Chapter 9
ROXIE
It’s been two days since I officially started work, sitting at a desk across from Boone while pretending I know what the hell data entry actually entails. Most of what I’ve learned so far is about them rather than the job.
Like the fact that Boone can stare down a computer screen like it owes him money. And the dark-haired, muscle-bound giant wrapped in sinfully tattooed skin is the steady center of their trio.
Despite being at least six and a half feet tall, he is their calm and definitely the leader.
In the couple of days since I’ve met them, I’ve figured that out for an absolute fact. Chance, for all his quiet intensity that makes me want to tell him my secrets, might be the driving force behind their move out here, but Boone is the boss.
As I look at him now, scowling as he replies to emails and occasionally grumbles under his breath, I still don’t quite know how their dynamic works. But I do know that I’d let him boss me around any day, and not only at work.
God, the thoughts I have whenever that man looks at me with those dark blue-gray eyes are not fit for public consumption. Most of them involve wild fantasies of me being sandwiched between all three of them, which is ridiculous. But I can’t help the daydreams.
Their office, which is mine now too, is on the third story of their gigantic house, Boone sharing his third of the space with me. Concentrating on work with him barely five feet away is a feat in and of itself.
Even now, I am staring past my screen instead of at it, watching him work with one hand in his dark, almost jet-black hair and the other tapping a pen against the edge of his desk.
The ink on his forearm dances with the movement, his muscles rippling under his skin like some hero in a goddamn romance novel.
I came to Montana to hide. Work is a necessary evil to keep myself afloat. My savings won’t last forever, and I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Drooling over mountain men with forearms that could probably snap a tree in half wasn’t part of the plan.
I am still living with them while my chimney is being cleaned by some local they assure me regularly deals with this kind of thing.
All of which means that for now, I am eating, sleeping, and working under their roof.
It’s no big deal, except for the fact that it absolutely is.
They are kind, funny, and so absurdly attractive that it’s borderline unfair.
And the way they move together, like an unspoken rhythm runs between them, is hypnotic. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
Boone lets out a low, frustrated grunt, and when I refocus on him, he is suddenly hammering away at his keyboard, his fingers flying a million miles a minute.
Not wanting to interrupt, I find myself staring at his shoulders instead.
They look carved from granite, so I roll my own to shake off the thought, pain zinging across my upper back at the movement.
“Are you okay?” Boone’s deep voice cuts through my spiral. “You made a face just now like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I lie smoothly, wondering how the heck he even caught my wince. I was looking right at him, and he definitely wasn’t staring back at me. Yet somehow, he sees it anyway. He isn’t buying my lie for a second.
“You winced, and if you keep moving your neck the way you just did, you’re going to strain something.”
“It’s an occupational hazard. My last boss didn’t provide ergonomic seating. He didn’t provide any seating at all, actually.”
He stands and I nearly swallow my tongue when he comes around my desk. Before I can even ask what he’s doing, his hands are on my shoulders, big, warm, and ridiculously steady. My entire body freezes at first contact, but moments later, I melt right into the chair.
“Jesus,” I mutter before I can stop myself. “That feels incredible.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just working his thumbs along the tight muscles at the base of my neck, all quiet focus and patient strength. Finally, when I’m half-convinced I’ve turned into a puddle of goo, he asks, “Better?”
A gurgle that definitely doesn’t count as an answer escapes me, but Boone seems to understand. He chuckles, the sound a little rougher than normal. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Heat crawls up my neck and I curse the fact that I’m blushing like a teenager. Focus, Roxie. You’re supposed to be hiding, not flirting. But damn if this mountain isn’t full of temptation that smells good and looks better.
A knock on the doorframe makes me jump. Boone’s hands still for a beat, warm and heavy on my shoulders. Chance steps in, holding a mug of something with steam curling up from the surface.
“Cocoa,” he explains as he walks in. “I thought you might be able to use something sweet after spending a few hours with Boone.”
If I hadn’t already been melting, I sure would be now. All my life, no one has ever brought hot cocoa just because, and especially not one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen.
As I am beginning to realize is normal for him, he wears light gray sweats that barely cling to his hips. His feet are bare. A fitted black T-shirt covers a torso I haven’t seen but assume is as ripped as the rest of him.
Even with an actual job, the guy works out like he’s getting paid for it and it shows. His tall frame is hard and steeped in purpose, his dark blonde hair kept short enough not to get in his way, but still long enough on top for a girl to grab onto.
As if he hears the thought, those full, male-model-esque lips curve into a slight smirk, his hazel eyes lighting up. Everything about him screams military, from his posture to the way he moves to those eyes that always seem to be scanning. Assessing.
“What’s going on here?” he asks mildly, those eyes skipping past Boone’s hands on my shoulders and coming to rest on mine. That amused twinkle is still in them when he hands over the cocoa. “It looks like I’m missing a good time.”
“The best,” I murmur, taking it from him and nearly groaning out loud at the rich scent of chocolate I draw in on my next breath. “Thanks for this. It smells amazing.”
“Secret recipe.” He winks, watching as I bring the mug to my lips and take my first sip of heaven.
A smile that makes my stomach flip spreads across his face at whatever look I’m wearing. “That good, huh?”
“Unfairly amazing,” I say. “It’s like an orgasm in a cup.”
Instantly, my cheeks flame and my eyes drop to the rippling surface of the cocoa. Oh, God. Why was I born without a filter?
Boone’s thumbs start up again as if I haven’t just put my foot in my mouth. He sweeps another firm stroke across my neck, finding a spot that makes every muscle go liquid. I’m pretty sure I groan under my breath.
When I hear a chuckle, I glance up and realize Chance heard me. Either that, or he’s just laughing at my social ineptitude. “Relax, it’s fine. It’s a compliment.”
His gaze flicks to Boone’s hands, then back to my eyes. Without another word, he drops into an effortless crouch in front of me, his movements calm and deliberate.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my breath hitching a little at the sight of him at my feet.
“Helping,” he says simply.
Before I can protest, he tugs lightly at the heel of one shoe, then the other. My toes flex in relief when they hit the soft rug, but the next thing I know, his hands are circling my arches, slow and sure, his thumbs pressing into places I didn’t even know I had.
“Oh, my God,” I say, my head tipping back. “You guys are going to ruin me for actual spas.”
Boone laughs behind me. “That’s the goal.”
The air in the room changes as they keep working on me, becoming heavier somehow. Not threatening, not even overtly suggestive. Just charged.
For a girl who’s spent the last few days running for her life, this feels incredible. Sitting here with two dangerously attractive men trying to fix my knots and stroke away my stress sure as hell beats slinging drinks for mobsters.
The only drawback is that having both of their hands on me stirs memories of those idle fantasies I’ve had of being sandwiched between them. I can feel my panties getting damp and my nipples tightening.
The sound of heavy boots on hardwood makes me open my eyes.
Dillon strolls into the office, and for a second, I am mortified, afraid of how he might react to what he’s just walked in on.
These are my new bosses, and here I am, sitting like a queen being tended to by her harem.
All that’s missing is someone feeding me grapes and waving a palm leaf.
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. I curl my fingers into his shirt and decide to at least try to find out if I am right.