Page 96 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I slip out, cross the hall to the suite I’m sharing with the brothers. My key card slides through the lock.

I push the door and freeze. Sal’s suitcase lies open on the bench. Nico’s laptop glows on the desk. Dante’s sneakers sprawl like claimed territory near the minibar. And three very familiar men lounge on the sectional—no amusement-park wristbands, no cotton candy evidence. Sal’s readingLe Monde, Dante flicks through GoPro footage from who-knows-what, Nico emails with one hand while twirling a pen.

I blink. They blink when they see me. I lick my lips. “Roller coasters look different in Paris.”

Dante leans back, smirking at the other two. Nico sets the pen down. “Truth is, you needed some family time, and we didn’t want to intrude.”

Sal folds the paper, sets it aside. “We also needed time to finalize something.”

“So, you tricked me with roller-coaster lingo?” I try stern but land on affectionate. I can’t be mad at that.

“Think of it as stealth gifting,” Dante says, eyes crinkling.

I drop my purse, fling arms around the nearest liar—Sal. Dante and Nico join the knot, a tangle of limbs, designer fabrics, and relief exhalations.

“You three…” Words fizzle. I swallow a laugh-sob.

Sal kisses my temple. “We’ll tour gravity rides tomorrow. Today belongs to you three.”

I lean back, wipe tears. “She’ll sleep for a few hours, then demand I find the pâtisserie fromEmily in Paris.”

Nico checks the watch he refuses to admit is smart. “We’ll do a soft recon of bakery lines.”

Dante nods sharply once. “Operation Macaron.”

I can’t believe they did this for me. I’m absurdly in love.

We gather around the room’s small dining table. Dante produces pastries from God-knows-where, while Nico pours sparkling water, and Sal texts me a link. “Another viral video, thanks to you.”

I reach for a pistachio Madeleine, break it in half, savor. “Thanks to everyone. It’s a team effort.” Much like love. I can’t helpmyself—I lean and kiss Dante, whose mouth tastes like vanilla from his macaron.

These days, it takes so little to spark me up, and right now, his simple kiss promises more. His hand hooks beneath my hair to hold me closer to him, deepening the kiss. It’s all I can do not to purr in his mouth.

The others take notice, shifting around us until Dante pulls me on top of him as he lies back on the couch cushions. I’m not sure what he’s thinking—there isn’t enough room for the others here. But I’m addicted to his cookie kisses, and I want more.

But then hands lift me up. Four of them under my shoulders, waist, and legs. “What are you doing?”

“What we came to Paris to do,” Sal says. The goofs carry me, face down, to one of the oversized beds. I roll over, but he presses a hand to my low back. “Not yet.” They pull my clothes off until I’m nude before them. Sal then starts massaging my back. “I’ve missed this.”

It’s been a long time since the first time he massaged me. The night we met.

“You can massage me anytime, baby, but right now, I want more.”

“I know,” he says with a teasing lilt.

At that, I roll over and swat his arm. “You brat! You’re teasing me?”

He grins. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“When did I tease you?”

“I seem to recall when you wore that short little dress on the plane and bent over in my face when you were innocently helping your sister with her wheelchair.”

My cheeks flush. I wasn’t sure he’d noticed that. “Don’t blame me. Blame the stewardess you kept eying.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t eying anyone, and you weren’t wearing panties.”

I wink. “Nice of you to notice.”

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