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But we’re landing, and Storm gets up to talk to the pilot and strap himself in, so I close my eyes again and drift with her warmth pressed to my side.
***
Rook and Storm help me to the house, Layla following. Is it weird that I keep twisting my head around to make sure she’s there?
Storm has a strange gleam in his eye as he watches me, and Rook is grinning like he’s rehearsing for a toothpaste ad.
“What?” I grumble as we go up the steps and enter the warmth of the hall. “See anything funny?”
“Jamie fucking Fleming,” Storm says, “crushing on a girl for the first time in history.”
“Watch your mouth, youngster,” I gasp as they drag me off to what I assume is one of the bedrooms.
“You’re what, three months older than me?”
“Older being the only important word here.”
“Kids, shut the fuck up so we can get Hawkster here into the shower,” Rook says, the oldest of us three. “He stinks like an outhouse.”
“When have you ever seen the inside of an outhouse?” I shoot back, but I’m getting too tired to keep it up, and maybe the guys sense it because they carry me the rest of the way in silence.
I catch glimpses of mirror-covered walls and a huge king-size bed before we move into the en suite bathroom. It has a big shower and a sunken tub.
“A bath might be a better idea,” Storm says, hesitating at the door, his arm around my back the only thing keeping me up right now. “And he can eat something at the same time.”
“He’ll drown,” Rook grumbles.
“Not if someone is in the tub with him.”
“Not getting in the tub with you,” I grind out, because hell no, not even to save my goddamn life.
“Who said anything about me?” Storm says. “Layla, would you? You’d be saving water, too, saving the planet.”
“Jesus, Storm. Such bullshit.” Rook sounds pained. “Excuse my friend, princess.”
“It’s fine,” she says, appearing in front of me, her face filling my vision. “I’ll bathe with him—but only if you two promise to stay out.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Storm says solemnly, and I would punch him if I could. “What? God, it fucking sucks to be the youngest.”
***
A middle-aged housekeeper in a gray and white uniform, complete with frilly apron and a granny-bun, bustles inside while Storm and Rook seat me on a white bench running along one wall.
“Gentlemen,” she says briskly and starts filling the tub, then opens a hidden cupboard and takes out fluffy towels. “Anything else you might require?”
I glance in the direction of the bedroom where Layla went to undress and lick my dry lips, rubbing my hand over the tats on my chest.
Those damn roses.
“Dinner,” Storm says. “Any soup the chef has ready, and the grilled chicken. Not too much. Also juice, that tropical one Hawk likes, and water. I will see about the painkillers.”
It all sound good. To be perfectly honest, right now dry bread and water would sound amazing.
She bustles out, and I allow the guys to undress me, mostly because I’m too fucking gone and too achy to bend over and do it myself. Shoes, sock, pants, underwear, shirt, everything ends up in a stinky, bloodied pile on the gleaming, pristine floor.
“Motherfucker.” Rook shakes his head, staring at my torso. “Those are some damn nasty bruises. You went all smartass on their boss, didn’t you?”
Did I mention he knows me well?
