Chapter 4
F or a second, I think I've wandered onto the set of a sexy calendar photoshoot.
Cayden stands at my back as we enter the kitchen, brightly lit with what must be an entire store's worth of candles.
Jax shoves past us and heads straight to the fridge for a beer.
He cracks it open and brings it to his lips, and the sight of him like that, head leaned back, throat bobbing with the deep pulls he's taking off that can should be riveting.
Only it's got some stiff competition.
By the stove, there's a pale guy with red hair stirring a pot of something that smells delicious. A green thermal shirt clings to his leanly muscled chest and firm shoulders, cargo pants riding low on his hips while suspenders hang uselessly but tantalizingly from the waistband.
Beside him, back turned to the counter, is a broad man with deeply tanned skin and silky black hair that falls in uneven waves to the collar of his blue denim shirt. A toothpick dangles from his sexy, full lips, and dark stubble decorates his chin.
The final mountain man in the kitchen finishes washing out a frying pan and hangs it from a hook on the wall, then turns, and my throat goes dry.
He's huge—a solid foot taller than me. His skin is the color of midnight, and his eyes are just as dark.
His hair is buzzed short, but a full beard decorates his chin and jaw.
He must have splashed himself doing the dishes, because his thin black T-shirt is plastered to his chest, showing off the dips and ridges of hard, cut muscle.
My head spins, looking at these guys. They all were kind enough to pay their respects at my grandmother's funeral, but I didn't have a chance to really appreciate them, then. Now it's all I can do.
I must make some sort of noise, because their chatter cuts off abruptly. The all turn to look at me, and that feeling of intense vulnerability rears its head again.
And again, I don't mind.
Jesus. There's not a man here who isn't a specimen. If any one of them made a move on me, I'd be tempted. No one does, though. At least not right then.
A warm hand grazes the small of my back, slipping beneath my jacket. Cayden's touch is brief but steadying. "Hey, guys."
A round of "hey"s ring out in reply.
"You remember my friend, Haley."
They nod. The guy by the stove connects his gaze with mine. His voice is a low rumble, cut by a deep southern accent. "Sorry to hear about your grandma, miss. She sounded like a fine woman."
My heart squeezes. "She was," I manage to squeak out. "Thank you."
"Sorry." He shakes his head and sets down his spoon, then wipes his hand on his pants before stepping forward and holding it out. "Adam."
I hesitate, glancing at Cayden for some reason I can't explain.
He nods, and it gives me the confidence I was apparently looking for.
I put my palm in Adam's, and he closes his fingers around my hand, and wow.
He has a firm grip. His hand is smooth, despite his rough-hewn look, and all I can think about is how it would feel on my body, sliding over my inner thighs or cupping my breasts.
His green eyes sparkle. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
Cayden steers me to the left as Adam lets go, toward the man with the toothpick and the thick hair just begging for me to run my fingers through it.
As I focus on him more fully, I notice a fine web of scarring on one side of his face.
It runs down his throat, toward the ink that peeks out from under the collar of his shirt.
I'm taken aback for a moment, but then the guy smiles, and you'd never even notice his injury.
Cayden holds his hand out toward him. "And this mook is Sergio."
"Hola," Sergio says.
Oh. His voice is warm velvet.
I don't really speak Spanish, but I manage a mumbled, "Hola," in reply.
"Don't worry," Cayden says, conspiratorial. "He speaks English, too."
"When he bothers to speak at all," Jax adds.
Sergio just tips the brim of an imaginary hat at him, and I get it. Strong, silent type, eh? I can get behind that.
And I really, really wouldn't mind the last man still standing at the sink getting behind me . Bending me over this very counter, opening me up and then driving in deep.
"And this guy here is the heart and soul of our operation." Cayden claps my shoulder. "Haley, meet Deandre. Deandre, Haley."
My tongue is thick in my mouth as he looks me up and down.
"Well, hello there, little lady."
And I do feel little, but not the way I do around Jax. I feel delicate. Pretty. Wanted. My cheeks bloom with heat, and I can't seem to find any reply, so I drop my gaze, nodding.
Only a finger fits itself beneath my chin. Deandre lifts my face until I'm looking right into his dark, dark eyes. "Hey. You okay?"
"Yeah. Just." What am I? Besides drunk on lust and sexual frustration and the sheer static electricity rolling off the bodies of all the ripped guys surrounding me? "Overwhelmed," I finally settle on.
And it's true. Jesus but it's been a day. A week.
A month.
"Well, you just take a load off then." Deandre points back toward the living room. "Adam's just about finished with the grub. You rest and relax and we'll bring your supper to you in a minute."
And god, why does it feel like such a relief to have someone telling me what to do? It's not the gentle nudging of Cayden's invitation to come stay with him or the irritating poking of everything Jax says. Deandre acts like he knows best and like he knows my own mind to boot, and it's just…nice.
All this time, I've been putting on a strong face for everyone around me. Suddenly, it feels like I can let it go.
I sag, letting my shoulders fall. With Cayden as my escort, I retreat exactly the way Deandre suggested I should.
I collapse onto a corner of the couch, right near the roaring fire.
Its heat seeps into my bones. Cayden takes my bag from me and sets it on the floor, then helps me shrug out of my jacket and drapes a soft, red wool blanket over my lap.
I thank him and lean into the soft cushions, curling up and resting my head on the arm of the couch.
For a while, I drift. Cayden disappears around a corner and returns not long after dry and in a different set of clothes. When I catch sight of Jax again, he's similarly cleaned up. Sergio takes a couple of trips from the kitchen to the living room and back, arms laden.
"Better?" Deandre's rumbling voice comes from beside my head.
I look up dreamily. His smile is soft but bright in the flickering candlelight. I nod. "Much."
"Glad to hear it, girlie." He reaches down and pets my hair, brushing it back from my face, and the touch sends licks of honey-like warmth flowing through me. His fingertips linger, trailing along the side of my neck. Tingles bloom from every point of contact.
"Dinner's up," Adam announces from the doorway. He smiles at me. "Hope you like beef stew."
"Sounds amazing." I struggle to sit up, with my bones turned to jelly the way they are. Deandre puts his hands under my arms and hoists me up. Holy cow, he's strong, his huge hands making me feel small all over again.
Adam ladles up a heaping bowl for me, then passes it to Deandre who passes it to me. Deandre grabs a bowl of his own and sits on the hearth, close to me but not too close.
Cayden plops down beside me. I'm not exactly sure what to make of the way he's been sticking by my side. There's a certain possessiveness to it, but not a threatening one. Deandre's touches and Adam's warm handshake didn't seem to phase him.
I tuck that observation away for later and dip my spoon into the stew.
It's thick and hearty, full of big chunks of beef and carrot and potato.
Without really thinking about it, I bring some to my lips and blow, then glance up to find an awful lot of sets of eyes focused intently on my mouth.
I flash an uncertain, self-conscious smile, then take a bite.
Rich flavor bursts over my tongue, and I let out a little moan of pleasure.
A spoon clanks loudly against porcelain, but I can't tell who dropped it.
The room is filled with a nameless tension, practically vibrating with it, and my skin tingles.
There's just so much male energy here. Something about my presence seems to have upset a delicate balance, and I both want to apologize and to revel in it.
"Taste okay?" Adam asks, voice rough.
"Delicious."
"Good."
After a few more moments of tense—but not awkward—silence, everyone seems to at least sort of relax. The guys tuck into their own bowls, and a batch of crusty bread gets passed around. I eat until I'm full, then lean back, practically glowing with comfort.
Right up until a shrill, electronic beep sounds out, and all at once the lights come back on.