Nine Marines' Shared Property: A Reverse Harem Romance (Love by Numbers Book 8) Read online

  9 Marines’ Shared Property

  A Reverse Harem Romance (Love by Numbers Book 8)

  Nicole Casey

  © Copyright 2020 by Nicole Casey - All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Love by Numbers

  - A Reverse Harem Romance Series

  2 Billionaires in Vegas

  3 Bosses’ Assistant

  4 Ranchers’ Bride

  5 Mafia Captors’ Virgin

  6 Single Dads’ Nanny

  7 Groomsmen from Hell

  8 Brothers’ Fiancee

  9 Marines’ Shared Property

  …to be continued

  Join my newsletter and get a military reverse harem book - Her Three Military Men for FREE: CLICK HERE!

  Contents

  1. Gwen

  2. Axel

  3. J.P

  4. Gwen

  5. Axel

  6. Travis

  7. Gwen

  8. Axel

  9. Manny

  10. Gwen

  11. Axel

  12. Tristan

  13. Gwen

  14. Axel

  15. Nolan

  16. Gwen

  17. Axel

  18. Taylor

  19. Gwen

  20. Axel

  21. Elijah

  22. Gwen

  23. Axel

  24. Santiago

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Alexa’s Story

  Also By Nicole Casey

  About the Author

  Book Description

  My world is turned upside down when nine hot-as-sin marine men decide to claim me.

  Burned by my cheating ex, my only love is the café I run in San Diego.

  Then, one day, marine triplets show up. It’s impossible to resist their flirtation. Tough, with battle-hardened bodies and sharp minds, they’re what wet dreams are made of.

  Soon I find myself breaking all my rules and becoming more adventurous than ever. I’m sexting with the guys, saying naughty things I’ve never dared to utter.

  When they tell me that there are nine of them and that they share everything, I’m taken aback. Certainly, not everything? They assure me they do, then make a scandalous proposition. They want me to be theirs. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. How could I handle nine warriors?

  I try to stay away, but it’s impossible. Their commanding presence and discipline wears me down inch by inch.

  Nine powerful Marines will claim me and give me pleasure like I’ve never experienced before.

  But can I really bind myself to all nine of them?

  1

  Gwen

  My life might have been a mess, but when I’d get up early, walk down to the cafe I owned, set up the terrace and the lounge and start baking, it seemed like everything was being put into place. I loved seeing the place full of customers. Of course, I was happy for the cafe’s growing popularity. But in the early morning, when it was completely empty and I could arrange the tables and the plants the way I wanted them, that’s when I felt I was in control; that’s when my life had peace and comfort—the calm before the storm, in more ways than one.

  I’d always start by baking cinnamon rolls. I loved the way the cafe smelled after a batch of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. And by the time I’d started on the muffins, the first customers would come in—always too early.

  “Good morning. That smells fantastic.”

  My first customer was a young man, clean-shaven, wearing an impeccably pressed suit to match his impeccable posture. Most likely from the military base. Much of my clientele were from the base.

  I tucked the loose strands of hair behind my ears, straightened my apron and offered him a smile. “You’ve got perfect timing,” I said. “I’ve just pulled them out of the oven.”

  I tugged on the hem of my apron. Nervous habit. I was running my very own successful cafe and bakery, but with that hunk standing there in front of me, I felt like an awkward schoolgirl.

  “Perfect,” he said. And his eyes fell from the chalkboard menu down to meet mine. I literally quivered and had to grab hold of the counter not to fall over. “I’ll have one, please. And an espresso.”

  I nodded but didn’t move more than that. I think when a customer orders a cinnamon roll and an espresso, they expect that I’d turn to the espresso machine or plate out a roll. But I just stood there smiling.

  He smiled back.

  Fortunately, before things could get too awkward, Jenny came rushing in. “Hi, Gwen. I’m sorry I’m late.” She hurried around the counter, already in mid-morning rush form.

  I turned from the customer and greeted her. “Good morning, Jenny.”

  She let out an exasperated breath and shook her head. “Traffic.”

  “No worries.” I glanced at the clock. Only two minutes late. “You’re actually right on time for our first customer of the day.” I turned back to the customer and forgot what I was going to say or what he’d ordered or if he’d even ordered at all.

  Jenny took his order again. Unlike me, she immediately went into action to complete it.

  “Well, I think I’ll head back in the kitchen,” I said. I smoothed out my apron. “Get started on the brownies.” I looked back at the customer just in case he wanted to stop me. Perhaps he wanted to grab me and say, ‘No, don’t go. Throw off your apron. I’m taking you to Hawaii in my private jet.’ But he simply nodded and smiled.

  I stayed in the kitchen for the better part of the morning. Even after ten months on the job, I still melted every time a hot guy would come in—and in San Diego, that happened often. Jenny and Christy worked in the front of the house.

  Initially, I’d thought I could get by with only one employee a shift, but with three of us working, we created a more relaxed convivial atmosphere. Jenny’s the no-nonsense one of the crew. Even though I’m technically the boss, she’s the one who keeps us in line. Christy is the ‘wild one’. She keeps things from getting too serious.

  Christy popped into the kitchen. “The apple tarts are a big success.”

  I looked at her suspiciously out of the corner of my eyes. Christy never led with what was really on her mind. “Good to know,” I said. “I’ll have to prepare more next time.”

  “Do you need a hand cleaning up?” she asked.

  I’d gotten into the good habit of cleaning while I baked, so when the baking was all finished, I never had much clean-up to do. “No, thanks,” I said. “I’ve got it covered. Why? Is it slow out there?”

  “No. It’s actually quite busy.” She smiled mischievously. “But I knew you’d say you didn’t need a hand back here. Which means you can come out front.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I’d say so.” She gave me her patented head tilt with the raised eyebrows. “You’re back here in the kitchen while Self-Help Hunk is sitting alone on the terrace.”

  Christy had a name for all our regular customers—the guys, that is—and t
hey invariably ended in ‘hunk’: Double-Cinnamon Latte Hunk; Surfer Hunk, or for the man who would always come in with a book about effective communication, the power of positive thinking or something similar: Self-Help Hunk.

  “So what book does he have today?” I asked.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She turned and sauntered out of the kitchen.

  I didn’t have a ‘no flirting with the customers policy’—not that the girls would abide by it even if I did. But, despite their constant encouragement, I rarely, if ever, flirted. But I did leave the kitchen and go out to ‘talk’ to the customers.

  It wasn’t Self-Help Hunk who caught my eye, but rather Glasses Hunk. He wasn’t the only customer to wear glasses, but he definitely wore them best. They framed his piercing green eyes and added a certain softness to his sharp features: chiseled jawline and sculpted arms.

  “Hello, Gwen.” He smiled at me and I froze.

  He knows my name.

  “I know I shouldn’t,”—he gave his well-trimmed figure a tap—“but I can’t resist your cinnamon rolls.”

  I opened my mouth but momentarily forgot how to form words. “We, I…” I motioned to the display case in front of me. “We have low-calorie muffins.” I cringed. What was I saying?

  “I mean, not that you need low-calorie muffins.” I motioned to him then I smacked myself in the forehead. “I mean, you can eat what you want.” I exhaled and shook my head. “What am I saying? How are you doing today?”

  He laughed. His eyes left mine and went to the display case. He was just as nervous as I was—either that, or he was doing a good imitation of being nervous to make me feel less awkward. And it worked. “I’m doing well. Thanks. It’s good to see you.”

  I looked around for Jenny or Christy, someone to come rescue me. My chest was filled with butterflies, and I was feeling light-headed. Christy was at the opposite end of the cafe, but I could tell she was watching me out of the corners of her eyes. She was wiping down a table, in no rush to come pull me out of this exchange. “Um, it’s good to see you… too.”

  “Axel,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know your name but I didn’t even introduce myself.”

  “Right, Axel. It’s good to see you. I mean, I’ve seen you before, but,”—shut up. Stop blabbering—”I mean, it’s good to see you again.”

  We stood there a moment—a seemingly long moment—saying nothing, just smiling.

  “Um, can I get you something?” I said as I remembered that I actually worked there.

  “Thank you. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

  “Of course.”

  “But, I’ll have a cinnamon roll and a small coffee.”

  I nodded. “Sure. Have a seat. I’ll bring it out to you.”

  As I was plating the cinnamon role, Christy came up to me. “OK, when you give him his role, you hand him a slip of paper with your phone number.”

  “What?” I frowned and shook my head.

  “You say, ‘Here’s my phone number. Call me. I’ve got other kinds of rolls I can give you.”

  I nearly choked on my laughter. “Christy, I am definitely not going to say that. Plus, that doesn’t even make sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense,” she said. She took out a piece of paper. “Quick. What’s your phone number?”

  I picked up the coffee and the plate and walked around her. “Excuse me, I have a customer to serve.”

  I rarely stayed at the cafe in the evenings. What I enjoyed most was baking. And once the baking was all done, I’d leave the rest to my employees. I had planned on going down to the beach for a light running session, but I decided, like most things in my life, I could put that off till tomorrow. Instead, I headed straight home with the only goal: a good book and a hot bath (or a hot book and a good bath).

  I was surprised to find Holly, my roommate, home—a welcome surprise.

  “Hiya, Gwen.” Holly was laid out on the living room floor, perhaps in between yoga poses or, knowing Holly, maybe she simply felt like lying on the floor.

  “Oh, hi, Holly. You’re back early. How was Portland?”

  “I think I spent more time in the airport than I spent in the city.” She hopped off the floor and brushed herself off. “You want to come to a party with me tonight?”

  I slipped into the kitchen. It was an open kitchen, but at least there was a counter between us. It was difficult to say no to Holly, and I had no intention of going to one of her crazy parties. “Um, thanks. But actually, I’ve got plans.”

  “Really? That’s great.” She took a seat at the counter and propped her head onto locked fingers as if in expectation of being told a riveting story. “What’s his name?”

  “King,” I replied with a wry smile, “Stephen King.”

  Holly stood, hands on her hips. “You are not missing this party so you can stay home and read.”

  “I like reading.”

  Holly walked around the counter. She took out her phone and showed me the screen. “Look. This is Jason. It’s his birthday.”

  “And?”

  “And we’re having a party at Pontoon.”

  “I’m sure it will be—”

  “And look at the text he sent me.” She showed me the text, but she also read it for me. “Try to bring your sexy roommate along.”

  “Have I met him?”

  She shrugged. “He’s seen pictures.” Then as if I was going to object, she added defensively, “You don’t go out, so I have to show them pictures, at least.”

  I stepped around her and headed back toward the living room. “I don’t think Jason’s my type.”

  Holly followed me. “So I text him, ‘she’d be too much for you. After the birthday lap dance I’m going to give you.’”

  I turned to her and, with mock shock, said, “Holly!”

  “What? It’s true. He’s turning twenty-two. Still a baby. He wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

  “You’re not really selling me on him.”

  “Don’t worry. He texted back: ‘Not a problem. Stephen and Chris will be there. Between the three of us, we’ll be able to handle her, no problems.”

  “What?” This time my shock was quite genuine.

  “I know,” said Holly. “A bit much, isn’t it.”

  “A bit.”

  “The point is,” she continued, “there will be plenty of hot guys there.”

  “All the more for you,” I said and gave her a wink.

  “I’m a ‘one guy at a time’ kind of girl, thank you very much.”

  “And I’m not!?”

  She put her phone away, disappointed. “You’re more of a ‘one book at a time’ kind of girl.”

  “Ouch.”

  She was right. I didn’t doubt the party would be fun. I didn’t doubt the guys would be hot. But so recently—six months already—after catching my last boyfriend, Michael, in bed with, not one, but two girls, I wasn’t interested in meeting anyone new.

  I skipped the party, preferring to stay home with monsters I could enjoy on the page rather than monsters I had to deal with face to face.

  2

  Axel

  I used to teach history. There’s an old adage: History is written by the victors. Since joining the Marines, I liked to say, ‘I decided to go from teaching history to writing it.’ I don’t know how much truth there was in that; it just seemed like a cool thing to say. Plus, people were always asking me why I joined the Marines; it was helpful to have a badass answer at the ready.

  If I were to be completely honest, I couldn’t say exactly why I joined the Marines. I enjoyed teaching history. I wasn’t stuck in a rut, not by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I suppose there came a moment when I simply wanted a change.

  As crazy as that sounds, it wasn’t so uncommon. While every member of my squad had his reasons for joining the Marines, most couldn’t say what that reason was—at least not convincingly.

  Elijah had something to prove, though that’s just conjecture
on my part. He would never admit that. But being shorter than most, at five foot eight, and with a bit of a nerdy look to him, he needed to show how tough he was. And make no mistake, Elijah was a badass.

  J.P. also had something to prove. Growing up half black - half white, half French - half American, he said he always felt like an outsider. Plus, with his French origins, he needed to prove he was all in on his adopted country.

  Santiago, he needed to stay out of trouble. He had a good heart, but also a thirst for danger, which often got him into questionable situations. There came a point in his life where it was either the military or prison, though the two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.

  Nolan initially joined the police force but saw more paperwork than action. Since joining the Marines, the only action he saw was in training. But he seemed to be taking it well.

  Manny also worked on the force with Nolan. The two couldn’t have been more different, Manny, the marathon runner, tall and lanky and Nolan, the gym rat, short and bulky, but they were as close as twins.

  Taylor, Tristan, and Travis, they were close, not like twins, but like triplets, which is what they actually were. They kept their reasons to themselves, simply saying they needed a job. I suspected there was more to it than that. But if they wanted to keep their reasons to themselves, I could respect that.

  Together, despite our different backgrounds, or perhaps because of them, we formed a tightly-knit squad. Sure, we had our arguments, but more so than that, we had each other’s backs. We shared a rather large apartment on base. We were always together—or whenever work didn’t come between us. We talked openly, no judgment, no mockery. We were close, and we looked out for each other.