by Vivian Arend
Trent groaned loudly. “Bloody hell, are you going to break out the pictures again?”
“Just give me a minute. You stayed with us. That was the start of us being best mates—you fit in with the family like a glove. I got along better with you than with my horde of brothers.”
“Your family is insanity to the nth degree. The whole damn shooting match of you. Freaking Christmas morning started at three a.m., and your father was the first one awake, shrieking at the top of his lungs as he threw his stocking around.”
Mason snorted. “Yeah, the old man is hilarious. He actually calmed down a lot that year out of deference to your sensitive presence.”
“Bullshit.” Trent smiled wryly. “What mystical thing do you need to remind me of that occurred when I moved into Chaos Central of Woodville?”
Mason picked his words carefully. “Did you ever feel as if you were an outsider? Did any of my brothers, or McKenzie, or Mum and Dad do anything but welcome you in and treat you like family?”
“At thirteen, McKenzie treating me like family was not what I wanted. Back then I had the hots for her.”
Mason faked a gag. “Please, my sister? Talking about sex and Mack in the same sentence—you know those topics are off limits.”
His best mate poked back mercilessly. “Yeah, tell me Aidan isn’t fucking her mindless.”
Arghhh, the images flashing through his mind were enough to make him purse his mouth.
“Stop joking around, I don’t want to have to bleach my brain.” Mason threw a leftover pastry at Trent. “Can we stick to the conversation at hand? You came, spent Christmas, and never really left. You’ve been a part of the family ever since. You and me—we’ve crashed down mountainsides, gotten stuck up creeks without a paddle. Gone without food for days when we got lost.”
Trent nodded. “What’s your point?”
Mason took a deep breath. “I like doing stuff with you. It’s…right. We fit, and I don’t see any reason why we can’t just keep doing things together. Even the important things like getting married and having a family.”
Trent’s jaw swung open. “Holy fuck, are you hitting on me?”
Oh shit. “No! Bloody hell, I mean with Paige. I see no reason why we can’t both be with her, for good. If she wants a marriage license to make it official, that’s fine with me, but I don’t care if it’s your name on the piece of paper next to hers, or mine. There’s enough room for me to care for her, and you—in a totally nonsexual way—and I just…” Mason trailed off. The look of amusement on Trent’s face pissed him off a little. “What?”
Trent sniffed dramatically. “My first marriage proposal. Mason, I’m touched.”
Mason resisted the urge to smack his mate’s head with his fist. “Arsehole.”
Trent raised a brow. “You have to carry the bouquet. And there’s no fucking way I’m wearing a garter belt.”
“Bastard.”
“Also, no veil. Kissing through those things is nasty—”
“Enough.”
Trent’s big hand slammed down between his shoulders, and Mason breathed a huge sigh of relief. It appeared he had dodged the bullet of having his face rearranged. Best mate or not, Trent and he had rumbled often enough Mason preferred to settle matters without getting fists involved.
“I won’t kick your arse for moving on the marriage form without me, but Mason, let’s not blow this. Take our time, don’t rush. I don’t want to lose her.” Trent rumbled out the words and Mason nodded in agreement.
They rose, heading for the exit door as one. Once outside, Mason paused at the split in the path. “I won’t say a word to Paige without you there. Let me organize things with Aidan, then I’ll meet you back at the room. Paige should be there soon.”
Trent raised a brow. “Still say that bloke’s nailing your sister. If he’s not, he’s an idiot.”
Of all the people to join into the madness of the Wood household, Aidan Rogers was a prime example of why Mason knew his idea of extended relationships would work. The big dude was nothing but heart when it came down to it. “Bloody dickless wonder.”
“Aidan?”
“You, if you keep jawing about my sister like that.”
“Whatever.”
Mason stuck his middle finger in his Trent’s face. His mate grinned as he shoved the hand away, then turned without another word and headed back into the resort building towering over them.
Mason stood for a minute and let relief sweep over him. Trent had actually taken that announcement a lot better than anticipated. Mason had fully expected the revelation of his ease with unusual marital arrangements to be met with a little more physical violence.
Things were looking up. Mason turned, whistling lightly as he headed back toward the pool and made a mental to-do list.
Track down his sister, Mack.
Get Aidan, her constant sidekick, to supply a little muscle.
Spend a little free time with Paige in the afternoon.
Hit the evening party then arrange to change their entire future.
It was looking like a busy day, and he could hardly wait.
…
A steady stream of supplies passed by as Trent held the suite door open. He gawked, speechless, until the seventh white uniform was followed by Paige’s arrival.
He caught her by the arm. “Umm, Paige?”
“Just a second.” She patted his fingers distractedly, slipping into the kitchen and pointing as she tossed out orders. “Put the cooler over there. Baking sheets on the stovetop. Thank you, and tell Leo that if the rest of the mascarpone doesn’t arrive on the supply barge, he has to let me know immediately, so I can make alternate plans.”
The server she spoke to dipped his head and scurried away, the long line of uniforms disappearing out the door like a host of silent ghosts.
Trent stared in consternation at the piles of cooking supplies now littering the counter. “Do I want to know what’s happening?”
Paige pushed up her sleeves and headed for the sink. “I got shanghaied. Kylie’s pastry chef came down with the mumps. That’s why they were serving stale-dated boxed pastries. Somehow the sous chef sweet-talked me into prepping the desserts for the head table at a formal wedding tomorrow.”
Ah, fuckit. Not an interruption to their already limited time. Although…Mason wasn’t back yet, and his mate had mentioned he needed to finish getting Paradise ready for the grand reveal.
Maybe having Paige occupied for a little while this afternoon would be a good thing.
Trent leaned against the fridge and admired Paige as she moved effortlessly, organizing her workstations. “Anything I can help with? Hey, are you allowed to do this here? I thought all food products for public consumption had to be made in sterile, stainless-steel settings.”
Paige raised a brow. “I may be a pushover, but I’m not stupid. The only thing we’re doing right is figuring out what they can make. Elevation and humidity affect the dryness and consistency of pastry. The recipes I use in Sydney might not turn out properly, so I need to tweak them. Whatever I bake now, we’ll eat. Then I’ll give the kitchen directions, and they’ll take over tomorrow. They have enough staff, just not the ability to deal with this specific circumstance.”
Trent slipped to her side and hugged her close, kissing her nape gently. “Thank you.”
She leaned back on him easily, twisting to catch hold of his lips for a quick kiss. “What for?”
“For offering to help and making my sister’s job a little easier. I bet she was thrilled to have your assistance.”
Paige reached for a block of cream cheese and laughed as she dumped it into a large bowl. “Kylie was appreciative, although also a little distracted.”
“That makes sense. She’s responsible for a lot right now.”
Her laughter increased. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that
broom closet I saw her getting dragged into by Mr. Tall, Dark and Studly was high on the priority list for the soft opening.”
Trent jerked upright, her warm body rocking against him as she worked the cheese into a soft ball in the bowl. “My sister?”
“Uh-huh. And I don’t think she was inspecting mops.”
Oh fuck. There was a nasty taste in his mouth as he tried not to think about Kylie getting intimate with anyone. A touch of guilt hit for having teased Mason about his sister earlier in the day. “Enough. I don’t think I need to know any details.”
“But I was planning to tell you where his hands were—”
He rapidly slipped his own hands two directions, one over her mouth, one covering her chest. “Minx.”
She pressed a kiss to his palm and giggled lightly. He released her mouth but nuzzled in tighter to her body. His cock rose again, and he rocked his hips against her.
“Hey, help first, play later,” she protested. “Where’s Mason?”
He kissed her once more, then reluctantly stepped away to wash his hands. “Still tracking down his sis and her best friend. He should be here soon.”
Paige nodded, a wicked light shining in her eyes, and Trent’s body reacted. “You’ve got something naughty going on in that head of yours. What’s up?”
Her gaze darted around the room, falling on the middle couch in the living space. “I had an interesting conversation with Kylie before her little broom closet disappearance, and I want to ask Mason a few questions.”
Trent stared at the strangely shaped leather couch. It looked like a slightly flattened fancy “M”, the first bump higher than the second, a smooth dip between them. “Is that a courting chair? One of those old fashioned designs done up new? It looks uncomfortable.”
Paige pressed the mixing bowl into his arms. “Fold, please, slowly. Turn the ingredients over together until they blend. That’s right. But no, it’s not a settee. From what Kylie said, it’s extremely comfortable, if you use it right.”
Trent frowned, mindlessly following her directions as Paige poured additional ingredients into the bowl. He stared again. The cream-colored leather looked soft enough, and he could imagine sitting in the middle of the scooped central section, but the two humps at either end? One high, the other low…how the hell would you comfortably sit on that?
“There’s no backrest, and it’s not symmetrical.”
Paige laughed softy, bumping into his side as she moved. He ignored the mystery and concentrated instead on giving her a hand until she finished her Good Samaritan task and they were free to move to the next stage of the day. And the first thing on the list would involve Paige helping him with his dick, its length rising involuntarily with every moment in her presence.
He tried to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted. This was part of his goal—to spend time together outside of the bedroom. He asked her questions, chatting about everyday things. She smiled and responded smoothly, laughing and letting their bodies touch even as she stayed intent on the task before her.
Hell, even cooking she was sex personified. How was he supposed to concentrate on the things he liked about her that didn’t involve his body wanting to take her against the nearest wall when he couldn’t get enough of that? The aroma rising from the mixing bowl was delicious, but it was the underlying scent of her skin that made his mouth water.
She rolled a thin sheet of pastry, held it to the light and smiled with satisfaction.
“What are we making?”
Her mouth opened, then shut as she flushed. “You know, I’m not sure what to call them. It’s a common dessert dish I would take to a potluck back in Canada, but instead of serving it in slabs, I’ll make individual pastry pockets.”
Trent nodded. He wasn’t letting this opportunity slip past. “Single servings are best for public parties, you’ve told me that before. But why the blush?”
Paige stared him in the eye. “Sex in a pan.”
He laughed. “That’s the dessert?”
“The name is a mutation from six in a pan, for the original six layers, but the taste is downright orgasmic, if you make it right.” She ran a finger along the edge of the bowl, scooped up a smear of the chocolate sauce onto her fingertip and offered it to him.
He swallowed hard.
“This isn’t a good time for you to stop what you’re doing, is it?” He forced the words past a throat suddenly tight with need.
She shook her head.
Fuckit. He sucked her finger into his mouth and moaned. The dessert was tasty, but having her finger to suck and tease, to be able to watch her eyes widen and hear her breath catch as he twirled his tongue around the digit? Torture.
He let her pull back, her finger escaping with a pop. He shook off the haze of lust threatening the production of the delicacies. Hold off, caveman.
Instead, he grinned at her. “If they’re individual sex servings, does that make them masturbation pies?”
Paige rolled her eyes. “God. You are not helping me name them.”
“Jerk tarts?”
“Trent!”
“Cream—”
The shot of, appropriately enough—whipped cream—hit him in the mouth, and he sputtered to a stop, eyeing her evilly.
She lowered the piping bag, fists dropping to her hips. “Behave. Let me pop these crusts in the oven, and then we can talk about your fascination with self-pleasure.”
Hmm, now there’s an idea. Not his pleasure, but hers. That was something he could get into. He stepped back complacently, licking his lips. Paige poked him as she passed by to re-wash her hands thoroughly. She returned to the counter, working quickly with the pastry dough. Effortlessly, she formed intricate flowerlike cups, one after another resting on the paper lining the cookie sheets.
He studied her face, loving the way her intent concentration made a tiny furrow appear between her eyes. She was smiling, nodding as she placed another edible art form onto the tray, and he realized this was a form of artistic expression. The beauty she created not only pleased the eyes but the palate and all the rest of his senses. She was a fully sensual creature, and he loved being around her. Enthusiasm and sensuality shone through everything she did.
He couldn’t be any more certain. This thing between them was far more than a physical attraction. He was head-over-fucking-heels with the slim seductress. He would do everything he could to make sure she stayed in his life—even if it meant a few more unusual solutions, like those offered by Mason’s gung-ho, madcap, anything-goes, both-feet-forward attitude.
Hmm, an attitude that was remarkably like Paige’s.
“I bet that’s why you guys get along so well.”
She straightened after placing the second pan in the oven, that little secretive smile teasing the corner of her mouth again. “What are you talking about? Who?”
“You and Mason. You’re both totally open and game for anything.”
…
Paige’s heartbeat leaped upward again as he caught her fingers. She’d slipped them under the faucet, adding a shot of soap to clean off the butter clinging to them. He lathered her up, threading his fingers through hers, his touch firm and yet sexual as he touched each digit in turn. Her mouth went absolutely dry.
They didn’t seem to be able to be in the same room without wanting each other. “You’re not such a prude yourself, Trent.”
He crowded closer, his arms caging her, hands rocking over hers again and again. Splashes rose to soak the front of her blouse. He planted kisses along her neckline, and she leaned to the side to allow him to maneuver.
Instead he spun her and locked his lips on hers. Oh Lord, she couldn’t think when he did that thing with his tongue. Taking total control of her mouth as if he were starving and only she could satisfy his hunger. He licked and nibbled and explored—ownership in every touch. The sound of the r
unning water grew faint below the roaring of the blood in her ears. His wet hands slipped onto her back, the fabric sticking to her skin. He held her by the upper arms and slowly separated their bodies, his lips clinging with heat and moisture until the last possible second.
They stared at each other. She knew she was grinning, and the expression on his face—sheer happiness. As if he was exactly where he wanted to be, and life was good.
She’d put that expression in his eyes, at least partially, and for one wild second she nearly blurted out that she loved him.
“Knock knock.”
They both spun toward the door, Trent settling her tightly against his chest. The warmth of his body heated the wet spots on her clothing.
Mason raised a brow as he approached. “Am I interrupting? Fair dinkum, it smells delicious in here.”
“Paige is cooking up a storm.”
Mason walked the length of the room with any hesitation, not stopping until he was pressed firmly against her.
“She always cooks up the most mouth-watering mischief.” He lifted her chin with his fingers and kissed her. A momentary buss on the lips, just enough for her to taste him, tease her senses. “What’s next on the menu? That’s what I want to know.”
He dipped his head again and took his time opening her lips to his caress. A series of small kisses along her jaw, a butterfly soft touch to the corner of her mouth. A tantalizing stroke of his tongue over her lower lip.
A low level of excitement and delight accompanied his teasing touch. She was totally surrounded, boxed in by two solid male torsos. Trent’s erection pressed hard into her right butt cheek, and the longer Mason kissed her, the more his interest rose as well. She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him tight. Twisted her hips slightly, rubbing both of them, slow and deliberate. She might be encircled, but she still had a say in this adventure. It looked as if there was no need to prolong the wait for one of her favorite parts.
Being totally cared for by two men. Four hands bringing her delight, stroking and guiding her pleasure in ways she’d never dreamed possible before getting involved with them.
