Page 41 of Secret Heart
“Better but not gone,” she whispers. “The… the haze has faded, though.”
Beau nods and then he’s pressing kisses up my neck, his teeth pulling the skin hard enough my back arches. I swallow back a whine when her lock releases. She eases back to her knees before getting off, letting me sit up. Her hands trail down my arm as I stand and disappear into the bathroom to get rid of the condom.I freeze in the middle of their bathroom, just stand there, as I try to work up the courage to grab my clothes and leave.
It’s where Beau finds me a few minutes later.
He doesn’t say anything, just laces our fingers together and pulls me back into their bedroom. Emily’s in a thin slip that hugs her curves like water. She holds out her hand, too.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “It’s not like we ever did this before.”
Not until that last night, at least. Not like this.
Emily rolls her eyes. “Get over here. This isn’t that summer, and you know it. Let me give you more touch.”
I don’t have it in me to fight her. Beau slides in behind me, covering all three of us with the lightweight quilt from the bottom of the bed. Emily molds her curves to me, her hand warm and grounding on my thigh and her lips soft on my sternum. Beau’s legs mix with ours, his knee slipping between mine. My eyes close, exhaustion roaring up on me.
“Vanilla flowers?” Emily asks. Her lips run over the tattoo that covers my chest, right over my heart. I can tell the portion she traces, the flowers first and then the cowboy hat and then the small Monroe Ranch logo emblazoned in the center of the hat.
My cheeks heat. “Um, yeah.”
She pulls away. When I manage to look at her, her eyes are full of the question. I shrug as much as Beau’s hold allows.
“It didn’t seem fair to bog us all down with strings when the whole point was none. But when I was gone, after I lost all contact because of the doxxing…” I swallow, and my scent pulses. The sour edge is gone for the moment. “I wanted to hold onto it, protect it. So I had an artist draw something that reminded me of both of you. I’ve been told it’s overly feminine because of the flowers but…”
Vanilla falls over me, that possessive edge to it again.
“I like it,” she whispers.
The words follow me into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BEAU
Triston’s sprawled in the bed when I wake to my alarm buzzing, sore and sated. I palm his thigh, tracing the still-dark bruise left from the cow last weekend. He shifts under the touch, turning into me, pulling his hips into mine without ever opening his eyes. Cloves surround us, and I smile into his shoulder.
“Good morning,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond, his breathing lengthening again into the cadence of sleep. I brush a curl away from his face and press my lips to his temple, the same way I do with Emily. He sighs in his sleep and then relaxes fully against me. For a while, I enjoy the intimacy of it all, running my hands down his spine and along his hip.
My phone vibrates, and I carefully ease away from his touch with a sigh. It’s a text from Ethan.
You’re good to sleep in. Kyle and Jake are doing the herds today.
Tell Triston he can sleep in, too.
I frown. How in the hell does Ethan know Triston stayed here?
It takes me an embarrassingly long time to remember that Triston’s been using Scott’s SUV. Fuck, I hope they didn’t panic when it wasn’t in the driveway this morning. Is it a little cringe to know Ethan’s very aware we spent the night fucking Triston? Yeah, a bit. But at least he texted me and not Emily. I’m too sore and tired and emotionally drained to handle the fallout of Ethan pestering Emily over her choice in lovers.
I send him back a simple text.
Alright.
Then I get out of bed and pull on a pair of sweats and the flannel of mine Emily’d worn last night. The baby monitor’s plugged in on Emily’s nightstand, and I take it with me into the kitchen, shoving it in a pocket and closing the door soundlessly behind me. There’s half of a French press of coffee sitting on the counter. I pour it and the creamer into a mug, then step out onto the porch. The warmth of the coffee stings my freshly-scabbed hand, but I ignore the pain.
Emily’s perched in one of the rocking chairs, exactly where I expected her to be. There’s dark circles under her eyes, but her body is as relaxed and sated as Triston’s, that small curve to her lips that tells me she’s feeling pretty damn good. I stop in front of her and hold out my hand.
“Up.”
