Warm lips, a breath caught between us, the faintest taste of beer and adrenaline. She doesn’t push me away. When I pull back, she just looks up at me like she’s not sure what to do next.
“Goodnight, Roxie,” I murmur, eyes locked on hers.
A shadow of a smile crosses her lips. “Goodnight, Dillon.”
I walk away before I can do something stupid, like kiss her again. Downstairs, Boone is waiting in the hallway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “You kissed her.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Only if you’re thinking that she’s trouble,” he answers flatly.
“No doubt, but also that maybe we should consider her for the role.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “What role?”
“You know damn well which role.”
Before Boone can answer, Chance steps out of the den with a towel slung around his neck, like he’s already on his way back to the damn gym. “We need to take it slow. The last thing we want is to scare her off. She’s skittish already.”
I smirk and lean against the banister. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me.”
Chance gives me that Marine stare-down. “You didn’t see the way she looked at the door, like she’s ready to bolt if anyone breathes wrong.”
Boone rubs a hand over his jaw, his eyes dark and contemplative. “He’s right. We move slowly and take our cues from her. That’s the only way this works. If it’s got any shot of working at all.”
9
ROXIE
It’s been two days since I officially started work, sitting at a desk across from Boone while pretending I know what the hell data entry actually entails. Most of what I’ve learned so far is about them rather than the job.
Like the fact that Boone can stare down a computer screen like it owes him money. And the dark-haired, muscle-bound giant wrapped in sinfully tattooed skin is the steady center of their trio.
Despite being at least six and a half feet tall, he is their calm and definitely the leader.
In the couple of days since I’ve met them, I’ve figured that out for an absolute fact. Chance, for all his quiet intensity that makes me want to tell him my secrets, might be the driving force behind their move out here, but Boone is the boss.
As I look at him now, scowling as he replies to emails and occasionally grumbles under his breath, I still don’t quite know how their dynamic works. But I do know that I’d let him boss me around any day, and not only at work.
God, the thoughts I have whenever that man looks at me with those dark blue-gray eyes are not fit for public consumption. Most of them involve wild fantasies of me being sandwiched between all three of them, which is ridiculous. But I can’t help the daydreams.
Their office, which is mine now too, is on the third story of their gigantic house, Boone sharing his third of the space with me. Concentrating on work with him barely five feet away is a feat in and of itself.
Even now, I am staring past my screen instead of at it, watching him work with one hand in his dark, almost jet-black hair and the other tapping a pen against the edge of his desk. The ink on his forearm dances with the movement, his muscles rippling under his skin like some hero in a goddamn romance novel.
I came to Montana to hide. Work is a necessary evil to keep myself afloat. My savings won’t last forever, and I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Drooling over mountain men with forearms that could probably snap a tree in half wasn’t part of the plan.
I am still living with them while my chimney is being cleaned by some local they assure me regularly deals with this kind of thing.
All of which means that for now, I am eating, sleeping, and working under their roof. It’s no big deal, except for the fact that it absolutely is. They are kind, funny, and so absurdly attractive that it’s borderline unfair. And the way they move together, like an unspoken rhythm runs between them, is hypnotic. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
Boone lets out a low, frustrated grunt, and when I refocus on him, he is suddenly hammering away at his keyboard, his fingersflying a million miles a minute. Not wanting to interrupt, I find myself staring at his shoulders instead. They look carved from granite, so I roll my own to shake off the thought, pain zinging across my upper back at the movement.
“Are you okay?” Boone’s deep voice cuts through my spiral. “You made a face just now like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I lie smoothly, wondering how the heck he even caught my wince. I was looking right at him, and he definitely wasn’t staring back at me. Yet somehow, he sees it anyway. He isn’t buying my lie for a second.
“You winced, and if you keep moving your neck the way you just did, you’re going to strain something.”
