Under Two Billionaire Brothers

By: Jenika Snow

Chapter One



Lola rolled her eyes and spritzed more window cleaner on the glass. She could hear them having sex right through the damn walls. If she had to hear them fucking one more time, she would quit. Well, no she wouldn’t, because she really needed this job and they paid her a shitload, but she would seriously scream and rip her hair out. The loud thumping of what she assumed was a headboard banging against the wall was so distracting, she couldn’t even focus on cleaning the damn windows. Her concentration was shot, and if she was being completely honest, she was so turned on she couldn’t think straight.

Being the weekend housecleaner for two of the wealthiest men in Pleasure, Colorado, (yeah, the irony wasn’t lost on her) should have been simple enough, but of course it wasn’t. She had been working for the McKnight brothers for a little over six months and every Saturday and Sunday morning, like damn clockwork, she could hear them tearing up some poor woman -- or two. Tearing might have been an understatement, because if the sound coming through the walls were anything to go by, it usually sounded like the woman was dying.

She grabbed her ear buds out of her pocket and slipped them in her ears. If she was forced to work in these ridiculous conditions, then she was going to tune it out. She ran her finger over her iPod and chose a song that best depicted her current situation. I Can’t Get No Satisfaction by The Stones blasted into her ears and blissfully blocked out all sounds of the debauchery in the next room.

An hour later she took a step back and looked at the study. Everything smelled of lemon disinfectant and shined like brand fucking new. Lola took her ear buds out and slipped them back in her pocket. The time showed a little after ten in the morning, and already her back ached and her stomach growled. She still had three other rooms to clean, too. At least the ‘fuck brothers’ were done with their weekend girlfriends. She left the study and made her way into the kitchen, figuring Ian and Max McKnight would probably be sleeping off their sex marathon until at least mid-afternoon. When she rounded the corner and saw both of them standing at the breakfast bar, she stopped in her tracks. Their backs faced her as they leaned over the counter, their attention on the newspaper. Of course they were shirtless, because there was no rest for the wicked. Her poor, neglected libido raised its head and growled in desire. She wanted to slap the bitch.

So what, if she hadn’t had sex since her last boyfriend -- which was one year, three months and sixteen days ago, but who was counting? Maybe she could sneak out and work on one of the other rooms until they decided to go find something productive to do? Like, for instance, not walking around the house shirtless and tormenting her. She planned on being all stealthy in her retreat, but of course the bottle of window cleaner chose that moment to jump out of her bucket and land by her feet. The plastic bottle hitting the tiled floor was so loud she winced. Ian and Max straightened and looked over their shoulder at her. They weren’t twins, but damn if they didn’t look like they could be. Both were at least a foot taller than her meager five-foot-three frame, with no shortage of muscles or testosterone. They were all man, and damn well knew it.

Max, with his brooding dark eyes and equally dark hair, turned fully around and crossed his arms over his chest, his brow raised at her. He was only a year older than Ian, whose eyes and hair color were a shade lighter. Both oozed Tall, Dark and Handsome -- and she wasn’t immune to it. Hell, they were thirty-five and thirty-six years old, at least ten years older than she, but damned if they didn’t pull off that hot older man look. How many times had she pictured them doing to her what they did to those faceless women every weekend? It was damn near torture knowing that they double-teamed women. Like they were some kind of dual machine that could make every single woman they had behind a closed door scream so many times, Lola wanted to cut her own ears off.

They both stood there and watched her, no one saying anything and the awkwardness increasing with every second. “Um,” she looked around, momentarily forgetting what she was doing. She took a step back and accidentally kicked the bottle of window cleaner across the floor. Wouldn’t you know it, that bastard rolled right over to the McKnight brothers. It stopped between their feet, the blue liquid inside sloshing around, as if to say yes, it was an asshole for putting her in this situation.

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