Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Chance raises an eyebrow, his voice low and suddenly a little throaty but teasing. “And?”
Dillon smirks and pumps his eyebrows once. “Better than chocolate, man. And you know how much I love chocolate.”
Something passes between the three of them then, a wordless, familiar conversation that makes my pulse trip over itself. Chance straightens, that calm intensity in his eyes again as they meet mine. “Can I taste?”
I feel my eyes widen. What the…
“I’ll take over the foot massage,” Dillon volunteers, once again without skipping a single beat. As if this is something he does every day, too, just kissing a girl and then letting his friend kiss her right after.
For my part, I just dip my chin. Not really a nod, but definitely not a protest either. Chance takes the spot Dillon was in a second ago, but unlike his friend, he doesn’t lean on the chair. One of his hands lands gently on the side of my neck, his fingers cupping my nape as his head moves closer.
When his lips touch mine, my nerve endings light up like the Fourth of July, and I swear I hear a choir sing somewhere. The kiss doesn’t last long, not really more than a press of his mouth against mine, but even that brief touch is totally different from Dillon’s kisses.
Chance is more patient, his movements more cautious and restrained, like he’s asking permission, not demanding entry. A quiet groan rumbles somewhere in the room, but I’m not sure who it comes from.
Boone’s hands fall away from my shoulders as Chance breaks the kiss. Chance’s fingers linger on my neck for a beat before he pulls away completely. “Dillon’s right. Definitely better than chocolate.”
I lose control of my eyelids, blinking so rapidly that I can barely keep track of what is happening until Boone suddenly appears in front of me. Those dark gray eyes lock on mine and his tongue sweeps across his lips, his mouth curving into a slow, knowing smile.
“I guess I’m about to find out,” he murmurs a second before his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding, not asking for anything but taking the lead in a way that makes my body sit up and take notice.
For one dizzying heartbeat, I wonder if they can really be that close. I’ve heard of these arrangements. Is this what I walk into in these mountains? Three men who share everything?
My heart thuds so hard I can feel it in my throat, but I don’t push him away either. Instead, my hand not holding the mug acts of its own accord, moving out of my lap to Boone’s broad chest. I curl my fingers into his shirt and decide to at least try to find out if I am right.
10
BOONE
By midmorning, I’ve found five different excuses to walk past Roxie’s desk. First the printer, then the thermostat, and then I remember the supply closet needs reorganizing.
But the truth is, I just like watching her work. The way her brow furrows when she focuses, the small smile that appears when she figures something out. She types fast, efficiently executing one task before diving into the next without needing constant direction.
It gives me time to stare at her while I pretend to get my own work done. The whole time, the only thing I can think about is how unexpected yesterday was.
Dillon’s impulse sent the whole situation spinning. For a few seconds afterward, I thought we’d scared her off. She muttered some excuse about water, then bolted, and I was half-cocked, ready to go after her if I had to. But then she came back to the office with her chin held high, calm as anything, and just kept working.
Like nothing happened.
If she wants to pretend that’s true, then fine. I can play along.
For now.
But I felt the undeniable electricity in the room yesterday. And the ease with which she accepted each of our kisses. As much as she might be surprised at first, I notice the way she presses her thighs together, her nipples forming little points under her shirt. Pretending won’t last long with all of us under one roof. I’m sure of it.
When lunchtime rolls around, I finally stop staring, get up, and clear my throat. “Let’s go grab some food. Chance made sandwiches. It’s his version of multitasking, slapping some deli meat on a slice of bread while he’s on a conference call.”
Roxie looks up at me, blinking a few times as if I’ve caught her mid-thought. A slight flush warms her cheeks, and I wonder what exactly she’s been thinking. I don’t ask, though. The tension between us all has been pulled tight since those kisses, and if her mind has gone anywhere I think it might have, I’m better off not knowing if we’re going to keep up the pretense of professionalism.