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  Tempting Tenealle

  Continuously overwhelmed by an unending inundation of visiting cousins, Tenealle decides the only solution is to buy a bigger apartment. Evan’s selling an apartment that is perfect for her. In fact, Evan and his partner, Faris, are perfect for her. How can she concentrate on renovating an apartment when she’d much rather be in their bedroom?

  Evan has inherited his Great Aunt Enid’s apartment and doesn’t want to refurbish it, so he is looking for a quick sale, even though his partner, Faris, can see its potential. They both see enormous potential in a relationship with the totally delicious Tenealle, their every wet dream come true, despite her myriad of cousins. But which cousin tried to harm her? And why? And what is the story about the fountain?

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal

  Length: 21,147 words

  TEMPTING TENEALLE

  Berengaria Brown

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  TEMPTING TENEALLE

  Copyright © 2011 by Berengaria Brown

  E-book ISBN: 1-61034-201-1

  First E-book Publication: February 2011

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Tempting Tenealle by Berengaria Brown from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

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  This is Berengaria Brown’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Brown’s right to earn a living from her work.

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  DEDICATION

  For my bazillion cousins: the fun ones, the helpful ones, the caring ones, and the plain weird ones. I love you all.

  TEMPTING TENEALLE

  BERENGARIA BROWN

  Copyright © 2011

  Chapter One

  Tenealle sighed as she carefully stepped over all the sleeping bodies on her great room floor. It was 6:55 a.m., and she needed to be online at her day job at seven a.m.

  Shaking her head as she circumnavigated Cousin Mark, who seemed even larger in his sleeping bag than his awake six-foot, two-hundred-pound self, Tenealle squeezed past a pile of luggage and into her tiny office.

  “Thank God,” she whispered as she booted up her computer. Why, oh why, did Dad have to be the youngest of ten children? If he’d had the good sense to be an only child like Mom, I wouldn’t have a bazillion cousins invading my great room!

  Tenealle clicked into her company chat room and was soon busily making notes about her day’s tasks. One of the managers was off-loading some of his clients onto her manager, who had responded by dumping his in-tray into Tenealle’s inbox.

  The extra money I make from this new work will be great, but first I need to get rid of all these cousins before they eat everything in my kitchen! And I really need a bigger apartment. I just know there’ll be a riot if they all want to use my little bathroom at once.

  Silence reigned for several hours, though, and Tenealle made the most of it, answering e-mails, filling in spreadsheets, and rearranging her workload to incorporate the most urgent of the new tasks.

  By the time her tummy was rumbling with the need for breakfast, there were noises coming from the great room, indicating that at least some of her cousins were awake.

  Tenealle stretched. Half past nine. No wonder I’m hungry. I’d better put on some coffee and toast for them.

  After carefully logging off from all her work files, Tenealle opened her office door. One sleeping body was still stretched out on her floor, but chatter from her kitchen indicated at least some of her unwanted guests were getting their own meals.

  “Jeez, Tenealle. Don’t you ever shop?” asked Drew. “There are only two eggs here and no sausages, no bacon, and no hash browns. What are we supposed to eat?”

  “Muesli. That’s what I have. And there’s bread if you want toast.”

  “Not even a full loaf. That works out at maybe two slices each, if we’re lucky.”

  “Empower yourself, Drew. Go down to the store, buy what you want, and then cook it yourself,” suggested Tenealle.

  “Like that’s gonna happen,” joked Mark. “The only reason we’re staying in this sardine can you call an apartment is because we’re all broke.”

  “Well, apart from the fact we all love you, of course,” added Drew wisely.

  “Uh-huh,” replied Tenealle, pulling the almost empty box of muesli from the cupboard. “I see you found my muesli.”

  “Pretty sure that was Jack. He got the munchies around midnight.”

  “When are you all leaving?” she asked sternly but couldn’t keep the grin off her face or out of her voice. Her cousins were total pains in the ass, but she loved them anyway.

  Tim stepped into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. “There’s no hot water left, guys. Looks like I won’t be shaving this morning.”

  “I really, really need a bigger apartment,” sighed Tenealle.

  “And more food, and more hot water,” added Tim, grabbing the last tomato out of the refrigerator. “Don’t you ever buy food?” he continued, unconsciously echoing Drew.

  Tenealle snatched the milk carton out of Mark’s hand and poured the last of the milk over her muesli. “There’s fifty dollars in the coffee j
ar. Buy food. Buy milk. Buy bread. But make sure there is something here for me to eat for lunch. I have a heap of work to do, and I can’t keep a roof over all of our heads unless I’m fed!”

  “Don’t worry, Cuz. We’ll shop this morning. Then we’re going to visit Great-Uncle Albert this afternoon. And tonight is Jack’s game. We’ll all be out of your way by noon tomorrow.”

  The talk became general then, mostly about Jack’s Scrabble tournament. Jack would be at the conference center watching the other players all day. His match was at four p.m. The quarterfinals were played simultaneously at six p.m., the semifinals at seven, then the grand final at eight thirty, with the medal presentations around ten p.m.

  Jack was a very good player, but only ranked twenty-fifth, so even though Tenealle was confident he’d make it at least to the quarterfinals, they would all be there to support him for his match at four. Meanwhile, she had a mountain of work to deal with. Tenealle put her bowl and spoon in the sink and headed back into her office.

  * * * *

  Jack thrilled them all by getting as far as the semifinals and scoring a personal best before being eliminated. They all went to Dumpling King to celebrate after the medal presentations, arriving back at Tenealle’s apartment in the early hours of the morning.

  By the time her cousins finally departed at midday the next day, Tenealle’s kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it, and her refrigerator and food cupboard bore a close resemblance to Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Empty. And of course there was no hot water left. As she waved them good-bye, Tenealle held on to her sanity by chanting in her head, Must move to a bigger apartment. Must move to a bigger apartment. Must move to a bigger apartment…

  Tenealle concentrated on her most urgent work projects. Then, after a meal of rice, which was pretty much the only edible thing left in her kitchen, she settled in front of her computer again to look at vacant apartments.

  I need space. I need at least one guest room. I must have a second bathroom. And it would be really good if my office was separated from the living area. Likely, that will be impossible at the price I can afford.

  Sipping on a cup of hot coffee—black because the cousins had drunk the milk they’d bought—Tenealle looked at apartment after apartment. Anything even vaguely promising was out of her price range.

  Maybe a fixer-upper, she thought, clicking on another Web site. And there it was. An “office with dwelling” in a warehouse district. It was a top-floor apartment from a deceased’s estate, and the heir did not want it. There was a small reception foyer and an office with a bathroom, then a hallway through to a two-bedroom apartment with a full bathroom and large living area. Between the front office and the rear apartment was a private courtyard garden. The whole was listed as “in need of love and attention but structurally sound,” and the price was within her means.

  It was much too late to call the agent now, but Tenealle bookmarked the site to call the agent at nine tomorrow. Then she returned to her kitchen to restore it to some semblance of order and write a shopping list. “Preferably before I starve,” she reminded herself as she stared into the empty refrigerator.

  * * * *

  Faris Barker sat on the stone edge of the fountain, smiling as his partner, Evan Schmidt, prowled up and down the courtyard garden, kicking at the occasional weed that had poked its head up between the flagstones, and slapping at the overgrown shrubs and trees as he walked past.

  “Relax, man. This place just needs a gardener. There’s nothing much wrong with it, really.” He kicked his heels against the stone base of the fountain. “Solid as a rock. Quite literally.”

  Evan grinned back. “A gardener, right? And a painter for the rooms, a handyman to make the doors shut properly, a dude to resurface the floors—”

  “Yeah, but those are details. Incidentals. There’s nothing wrong with the building. No wood rot, or insects, or black mold, or anything. This woman will love it and buy it, and you can go back to your lair and forget all about your great-aunt Enid.”

  “I can remember when she was well, and this garden was so beautiful. It looks sad now, but she always had pretty flowers in bloom, all year round, and there were fish in that fountain.”

  “Fish? In the fountain?”

  “Yeah, she always was an independent-minded woman.”

  “Fish. You know, I like that idea. And we could get someone to prune and weed and plant flowers.”

  “Uh-huh. Not to mention paint the walls, sand the floorboards, replace all the floor coverings, fix the other stuff. Can you imagine the mess? The stink of paint and varnish? No way. Much better to sell it and forget it,” said Evan.

  Faris looked at his cell phone. “Ah well, the woman will be here in five minutes and will likely be the answer to all your prayers.”

  “Not all my prayers, surely. She may buy the apartment and get that off my hands, but she’s not likely to be a glorious redhead, with a lush body, who just happens to want to fuck two men at once.”

  “No. One step at a time, I guess. Although I like the name Tenealle, and she sounded about our age on the phone. She had a pleasant, friendly voice, so you never know.”

  The door buzzer interrupted them.

  Evan hurried back into the living room of the apartment, then up the hallway, to answer the door. The garden could only be accessed from the house, not from the office, making it more private—something Faris decided he really liked—but a longer walk to the front door. In fact, Faris liked the whole apartment and could visualize its potential to be the perfect place for them both, once it had been upgraded a little. Too bad Evan doesn’t agree. He stood to his feet and followed his partner inside.

  By the time Faris reached the office, Evan had opened the door and was standing, dumbstruck, in front of the most gorgeous woman Faris had ever seen. She was tall for a woman, about five-eight, with a lush, curvaceous body, huggable hips, suckable breasts, and sparkling chocolate eyes. And, holy hell! Red hair. Goddamn it, she was everything Evan had asked for, and more, wrapped up in the most enticing package Faris had ever seen.

  His cock woke, stretched, and damn near burst out of his pants at his first sight of her. He was hard enough to pound nails, ready to push her up against the nearest wall and fuck her, and he hadn’t even spoken a single word to her yet! Where the hell had that come from?

  Noticing that Evan seemed totally incapable of social niceties due to shock, he punched the other man on the arm, then held out his hand. “I’m Faris Barker, Evan Schmidt’s partner. I’m guessing you’re Tenealle Jones. Great to meet you, Ms. Jones.”

  “Please call me Tenealle. I see what you mean by ‘needs some care,’ but I like the proportions of this room.”

  Evan still seemed to be totally gobsmacked, so Faris explained. “Evan’s great-aunt Enid has lived here for a very long time. Originally she and her husband ran an accounting business out of these few rooms and lived in the rear apartment. There’s a small bathroom through here.”

  Faris opened the door, and Tenealle walked through. He tried to see the room through Tenealle’s eyes. It had a toilet, shower, and sink and hadn’t been used much for some years. The ceramic ware was a little stained, but it might scrub up okay. Or maybe she’d want to replace it with a dual-flush model. If it was up to him, he’d retile the room in sunny yellow and cool blues.

  Evan had pulled himself together now and began describing the apartment’s amenities—security, privacy, a well-run building in a reasonable neighborhood. Then he showed Tenealle the smaller internal office. She pulled out a notepad and sketched the rooms, marking in electrical outlets and built-in cupboards.

  “What about Internet access?” Tenealle asked.

  “No worries there. Great-Aunt Enid was quite computer savvy, and she had cable TV. Whatever you want should be good.”

  The scrumptious redhead paced around the two rooms and made some more notes, then followed Evan down the hallway to the living area of the apartment.

  “Both these doors
have secure locks on them, so no one can get into the apartment without keys while you’re in the office,” pointed out Evan as he opened the apartment door, then waved back toward the door from the office area.

  “This hallway runs the length of the interior courtyard and garden, which is only accessible from the apartment.”

  “The office has no external windows for security’s sake,” added Faris, “but there’s lots of natural light in the apartment.”

  “I like that it’s secure, but I’m not a wimp. I’ve been living on my own for ten years now,” said Tenealle. Then she muttered something that sounded like, “Apart from when a bazillion cousins descend on me.”

  A bazillion cousins? What the hell? Could a person, especially someone as delicious as Tenealle Jones, even have a bazillion cousins? How many was a bazillion anyway? I must have misheard her.

  Evan walked Tenealle through the apartment’s two bedrooms, the large bathroom between them, a comfortable kitchen with dining area, and the spacious living room opening out into the garden courtyard.

  Tenealle wrote page after page of notes in her little notebook, paced out room sizes, checked for cupboards and electrical outlets—what was her hang-up with them?—then strolled around the garden.

  Faris trailed behind them, noticing the way her delicious ass flexed as she moved, how her lush hips swayed, and the way she smiled at him and Evan whenever they caught her gaze. She smiled with her whole face, not just her eyes, and it lit up with pleasure and happiness.