Page 45 of My Cowboy Trouble
They exchange a look—one of those male communication things that apparently transcends awkwardness.
"Why not?" Gavin asks, picking up another piece of my clothing. "It was a good night. A very, very good night."
"The best," Trent agrees quietly, and the heat in his voice makes my stomach flip.
Thunder crashes again, and the lights flicker.
"C’mon," Trent orders, but he's still looking at me like he's remembering exactly how I taste. "This storm's going to get worse."
"I mean to tell you, those are interesting," he says, running a finger inside the waistband of my panties. "Were these for us?"
"Hands off." I smack his hand away, trying to ignore how my body responds to his knowing smirk.
"I'm just saying, for someone who claims she wasn't planning anything except ranch work, you sure packed optimistic underwear." He steps closer, backing me against the dresser. "Almost like you wanted to be ready for something."
"Gavin—"
"Almost like you thought we'd end up exactly where we did." His hands bracket me against the furniture, not touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. "With you begging for more."
"I didn't beg."
"'Please, Gavin, don't stop, right there, harder'—" he mocks in a high-pitched voice.
I slap my hand over his mouth. "Shut up."
He licks my palm, and I jerk my hand away.
"Let’s get back to where we’re all under one roof.” He practically swaggers out into the rain, leaving me standing there trying to catch my breath.
I take one last look at the rapidly flooding guesthouse, and follow him into the storm.
By the timeI make it to the main house, I'm soaked through, my hair plastered to my head, and my white tank top has become completely transparent. Which I don't realize until I'm standing in the entrance hall with all three guys staring at me like hungry wolves.
"What?" I ask, then look down. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
Asher appears with a towel, but instead of handing it to me, he steps behind me and wraps it around my shoulders himself, his hands lingering on my arms. "Not that we're complaining about the view, darlin'. Brings back good memories from last night."
"Very good memories," Gavin agrees, his eyes practically glowing.
"Go dry off," Trent says, his voice strangled.
"You remember where your room is, right? The one right between Gavin's and mine?" Asher adds, hisbreath warm against my ear. "So convenient. Such easy access."
"Don’t forget, across from Trent's," Gavin chimes in. "It's almost like we planned it. Almost."
"Nobody planned anything," Trent says firmly, but his eyes haven't left my chest.
Sir Clucks-a-Lot chooses that moment to strut through the open door, shaking water everywhere. He fixes his one good eye on me and crows triumphantly.
"Even the rooster knows where she belongs," Gavin laughs.
"He's not supposed to be in the house," Trent protests, finally looking away from me.
But Sir Clucks is already making himself at home, strutting toward the kitchen like he owns the place.
"I'll get him," I say, desperate for an excuse to escape their heated gazes.
"I'll help," Asher offers, following close behind.
