On the way to the library I hear voices in the kitchen. Damien and Sam from the sound of it. My stomach flips just hearing Sam’s laughter. What he did to me last night. Wow.
Anita walks around the library, eyes skimming over the books. She’s around my age but with light hair instead of dark. She’s tall with curvy hips and a pronounced bust. A flare of possessiveness ignites and I shut the door behind me. I don’t want the boys to see her.
They’re mine.
Anita turns when the door clicks shut and I shake off the desire to toss her from the house. “You must be Anita,” I say with a plastered grin. What the hell has come over me? “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was up late and finally crashed.”
“No worries,” she replies. Her own grin seems genuine. “I was just looking around this amazing library.”
“The Nead Mansion is the gift that keeps on giving. I’m very lucky to have won the scholarship.”
“Professor Christensen showed me your submission. Luck had nothing to do with you winning. You’re an amazing author.”
We’re a study in contrasts—me and Anita. Besides the hair color, she’s wearing a sleek, gray, pencil skirt that accentuates her curves. Her white, form-fitting blouse reveals an ample view of her cleavage. And her hair is perfectly straight in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
I stand across from her in ripped jeans and a hoodie with nothing but a bra underneath. The jacket is zipped to my chin in an attempt to hide the bite marks from my housemate.
“Well, he told me some amazing things about you, too,” I say, which is a bit of a stretch. “I can’t wait to get started and review your work.”
“Oh, that’s why I stopped by today. To drop you a copy of my manuscript. I figured I’d give you a head start on reading it, then at our first ’official’, she uses air quotes, “meeting, we’ll both be on the same page.”
She opens up her satchel and pulls out a thick, bound sheath of paper. A flash drive is affixed to the cover. “Paper and digital. Whichever you prefer.”
I take the heavy materials from her. “Awesome.”
The box from Damien holds my attention—as well as keeping Anita away from the others in the house. I pause at the door, listening for voices, but quickly escort her to the front door, where Davis waits, ready to usher my guest out.
“Next week?” she asks. I nod. We’ve agreed to meet at least once a week. I clutch the manuscript she gave me. That means I’ll have to find time to read this whole thing before I see her again. “You’ll send me your updates?”
“As soon as possible. I promise.”
After she leaves I turn and find Bunny standing one floor up, watching our exchange. The weird flicker of jealousy returns and there’s something in the look we share, like he knows what I’ve been doing with the others. Sam did say there are no secrets in this house.
My hand brushes against the box Davis delivered to me from Damien and I look down. When I search for Bunny again, he’s gone; whatever moment we shared has passed.
“I’ll be outside,” I say to Davis as though he’s keeping track. He probably is for all I know but he replies with a, “Yes, ma’am,” and I walk back through the library and out the back doors. I pass the couch and unlit fire pit from the night before and touch the spot on my neck.
What am I doing? These men and their good looks and unconditional support have me rattled. The commitment to their craft and unmistakable sexual energy is difficult to ignore. I will myself to stop, but it’s like a craving I can’t control. I keep walking toward Damien’s workshop, carrying the box in my hand, feeling a distinct tug between my navel and the man I know is inside.
“Hey,” he says as I cross the threshold of his sweltering studio. It’s not a question. He doesn’t seem remotely surprised to find me in his doorway.
“You left this for me?” I hold up the box and he puts his tools down on the table. He’s not wearing his apron, but a ripped and faded pair of cargo pants and a black shirt with the sleeves torn off.
“Yes, I made it for you. Do you like it?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet.”
He frowns and walks over, taking the box from my hand. It opens with a slight creak and inside is the most beautiful silver and gold ring I’ve ever seen.
“You made this?”
It’s a stupid question. It’s obvious and I’ve seen his work. But to be given something so exquisite…it renders me speechless. Damien fills the silence by removing the ring from the box and taking my hand. He slips the ring on my finger—my ring finger—and it’s a perfect fit—almost as if it molds to my finger. A spark of electricity jolts through my body as the metal warms to my skin and I feel charged.
I feel aroused.
The worry and jealousy with Anita earlier vanish and I look up into his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Never take it off, Morgan.”