Chapter 7
Mia
My legs wobble as I stumble out of the wine cellar, the cool air of the hallway hitting my flushed skin like a shock. My pussy still throbs, pulsing with the memory of Alexander’s tongue, his fingers, the way he unraveled me against that wall.
I can still feel his breath on my thighs, taste the echo of my own arousal in the back of my throat.
I can still feel the scrape of his stubble on the inside of my legs, the wet drag of his fingers inside me.
My panties are soaked; I’m scared to even shift my weight in case someone notices the way I’m walking.
My mind replays it in vivid flashes—his low groan, the way he looked up at me like I was his entire fucking world. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it’s no use. I’m a mess, and I need to get out of here before I lose myself completely.
I’m halfway down the hallway, hand trailing along the wall to keep myself steady, when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Mia, wait.”
Tyler.
My stomach flips. I stop but don’t turn around right away. I smooth my skirt, tug my hair over one shoulder, anything to look normal even though I know my cheeks are flushed and my lips are swollen and I probably smell like sex and oak barrels.
He catches up, falling into step beside me. “What…what happened in there?” His voice is soft, careful, but I hear the crack in it.
I swallow. God. I can’t lie to him, not when he’s looking at me like that, hurt already blooming behind his eyes.
“I want to go back to my room,” I say instead, the words scraping out of my throat. “It’s late.”
I see the flash of pain cross his face, sharp, quick, gone just as fast. He nods once, tight, and steps aside so I can pass. He doesn’t ask again. He doesn’t say anything.
I walk past him, thighs brushing together, pussy still throbbing with every heartbeat, Alexander’s name echoing in my head like a filthy prayer. I don’t look back. I can’t. Because if I do, Tyler will see everything I’m not saying, and I’m not ready for him to know just how much I liked it.
I shut the door to my room behind me and lean against it, chest heaving like I’ve run a mile.
It’s dark except for the thin strip of moonlight cutting across the bed.
My thighs are still trembling. I can still feel the ghost of Alexander’s tongue, the scrape of his beard, the way he held me open like he owned me.
I kick off my shoes, peel off my ruined panties, and collapse onto the bed in just my skirt and blouse. The sheets are cool against my burning skin, but they do nothing to calm the ache between my legs.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I stare up at the ceiling as if the beams might offer some kind of explanation. They don’t. They just look old and wooden and absolutely unbothered by the fact that I apparently lost my mind tonight.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and groan.
First, I was flirting with Tyler. Tyler, with his easy smile and his warm eyes and the way he looks at me like he could read my thoughts if he really wanted to.
Then Marcus. God. Marcus with his steady confidence, his quiet intensity, the way he watches like he’s already solved the entire room…except me. I could still feel the heat of his hand on my hip hours later.
And then Alexander—
I roll onto my stomach and bury my face in a pillow, embarrassed even though no one is here.
Alexander. His voice, his hands, his mouth, the way he touches me like he’s claiming territory he didn’t even know he wanted until the moment he took it.
And I let myself get swept up in that. Swept away. I didn’t even think. I just…wanted. And he wanted me. And everything spiraled from there.
I flip onto my back again, staring at the ceiling with a fresh wave of mortification.
Tyler, Marcus, Alexander.
Brothers.
Sarah’s uncles.
My father’s closest friends.
And I—what—just threw myself at all three of them like I’m starring in some kind of fever dream?
I drag a pillow over my face and let out a muffled scream. My heart is racing again, not from desire this time, but from the realization that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
This is insane. Completely, utterly insane.
I’m not this person. I don’t throw myself at men. I don’t let someone go down on me against a stone wall ten minutes after flirting with his little brother. I don’t lie on my bed afterward still wet and throbbing and disgusted with myself and so turned on I can barely think.
But here I am.
I roll onto my stomach again and bury my face in the pillow. As I fall asleep, my hips rock against the mattress without permission, chasing friction I don’t deserve.
I wake to pounding on my door.
At first, I think it’s my heart. That same uneven, chaotic beat that hasn’t stopped since last night. But no—someone is definitely knocking.
I blink awake, groaning. My mouth is dry, my limbs heavy, my thoughts a tangled mess of heat and shame and… God, what even was last night?
“Mia!” Sarah’s voice sings through the door. “Up, up, up! It finally stopped snowing. We’re having lunch outside!”
I bolt upright, hair sticking to my cheek, blanket twisted around my legs. I grab my phone—dead black screen. I must have forgotten to plug it in. I look for a clock.
And freeze.
It’s past eleven. I never sleep this late. No wonder I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck filled with…well. Birch brothers.
Sarah knocks again, louder. “Come on, Mia, you’re missing everything! It’s gorgeous out, the sun is hitting the snow exactly like the postcards—”
“I—I don’t think I can,” I call back, voice cracking. “I’m not feeling great. I might stay in.”
Silence. Then the door swings open and Sarah slips in without asking, already dressed in a fluffy cream sweater and leggings, glowing with bridal radiance and morning energy I cannot emotionally handle right now.
She places her hands on her hips. “Nice try. You’re coming.”
I drag a hand over my face. “Sarah…trust me. I really don’t think I should.”
She squints at me, suspicious. “You’re pale. Did you drink too much at the welcome dinner? Or—wait.” Her eyes widen. “Did someone upset you? Was it Jason? Do I need to tell him to stay away from you today?”
My stomach tightens. If only she knew that Jason is the least of my problems.
I mutter something noncommittal, avoiding her eyes. Because how exactly am I supposed to explain that last night I flirted with Tyler, got tangled up in the heat of Marcus’s gaze, and then…and then…
Oh god.
I fall backward onto the pillows and groan loudly into my blanket.
Sarah sits on the edge of the bed and touches my arm gently. “Hey. What’s going on?”
Everything. Everything is going on.
What in the universe possessed me? Last night I was—what—floating from one Birch brother’s orbit to the next like some deranged moth drawn to three different flames?
Heat floods my cheeks so violently I consider dunking my face in snow.
There is something truly, irredeemably broken in me. Normal women do not find themselves making out with, and doing more with, the eldest of three brothers in a wine cellar approximately three hours after flirting with the youngest.
What is wrong with me?
“Mia?” Sarah nudges me. “Are you seriously not coming out? It’s gorgeous today! You barely let me see you last night. Please? It’s just lunch. Everyone’s outdoors. No big deal.”
No big deal? I want to crawl under the duvet and never reemerge.
“How am I supposed to face them?” I whisper.
“Face who?” she asks brightly.
I nearly choke. “Nobody! I meant everyone. The guests.”
Sarah lifts a brow. “You’re acting weird.”
If only she knew.
I sit up slowly. My head spins. My pulse kicks. Because sooner or later—likely sooner—I’m going to have to go outside…
I swallow hard. “Give me ten minutes,” I say finally.
Sarah beams, hopping up. “Yes! Perfect. I’ll see you soon.”
The cold air hits me the moment I step outside, crisp and sharp, carrying the clean scent of melted snow. The storm has passed, leaving the mountain glittering under a bright winter sun. Snow drips from pine branches in slow, heavy drops, and the whole lodge seems to glow in soft gold.
Children are laughing somewhere near the slopes. Staff carry trays from the kitchen toward the clearing where long tables are being set up for lunch. A few relatives cluster near patio heaters, sipping coffee and making small talk.
But there’s no sign of Sarah.
Which is inconvenient, because she’s the only reason I dragged myself out here. My heartbeat still feels embarrassingly uneven every time I remember last night. If I close my eyes, I can still feel—
Nope. Not going there. Not today.
I take a steadying breath and look around again. Still no Sarah, but I catch sight of the wedding planner—Cokie.
I make my way over. “Cokie? You okay?”
She startles, then blows out a breath. “Oh, Mia. No. No, I am absolutely not okay.” She waves her clipboard in the air like a white flag. “I’m dealing with seating chart complaints from three different branches of the family, and apparently none of them are speaking to each other.”
I blink. “What? Who?”
She reads off names, and my eyebrows climb higher with each one.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I say slowly. “Those people adore each other. They’ve vacationed together. They literally co-own a boat.”
Cokie groans. “Well, today they hate each other and want separate tables. Preferably different zip codes.”
I rub my arms, the unease returning. Something feels off. Very off.
I shake my head. “The most dramatic thing they argue about is who makes the best hot chocolate. They’re practically one big blob.”
Cokie looks like she might cry. “Well, someone told them otherwise. And now I have three separate seating arrangements and twenty-four angry people demanding new places.”
“That makes no sense,” I murmur. Something tingles uneasily in my gut. “Why would anyone stir that up?”
Cokie shakes her head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’m going to get an ulcer by dinnertime.”