not a petite woman. But I only have an instant to process that, because at the contact with his rough, warm skin, heat flows through me once more. This time, my papilla go hard.<br /> I tell myself it&#039;s the stress. That&#039;s why I&#039;m getting more turned on than I ever did from Jason&#039;s touch, right here in the middle of the street, with honking cars all around us. I want to believe it, but I know it&#039;s not true.<br /> The other thing I know is that I need to stop feeling this way. Now. I pull my hand free and look at his brother. &quot;So you must be Brock. My dad&#039;s told me about you both.&quot;<br /> A slow smile quirks one side of his mouth. He&#039;s devastatingly handsome, just like his twin — and he knows it. &quot;Your dad&#039;s a fan?&quot;<br /> &quot;You could say that,&quot; I tell him. &quot;He&#039;s your coach.&quot;<br /> The guys exchange a quick glance, eyebrows raised. Traffic is still going by us, but very slowly because people keep stopping to take photos of the twins through their car windows, even though night has fallen.<br /> &quot;You&#039;re Coach Turner&#039;s daughter?&quot; Brock says. NFL teams have a lot of different coaches, so it&#039;s a valid question. But there&#039;s only one head coach, and that&#039;s my dad.<br /> &quot;Yeah, I&#039;m Megan. I&#039;d say it&#039;s nice to meet you, but I&#039;d really prefer we hadn&#039;t met this way.&quot;<br /> Cody grins at that, but Brock&#039;s frowning, his mind on something else. &quot;Don&#039;t you live in Omaha?&quot;<br /> &quot;I did,&quot; I say. And I am so not having that conversation with either of these guys. &quot;We should call the police and our insurance and all that.&quot;<br /> Their sports car has a crumpled fender but is mostly intact. When I go around to the passenger side of my car, though, I see that it took the brunt of things.<br /> &quot;Yeah, it&#039;s totaled,&quot; Cody says from behind me. He sounds far too cheerful about it, and I suppress a twinge of irritation. Even as a rookie, he&#039;s earning a good salary, so buying a new car is no big deal to him.<br /> But I have no job at the moment, and I&#039;m not asking my father for money. He&#039;s already letting me stay at his place until I can sort things out. Letting him pay for stuff on top of that is way more than I&#039;m comfortable with. Maybe I can find some kind of telecommuting work until I can get another car.<br /> I go back around to the driver&#039;s side, taking out my phone and my insurance card. Brock&#039;s already on his phone. &quot;Cops are on the way to take an accident report,&quot; he says when he hangs up, &quot;and I&#039;ve got tow trucks and a cab coming too.&quot;<br /> &quot;Tow trucks, plural?&quot; I say.<br /> He shrugs. &quot;They both need it.&quot;<br /> &quot;Well, thank you.&quot; But he only called one cab. Does that mean ...<br /> &quot;Are you heading to your dad&#039;s house?&quot; he says, as if hearing my unspoken question. At my nod, he continues, &quot;We&#039;ll drop you off. It&#039;s on the way to our place anyway.&quot;<br /> &quot;Thanks,&quot; I say again. &quot;That&#039;s really very kind.&quot;<br /> &quot;No big deal.&quot; He and Cody exchange another swift glance, and this time I sense the undercurrent flowing between them. Whatever they&#039;re thinking, it sends a ripple of awareness down my spine.<br /> The brothers are standing together now, and I can&#039;t help but admire the view. Chiseled jaws, skin in matching shades of sun-tanned bronze, strong noses, sensual mouths. They were impressive when I watched them play on TV, but in person their charisma is overwhelming.<br /> My gaze wanders down to the arms like tree trunks, then the tight, narrow waists. They&#039;re both wearing gym shorts and t-shirts, the fabric straining against their biceps and thighs. I bet their abs are amazing too. They could be world-class models instead of football players.<br /> Two sets of big, dark brown eyes pin me in place, and suddenly I can&#039;t breathe. The moment lengthens until I force myself to look away. My heart is beating way too fast.<br /> Maybe getting in a taxi with the twins is not such a good idea. But the wind is rising, the clouds darker and more threatening. We need to get indoors before the skies open up.<br /> By the time the police and the tow trucks have come and gone, the taxi has arrived, and the air has a bite that makes me shiver. I have my suitcase and purse, but have to cross my fingers that the rest of the stuff in my car will be safe at the repair shop until I can pick it up. Cody puts the suitcase in the cab&#039;s trunk, then opens the back door and slides in. Brock gestures for me to go next.<br /> I don&#039;t want to make a big deal out of riding up front with the driver after the guys have been so nice to me, so I get in and scoot over to make room. The brothers dwarf me, and when Brock slides in, I&#039;m squeezed between them like I&#039;m the filling in a twin sandwich.<br /> The driver pulls into the crush of traffic. Pressed between the brothers, I&#039;m instantly warm. My whole body starts to tingle, and it&#039;s not just from the heat coming off them. I know this because the sensations are strongest right between my legs.<br /> I&#039;ve never reacted to a man like this before, let alone two of them at once. Maybe all my emotions about Jason are being diverted into lust. Which means it&#039;s a really bad idea for me to let this continue.<br /> If they realize how turned on I am, they&#039;ll think I&#039;m a freak or a groupie. I don&#039;t want to give them any ideas, since I&#039;ll doubtless be around them again — I won&#039;t miss a game. In my best nice/polite/helpful voice, I say, &quot;I should sit in front.&quot;<br /> &quot;Nah,&quot; Brock drawls, and the next thing I know he picks me up as if I weigh nothing at all and settles me sideways on his lap, my hip nestled in his crotch. I suck in a breath as electricity jolts through my body.<br /> Excuse me,&quot; I say, still struggling for politeness. &quot;I can&#039;t sit in your lap.&quot; I try to ignore the sensations spiraling from my core out through my body and back again.<br /> &quot;You are sitting in my lap,&quot; he points out, like it&#039;s no big deal. One of his hands, so big and strong and warm, is curled around my waist, burning through my clothing. The other goes to my head, pressing gently down to tuck me against his neck, then stays tangled in my hair.<br /> He smells like sunshine and clean male sweat. It&#039;s intoxicating. My voice comes out all soft and breathy when I say, &quot;I mean it&#039;s not appropriate. Please let me go.&quot;<br /> &quot;Relax, sugar,&quot; he says in that same lazy tone. &quot;We&#039;re not gonna hurt you.&quot;<br /> The we is not exactly comforting.<br /> Brock&#039;s mouth brushes the skin on the side of my neck, making me jolt. Since I can&#039;t take them up on their offer, I don&#039;t need any more torment. I try to pull away again, but he just tucks me back against his side.<br /> &quot;Easy, Megalicious,&quot; he says in that rumble of his. &quot;You&#039;re too tense. We need to help you relax.&quot;<br /> &quot;You did not just call me — that.&quot; I can&#039;t even make myself repeat his ridiculous nickname. Who does he think he is? Besides the guy who&#039;s making my brain melt, I mean, along with the rest of my body.<br /> Cody chuckles. &quot;How about megagorgeous?&quot; He shifts closer, running a finger up and down my arm. <br /> My system is overloading again, and I can&#039;t help squirming some more on Brock&#039;s lap. &quot;Yeah, babe,&quot; he says. &quot;Let Daddy Brock make you feel better.&quot;<br /> &quot;Daddy Brock?&quot; I sputter and then snort with laughter. &quot;You guys are no older than I am. I might even be older than you.&quot;<br /> &quot;It&#039;s not the years, baby,&quot; he says, his lips grazing the sensitive shell of my outer ear. &quot;It&#039;s the mileage.&quot;<br /> Even as I roll my eyes at him quoting movie lines at me, he turns me so I&#039;m facing forward in the taxi. One arm wraps around my midriff, and his free hand teases the skin just above the waistband of my shorts.<br /> His touch sends sparks shooting right down to my private part. I must have hit my head during the collision harder than I thought. Anger, grief, stress, hormones — can&#039;t forget the raging hormones — have apparently shredded every bit of common sense I possess. Because I don&#039;t say anything.<br /> All I have to do is open my mouth and tell them, &quot;No.&quot; Or &quot;Stop that.&quot; And they&#039;d back off, both of them. I know it in my bones. Impossible as it sounds, I feel safe with these two men who are taking such liberties with my body.<br /> I&#039;m letting it happen because I want it to. Because I want them. Because right now, with the rain wrapping the taxi in sheets of water, hiding us in our own little world, all I care about is how they&#039;re making me feel.<br /> And how they&#039;re making me feel is like a beautiful and desirable woman. Someone worth wanting. Someone Jason was a fool to let go.<br /> Who are you kidding? whispers the self-doubt that&#039;s been tormenting me all day, ever since I walked in on Jason and his mistress. You&#039;re nothing to them.<br /> I almost listen, almost give in to the crushing weight of my insecurity. But then my phone rings. Cody pulls it out of my purse. &quot;Jason,&quot; he says, reading the screen. &quot;Who&#039;s that?&quot;<br /> My anger blazes again. &quot;No one,&quot; I snap. I grab the phone, hit the Reject Call button, and toss it back in my purse. Jason, and not in a good way. He got his and now I&#039;m getting mine.<br /> I relax against Brock, consciously letting go of my resistance. &quot;That&#039;s my girl,&quot; he whispers. His hand slips inside my shorts, then under the elastic of my panties, his fingertips teasing the curls above my cherry.<br /> Now that I&#039;ve decided not to fight it, I&#039;m impatient for more. &quot;Touch me,&quot; I whisper back. &quot;Do it.&quot;<br /> <br /> There&#039;s a car I don&#039;t recognize parked in my dad&#039;s driveway, a white SUV next to his black one. The guys exchange a glance, but don&#039;t say anything. We all get out, and Cody retrieves my suitcase while Brock says to the driver, &quot;Wait here — we&#039;ll be back in a few minutes.&quot;<br /> &quot;That&#039;s okay,&quot; I say. &quot;You don&#039;t have to come in with me.&quot; My dad may not have x-ray vision, but I can&#039;t shake the feeling that as soon as he sees us together, he&#039;ll somehow know what just happened.<br /> &quot;Just need to ask him a question,&quot; Brock says, but there&#039;s a twinkle in his eye that fills me with trepidation. He and Cody follow me up the sidewalk, close behind me as if they&#039;re afraid I&#039;ll slip inside and lock the door on them. They might be right.<br /> My body hasn&#039;t stopped humming from those amazing orgasms, and I mentally cross my fingers that my face is blank enough to protect me. Since Dad&#039;s expecting me, I open the front door without knocking, the twins still right behind me.<br /> The entryway opens into the living room, with a hallway branching off to the left that goes to the bedrooms, and a doorway on the right that leads to the kitchen. Since the living room is empty, I turn into the kitchen — and stop so fast the brothers bump into me.<br /> My dad&#039;s there, and so is a woman I&#039;ve never seen before. Their arms are around each other; his hands are on her hip. And they&#039;re pecking like there&#039;s no tomorrow.<br /> I haven&#039;t been this shocked since the day I was ten and came home to find my father crying in the living room. Even catching Jason this morning was less of a stunner. My voice is stuck in my throat. I don&#039;t know what I&#039;d say anyway.<br /> Brock comes to my rescue by clearing his throat loudly, breaking up the makeout session. My dad&#039;s head whips around. &quot;Megan!&quot; he says. He looks confused — understandable, with the Beast Brothers at my back — but also a bit guilty.<br /> &quot;Hi, Dad.&quot; I find I can speak now that the silence has been broken. &quot;I did tell you I was almost here.&quot; His guilty look increases, and a small part of me is glad because it helps me conceal my own feelings of self-reproach. He comes over to give me a hug, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close. When I called this morning to say I was on my way, he didn&#039;t ask any questions; something in my voice must have warned him it wasn&#039;t the time. All he said was, &quot;I&#039;ll be here.&quot;<br /> His unwavering support steadies me, even as the contrast to Jason&#039;s betrayal is like a shard of glass in my heart. I squeeze him tighter, overflowing with love and gratitude, but his next words shatter the mood.<br /> &quot;Vivian stopped by after we spoke,&quot; he says. &quot;Vivian, I&#039;d like you to meet my daughter Megan.&quot;<br /> The woman comes forward, hands outstretched. &quot;It&#039;s wonderful to meet you, dear. Your father&#039;s told me so much about you.&quot;<br /> My first thought is that she looks nothing like my mother. I still have memories of my mom, and lots of old photographs. Not to mention mirrors. I have my mother&#039;s auburn curls and curvy build, whereas Vivian is blonde and slender. I&#039;m relieved that there&#039;s no resemblance; I&#039;m not sure what I would do if my dad started dating a lookalike.<br /> Her expression, though, puts my back up. Maybe it&#039;s my imagination working overtime, but the little smile playing around her lips reminds me of Jason&#039;s mistress. He threw her out this morning when I caught them together, but she smirked at me while she strutted out of the house, as if she&#039;d won some kind of victory.<br /> I want to smack Vivian&#039;s smile right off her face — which is crazy and wrong. My dad isn&#039;t cheating; he&#039;s entitled to be happy.<br /> I should be happy that he&#039;s met someone after so many years alone. But I&#039;m not. Shoving aside thoughts of what that says about me, I force a smile and say, &quot;It&#039;s nice to meet you.&quot;<br /> And that&#039;s when everything goes from awkward to totally insane.<br /> Because Vivian looks at the twins and says, &quot;Hello, boys. What are you doing here?&quot;<br /> And Cody and Brock say, &quot;Hey, Mom.&quot;

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