Chapter 29
KIRA
One of the many things I can count on the men for is their daily schedules.
They get out of bed at a set time, keep to consistent mealtimes, and run regular maintenance routines.
Almost everything in their day follows a predictable pattern.
So, when Boyd starts spending more time in the workshop, and there’s no particular project he’s working on, I know something’s wrong.
He’s not unkind about it. He still watches out for me, still cooks for me, still carries heavy things for me, but ever since the day I bandaged his shoulder, he doesn’t spend any more time than necessary in the same room with me. He’s avoiding Andrew, too.
He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, either, especially when Andrew is nearby. He’s careful not to touch me, even by accident.
I understand his reasons, but it still hurts.
I’ve been sleeping in Andrew’s bed most nights, and it’s wonderful. When I’m in his arms, I feel safe and wanted and cherished. But being with him has made it clear to me that choosing Andrew doesn’t diminish what I feel for Boyd and Silas.
My feelings for all three men continue to grow, and I need to find out if there’s a way to honor the connections I have with each of them without breaking the bond they share with each other.
The way Boyd’s been avoiding me feels like he’s trying to make himself small to stay out of the way, and that doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve reached the point where avoiding the issue feels worse than risking an honest conversation, so when he disappears after dinner, I go out looking for him.
He’s in the workshop again, hunched over the far table. His sleeves are rolled up, and the muscles in his thick forearms flex as he works with some half-assembled mechanical thing. Every tool on his work surface is clean and neatly aligned.
“It looks like you’re anticipating an inspection.”
He looks my way and lifts his head in a nod of greeting. “Habit,” he says.
“Military habit, or Boyd habit?”
He pauses, his lips pressing together and his coffee-brown eyes glancing to the side for a second. “Both.”
I pick up a wrench, careful to remember its spot. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”
Boyd freezes. “I’ve been giving you space.”
“That isn’t the same thing,” I say gently as I slot the wrench back into its spot.
Silence fills the space between us, charged with a restless energy.
He puts his tools down with care and gets to his feet, raking his fingers through his unruly hair like he’s trying to reset himself. “You’re with Atlas.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not interested in competing with him.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
He finally looks at me then. It’s a long look. “Kira—”
“I care about Andrew. And I care about you,” I say. “Silas, too.” I let out a breath. “It seems complicated, but I’m not choosing one of you over the other.”
He drags a hand over his face, looking tortured. “I don’t know if I can share you.”
“I know.” I take a step closer anyway. “I’m prepared for whatever you decide, but I can’t keep wondering, and I don’t like you keeping your distance from everyone.”
Things go quiet, and I focus on his tools to give him time.
“I want you,” he says finally, his voice hoarse. “But I’ve only ever known how to be all in … or all out.”
“There’s no need to hold back,” I say. Very gently, very lightly, I rest my hand on his chest, right over one of the pockets on his soft plaid shirt. He’s warm and hard with muscle. “What if all in looks different this time?”
His jaw works as he considers that.
“I want to be with you,” I say softly. “But I don’t want you to betray yourself to be with me.”
With the intention of giving him a little more time and hoping we’ll talk about this again soon, I turn to leave.
He catches my wrist.
“Kira—”
His hand is warm and calloused, and like the alignment of his tools, his touch tells me more than his words.
“I don’t want you to walk away,” he says. “And if the only way to have you is to make room … then I’ll learn how.”
Relief and desire collide inside me, one rising up like hope, the other sinking lower, heavy in my belly.
When I turn back to him, he pulls me against him, circling his strong arms around me and pressing me into his chest. The kiss that follows is nothing like the first or the second. No hesitation, no restraint. Instead, there’s certainty, heat, joy threaded with awe.
He takes ownership of my hips and tugs me closer, until there’s not even a molecule of space between us. His mouth claims mine, over and over, as he cups the back of my head with his big hand, making me feel tiny and secure and … needed.
Tightly coiled desire unspools rapidly as our mouths collide.
“Kira …” He mutters my name like a prayer or an oath, and the coarseness in his voice ignites fires all through my body.
“Boyd.” Being kissed by him, without reservation, is everything I imagined and more. Every slide of his tongue and every touch of his hands is purposeful, tender, and filled with passion and need.
Nothing else exists but him and me. Our breath grows ragged, our hearts beat ever faster, and our hands are desperate to find their way under each other’s clothing.
When he pushes my coat off my shoulders and his mouth goes to my neck, my head falls back, and I gasp. Heat floods my core with each scrape of his beard on my skin. His teeth press in below my collarbone, and I find a path in under the back of his shirt and grab handfuls of hard muscle.
“Boyd.”
His eyes meet mine, soft, but darker than they’ve ever been, and he instantly reads everything I’m not saying. He scoops me up, carrying me like I weigh as much as a basket of feathers, and easily grabs a bulky blanket from a nearby shelf with his free hand.
These men really are prepared for anything.
Still cradling me in his arms, he spreads the blanket on the workshop floor, then brings me down to lie next to him. He rests my head on his bicep and wraps his other arm around me, pulling me into another kiss.
He slides lower along my body, fitting a hand under my sweater before he pauses. “Is this okay? Are you comfortable?” He glances at the blanket, indicating the hard floor beneath.
I nod quickly as I reach for his face, not sure I’ll be able to get enough of him. “I want you, Boyd.” I stroke my hands over his cheeks when we pause for a breath. “I need you.”
“Kira.” There’s fire in his kiss as he aligns his body over mine, pressing down just enough to let me know how much he wants me, too.
He’s hard and thick, and when he rolls his hips to rub the ridge of his erection against my center, I can’t contain my moan.
I don’t know if it’s pregnancy hormones or spending weeks under one roof with three handsome men, but it’s wild how much I want him, how ready my body is, after only a couple of minutes of kissing.
I wrap one leg around him to keep him close, and tangle my fingers in his hair. “I need you inside me, Boyd.”
He murmurs my name again, gazing into my eyes like he can’t believe this is real. His cock throbs, strong enough that I feel it through all our clothes.
He finds space for his hand between us and strokes over my center, lighting me up.
Then he looks away, cursing bitterly under his breath.
“What’s the matter? Is it your shoulder?” My hand flies there, aiming to soothe him. “Maybe we shouldn’t be—”
“I don’t have anything out here. No protection.” He sounds angry that he’s letting me down, as if his workshop should be stocked like a drugstore. Knowing him, it probably is, save for a few items.
“There’s a box of condoms in the house,” he says.
“I haven’t needed them in a long time, but I always use protection, and I don’t want to put you at risk.
” His gaze drops to my stomach briefly, and I’m touched by how protective he is of both me and the baby.
He’s nothing like men in my past. I wouldn’t be pregnant if Preston had cared as much about potential consequences, though I’m glad it happened.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back to me. “How about we get creative instead?”
One of his thick brows arches. “Yeah? I can be creative.” He spans his palm lightly over my middle, then worry creases his forehead. “Can I … I don’t want to hurt the baby.”
“Most anything’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll let you know if something’s uncomfortable.”
He takes that in, the look in his eyes telling me he’s thinking up all sorts of creative things.