Free The Sextet - Dirty Dancing [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) by The Sextet Page B

Missions 4: Sold

    Also by The Sextet

    The Sextet Anthology, Volume 1: Sharing

    Available at
    BOOKSTRAND.COM

THE BOYS IN THE BAND

    Cheryl Brooks

DEDICATION

    For anyone who isn’t content to drool over the drummer or the lead singer, but wants to dance with the whole damn band.

Chapter 1

    “So, Gen, darlin’, are you ever gonna ditch that loser and be our girl?”
    Having heard that question so many times she’d made a hobby of coming up with an assortment of snappy comebacks, Geneva Tirey was beginning to form a retort when she realized two things. One, she had already ditched the loser, and two, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be anyone’s “girl.”
    Well, actually, the loser had been the one doing the ditching. Geneva had been an innocent bystander on that deal, having something akin to an out-of-body experience while Hugh plucked out her heart and stomped on it. Setting herself up for the chance to have four men take a shot at doing the same was nothing short of suicidal.
    Rolling her eyes when she’d have preferred to break down and cry, she blurted out the first response that came to mind. “Soon as I did, you guys would’ve already found someone else.”
    Rhys shook his head. “Not likely, m’dear. We’ve pined for you too long. Our hearts are yours, and always will be.” Rhys was a sweet-talking Welsh charmer with a roguish grin and lips that could have… No. She shouldn’t be thinking about what his lips could do. She was having enough trouble holding herself together as it was.
    She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t thought about it, though. Normally, she dismissed them as flirts—and Rhys was the biggest tease she’d ever met—but, now…
    Sean strolled over and leaned against the bar. “Guess what a little bird just told me.”
    Geneva’s heart dropped to her navel. Tall and dark with ice-blue eyes, Sean looked more like he belonged in a Regency romance novel than a rock band. Not that jeans and a T-shirt didn’t work for him, but Geneva couldn’t help but envision him in boots and breeches, sporting an intricate cravat, his ensemble topped off with a coat tailor-made by Weston. His British accent was simply the icing on the cake.
    In the two years since she’d traded her New York advertising career for that of a Caerphilly pub owner, the accent still hadn’t become commonplace. Sean could have melted granite with his voice, and when he and Rhys sang together with Nigel…well, calling it pure magic was a hopeless understatement. Plus, what Sean could do with a guitar—or any of the three, for that matter—should have been enough to make her take their silly teasing seriously and call their bluff.
    It had to be a bluff, didn’t it? No way would a hot foursome like the Crying Shame want to single out one woman to bestow all their affections upon. Granted, Brayden was one of those drummers who followed a different beat, but even he had joined in on the “our girl” routine. Geneva had about decided they only wanted a woman who could mix any drink known to mankind as their cook and housekeeper, but there were definite sexual overtones to their suggestions. She’d never encouraged them to elaborate, but if what the “bird” had told Sean had anything to do with her love life, there was every chance that the heat was about to get cranked up a notch.
    “Seems that our dear Geneva is now a free agent.” Sean punctuated his sentence with a flick of his brow as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth—a combination of gestures that made Geneva’s mouth turn dry.
    “Ah, so you’ve been holding out on me.” Rhys took a sip of his Guinness. “Naughty girl.”
    “Not really,” she replied. “Just an automatic response. Sorry.”
    Rhys glanced at Sean. “Obviously she doesn’t care to discuss it.” His brown eyes slid back to hers, reminding her again of the odd combination his dark eyes made with his shoulder-length blond locks, which was apparently their natural color. That