My gaze locks on his as he pauses in the doorway, a plate of cookies in his hand. To my utter surprise, he doesn’t even skip a beat. He takes it all completely in stride, like this is something he walks in on every day.
“I brought a snack,” he announces, devastating blue eyes alive with humor and something vaguely wicked as they hold mine. “Doctor’s orders. You need to take regular breaks to eat during the day.”
“That rule doesn’t apply to cookies,” Boone mutters, his voice a little more gravelly than usual, thicker somehow. “I’m pretty sure what the doctors are referring to are healthy snacks. Not sugar-loaded carbs.”
“Nah, that can’t be right. Chocolate is a primary food group,” Dillon says, setting the plate down on my desk and flashing me a grin that can only spell trouble.
The man is chaos in the best possible way, mayhem dressed in ink with a permanent smirk etched on his lips. “Besides, it seems to me that chocolate is all that’s necessary to round out the treatment plan you guys have got going on here.”
Before I can even begin to comprehend what is about to happen, he braces his hands on either side of me, fingers wrapping around the armrests of my chair, then leans over, his head descending to mine.
Without hesitation I just sit there as he kisses me again, quick and confident. He is way too sure of himself, but that’s one of the things I find most attractive about him. Dillon is completely, utterly, entirely himself every moment of every day.
The genius hacker with the body of an Olympic swimmer, the ink of a biker, and the hair of a preppy frat boy. It’s impossible to put him in any kind of box, and I love it.
For half a second as his soft lips brush against mine, the world goes very still. My heart races, my pulse thundering in my ears.My hands want to lift, to wrap around his neck and pull him closer, but then I remember the other two are watching.
So instead, I pull back, my cheeks once again on fire. At this rate, I might as well just paint them red and accept that I am going to spend all my time here as a tomato.
Dillon’s grin widens as he lifts his head a fraction away from mine. His gaze lifts, I assume he’s looking at Boone, then he gives a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I was just curious to find out if she tastes like chocolate. That cocoa smells awesome.”
Chance raises an eyebrow, his voice low and suddenly a little throaty but teasing. “And?”
Dillon smirks and pumps his eyebrows once. “Better than chocolate, man. And you know how much I love chocolate.”
Something passes between the three of them then, a wordless, familiar conversation that makes my pulse trip over itself. Chance straightens, that calm intensity in his eyes again as they meet mine. “Can I taste?”
I feel my eyes widen. What the…
“I’ll take over the foot massage,” Dillon volunteers, once again without skipping a single beat. As if this is something he does every day, too, just kissing a girl and then letting his friend kiss her right after.
For my part, I just dip my chin. Not really a nod, but definitely not a protest either. Chance takes the spot Dillon was in a second ago, but unlike his friend, he doesn’t lean on the chair. One of his hands lands gently on the side of my neck, his fingers cupping my nape as his head moves closer.
When his lips touch mine, my nerve endings light up like the Fourth of July, and I swear I hear a choir sing somewhere. The kiss doesn’t last long, not really more than a press of his mouth against mine, but even that brief touch is totally different from Dillon’s kisses.
Chance is more patient, his movements more cautious and restrained, like he’s asking permission, not demanding entry. A quiet groan rumbles somewhere in the room, but I’m not sure who it comes from.
Boone’s hands fall away from my shoulders as Chance breaks the kiss. Chance’s fingers linger on my neck for a beat before he pulls away completely. “Dillon’s right. Definitely better than chocolate.”
I lose control of my eyelids, blinking so rapidly that I can barely keep track of what is happening until Boone suddenly appears in front of me. Those dark gray eyes lock on mine and his tongue sweeps across his lips, his mouth curving into a slow, knowing smile.
“I guess I’m about to find out,” he murmurs a second before his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding, not asking for anything but taking the lead in a way that makes my body sit up and take notice.
For one dizzying heartbeat, I wonder if they can really be that close. I’ve heard of these arrangements. Is this what I walk into in these mountains? Three men who share everything?
My heart thuds so hard I can feel it in my throat, but I don’t push him away either. Instead, my hand not holding the mug acts of its own accord, moving out of my lap to Boone’s broad chest. Icurl my fingers into his shirt and decide to at least try to find out if I am right.
10
BOONE
By midmorning, I’ve found five different excuses to walk past Roxie’s desk. First the printer, then the thermostat, and then I remember the supply closet needs reorganizing.
But the truth is, I just like watching her work. The way her brow furrows when she focuses, the small smile that appears when she figures something out. She types fast, efficiently executing one task before diving into the next without needing constant direction.
It gives me time to stare at her while I pretend to get my own work done. The whole time, the only thing I can think about is how unexpected yesterday was.
Dillon’s impulse sent the whole situation spinning. For a few seconds afterward, I thought we’d scared her off. She muttered some excuse about water, then bolted, and I was half-cocked, ready to go after her if I had to. But then she came back to the office with her chin held high, calm as anything, and just kept working.
