Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Last night, I opened the bedroom door because I needed to use the bathroom. I stopped when I heard one of the men say her. I never did hear my name, but I heard enough hers, and enough of the conversation to know they were talking about me.
I should have given them the privacy they deserved, but instead, I stood in the dark around the corner like a woman with no manners and too much built-up hunger.
I listened long enough to confirm what I already knew in my blood. They want me. All three of them. Together.
They want me with the kind of certainty men like them don’t waste on anything they don’t mean to protect, possess, and keep.
I didn’t go to the bathroom for another hour because that would have given me away. Then I spent the rest of the night awake.
I waited for guilt or shame to overtake me, but they never came. I waited for the sensible part of me to itemize every reason this could go wrong, but when it spoke, it wasn’t very loud.
The Wilder brothers live together, work together, and move through the world with a level of unity most people couldn’t fake for ten minutes. They make me feel safer than I’ve felt in years, even while they make my heart feel more endangered than it ever has.
Wanting one of them would be complicated. Wanting all three of them should feel impossible.
But it doesn’t.
Wanting them isn’t the hard part. My body answers that question every time Rhett’s voice drops into command mode, every time Cade’s attention pins me in place, and every time Boone smiles at me like he’s thinking something filthy and sweet at the same time.
The hard part is what happens if I let myself have them, because choosing them means I’ll no longer be the woman who plays it safe. In order to achieve my professional goals, I’ve always made the responsible, respectable choice, the choice that wouldn’t make anyone look twice or question my logic.
That same careful behavior spilled over into my personal life, where I’ve dated men who looked good on paper but left me unsatisfied in the ways that truly matter. I told myself comfort is the same as happiness, but it’s not.
I’ve been that woman for years, until I came to Moon Ridge and met three dangerous, impossible men who look at me like they recognize something wild in me that I buried long ago.
Last night, those men made their decision, and by the time the first pale morning light reaches the ceiling, I’ve made mine.
The day punishes me for not acting on it immediately.
At breakfast, Boone hands me a mug of coffee, and his fingers brush mine. The contact is brief, but it’s electric. His eyes meet mine, warm and dark and suddenly serious, and then his gaze drops to my mouth.
Across the kitchen, Rhett’s jaw tightens, and Cade sees it, too.
Cade sees everything and says nothing. He watches me over the rim of his mug like he knows exactly what I heard last night and exactly what I’ve been thinking since.
The cabin feels too small, and too full of big male bodies and things unsaid. By lunch, I’m ready to crawl out of my skin.
Rhett and Cade spend the afternoon going over routes and reviewing camera positions. The way Boone checks supplies would seem casual if I didn’t know better. He moves with ease, making notes on his phone and occasionally asking Rhett a question without looking up.
All three of them are acting normal, and it’s driving me to distraction.
At dinner, we sit close together at the table, and I swear I can almost see the energy radiating off of each of us.
Rhett reaches for the pepper at the same time I do. His hand briefly covers mine, and conversation stops for a second. Boone clears his throat, Cade looks down at his bowl, and Rhett meets my eyes and doesn’t look away.
He looks very close to breaking his own rules, but he doesn’t. None of them do.
They clear the plates. Boone washes, Cade dries, and Rhett wipes the table, while I put away the leftovers. The men fall into the same quiet rhythm I’ve observed many times, only now I can’t watch it without imagining being caught between them.
Held by them.
Taken apart by them.
I excuse myself before my thoughts show on my face more than they probably already have.
In Boone’s room, I stand beside the bed and press both palms to my cheeks. My whole body is hot, but I don’t think even a cold shower would help.
I look around the room that isn’t mine but somehow feels less temporary than the motel room ever did. My field notebook is on the nightstand, my brush and hair tie are on the dresser, and my face wash is in the bathroom, lined up right beside the men’s soap, like I belong in the middle of their lives.