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“I…”
“There’s no rush, beautiful girl.”
“Nothing’s final, either.”
My eyes tear up. They’re adorable—in their harsh, brow-furled kind of way—when they complete each other’s sentences.
“I don’t need to think. I have it.” I blink away the emotional tears, leveling each man with a serious gaze. “The three of us are in this together. We shouldn’t pair up.” I grab their hands, squeezing with everything I have in me. “Unless we all agree on it. Is that okay?”
Their thumbs stroke the inside of my wrist. I start hearing their inner communication. Wordlessly, they say they had the same thing in mind.
“We’ll continue this conversation this evening.” Killian releases my hand, but doesn’t move to get up. His fingers wrap around my neck. “Stay here until then, okay?”
“In the penthouse?” I frown. “Why?”
“You’re ours,” Carter growls.
“That’s supposed to be an answer?”
“Yes,” they answer simultaneously.
“Do I have a say in this?”
“No.” Carter bites my shoulder. He’s cute, even when he’s possessive as fuck.
“If you need to get out of the house for something, anything, call Carter or me and we’ll come to pick you up.” Killian offers me another one of his small smiles that makes me forget my annoyance. “Be your drivers for the weekend. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like I’ve been kidnapped.” They both smile now, and suddenly, being a prisoner in this ivory tower doesn’t sound terrible. “Okay. Fine.”
“Don’t let anyone in.” Carter’s voice is the most somber I’ve ever heard him. “For the off chance the guy who broke into your apartment followed us somehow.”
He’s worried. I’m not. The random burglar won’t bother with stalking me anymore. He’ll just find another person to attack.
Oh, fuck. I’ll be the one to blame for someone else getting hurt. Maybe even dying.
Then again, I didn’t file a complaint so the police wouldn’t lock Carter up for kicking the asshole’s ass.
When it comes to choosing between Carter and other people…I choose Carter. Every single time.
“I won’t open the door. No one comes in here no matter what.” I kiss the two men’s stubbled cheeks. “Swear.”
“Such a good girl,” both of them tell me.
Then they carry me to a long, hot shower.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amara
Carter and Killian went to work a couple of hours ago.
I’m where they ordered me to be. Curled up on one of their leather couches in their office, same place I’ve been hanging in ever since they left.
My damp hair drapes on the front of Carter’s black T-shirt I’m wearing. It doesn’t chill my skin, though. Impossible when Killian insisted I wear his beneath Carter’s.
He claimed he wasn’t sure it’d work between us. Silly man.
I bring both collars of their shirts to my nose, sniffing their distinctive, manly scents.
