“We tried, but then Pete sicced his dog on me,” Sam grouses. He sits down on the arm of the couch. Emily’s in Logan’s lap in the lazy chair, and Matt and Paul are on the other couch.
“Who’s the girl?” Paul asks, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom.
I look toward it, and my insides go soft just thinking about her. “Her name is Reagan. You don’t care if she spends the night, do you?”
Sam raises his hand like a teacher is calling on him in class. “She can sleep in my room.”
I throw a pillow at his head, but he ducks and it sails past him.
“Is that the Reagan?” Matt asks. He reaches for a can of nuts on the coffee table and pops a handful into his mouth.
“Yeah,” I reply. “But don’t mention that to her, will you?” They all know about the rape. “And don’t act like you pity her when she’s around, all right? She’s private about that stuff.”
“I don’t pity her,” Emily says. “I admire the hell out of her.” She steals Matt’s nuts by crawling into his lap and prying them from his hands. He bats at her fingers, but he’s playing. He f**king loves Emily. We all do.
“Well, I think I love the hell out of her, so you guys be nice.”
My brothers freeze. All but Sam, and he’s busy trying to steal the can of nuts from Emily. She knocks him over the head with it, and he gives up, sulking.
“You love her?” Paul asks quietly.
I can’t bite back my grin. “Yeah.”
“He’s got the coochie disease,” Sam says. “You know, the one where you get some and can’t stop thinking about getting some more.”
I throw another pillow at his head. “We haven’t even done that,” I say quietly. I look toward the door. I don’t want her to hear me.
“You haven’t?” Matt asks. He walks over and sits down on top of Emily, who’s still in Logan’s lap, and steals the nuts back from her. She squirms under him and finally gives up. He holds out a cashew for her, and she opens her mouth like a baby bird so he can pop it in. Then he climbs off her.
“Nope.” God, they’re nosy. “She has an apartment across town, over near where Emily lives.”
“Oh, then we can take her home,” Emily chirps. But she’s already harassing Matt for the can of nuts again. He pins her down on the couch with his elbow and eats them while refusing to let her up. “Logan!” she whines, but she’s laughing.
Logan just smiles. She gets herself into these messes; she can get herself out.
“I want her to stay here,” I say, shaking my head at Emily. Matt lets her up, and she leans against him with her head on his shoulder. He likes to cuddle with her. She’s like a sister to all of us, and I hope Reagan will fit in as well as Emily does one day. But I really can’t imagine her wrestling with them the way Emily does.
“What happened to your eye?” Paul asks. My eye is still a little blue from when she hit me.
“Reagan hit me,” I admit. Logan grins.
“Marry her,” Logan says. “Marry her right away.”
I nod. “I think I might,” I say quietly. I watch their faces. They all look at me, and then Logan starts to laugh. He gets up and high-fives me.
“Thank God,” he says. “I thought Emily would be the only girl around her forever.”
“Emily’s not a girl,” Matt says, grimacing at the thought of it. She shoots him a heated glance. But she’s not a girl. Not to any of us.
“So, you guys will be nice to her, right?” I ask.
“Duh,” Sam says drolly as he walks into the kitchen and gets a beer. He brings one to me, but I shake my head. I’m going to have Reagan in my arms for the first time ever tonight, and I want to keep my head straight.
I hear the bathroom door open and get up. Reagan walks to stand beside me and whispers, “Which room is ours?” Her hair is loose and damp, hanging down over her shoulders. Her face is free of makeup, and she smells so damn good that I want to lick her. I adjust my junk, and Matt snickers. I scowl at him, and he nods toward the bedroom. It’s a subtle warning, but I take it. “It was nice to meet you, Reagan,” he says.
“You too,” she calls back, but I’m already ushering her toward our room. I wait for Maggie to walk into the room with us and then close and lock the door. She looks around. “I’m nervous,” she says quickly. She puts down her bag, and I notice she’s wearing the clothes she had on before.
“Do you need something to sleep in?” I ask.
She shakes her head and smiles shyly at me, avoiding my gaze. “Could you turn around for a second?” she asks.
I grin, and it makes me so f**king happy that she asked. I hear a rustle of clothing and sheets behind me, and I look back to find her sliding between the sheets of the bed we’ll share. And she’s stark f**king nak*d. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Going to bed,” she says, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. She rolls onto her side and rests her head in the palm of her hand, her elbow pointed toward the head of the bed. She pats the space beside her. “You coming?”
Her voice is shaking, so I know she’s not nearly as cool as she wants me to think.
I point toward the lump her body makes under the covers. “Are you nak*d under there?” I ask. I’m not sure I can stand sleeping next to her nak*d. I know I asked her to try it. But I’m not sure my nerves can take it.
She lifts the edge of the blanket and looks down. “I still have panties on,” she whispers.
Jesus Christ. I run a hand through my hair. “Okay,” I say slowly.
I kick off my shoes and sit down on the edge of the bed to pull my socks off. Then I shuck my jeans off quickly and pull my shirt over my head. I slide between the sheets in my boxers, trying to stay turned away from her so she won’t see how hard my dick is. The last thing I want to do is scare her.
I feel her fingertips on my arm and heave in a breath. “Jesus,” I say.
Her fingers still. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I croak.
She sits up. “You sure?” She clutches the covers to her chest.
“Yeah,” I bite out. Her fingers start to trace my tattoos again.
“Do you think you could give me a tattoo?” she asks.
Finally, a safe topic. “What do you want?” I ask. I roll over to face her.
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
I roll toward the nightstand and open the drawer. This used to be Logan’s room and he’s an artist, so there’s a drawer full of pens and markers. I pick up a few and lay them on the bed. “Roll over,” I say.
“Why?” Her brow furrows.
“Just trust me,” I say, and I motion for her to roll over again. She does, looking back at me over her shoulder as she moves to lie on her stomach. The blanket is hitched up nearly to her shoulders. “Can I pull this down a little?” I ask.
She nods and wraps her arm around the pillow, then rests her face on it. She smiles softly. “All right,” she says quietly. Her breaths are harsher now, though. And she has goose bumps on her arms and the back of her neck.
I uncap a pen and touch it to her back, drawing a quick little picture of a butterfly. “We can do a butterfly like this one.”
She looks back, rolling a little to look at what I drew, and I see the side of her nak*d breast. Good God. I scrub a hand down my face.
“I like it, but I was thinking more dainty, with vines. Maybe up my side.” She pushes the blankets lower, and I can see the indentations on top of her butt and the elastic of her panties.
“You want thorns?” I ask as I start to draw.
She shakes her head, giggling as I move my way up her side. “That tickles,” she laughs.
“Whatever you get, we’ll have Logan draw it so it’ll be spectacular. Then I can ink you.” I draw vines all the way up her side, and then put a flower on the side of her breast that I can see. I’m a guy. I can’t avoid touching it. It’s there. I want it. “Roll over just a little,” I say, and I give her a nudge.
“Why?” she asks. But she’s already covering her br**sts with her hands as she rolls. I rearrange her fingertips over her left boob so I can finish my drawing. I think I catch a flash of her nipple, and I suck in a breath.
“So pretty,” I breathe.
“Can I see it?” she asks quietly.
“Not until I’m done.” She relaxes as I keep drawing across her stomach. But she’s still, so I nudge her again to get her to roll over. “We could give you a tramp stamp,” I say.
“What’s that?” She giggles.
“A tattoo right over your butt. They used to be really popular.” I start to write some words on top of her butt, and the elastic of her undies gets in my way. “Can I pull these down a little?” I ask quietly. I’m getting into dangerous territory, and I know it.
“Yeah,” she breathes. It’s no more than a puff of air, but it sounds like an air horn.
I fold her panties down so that I can see the tops of her butt cheeks. I smile as I draw. I f**king love that she trusts me this much. “You definitely need a tattoo here,” I say. I rock my h*ps against the mattress, trying to adjust and ease some of the ache in my balls. It doesn’t work.
I give her my shirt to cover her boobs because I can’t stand to look at them plump around her fingertips when she rolls over. I’m too far gone. I gently turn her and lay the shirt over her boobs so I can see her belly. It’s flat, and her h*ps are curvy. I pull her panties down a little so I can draw down the side of her hip.
“You can take them off,” she whispers. Her words are soft but heavy. They fall on my ears like booms of thunder. I’m on my knees between her bent legs, and I look into her face.
“You sure?” I ask.
I can’t help but remember the last time I helped her with her panties, but I push those memories away, and I kiss the inside of her thigh before I pull her undies down her legs and toss them to the side. I draw across her hip, but I keep blankets bunched on the area where I’m not working. I kiss her belly button and dip my tongue inside. She squirms and eases out a breath.
“We should pierce you here,” I say. “You have the perfect belly for it.”
“Where else would you pierce me?” she asks. Her voice is quivering, and I f**king love it. She’s so turned on that she rocks her h*ps up toward my face while I draw over the top of her curly short hairs, the ones that cover her mound. I pull the blankets lower and sift my fingers through her hair and dip into the wet crease. “Here,” I say.
“There?” she breathes, but she squirms against my hand, so I push a little harder. I very gently spread her legs and ease down between them, setting my pens to the side. “All done tattooing me?” she asks. She’s breathing like she just ran a five-minute mile.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask. I don’t want to do anything she doesn’t want.
“You’d have to come up here for that,” she says.