“Yes,” I answer without pause. My eyes close the moment his fingers brush along the bare skin of my abdomen. As he works the sweater over my torso and up my arms, Lawson’s touch follows.
When the sweater is finally clear of my hands, Beau throws it across the room, letting my hair fall haphazardly at my shoulders. My arms fall at my sides as he takes a small step back to look at me. A strange look crosses his face as I stand in front of him in an olive-green lace bra and jeans. His eyes narrow, and he runs a hand across his jaw as he shakes his head. I’m just about to fold in on myself when he speaks. “Fuck.”His voice almost sounds like it cracks. “You are—so—more beautiful than I could have ever imagined, Abigail.”
Suddenly, tears sting at my eyes. I don’t know how I expected him to react, but it certainly wasn’t like that. And yet… I couldn’t think of anything better. Beau’s always full of quick remarks, wide smiles, and endless conversation, but I know there’s more to him. I see it when he thinks no one is looking.
I seehim.
Lawson brushes my hair to one shoulder before running the pad of his thumb along the back of my arm. “What’s this?” he asks. “I didn’t see this before.”
Beau steps to the side of me to get a better look at the small mountain range inked on my skin. “I got it when I was twenty-eight,” I reply.
“Topophilia?What does that mean?”
I exhale a deep breath. “It means… it’s a deep emotional connection or love a person feels for a specific place. It means, before I came here, I never once left New York, let alone beenhere. But something inside me always felt like… I just knew that I was meant for a place like this. Meant to live with the land rather than against it. To look out my window and see the way the earth rises and falls. To see the sun rise over the mountains. Iwas meant to be here. I just didn’t know if it would ever actually happen.”
It’s a silly thought, really. To think you were destined to live in a place you’d never even been. Then one day, I learned there was an actual name for it. Saw it in the crossword puzzle in the paper. I’d never done that puzzle a day in my life, but one morning, the morning I was supposed to meet Kat for coffee but she never showed, I picked it up to kill time while I waited. I saw that word, and I knew it was a sign. A month later, while I was thick in the grief of losing my big sister, I got the tattoo. Because I knew… I justknew…that I had to get out of that city. I was desperate for it.
So I got the tattoo as a reminder.
To never give up.
Never stop fighting for the life that I wanted for myself.
A pair of broad hands grip my shoulders, spinning me to face both of them. A look of wonder glistens in Lawson’s eyes while longing shines in Beau’s, and I can’t help the sad smile that pulls at my lips.
Beau reaches his hand up and brushes the pad of his thumb along my lips. “You were always meant to find us,” he whispers.
“I was,” I answer softly.
“Our girl.” Lawson brushes his hand along the other side of my face before taking a step back. In one swift movement, he pulls off his Henley before undoing the button of his jeans.
And just like that, lust and the need to have them in my hands takes over.
Like a choreographed dance, Beau steps backward until he’s standing next to Lawson. Letting me get my fill of the two of them.
As they both stand there, in nothing but their Wranglers, their bare chests heaving as they look back at me, the only thing I canthink of is how I’m going to decide whose abs I’m going to run my tongue over first.
What a dilemma.
Wanting to keep their eyes on me, I slip off my socks and take my time undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I don’t rush as I ease the denim down over my hips. Slow enough to feel the shift in the room. I may be small in stature, but I know exactly what my curves are doing to them.
Beau is the first to give himself away. His breath stutters, his hand lifting to the center of his chest like he forgot how to breathe. His eyes track every inch of my exposed skin as the denim slides lower. There’s something reverent in the way he watches me.
Lawson’s gaze flicks to Beau before snapping back to me. His jaw tightens as his control slips, and his hand drags over himself through his pants.
When my jeans pool at my feet and I kick them aside, leaving me in nothing but my matching bra and panties, Beau looks wrecked. His chest heaving, eyes dark. And Lawson looks… hungry.
I say nothing. I don’t have to. Beau’s loss of composure pulls Lawson the rest of the way under, and I stand there, steady and deliberate, letting them come undone in their own time.
“Come here, Honey,” Lawson says roughly.
And I do. I go to him without question. His hand reaches out before I have the chance to reach him and wraps around my wrist. With one strong pull, my body crashes into his, and a small giggle slips from my mouth as a deep growl falls from his. I don’t have the chance to say anything else before Lawson’s mouth crashes against mine once more. This time, frantic. Desperate. Ravenous.
His hands frantically roam my body as his tongue moves against mine. Every sound he makes, every squeeze of his hands,every quick pull of my hair, sends a wave of pleasure through me.
I get lost in the fluidity of the way the two of us move against one another, but before I have the chance to fall deeper into the moment with him, another hand pulls at me, and I’m being pressed against another solid wall of muscle. “You’re going to have to learn to share Mr. Saint John.”
“Hmmm. I know Ms. Adams. But I want you to myself. Just for a second.”
