Kandy
I’m helplessly in love with my stepbrother and his two smoking hot best friends. Much to my mother’s horrifying dismay.
If I ever sat down to write a romance novel the first line would be: Three Ways to Blowtorch Your Love Life or maybe Dumpster Fire 101 Goes Something Like This...
Don’t get me wrong, there’s more than one way to incinerate your life, but loving the wrong man from the start is like taking a Ferrari and tossing a Molotov cocktail through an open window. Disaster and regret are almost instantaneous.
Heap on a couple more men to the emotional bandwagon and you have one clusterfuck of a mess.
And I’m not just saying they are gorgeous. I mean it. All three have yards of tight muscle, delectable rock-hard abs and incredibly defined asses only made in Texas. All facts I’ve tried very hard to ignore, but let’s face it. I’ve got it bad for men I can’t have.
And if wanting a tabooed cliche romance isn’t bad enough in a small town, as SEALs, I only see them twice a year. And all three gorgeous beasts are over ten years my senior.
I live in a one-stoplight town in the middle of Texas. Believe me when I say gossiping is everyone’s numero uno pastime and their favorite topic is me—Kandy Lockhart—disheartened chick with too many freckles to be considered pretty, not a lover to speak of, a job offer from a tech company known for going through secretaries like I do Ben and Jerry’s on a Saturday night, and about thirty unanswered resumés which is seriously denting my ego.
So yeah, watch out world. I’m coming for you.
But I haven’t given up hope yet. I shelve my terrible romance novel idea so I can chase another. I flick on my blinker, turning left toward the calm waters of Lake Serene. Loose gravel crunches as I roll to a stop alongside two Harleys at our town’s small marina a few miles from home. I shove my car into park and slide out from behind the wheel, but I don’t get more than a couple of feet before my knees lock.
This is probably a bad idea right up there with the time I tried dyeing my hair purple in fourth grade. I’d wanted to take charge of my destiny and become a mermaid back then. Now, several years later, and I still want full control over my destiny, but I’m pretty sure what I’m about to do will end no better than the shitty brown I got when mixing orange Kool-Aid with grape for that magical hair moment that never happened.
I flick my gaze toward the rearview mirror at the long blond tresses hanging over my shoulder. At least I have better hair now. I secured the thick mess into a quick ponytail on my rush out the door before my mother could yell after me. I yank the band out and shake my hair until it falls over my shoulders and down my back in sexy waves.
I didn’t exactly pull together a fail-proof plan before jumping in my car and heading over here to Atlas’ boathouse. I need all the tools I have available if what I’m about to do stands a chance of working.
Atlas, Brogan, and Ryder stay here when they are on furlough. Tonight is their last night in town and God only knows when I’ll see them next. If I’ll see them. I’m not ignorant of the dangers they face each time they leave home.
And I go back to New York City in the morning and if all goes well, I know this is the last time I’ll lay eyes on this place. So tonight is ride or die. That revelation breaks my heart, but what else can I do? How long am I expected to bottle up how I feel about them? Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. I thought, hoped, and wished on everything I am that going off to college would change how I feel about all three of them, but the longer I’m around boys my age the more I crave the maturity of men like my SEALs. I don’t know if I should think of them as mine, but the heart wants what it wants. Maybe if I keep thinking it, the Universe will surprise me.
But it sure is taking its damn time about things. Years of living with my feelings is a long time to keep shit to myself. We’d gone from frenemies in the early days of our parents being married to cool with each other by the time I grew breasts and ditched my braces. Fast forward to when I started craving the touch of a man, and Atlas was no longer my stepbrother in my eyes but a full-fledged raging hot alpha man who had muscles galore and two friends I couldn’t keep my eyes off. By that time, he had been out of the house and in the Navy for a while. Ryder and Brogan as well. Which only made them all the more irresistible.
Needless to say, my older teen years were plagued with wishful thinking and daydreams of him riding up on his Harley, Brogan, and Ryder rumbling in beside him, and all three of them whisking me away to be theirs. Our dusty town shrinking into nothing in the rearview mirror.
To make matters worse, I’ve grown close to them over the last couple of years. We chat, email, and always check in on each other. But it never feels like enough. My conversations with Brogan and Ryder had grown more intense these past few months to downright inappropriate. But now? Pure radio silence since the day they arrived home on leave two weeks ago. And Atlas? I walk into a room, and he walks out. Every. Damn. Time. I might as well be living on the moon. The climate there would be damn near tropical in comparison.
I smile to myself. Tonight, I plan on changing that. Take the battle to them. One way or another someone is going to break tonight, and I’ll finally be able to share exactly how I feel.
The sound of heavy footfalls and a throaty grunt pulls me out of my thoughts.
“How long have you been out here, baby?”
Involuntarily, my breath hitches. I turn at the sound of a deep voice to find Brogan walking up behind me wearing a smile made of sin. Low-slung jeans encase thick thighs and a plain navy-blue T-shirt hugs bulging muscles Uncle Sam made in spades over the last few years of Brogan’s service.
Tall, evening stubble covering his sharp jawline, black hair, and brown eyes so dark they appear black. The man is a picture of walking sex appeal with the look of pure heat on his face. The short sleeves of his cotton T-shirt have a hard time covering all that tanned muscle. I force my eyes off taut pecs and perfect arms to find his deeply brown gaze. Heat pulses through me. My body’s go-to reaction at the sight of him. I imagine he and the other two have a hard time fighting off all the women in any part of the world the military sends them. The constant grip around my heart where they are involved constricts at the thought.
With a roll of my shoulder, I play it cool. “Not too long. I brought cake. Thought you guys would like a slice of sweetness even though you missed Momma’s summer party tonight.” I’d been gutted when none of them showed up so if anyone is to blame for me being here instead of packing my own bags it’s them.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls in the sexiest Southern twang and my fucking heart drops to the rocks between my feet.
After mentally picking up my heart, I reach through the open window of my car, and I swear I hear a throaty growl the second my ass is in the air. My insides crank up the heat a few degrees.
“Figured we’d use our last night home to fully relax. Not shake hands of every damn needy politician she can pull from the woodworks for her causes.”
I turn back around to find his eyes on my ass. I fight back a smile and hold up the cake. “Can’t blame you for wanting time alone, I guess. Idle chit-chat isn’t really any of y’alls style. But who can say no to chocolate, double-dipped fudge? It would be a crime to miss this.”
Fine lines around his eyes pinch together and give him a mature look of confidence. And there’s no mistaking the hunger in those eyes when he says, “Agreed. You know us well, baby.”
He walks up beside me and wraps an arm around my middle and pulls my smaller frame into his larger one. Warmth of the day’s sunshine radiates from him into me. I inhale and glorious hallelujah; he smells so damn good. Like a soft masculine cologne mixed with the scent of leather from their bikes. And all those pent-up years of sensual pain from not knowing his touch eases a fraction. Not fully. For that I would need all three of them, but this is a good start.
Ryder steps out of the boathouse and walks up the dock to join us. He’s just as tall with hair a few shades darker than Brogan’s. On more than one occasion I’ve found myself wondering if they are brothers but, no. Just best friends. Lucky me.
My heart races watching Ryder’s muscular form move with a predatory grace across the graveled lot. I feel sorry for anyone on the receiving end of his wrath. They would never see it coming before he ripped off their heads. Normally laid back, I know my silent warrior is anything but when pissed or protecting those who he loves.
I saw it firsthand during senior prom night. My date took me parking and had a hard time taking no for an answer. To the point I had a few bruises around my neck for my efforts. That night I got to see the demon my Ryder holds at bay when I’m around. I’m not stupid. I know being a SEAL hardens a man. And it takes a bigger man not to carry that baggage home.
Poor paisley Simon with his blond hair and pale eyes. The twit peed all over himself when my steel-eyed savior rode up beside us on his thunderous Harley, yanked my date out his car window, and taught him the meaning of no the hard way. Needless to say, he had a few bruises of his own to explain to his parents. Riding back to my house on the back of Ryder’s bike, my arms around his middle and legs encasing his thighs, felt like a dream.
Atlas and Brogan had helped me off the bike and the second I was in all three of their arms I knew they were my destiny. We stayed like that in the middle of our long driveaway. The night curling around us and a lot of unspoken desires left untouched.
And then they left. Their duty always coming first. It left me broken-hearted and cold and unsure of where I fit in their world and mine.
But that’s in the past. Tonight I’m going to make sure there are words said and a helluva lot more if I get my way.
Right now, insanely gorgeous is the only thought that comes to mind with how well Ryder fills in a pair of wranglers and his plain white T-shirt. God, I love this man. His eyes hold mine and that heat Brogan stirred to life inside me grows fierce and I can’t seem to pull my gaze from Ryder’s. He’s the very reason women love a roughened cowboy. Only this SEAL rides a Harley instead of a horse. He’s the complete package, but in my opinion it’s his eyes that have my full attention. Gray, piercing and wholly captivating. When he looks at me it’s like I’ve stepped into his web, and I want to be eaten.