The boards creak and groan beneath my sneakers. The rotted parts sag slightly under my weight. I reach the door and let myself in.
Confined heat slams into my chest. It’s nearly the equivalent of opening the oven door. It rushes into and over me with a suffocating punch that drives me back onto my heels.
Only after I’ve coughed and braced myself do I pick up on the other notes. The rot. The musky odor of decay and dust. It all bubbles together with a ferocity that has me shielding half my face inside my coat before diving inside.
I’m working on the windows up in the loft when I hear the boys groaning and grunting below. I scoot to the edge of the barrier and peer down into the living room to the open door where they’re struggling to get the tree in.
They’ve removed their coats.
Nicolas has rolled up the sleeves of his thermal to showcase the hard, corded muscles along his forearms. Dom has both arms bared, where the sleeves of his T-shirt don’t cover his bulging biceps. Everything on both men is so hard and powerful. Watching them move and flex has me checking my chin for drool.
It’s a solid fifteen minutes of pure entertainment from my perfect vantage point. But it ends too fast when they get the thing set up next to the hearth. Both men dust their hands andbrush off pine needles from their clothes. They look so pleased with themselves. I can’t stop from grinning.
I’ve been doing that a lot today.
Grinning.
Laughing.
Laughing so hard I was barely making a sound. The unused section of my abdomen that has never laughed that much still hurts. Everything from Dom’s story about the squirrel that snuck into the house with their Christmas tree to pretending to be Krampus spanking me for being naughty, he had kept me in stitches.
And I’ve never been so grateful.
For a single afternoon, I nearly forgot about that morning. I forgot about yesterday. There was nothing but the man who refused to let me remember.
“Hey, you asleep up there?” the man in question calls up. “Get your butt down here.”
Grinning to myself, I turn and scoot to the lip of the loft. My feet dangle over the ledge, bobbing as I search for the first rung. Up until this moment, I’d forgotten why I hated when Mom would make me sleep up here. Getting up was never the problem. It was climbing down that had me coated in cold sweat.
The loft has a fence to keep whoever’s sleeping up here from rolling down to their death. But the ladder, a series of creaky steps that isn’t even placed at an angle, but straight up and down has no railings. No place to grip.
I jump when firm fingers clamp down on my flailing ankle and gingerly guide me to the first perch. They do the same with the other foot. When I take the first step down, he’s there to set me in the right spot. All the way to the bottom.
I turn, expecting Dominic, and blink in surprise to find Nicolas peering down at me. His gray eyes look me over carefully before he takes a careful step back.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He inclines his head and promptly turns to walk out the front door.
“I think you’re growing on him,” Dom teases, coming to stand beside me.
“Like a fungus, maybe,” I think out loud.
Rather than answer, Dom takes my fingers and guides me to the tree. We stand beneath its towering height. The fresh pine scent sweeps around us, tangling with all the other fun smells still lingering.
“How long do you think we get you to ourselves before the others arrive?”
The question is asked so softly, I almost miss it.
My face tips to his, and I find him staring at the very tip of the tree.
It hadn’t wholly occurred to me that I would be alone and isolated with the two for several days. Perhaps it should have. But it’s all I can think as I study the firm line of his jaw, the heavy fans of his lashes. His head is angled enough that I could nuzzle the arch of his throat. I’d have to go up on my tiptoes, but…
His chin lowers and I’m caught in the dark vacuums of his eyes. The not so subtle hunger burning in their depths.
“A day?” I guess. “Maybe two.”
Dom gives a little humming grunt. “I say an hour.”
