“Excuse me?” she asked, bewildered.
“You saw him, yesterday morning, for the first time since,” Asher continued, ignoring her irritation. “With another woman.”
“And decided it was high time for a little ‘get over, get under’ sex.” Tate winked at her.
“A little what?”
“You know, quickest way to get over a guy, is to get under another.”
“Please! Tell me I didn’t actually say that?”
“We would, Goldie, but we don’t like to lie.”
Head swimming, she raised trembling fingers to her temples, forcing herself to look squarely at Tate.
“So, which one of you was it?”
“Which one of us was what?”
Exasperation narrowed her gaze. Was he messing with her? But she saw genuine confusion in his expression.
Sighing, she asked, “Which one of you did I get under?”
The room went silent, tension crackling through the air. The men exchanged glances, giving her the oddest sense they were communicating with one another.
“You didn’t sleep with anyone,” Asher claimed.
“But my clothes…”
“You took those off, Goldie.” Tate’s eyes went soft as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. “Very slowly.”
“Tate! For fuck’s sake!” Felix swung his gaze toward her. “You were in no shape to consent to anything, Christa. We put you to bed.”
“After I’d stripped for you.”
The three remained silent.
“So, you’ve all seen me naked,” she concluded.
Only Asher had the good manners to look the tiniest bit sheepish about it.
As if telling her life story to complete strangers—and not remembering any of it—weren’t bad enough, she’d evidently made a brazen attempt at seduction … and failed. Could she be any more pathetic?
Suddenly, it didn’t matter how accommodating the Baers had been, or how sexy she found them. Christa wanted to go home. Choking back tears of embarrassment, she stated as levelly as possible, “I’d like my clothes, please.”
“Christa—”
She cut Asher off with a shake of her head.
“My clothes. Please.”
With a sigh, Tate put down his silverware and then stood. He returned a few moments later, carefully placing a neatly folded pile in her lap before retaking his seat.
She could feel their eyes on her, but hadn’t the courage to return their stares. Instead, she got her phone out of the pocket of her suede skirt and looked at her messages. Staying at John’s. See you tomorrow. At least she didn’t have to worry about Lana, though she was mildly disappointed her friend hadn’t thought to ask if she was okay. Then again, as far as Lana knew, Christa was asleep at the apartment, snug on the couch. How she wished it were true.
After typing cab Beddington into the search engine, Christa clicked on the first number which appeared. Then she put the phone to her ear.
“What are you doing?” Felix asked. His words clipped with tension.
“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she told him sotto voce.
“No.”
His vehemence made her look at him quizzically, but he’d already shifted his gaze to his brothers. Asher nodded. Tate got to his feet.
Christa watched warily as he rounded the island. The line began to ring just as he reached her. Rotating her chair, he got down on one knee, leveling his gaze at her.
“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Goldie.”
“Right.” She gave a humorless laugh.
“You don’t,” he insisted, reaching out and cupping her cheek. She struggled not to close her eyes, everything inside her crying out to lean into his strength. “You’re a beautiful, sexy woman.” She felt his fingers contract, as if he were trying to hold on to her. “And we want you … desperately.”
Did he say we? But before Christa could question him, Tate glanced down, watching as he swept the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.
The simple caress sent a jolt coursing through her, a succession of indecent images flitting through her head. The hand on her face multiplied six times over, touching, grasping, spreading her limbs wide. But, instead of filling her with unease, she found the prospect titillating.
Starting with Tate, she took in the men. Though their expressions remained impassive, their eyes lit with strong emotion. Amber irises flecked with shards of gold. Ursine, urgent, they brimmed with wicked intent and sinful promise.
She’d gone out looking to make a clean break. But what the Baers seemed to be offering would be a cleaving. A defining act, splitting her life into what had come before and what would come after.
“Hello? Mountain Side Cab Company,” the dispatcher enquired, evidently not for the first time. “Is anybody there? Hello? Destination, please.”
“Sorry,” Christa managed, her voice sounding far more certain than she felt. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not ready to go.”
Tate’s smirk rematerialized with heart-stopping vengeance.
“That’s right, Goldie,” he quipped. “We’re just getting started.”
Chapter Four
Christa lowered her hand to her lap while searching Tate’s intent expression. Now what?
As if reading her thoughts, he called out, “Hey, Asher! What do you think about starting the tour while Felix and I clean up?”
Tour, she wondered, turning toward Asher.
“Since you’ve decided to stay,” he explained, getting to his feet. “Wouldn’t you like to see a little more of the place?”
“Oh…”
Dazed by the sudden shift from seduction to hospitality, Christa was slow to respond. Had she expected them to tear her clothes off and take her in turns on the kitchen island? She ignored the not so tiny part of her nodding enthusiastically at the notion as Asher held his hand out to her.
“Interested?”
“Yes,” she finally managed. “I’d like that.”
He waited patiently while Tate got out of the way and Christa placed her things on the counter. She slid off the stool, tightening her robe and securing the belt before placing her hand in his. He immediately began walking backward, tugging her along after him.
“The kitchen,” he explained, sweeping his free arm with the aplomb of a gameshow spokesmodel as he pulled her further into the space. “My domain.”
“Except when it comes to clean up,” Tate grumbled as he passed by on his way to the sink, a stack of dirty plates and silverware in his hands.
“Those are the rules,” Felix asserted.
“Rules?”
“Whoever cooks is excused from cleaning,” Asher explained.
“Of course, he always cooks.” Arms brimming with an assortment of jars and bottles, Tate jerked his chin toward her tour guide. “And he uses every damned pot and pan we own. Every time!”
Asher merely shrugged, neither confirming nor denying his brother’s accusation.
“We’ve got a water filtration system, so the tap is fine for drinking. If you like it cold, there’s water and ice in the door of the fridge.” He led her in a wide semi-circle around the modest, though well-equipped, space. “Glasses, there. Silverware, here.” He briefly opened the appropriate cabinet or drawer as he named its contents. “Plates and—” his eyes took on an impish glint, “bowls. You know, in case you need more oatmeal.”
They’d returned to where they’d started, except facing in opposite directions.
“Dining room,” Asher hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
A dozen ladder back chairs with leather upholstered seats stood around a cedar plank table. With its raw edges and gleaming, dark-stained wood, it reminded her of the headboard in the guest room. She wondered if it had been crafted by the same artisan. But before she could ask, Tate bumped into her while trying to navigate the island.
“Sorry, Goldie.”
“It’s okay.”
“Hey, Asher, would it be too mu
ch to ask for you to get the hell out of the way?”
Christa looked to Asher with concern, but he only smiled at his brother’s gruff request. Apparently, the wealth of affection flowing beneath the banter removed the sting from almost any barb. She found herself envious of such an immutable bond.
“Sure thing.” He shook his head as he transferred her hand between his and then stood beside her. “Shall we?”
She nodded, grabbing on with both hands as he started forward.
Indicating the half-opened door directly in front of them with a tip of his chin, he said, “The guest room.”
“Right.”
“You slept well?”
“I’m pretty sure I was more passed out than asleep, but the bed felt wonderful this morning.” The strange dream she’d awakened to ran through her head. “The sheets are amazing,” she added a bit breathlessly.
He grinned at her over his shoulder, leading her down a short hall she hadn’t noticed when she’d made her way into the kitchen earlier.
“They are, aren’t they? I found them online about a year ago, and, now, they’re the only ones we use.”
“Well, they’re a big improvement over Lana’s. I’m pretty sure I’ve been using the sheets she took to college. Not that I’m complaining.”
He opened the door at the end of the passageway and stepped to the side.
“I know you’re not,” he told her as she drew level, making her pause. “You told us how grateful you are to her for taking you in after your relationship ended. She sounds like a good friend.”
Christa nodded. While it was true Lana had become her closest friend over the last couple of months, it hadn’t started out that way. The busty, redhead with a body-conscious wardrobe had caused quite a stir when she’d started at the small publishing company where Christa worked. Her infectious laugh had rung out from the break room on a regular basis as she’d recounted her latest exploits to an ever-growing fan base of hopeful men and vicarious thrill-seekers.
But Christa had done her best to steer clear of the latest office It girl. Not out of some misguided jealousy or contempt, like some of their female coworkers, but because Lana reminded her a little too much of the woman she’d been in the years before Brandon. But when Lana had found Christa sobbing in the ladies’ room the Monday morning after The Humiliation, it had been revealed, beneath those 38DDs beat an even more generous heart.
A light touch in the small of her back roused Christa from her musings. Asher guided her to the center of the good-sized bedroom before leaving her there to stride across the room. He parted the heavy drapes covering the oversized window, the muted light revealing a queen-sized bed, two bedside tables, and a highboy. But it was the rocking chair in the corner that caught Christa’s attention. She wandered toward it.
“How much did I tell you about that?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual as she ran a hand over the top of the leather back cushion. “The breakup, I mean.”
“Enough,” he retorted cryptically, the tension in the single word causing her to seek him out.
“I … I’m sorry. I tend to overshare when I’ve had too much to drink.”
He took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly.
“We didn’t have a problem with the way you behaved, Christa.”
“Oh. I… Then who? Brandon?” she questioned, befuddled. “But you don’t know him.”
“Don’t have to, we know the type.”
“And what type is that?”
“The type who would claim to love a person and then chase them out of the home they shared knowing they had nowhere else to go.” His vehemence made Christa breathless. Mouth agape, she could only stare, overwhelmed by the outpouring of sympathetic outrage. Had she told them everything? “The type of person incapable of caring about anyone or anything beyond their own needs. An utterly useless, pathetic, piece of—”
“Ah … okay,” she interrupted, giving an uncomfortable laugh. “Got it. I didn’t paint the most flattering picture.”
“Pretty sure you just told us the truth.”
She shrugged.
“This chair,” she opted for a change of topic. “It’s very handsome.”
“Handsome?”
His bearing eased, though his tolerant grin told her he knew exactly what she was doing.
“Well, yes.” Pleased at having distracted him, she continued, “You know what I mean. Most rocking chairs are curvy. Kind of feminine, I guess. But this one… It’s broad and boxy.” She walked around the piece, admiring it from every angle. “Handsome.”
“All right,” he acquiesced from somewhere behind her.
“It reminds me of the dining room chairs. Same designer?”
“You could say that. I’ve got a workshop in the basement.”
“You!” She spun around, unprepared for him to be standing directly behind her. “Oh!”
Grasping for something to steady her, she found a set of well-toned biceps. Asher smiled down at her, his large hands settling around her waist.
“Sorry. Guess I should have warned you.”
“No. I…”
With his hard body pressed to hers, Christa’s thoughts derailed, taking whatever she’d been about to say with them.
“You what?”
He searched her face as the silence stretched between them. Then he lifted his hand, edging her ear with a feather-light touch. Her lips trembled, drawing his gaze.
“You let Tate and Felix kiss you last night.”
“Did I?”
Slowly, his attention shifted, until he stared intently into her eyes.
Bodies pressed in on either side of her, the same set of amber eyes in the rearview mirror.
“You were watching,” she murmured.
“Yes,” he admitted, continuing to hold her gaze. “And I’ve been wondering what it would feel like ever since. May I?”
She tipped her head, considering. When was the last time a man had asked to kiss her? It was possible Brandon had at the beginning, but the way he’d become entitled, especially regarding their physical relationship, made it difficult to imagine. And before him? Had she ever given any of the men the chance? Desperate to fill the aching void left behind by her difficult childhood, she’d always been the aggressor. Kissing first and asking questions later.
“Please, say no if you’re not ready,” he whispered, his breath skittering across her cheek. “You don’t owe us—”
“I know,” she interrupted, reaching up to place her hands on either side of his face. Gently, she shook her head from side to side, searching his gaze before confessing, “I don’t want to say no.”
Christa’s lashes fluttered against her cheeks as Asher brushed his lips over hers. A deliberate kiss—so very different from the perfunctory affairs the small, but oh-so-important, displays of affection had become with Brandon—making her feel as if she were an extravagance meant to be savored. Desire bubbled up from deep inside her. Warm and sweet, it flowed through and around her, her limbs growing heavy, her breath faltering. She skated her hands over his neck, chest, and abs before finding the hem of his shirt. Muscles rippling beneath her light caress, she groaned.
With a low grunt, he smoothed her to him. Any doubt about his ability and eagerness to satisfy quashed along with the space between them.
“Sorry to interrupt…”
Christa jumped, turning her head to find Tate propped casually against the doorframe. His arms crossed over his chest, making her wondering how long he’d been standing there.
“Perfect timing,” Asher muttered dryly.
“I’m sure.” Tate shoved off the wall and made his way toward them. “Felix is finishing up, but there are a couple of things he needs your help with.”
“Right.”
Only when she felt Asher’s fingers encircling her wrists did she realize she still held him. Gently, he brought her hands to his lips, taking his time kissing each fingertip in turn under his brother’s watchful gaze.
<
br /> Christa glanced from one man to the other, searching for signs of jealousy. But she found none. Asher’s attention was wholly on her. And Tate, well, he appeared to be enjoying the show.
Finished paying homage, Asher released her. Then he bent forward and kissed her on the nose.
“See you soon.”
“All right.”
And with a parting smile, Asher left Christa alone with his brother.
Chapter Five
Tate reached for Christa’s hand. “Shall we?”
At her nod, he led her back the way she’d come, down the hall and through the kitchen where his brothers continued to work in the mostly tidied kitchen.
“Felix’s domain,” Tate explained as he steered her through the great room.
Tiptoeing over the cold stone flooring, Christa got a brief impression of massive wood beams and a towering fieldstone chimney before following her guide up a set of wood-inlaid stairs. At the top, Tate drew her to stand in front of him, his hands on her hips.
“My loft,” he announced.
She took in the expansive space. Two overstuffed chairs communed with a couch over a long, low coffee table. Behind the grouping, a rather official looking desk and chair nestled in a bump-out next to the stairs.
“Do you work here?”
“Work, sleep … play.”
She considered him over her shoulder, deciding to leave the last for later.
“What do you do for work?”
“Accounting. Small businesses mostly.”
“Like Asher’s.”
He smiled. “Among others.”
There were doors on either side of the room. Christa looked from one to the other.
“And you sleep…”
“In there.”
He turned her to the left where she caught a glimpse through the partially opened door. Her reflection peered back at her from a large mirror set in a beautiful free-form frame. No doubt an Asher creation, as was most likely the long, low dresser beneath it. In the foreground, she could see the foot of a bed and the burgundy down comforter under which the man standing close behind her slept.
“And play…” she asked, fighting to keep her tone even.
Just Right! Page 3
