The Bullion Brothers: Billionaire triplet brothers interracial menage by Tania Beaton Page A
Authors: Tania Beaton
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said, I figured they were minions, attached to do his bidding. All of them carried tablet computers, little folders and flappy shoulder bags. They all wore very nice shades, although not as nice as his. I shifted my chair so my back faced the group.
The waiter brought my wine in a high-stemmed glass on a sliver tray. He set it out nicely and took my order for a club sandwich. The voice at the next table was one that could not be ignored. He was talking quite loudly into a phone. I thought it was funny how people in the best places often had the worst manners.
“I want a Gulfstream G 150 ready for my pilot to collect.” A lump of ice dropped through me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Not the words, those didn’t matter, but the voice was so familiar. “I want it at LAX, certified and fueled up the day after tomorrow. Call me back in ninety minutes with your best price. No second chance, understand?” It couldn’t be true. I was afraid to turn my head.
“When you call back, state only your finished, all-inclusive price. Just one number.” I turned. It was him. “It will be a straight cash purchase for the best bid.” And he hung up. Then he looked up, over his shades. Those golden-brown eyes shone into mine, and way down inside me a depth charge thudded.
The entourage fell silent and their eyes all swiveled to me. I hadn’t seen him in, like, forever. I almost didn’t recognize him with the short beard.
It was the sound of his voice I had responded to. And, I mean, I responded. God, the purring rasp of that voice had reached down inside me and stirred me up like a Long Island Iced Tea.
He raised a hand. The entourage all turned to look. His fingers flicked like they were dusting the air. Silently the group gathered their tablets, notepads, and bags, and they melted away.
When he stood, my heart pounded. His muscles were tense, but not as tense as the expensive fabric on the front of his elegant pants. That was tented tense. A weight pressed against them. It prodded familiar feelings in me. The deck shook under his feet as he strode the short distance to my table.
He stood with his feet apart. He was so near, so tall, that I had to crane my neck to look up to him. He stared at me, although I couldn’t see his eyes through the Oakleys or whatever they were.
The waiter came up behind him with my sandwich on the silver tray, but he couldn’t get around and he was flustered. Balthazar didn’t even turn his head, he just took the tray.
“This your sandwich, Sis?”
When he said, ‘ Sis ’ my stomach fell down a hole. My thighs slackened apart. My throat tightened and my breath caught. All the feelings, all the wrong sensations that I had experienced around him, time after time when we were younger, all the things I thought I’d never have to go through again.
They all flooded back at once. I felt thoroughly drenched. He was still waiting for me to answer, with that half smile on his face that I remembered from the first time I saw him.
“Well?” that familiar sarcastic edge, that slightly superior tone was in his voice. His scent was unmistakable; he had on some elegant and probably expensive, exotic cologne, but behind it was a darker note. A note that lit a sense memory. It revived thoughts and feelings that I knew I shouldn’t have had at the time. But I loved them and I wanted them then. And I wanted them still.
His head cocked a little to one side. He’d asked me a question. I’d forgotten. I realized that he was still holding the tray.
“Yes,” I told him, “It’s my sandwich.”
He set the tray down. My eyes didn’t leave his as he bent with the tray. The waiter clearly wanted his tray back but he couldn’t find the nerve to ask Balthazar to return it. He bobbed his head uncertainly. Balthazar showed no sign of noticing. The waiter shuffled away, trayless and dejected.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”
“While you stand there and watch
The waiter brought my wine in a high-stemmed glass on a sliver tray. He set it out nicely and took my order for a club sandwich. The voice at the next table was one that could not be ignored. He was talking quite loudly into a phone. I thought it was funny how people in the best places often had the worst manners.
“I want a Gulfstream G 150 ready for my pilot to collect.” A lump of ice dropped through me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Not the words, those didn’t matter, but the voice was so familiar. “I want it at LAX, certified and fueled up the day after tomorrow. Call me back in ninety minutes with your best price. No second chance, understand?” It couldn’t be true. I was afraid to turn my head.
“When you call back, state only your finished, all-inclusive price. Just one number.” I turned. It was him. “It will be a straight cash purchase for the best bid.” And he hung up. Then he looked up, over his shades. Those golden-brown eyes shone into mine, and way down inside me a depth charge thudded.
The entourage fell silent and their eyes all swiveled to me. I hadn’t seen him in, like, forever. I almost didn’t recognize him with the short beard.
It was the sound of his voice I had responded to. And, I mean, I responded. God, the purring rasp of that voice had reached down inside me and stirred me up like a Long Island Iced Tea.
He raised a hand. The entourage all turned to look. His fingers flicked like they were dusting the air. Silently the group gathered their tablets, notepads, and bags, and they melted away.
When he stood, my heart pounded. His muscles were tense, but not as tense as the expensive fabric on the front of his elegant pants. That was tented tense. A weight pressed against them. It prodded familiar feelings in me. The deck shook under his feet as he strode the short distance to my table.
He stood with his feet apart. He was so near, so tall, that I had to crane my neck to look up to him. He stared at me, although I couldn’t see his eyes through the Oakleys or whatever they were.
The waiter came up behind him with my sandwich on the silver tray, but he couldn’t get around and he was flustered. Balthazar didn’t even turn his head, he just took the tray.
“This your sandwich, Sis?”
When he said, ‘ Sis ’ my stomach fell down a hole. My thighs slackened apart. My throat tightened and my breath caught. All the feelings, all the wrong sensations that I had experienced around him, time after time when we were younger, all the things I thought I’d never have to go through again.
They all flooded back at once. I felt thoroughly drenched. He was still waiting for me to answer, with that half smile on his face that I remembered from the first time I saw him.
“Well?” that familiar sarcastic edge, that slightly superior tone was in his voice. His scent was unmistakable; he had on some elegant and probably expensive, exotic cologne, but behind it was a darker note. A note that lit a sense memory. It revived thoughts and feelings that I knew I shouldn’t have had at the time. But I loved them and I wanted them then. And I wanted them still.
His head cocked a little to one side. He’d asked me a question. I’d forgotten. I realized that he was still holding the tray.
“Yes,” I told him, “It’s my sandwich.”
He set the tray down. My eyes didn’t leave his as he bent with the tray. The waiter clearly wanted his tray back but he couldn’t find the nerve to ask Balthazar to return it. He bobbed his head uncertainly. Balthazar showed no sign of noticing. The waiter shuffled away, trayless and dejected.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”
“While you stand there and watch
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