They’ve always been a trio—why should love be any different?
Ever since their first days together at Quantico, FBI agents Ev Motovolo, Lucas Vallejo and Quinn Langston have had one another’s backs. They’re as close as friends can get, sharing everything from an apartment to the past traumas that few others know about.
But that all changed, when Quinn and Ev confessed their feelings for each other six months ago…and then three days later when she started having erotic dreams about the other most important man in their lives.
She’s hopeful that a trip to Wolf Creek, Montana for a friend’s wedding can help her put those frustrating desires to rest, but when she gets there, Ev finds two examples of just how well unorthodox relationships can work. Maddy and Lily Hollis, the owner of the Triple Diamond B&B and her sister, are both happily involved with two men and it only serves to make Ev’s situation all the more complicated.
But before Ev is able to untangle her feelings, or have that impossible conversation with her two best friends, they’re thrust into a violent situation that might just rip away any future they could have shared. And if all three of them do make it out alive, will they have the courage to defy the status quo and embrace what’s waiting for them on the other side?
About the Author
Gemma Snow is the author of several works of erotic and romantic fiction in both the contemporary and historical genres, and enjoys pushing the limits of freedom, feminism, and fun in her stories. She has been an avid writer for many years, and recently moved back to her home state of New Jersey from Boston, after completing her education in journalism and creative writing.
In her free time, she loves to travel, and spent several months living in a 14th century castle in the Netherlands. When not exploring the world, she likes dreaming up stories, eating spicy food, driving fast cars, and talking to strangers.
Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Gemma Snow 2019. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
“Monteiro.” Do I really sound so out of breath?
“Well, I certainly hope so, since I haven’t heard any news of a wedding.”
Relief made her shoulders sag and Ev settled into the couch, tucking herself under Quinn’s arm. He tossed another blanket over her bare body and she snuggled closer to him.
“Tudo bem, mãezinha?” she greeted. “Why are you calling me this early? I thought Dad was working the night shift at the restaurant now.”
“Night shift, pah.” Her mother’s energetic tone gave Ev the impression she’d been up for hours and had used as much control as was in her arsenal to wait until after the sun had risen to give her youngest daughter a call. “Evangeline, your father owns six of the most successful restaurants in the whole state and you call it a night shift.” In truth, it was an old habit from when her father had worked the night shifts in other first-generation Portuguese restaurants when she was only a child, but Ev knew damn well why her mother insisted on pointing out the number and level of success of each of their businesses every time she called.
“I’m happy with my job, mãezinha,” she said. “And Quinn and I are still dating, before you ask.”
Her mother humphed. “Well, as long as you’re not married. But I do want you to know—Estela Patrício, her son is coming to town next weekend…”
“No, mama,” Ev said, keeping her voice firm. It was the only effective method of communication. “I’m dating Quinn and I’m very happy about it. Now, is there something else? Because we have a plane to catch.”
Her mama tutted, repeated the information about Estela Patrício’s son, a businessman, gossiped about Ev’s sisters, gushed about her brother then repeated the information about Estela Patrício’s son one last time.
Ev glanced at the clock mounted above their useless fireplace.
“I’ve got to go now,” she said, cutting through her mother’s sentence. “We didn’t land until three last night and I’m catching a flight in, like, an hour.” More like four, but exaggeration was another tried and true technique where her mama was concerned.
Finally, finally, her mother wished her safe travel, bade her visit—not next weekend, mama—and hung up the phone.
Ev sighed and glanced up at Quinn. He grinned, the sated, amused grin she didn’t see nearly enough of on his handsome face.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she muttered, but he reached out and tweaked one nipple at the same moment, which made her squeal and wiggle out of his embrace in a vain effort to protect herself.
“I’m not laughing,” Quinn said, hovering over her on the couch like the sexiest predator she’d ever seen. After a moment, though, he settled against her, fatigue outlining his handsome features. It was absurd they were even still awake right now. Still, her flight had landed just as she told her mother, nearly three in the morning. Quinn had been there waiting for her, after a week of them playing phone tag and sneaking in and out of the apartment while the other was dead asleep. They’d barely made it through the front door without ripping each other’s clothes off and now it was morning—not that morning counted for a whole hell of a lot in their line of work—and all three of them had a plane to catch in just a few hours.
“Quinn…” This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation and it wouldn’t be the last.
“I know, I know, it’s not ’cause I’m a black guy from the city.” His humor was hollow and tired, but tinged with amusement.
“You’re from Cleveland,” she pointed out. “And it’s not.” Just as it wasn’t the first time they’d trodden this well-worn territory. “It’s only because you’re not Portuguese. She wouldn’t like me dating Lucas, either. Hell, she wouldn’t even be okay with Patrick.”
Lucas Vallejo would have given her mother kittens, but Ev’s very white, very Western European boss Patrick Wickham wouldn’t have passed the test, either. Ev was the only one of her mamã’s children to not bring home a Portuguese man, excepting her brother, who brought home different women with alarming regularity, and dear old Mamã was persistent in her task to single-handedly populate the Ironbound with the next generation.
She rolled her eyes. Her mother’s antiquated ideals were still a solid presence in Ev’s life, despite her being an Ivy League graduate with a top job in the FBI and approaching the birthday that would put her decidedly on the other side of her mid-thirties. “Mamã, she’s old-school. Still hasn’t forgiven me for moving to DC.”
Quinn knew the spiel. In the months since they’d first moved their friendship into something more, they’d circled this conversation a dozen times, but it never made it any easier. Quinn’s race, Lucas’ race, Ev’s sex—it had brought them closer together during those months at Quantico, surrounded by the pretty-boy country Captain Americas and the New England Ivy graduates who could have passed for their ancestors from two hundred years earlier. Being of any race other than white, or any gender other than male, put one at a disadvantage—a disadvantage that had led to one of the strongest bonds of friendship Ev had ever known.
“I know, baby,” he said. He planted a kiss on her forehead and stood from the couch, moving toward the kitchenette with a slowness that betrayed his exhaustion. The city had been on high alert for terrorist activity after a series of phone calls, and Quinn, Special Agent for a Counterterrorism Fly Team under Lydia Brandenwell, who reported direct to the Secretary of Defense, had been busy in a way most civilians would never understand.
But she knew, simply by watching the slight limp in his left leg, an injury from an IED blast eight years earlier that tired more easily when he was fatigued, and the way his shoulders folded just a little. The only signs that Quinn Langston was running on empty.