IT’S HALF PAST TWO IN THE MORNING when I come back a bit drunk and oddly at ease after spending six hours with my brothers.
The party’s still rampant in the garden, although not as loud. Most kids are gone or sleeping wherever there’s space. I scan the crowd out the living room window, doing my best not to burst into flames at the mayhem in the garden.
Broken furniture, a table at the bottom of the pool, confetti littering the lawn, and an upside-down rent-a-john.
The triplets jump to the beat, surrounded by a wreath of young, sexy bodies. They turned down the music, but the windows in the living room still shake when “Touch It” by Busta Rhymes blares from the tall speakers. They’re lucky my room’s soundproof, or I’d cut the power and kick out anyone who can still walk. It’s almost three in the morning, anyway. They should be in beds by now.
I leave the car keys on the coffee table, double-check the front door’s locked, grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and climb the stairs. A faint streak of light marks the marble tiles in the otherwise dark house, coming from a crack in the guest bedroom door.
Before I form a coherent thought and start fuming that the triplets let someone stay the night, I enter the room, stopping dead in my tracks the second I glance at the bed.
Instead of a drunk guy or a couple in the act, a pretty little blonde lies on her side, facing the door, wavy hair framing her calm face. Her eyes are closed, her cheek pressed into a pillow she flipped vertically and used for cuddling.
She looks even smaller on the California-King-sized bed, her tiny body curled under the white sheets in an almost fetal position. The soft, orange glow of the night lamp bathes her skin, and long eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. I guess she was reading in bed because a worn copy of some book lays on the floor as if she dropped it when she fell asleep.
Why is she in the guest bedroom instead of Cody’s room across the hall? Either he’s ashamed of the mess he made there since the maid came round yesterday, or Mia’s too shy to sleep beside him.
Neither sounds right…
Maybe she’s afraid of snakes. Logan’s python came to live with me when Cassidy moved in with him, but the huge vivarium didn’t work in the living room, so Cody happily relocated it, and the fifteen-foot monster, to his bedroom.
I lose interest in pondering the question when Mia stirs, nuzzling her nose deeper into the pillow.
I stand perfectly still. If she wakes up, I’m fucked.
Thankfully, she doesn’t.
I should leave. I read somewhere that the brain keeps a watch during sleep. It’ll be better if I’m not here if it detects my presence and wakes her up.
I flick off the night lamp, setting her book—“Alice in Wonderland” by Lewis Caroll—on the side table.
Ten seconds later, I’m out the door, leaving it cracked open like it was before I barged in like I own the place.
I do, but that’s beside the point.
Three steps away from the bedroom, I freeze again. My breath stalls as a loud gasp pierces the silent air; followed quickly by the ruffling of bedsheets, a quiet whimper, and frantic tapping of what I think is Mia’s hand against the bedside table before the night lamp flickers back on.
Music from the garden fills the house. Different music plays in my left ear, but my senses are suddenly so agile I hear every deep breath she takes before the sheets ruffle again, and the room falls silent.
Shit. That was close.
With a deep breath of my own, I take light, silent steps to the second floor. The sweet scent of artificial smoke from the club and the nauseating perfumes of the brunette who hung on my arm whenever I went to the bar lingers on my clothes and hair.
No way I’ll fall asleep smelling like cheap perfumes.
I strip, throw everything in the hamper, and step into the showcase shower. Hot water hits my back, relaxing my bunched muscles and steaming the glass. I rest my arm on the tiles, hanging my head low.
Instead of the tall, slim sex bomb with sleek, liquid chocolate hair I met at the club tonight, my thoughts loop around my brother’s little girl.
My guards are lowered in the comfort of my house, but when Mia’s lips flash before my eyes and my dick turns hard in no seconds flat, I’m beyond confused.
What the hell?
She’s blonde. I don’t care much for blondes.
She’s in college. I don’t deal with college chicks since I graduated college myself.
She’s short, shy, dainty… not my type, but here I am, sporting a raging hard-on.
That’s bad.
Very fucking bad.
Inappropriate.
I can’t think about her that way. She’s Cody’s. Out of my reach and—should be—off my radar.
My dick disagrees, twitching when more arousing images flicker on the edge of my consciousness: flushed cheeks, big, green irises, the inch of collarbone peeking above her blouse…
I fight my instincts for a few moments before I give in and grip the base of my cock, pumping up and down, every tight stroke painfully slow while I picture Mia lying on the piano stool, long hair cascading to the floor.
I pump faster, imagining her pink heels with little bows resting on my back, my face between her thighs, under her pink tulle skirt. I almost hear her moan in that soft voice, feel her skillful fingers tugging on my hair while she squirms on my lips until she cries out my name as she comes, satisfied and trembling.
“Fuck,” I groan, shuddering with release and shooting my load on the tiles, the orgasm so intense my knees buckle.
That’s not good.
Not good at all.
◆◆◆
The house is quiet when I descend the stairs around ten in the morning, ready for a workout. It didn’t slip my attention that the guest bedroom Mia occupied last night stood open, the room empty.
“Good morning,” Cody says, switching on the coffee maker. “What time did you get back?”
“Where’s your girl?” I counter, resting against the island. “I saw you put her in the guest bedroom last night.”
The only reason I say your girl is to check if he’ll correct me. It doesn’t seem likely, considering the love-sick puppy look is back. It’s odd. Mia’s not the triplets’ usual type. I’ve seen the girls they bring home. They’re nothing like Mia. They’re confident and chatty.
“I took her home an hour ago. I should’ve checked with you if she could stay the night, but it—”
Conor interrupts his monologue, entering the room, and rubbing sleep from his eyes, his curly hair a disgraceful mess. I use Cody’s sudden inability to finish a sentence to dismiss his upcoming apology with a wave of my hand.
“I don’t mind. I am curious, though. Why the guest bedroom? And why haven’t you told me about her?”
“Mia’s not mine, Nico,” he admits slowly, each word calculated. “You could say I’m working on it.”
Conor spins in place. A snort of amazed horror sputters past his lips, the half-drunken bliss that twisted his features a second ago now gone. “You’re what? You think you can go after Mia without checking with Colt and me first?”
I fold my arms over my chest, one eyebrow raised. He’s as territorial about Mia as Cody, and by the sound of things, Colt might be the same.
It’s not like they give a fuck about anyone other than family, which is reasonable, I guess. They don’t have long until graduation. Once college is over, they’ll enter the mediocre joys of adult life, so they’re using and abusing the last years of freedom: partying and getting their dicks wet five times a week.
“I wanted to run it by you, but shit got out of hand fast last night. First Brandon, and—” He stops, sucking in a harsh breath like he needs a moment to think through his next words. “And then Spencer swooped in like a fucking Knight in shining armor… I couldn’t sit back and watch him hit on her, so I asked her to be my plus one for Mom’s Charity Ball next month.”
Shit, the Ball. I should tell my assistant, Jasmine, to save the date before she makes plans with her girlfriend, forcing me to invite a random woman. There’s still time—five weeks—but Jas plans her life months in advance.
“You what?!” Conor heaves again, blowing his curls away from his forehead. “You can’t do that!”
Cody steps from one foot to another, suddenly defensive. “Why? No dibs on chicks, remember?”
The last of the Holy Trinity joins our gathering. The one who’s most like me, so this is about to get interesting. Instead of hitting my home gym in the basement, I get comfortable on the tall barstool, sipping coffee and watching my nine-years-younger brothers pick up their figurative swords.
“Guess who made a move on our girl last night,” Conor growls at Colt, who immediately zeroes in on me, nostrils flared, murder on his mind. Wrong address, bro. “Not him!” Conor rolls his eyes. “Cody!”
All hell breaks loose.
I watch, confused, amused, and proud that they’re showing some emotion.
“What the hell changed, Cody?” Colt demands, voice thick with barely controlled annoyance.
Cody spreads his hands as if to say shit happens, flaring Colt’s temper more, evident by the pinched whiteness of his lips. For the next five minutes, Cody’s getting schooled, threatened, and growled at.
They’d behead him if they had the swords.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I cut in, feeling a little sorry for Cody. Mia’s a looker. No wonder he’s into her. “Who is this chick to get all of you so bent out of shape?”
“She’s our lil’ sis,” Conor says, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “Shut up. This doesn’t concern you.”
Lil’ sis? They bugged Mom for a sister since they turned three. She almost gave in. Almost. Thankfully, the thought of having an eighth boy or, God forbid, another set of triplets was too big a risk.
It’s a blessing we don’t have a sister. She’d hate our guts when we’d start scrutinizing her boyfriends and weeding out those who couldn’t meet our expectations.
Mom dreamed of a daughter for years, hence seven sons. After the triplets were born, she settled for getting daughters-in-law instead.
So far, she’s shit out of luck, though.
Shawn married a guy, and Logan’s wife-to-be spent her last three months of pregnancy on bed rest. Now that Noah’s here, Cassidy’s too busy fussing over him to get mani-pedis with Mom.
She gets along with Theo’s wife, Thalia, much better now than she used to, but I’m willing to bet a lot of money it’s not a bond she dreamed of.
“Cody… Jesus!” Conor huffs, biting into an apple, then talking around the big chunk. “Unless you’re absolutely sure you want to commit, don’t you fucking dare mess Mia about.”
“I’m sure, alright? Believe me. I’m dead serious.” He eyes the two of them, a silent declaration in his look.
I can do the same with every one of my brothers, but the triplets have their own wavelength. Whenever they trade those loaded looks, I’ve no idea what’s going on.
“Give him a break,” I say. “She’s cute. What harm will a bit of fun do?”
Wrong thing to say…
“Fun?” Colt grinds out. “Mia’s not made for fun, Nico.”
“And I’m not looking for fun,” Cody chips in, setting his cup in the sink. “Instead of wasting your breath telling me shit I already know, we should start clearing the garden.”
Two minutes later, I’m alone. Who knew my brothers would grow up to be so chivalrous?
