“She might be interested. You should bring it up to her. Drew’s the best events planner I’ve ever had.”
Greg nods, if he’s not oblivious to the chatter, he’s ignoring it pretty well. “Competent and creative. It’s a brilliant combo.”
Then the sharper, nastier whisper hits my ears.
Pregnant. Obviously. But which one’s the daddy?
My fists clench, and this time Greg’s eyes widen but don’t stray from mine.
My blood boils, but what rattles me isn’t the rumor—it’s that the idea of Drew carrying a baby doesn’t scare me the way it should.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I start for her immediately, but I’m halted by one of the ladies from out of town. I try to be patient, but if another woman tries to subtly or not so subtly hit on me tonight, I’m going to lose it.
I peer over the woman’s shoulder to catch Drew stiffening. She’s trying to slip away. The whispers are reaching her, and I need to check on her.
“I’m sorry—” But I can’t finish the half-hearted excuse as I make my move, cutting across the room to intercept Drew.
I’m not the only one. Gabe is breaking away from the bar, jaw set, and Greyson abandons his easy grin with a rare look of steel.
The three of us converge at the same time, flanking her without even needing to speak.
Suddenly the whispers die down, because the sight isintimidating.
We’ve herded her into a corner without meaning to—and when I glance up, I realize we’re standing under the mistletoe.
Drew opens her mouth to make an excuse, to protest whatever we seemed to have orchestrated, but I cup her cheek, drawing a thumb across chin, over her bottom lip.
Gabe rests a steadying hand on her back.
Greyson brushes her arm, wrapping their fingers together.
The effect is overwhelming, grounding her but also heating her to her core.
It turns her eyes molten, her worries burning away.
I rather like the way she can’t seem to resist us.
And she can’t hide it when we’re like this.
I speak low, for her ears only.
“You’re under mistletoe, princess. Tradition says I should kiss you. But let’s be honest.” I lean closer. “Tradition doesn’t have a damn thing on what I want to do with you.”
I steal a kiss, long and simmering. It sends sparks all the way down to my toes.
She’s breathing fast, eyes flitting between the three of us. “People are going to talk?—”
“They’re already talking. And do you know what I thought when I heard what they were saying? Not rage. Not shame.Hope, Drew. That’s how far gone I am.”
Gabe and Greyson lean in closer, and she asks them the silent question with her eyes.
Greyson smiles—ease and knowing.
Comfort that he seems to come by from some cosmic source.
Gabe slips behind her, kissing her hair. “If it’s yours, it’s ours. End of story.”
35
