Chapter Eight
Well, they made their bed by sending Todd away, and now they had to sleep in it.
Literally.
“Look, I don’t expect you to drive me home in that storm, so I’ll just take your car, and Jeff can arrange something for you later.”
No one in their right mind would drive in the raging storm outside—well, no one except Mercedes. She was still very much on a mission to lose her virginity by Christmas, and no cranky SEALs were going to get in her way. She planned to drive straight to Todd’s, and if they had to do it in his coffee shop, on the floor, so be it.
“How the fuck you managed to stay alive until now is the biggest mystery in the universe,” Myles shot at her, a flabbergasted look on his face; his stupidly, excessively attractive face. An unwanted memory flashed into her mind. Jeff had gone to live with their father for a while after the divorce, and Holden, Waylan, and Myles stepped in as her big brothers.
She’d been around five years maybe and insisted she could ride a big girl bicycle—no training wheels. Her mom would not hear of it, worried she would bruise herself in a million different places. But it had been Myles who encouraged her to try. Telling her she could do it. He would catch her if she fell. She rode a bicycle that day pretty well for a first-timer. She remembered Myles always daring her to push her boundaries, but he would also be there to catch her. But that had been eons ago.
“I manage just fine, thank you very much. Now give me your keys,” she said.
“No, Missades, we’re not giving you the keys so you can go and get yourself killed in the storm,” Holden said. His eyes turned to a dark forest green. She’d seen that look before, albeit a little more intense. There’d been a boy in her class when she was in fifth grade who kept stealing her lunch and pulling her hair. The instant her brother found out, he said he would sort it out. But it had been Holden who wanted the privilege. That boy never bothered her again. In fact, when he passed her by in school, he’d bow to her, apologizing profusely and calling her Miss Mercedes. He scared the crap out of the guy and made sure to ask her if anyone else was giving her problems. Holden always took the role of protector, working behind the scenes to ensure no one dared mess with her.
And when she scraped her knees or dropped the ice cream from her cone, it had been Wayland who patched her up with band-aids, gave her more ice cream, and made her laugh. He fixed whatever was wrong with her.
Then she went away to boarding school, and her brother was back home, and suddenly she was only seeing them for a little while over the holidays if she was lucky. Then it had been years, even though she continued sending them Christmas cards and gifts every year without fail, until the year she turned eighteen and things changed for her.
Who knew they would turn out to be such giant asses?
“Ugh, my name is Mercedes. Why can’t you just call me Mercedes?”
She needed to get out of there. Time was dwindling, making her flustered and antsy.
She had no idea how to tabulate her thoughts when, instead of coming up with a solution to get her out of the cabin, Myles started a fire in the fireplace, which she was grateful for.
The temperature had dropped considerably, and it was best they preserved the generator in case the storm lasted longer.
Then they started to remove their coats and their boots. Hmm, what were they doing?
Why were they getting comfortable?
Mercedes watched as they each took a sofa, dropped down onto it, and instantly fell asleep.
They went to sleep, leaving her standing there like an idiot.
“But…”
“Goodnight, Missades,” Holden said, except he deliberately pronounced her name wrong again.
Within moments, their breathing leveled out, and the rise and fall of their chests grew steady. They were freaking fast asleep.
What? What was she supposed to do in the meantime? Play with her toes? Ugh.
How could the arrival of her brother’s best friends decimate her entire planned agenda?
Well, she wasn’t staying. They came in a four-wheel drive, which was far better equipped to tackle the storm than her car. She just wasn’t concentrating on the storm aspect of the weather outside. Right.
She quickly and quietly slipped into her clothes, not bothering to remove the babydoll dress or her skimpy underwear. She just put her clothes over them.
Keys.
She gave them another twenty minutes, the wait agonizing for her, but she had to ensure they were in a deep sleep.
Holden still had the keys in his front jeans pocket.
She tiptoed to where he slept, the luxury sofas huge and long enough to cater to all three of their muscular physiques and substantial heights.
She was now so close to Holden that the scent of his cologne did funny things to her stomach, tilting her off her axis.
Not daring to breathe, she reached for his pocket. Her gaze slammed into the staggeringly thick bulge between his legs before she shut her eyes and bit her lip to stop herself from gasping out loud.
Focus .
Her hand far from steady, she inched her fingers forward to his pocket.
Without breaking the rhythm of his breathing, without seeing who it was, he wrapped his long, calloused fingers around her wrist, and her own fingers accidentally brushed the very bulge she’d been ogling before.
A ridiculously hot flush coated her entire body. The surge of white-hot power she felt coursing through her at his touch messed with her chemistry.
Also, fudge.
Stupid SEAL—did he have to sleep like a ninja?
Angrily accepting defeat, she jerked her hand away, and Holden let her go.
Fucking fudge.
Now what?