Page 6 of My Brother's Best Friends

The battery is dead, so I leave it to charge while I wander into the bathroom where all of my clothes are still lying on the floor. Once I’m done gathering them, I brush my teeth and comb my hair, then turn my phone on and discover that it’s almost noon.

“I slept like a frickin’ queen for eight whole hours. Well done, Kay.”

I’m not sure if the Anderson triplets will be in the suite or not, but there’s no time like the present to announce my arrival.

With the robe cinched around my waist, I step out into the common area. I’m disappointed to discover that none of the guys are here. Two doors are open, which means they’re awake. The third door is closed. They’re probably off enjoying the slopes or getting some work done before lunch.

“Too late for that Swedish buffet, though,” I tell myself, then shrug. “Ah, well, I’ll try again tomorrow. Now, where the heck are they?”

They all work together, and my brother’s with them, so my first instinct is to check the executive lounge on the resort’s ground floor.

Last night, I gave the suite a cursory glance, but there’s a ton of stuff I missed. In one corner, there’s a bookshelf with all the latest paperback novels and a few board games. Turning around, I find myself facing a set of glass doors. I walk outside to discover that there’s a private hot tub on our balcony, overlooking the mountain in the distance.

The view is breathtaking. The ski slopes rise high above us, covered in shimmering white snow. The day is crisp and clear. My breath escapes in little puffs, causing me to shiver and draw my robe tighter. I wonder what it would be like to take a dip in the hot tub and watch the sun climb toward its peak.

“Why wonder?” I decide that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I hurry back inside, excited to start my day in such a decadent fashion.

After a quick rummage through my bags, I unearth the two-piece bathing suit I knew I’d packed. It’s more sporty than revealing, with enough fabric to support my breasts. After I slip into the suit, I walk back to the living room to pick a book. Might as well do some light reading, so I grab the one with a hot guy on the cover.

And as if the gods weren’t generous enough already, I find all the ingredients I need to whip up a mimosa, too.

“Perfect.”

Arms loaded with champagne, orange juice, a single flute, and my book, I head for the balcony.

I hook the door open with a bare toe and step outside—only to wobble and let both bottles thunk down at my feet.

“Crap!” I blurt, then sag with relief when I see the bottles are intact.

The balcony’s rubberized flooring must be the kind bars use to keep bottles from shattering—smart. Even smarter, discreet heaters push warm air around me, holding back the bite of the Swedish winter beyond.

It’s still cold, but not as cold as it could be.

The book slips from beneath my arm and flops open at my feet. “No, no, no!” Now I’m clutching a single flute of champagne—and wearing a swimsuit that suddenly feels far less conservative than I’d believed.

“Makayla?” A deep male voice startles me.

I hadn’t even noticed him—I’d been too busy fumbling through my clumsy entrance.

A stunning specimen of masculinity lounges in the hot tub, feet propped on the rim, muscular arms draped over the headrests. He must’ve come out when I was in the kitchen. I recognize him—at least I think I do. Oscar… or maybe Alex? I blink hard, wondering if it’s Kellan instead.

My throat slams shut, not allowing me to speak. My fantasy of the night before comes back to haunt me. Heat floods my cheeks as I recall two pairs of hands caressing my skin.

“Hello,” I manage.

“Hello,” he says. “Wow, you’ve grown up.”

It’s not exactly the spicy talk from my dream, but it’s close enough. I clear my throat, looking down at the mess I’ve made.

“Shoot.” I crouch to steady the bottles, leaving the glass where it is until I regain my bearings.

The Greek-god hunk slides over, patting the water. “Hop in.”

I grin, granting myself full permission to enjoy the moment as I glide toward the Jacuzzi. Nothing feels out of the ordinary—at least that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s not like I’m actively courting trouble… even the delicious, spicy kind.

3

---