He gave his assent and stood. Melinda gave me a quick hug and left, holding hands with her two husbands. Two husbands!
I felt so incredibly uncomfortable standing alone in a room with three men, strangers, who were going to marry me. Not one, not two, but three! I couldn't look at them and had no idea what to say, so I kept my gaze firmly on the Oriental rug at my feet and my hands clenched together in front of me.
"Come here, Olivia," one of them murmured. I looked up and saw that it was Cross who had spoken. He sat down on the sofa where my uncle had been. "Please," he added.
His voice was calm, his eyes gentle. I glanced at the other two who gave slight nods of encouragement. I swallowed at the way they towered over me. I felt dwarfed beside them and should have cowered at their domineering presence, but instead it made me feel as if I was sheltered, that they blocked out the entire world; Mr. Peters, the fire, even Uncle Allen's surprising pronouncement.
I took the final step to Cross, but instead of sitting beside him, he took my hand and tugged me down onto his lap.
"Oh!" I cried at the feel of his hard thighs beneath my bottom. His arms came about me and pulled me in so I was sheltered, my cheek against his chest. I could hear the steady beat of his heart and his clean scent swirled around me. This was the first time I'd ever been held by a man and I felt the hot jolt once again. He was so warm and yet I shivered. It felt so wrong and so right at the same time.
"Mr. Cross, we shouldn't—"
"We should," he countered. "And my name is just Cross."
The other men came closer, Mr. Rhys sat next to us on the sofa and Mr. McPherson moved a desk chair and placed it directly before us. They surrounded me and there was no escape, however they still did not feel threatening and I truly did not wish to move.
"This lightning, explain," Mr. Rhys said.
His dark eyes watched me carefully.
"It's a feeling, when you meet the right person," I replied. "Uncle Allen wanted to ensure I didn't compromise on the man I was to marry."
"You felt it with me?" I could see the hope in his eyes. Was the feeling reciprocated?
I nodded.
"And with me?" Mr. Cross—Cross—asked. His chin rested lightly on top of my head.
Were they always this direct? Always so open about their feelings? Weren't men supposed to be the ones who never shared or showed any kind of emotion?
I scrunched up my face and squeezed my eyes shut, dreading voicing my own feelings aloud. "Yes," I exhaled quickly.
I didn't want to look at them, to see the horror or the amusement or the disgust on their faces at admitting my feelings for two men. Would they consider me loose and immoral?
"And what about me, lass? Think ye can feel something for me as well?" Mr. McPherson's words were thickly accented, so much so that the word well sounded more like wheel.
I peeked out from around Cross' arm to look at Mr. McPherson. Gone was the look of a harsh warrior, a man ready to conquer the world and slay dragons as necessary. Instead, it was a man with the corner of his mouth tipped up and question in his eyes. He was the biggest of the three men, with dark hair that was overly long, a square jaw and a blunt nose that had a crook in it. He was handsome in a rugged, brutish sort of way, but when he looked at me so endearingly, I could see he was gentle as well.
I could also discern the worry on his face, for it seemed these men did things together, including marriage, and if I did not like all of them, one would be lost, perhaps cast adrift and alone. Mr. McPherson had much riding on my answer. In that moment I realized perhaps I could hurt him more than someone as sinister as Mr. Peters.
"I cannot say, for I do not know you."
"Then we will change that," he murmured.
"You don't think there's something wrong with me then? I am not wanton," I stated baldly.
Simon's gaze lowered to my lips, then raked over my body. "Nay, lass, we dinna ken a thing wrong with ye."
Cross shifted me in his arms so that my head rested against his arm and he was looking down at me. "You can be wanton for us any time you wish," he offered, then said with more seriousness, "I felt it, too, Olivia, when we were dancing, and having you now in my arms...."
I saw something flare in his eyes, bright and hot, before he looked at my mouth. "I am going to kiss you."
He didn't give me time to think, or to refuse, or to even push myself from his arms before his mouth lowered to mine. His lips were warm and soft and gentle as they brushed over mine as if he were learning the curve of my lower lip, the corners of my mouth. All at once I felt hot all over and I was quite glad he held me so surely, for I would have slid off his lap and onto the floor otherwise.
To my surprise, my eyes had fallen shut and I had to open them to look up at him, at the first man to kiss me and saw him smile. "Again," he murmured, then kissed me once more, this time deeper, which elicited a surprised gasp from me and he used that to his advantage, his tongue slipping into my mouth.
His tongue!