Triple Passion Play, Book 1
Sierra Brave Published: 2016
Copyright © Published: Published: 2016, Sierra Brave.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Manufactured in the USA
Blurb
Lifelong best friends, Tommy Marks and Ken Davidson prepare to ride out the storm with Trisha Harper, the woman both men adore. Determine to preserve their friendship, the men cling to a gentleman’s agreement, promising neither will make a move on her but can such a pact be upheld in the eye of the storm? With both men teetering between desire and the fear of rejection and loss, Trisha has no wish to break up the dynamic duo. For her, it’s all or nothing and she’s determined to have Tommy and devour Ken too.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
September 5, 1996, 2:00 p.m.
* * * * *
SOAKING wet and shivering, Thomas Marks kicked the door closed behind him as he entered his apartment, his arms full of grocery bags, including a large bag of ice. Small and shabby, the living room never felt particularly welcoming even on the best of days, but today, he couldn’t find anything to love about his living-space. The small area’s one charm, the sliding glass door where the afternoon sun poured through when the weather was nice, only presented dangers created by the storm currently raging outside. Tommy jerked his head in the direction of a loud crash and marveled at the accompanying streak of lightning. For a fleeting second, the brilliance shined over the dull beige surrounding him on every wall but soon faded back into the enduring dreariness. Add the empty stillness and unsettling silence and he might as well have been taking a midnight stroll through a cemetery. Fitting, since the imminent arrival of a hurricane had him seriously contemplating his mortality. Why is it so damn quiet? Where’s Ken?
Sighing, he wiped his feet on the square mat laid out on the tiny stretch of linoleum that passed for a foyer before stepping onto the ragged, old red carpet mocking him wall-to-wall throughout the rental he shared with his best friend. What a dump—at least the place was cheap and conveniently located within walking distance of their university and only a ten-minute drive to the coast.
He hustled to the small kitchen where he plopped the ice down in the sink and set the grocery bags on the circa 1980, white, Formica countertop. The coffeepot, toaster, and drying rack took up most of the space, but he found the room for a few bags before limply shaking his hands and arms in an attempt to knock off some of the rain coating his skin the way condensation swarms a cup of iced tea. He leaned over the sink, grabbing a handful of his dripping-wet, chin-length hair and wringing the excess water into the basin. His soggy clothing stuck to his clammy skin, weighing him down, and his drenched flip flops made a squishing sound with his every step. He shivered, his entire body quaking. This sucks!
He left the haul of snacks and beverages behind, hurrying into his bedroom before he schlepped over to the adjoining bathroom he shared with Ken Davidson. After opening the shower’s glass door, he reached inside, turning on the water and allowing it to heat up as he stripped naked. While he pivoted to the side, he checked out his profile in the mirror before turning face-forward to preen some more. He placed a finger between his sculpted pectorals, tracing the line of definition down over his rock-solid abdominals and further to his taut navel. Not bad. Years of playing every sport he could had put him in peak condition. He turned around, looking over his shoulder while shaking his money-maker in the mirror. He laughed to himself as he moved toward the shower and stepped inside.
Tommy closed his eyes, grateful for the warmth as the water rushed over him and rained down his back. He grabbed a bar of soap and built a lather between his hands. Although he’d already bathed that morning, he figured a second shower wouldn’t be a bad thing. When Trisha showed up to weather the storm with him and Ken, he couldn’t greet her looking like a drowned rat or smelling like a wet dog. For a second, he considered using Ken’s special, lavender hair and body wash. Supposedly, the scent had aromatherapy benefits. Ken swore he used the scented cleanser on his doctor’s recommendation to prevent itching caused by dry scalp and skin. Tommy tapped a finger on the bottle. Ken probably wouldn’t mind if I used a little.
After scrubbing his body with the soap, he used the bath brush to wash his back and the bottoms of his feet before he clicked open Ken’s hair-and-body wash and held the opening up to his nose, closing his eyes as he breathed in the fragrance. Interestingly enough, the scent was oddly calming. He would use only a dab for his hair, but maybe the fragrance would settle the jitters he had been feeling all day.
Twisters tended to be an issue in northern Texas where he and Ken were raised, but he had never experienced a hurricane until moving to a small coastal town to attend school at a university located just outside of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He lost his tropical storm virginity to Arthur last June, but luckily moderate surf and light rain had been the worst Arthur had to offer. The following month,
