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Gabriel is standing with a group of men who seem to be discussing sports. He looks bored out of his mind—unless it’s European football, Gabriel doesn’t care about athletic discussions.

But he’s looking directly at me, his amber eyes narrowing slightly as his brows furrow. His gaze drops down my body and then drags back up slowly, assessing every detail, and I flush under the scrutiny.

I can’t help but think that somehow, Gabriel knows exactly what just happened.

34

GABRIEL

Maeve walks over, flanked by Hayden and Ford like they’re her personal bodyguards. She’s flushed, and there’s not a hair out of place, but I can tell it’s not just embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Thank god you’re here to save me,” I mutter as they join me and I can finally extract myself from a mind-numbing discussion about baseball statistics.

I’m excellent at pretending to care about things that bore me to tears—it’s useful when dealing with international clients. People want to feel appreciated, like they’re talking to a friend rather than just another business contact. It’s something Ford and Hayden wisely leave to me. Ford doesn’t exactly radiate warmth, and Hayden has trouble keeping his sarcastic comments to himself.

But I’m not at work right now, so it’s a relief to stop feigning interest and focus on people I actually care about.

Speaking of people I care about, there’s definitely something going on. None of the three are making direct eye contact with each other, but they’re all stealing glances when they think the others aren’t looking.

I open my mouth to ask if everything’s all right, but then our hostess claps her hands for attention. “All right, everyone!” she announces with a bright smile. “It’s time for the white elephant gift exchange!”

Normally I’d find it amusing to observe the social dynamics at play. There are people who choose something generic and safe because they lack imagination, and then there are those who go for something humorous that they know will get passed around and cause a stir. But right now, that’s the furthest thing from my mind as we filter into the main living area and arrange ourselves in a circle around the massive pile of wrapped gifts.

Maeve is pressed close to me as we settle into the circle, and I swear that underneath her usual sweet scent, I can pick up something else entirely.

What was it Ford texted Hayden and me just a few days ago? Why does my wife smell like sex?

That’s exactly the question I’d like to ask the two of them right now. Hey, care to explain why Maeve smells like sex? At a family party?

I can remember her scent so vividly, the sounds she made, the expression on her face when we got off together in that bathroom. How badly I wanted to put my tongue on her, everywhere.

I scan Maeve discretely from head to toe. Her clothes are all in their proper place, but it’s the flush that’s giving her cheeks that telltale glow. Her makeup seems to have been rubbed or sweated away slightly. Same with her lips—they’re that color because they’re bitten and swollen, not because she’s wearing lipstick.

They’re small signs, things I don’t think anyone else would notice unless they were specifically looking for evidence and suspected what that evidence might reveal.

My stomach tightens with heat. I glance at Ford and Hayden. They’re positioned protectively on either side of her, which doesn’t surprise me, but they won’t look at her or at each other. Or at me, for that matter.

It’s not necessarily guilt I’m seeing. Or maybe that’s part of it. But I think we can all admit now that we want Maeve—each of us. We’re men accustomed to taking what we want. I know what my own hang-ups are, why I’ve resisted Maeve for so long, and I could probably guess what Ford and Hayden’s barriers are as well.

The question is: which one of them finally gave in to temptation and took what he wanted?

I watch them, barely paying attention to the gift exchange happening around us. Everyone laughs and coos over the various presents being unwrapped. Maeve does her best to participate, but I can feel that she’s struggling to focus.

It could just be nerves. She’s obviously been anxious around all these wealthy people, feeling like she doesn’t belong. But I don’t think that’s it. She doesn’t just seem nervous—she seems distracted, her gaze going hazy as she stares off into the middle distance.

Hayden didn’t grow up with money like Ford and I did. Maybe they bonded over that shared experience. Maybe one of their usual verbal sparring matches got heated and finally escalated into something physical…

The idea of Hayden finally putting Maeve over his knee, or Maeve dropping to her knees to shut him up with her mouth, sends heat shooting down my spine.

But then again, Ford is a man who’s used to keeping everything locked down tight. Hayden’s sharp wit and sarcastic comments give him an outlet for tension. Ford doesn’t have the same release valve. He might tease Maeve by stealing her food and calling her Spitfire, but by and large, Ford buries everything deep in his chest.

And when you push a man like that past his breaking point, he snaps.

Ford snapping and showing Maeve exactly what he’s capable of, taking complete control—that’s an image my imagination won’t let go of easily.

I study both men again. Neither Ford nor Hayden will look at the other, but neither appears angry either. If one of them had walked in on the other with Maeve, I think there would be more obvious embarrassment or maybe some irritation. None of us is used to being jealous of the others. I don’t want to experience jealousy or envy toward the two men I genuinely consider family.

But if one of them had Maeve while the other two of us didn’t, I think I would feel—yeah, damn it, I’d be upset, even if I didn’t want to be. It would be different if we could all⁠—