Page 49

But I have to think this through. We didn't really have much of a chance to talk about stuff last night, other than for him to confirm that Jax hadn't been full of shit. I have questions.

Some of them aren't easy ones, though. "So this has always been your plan, then? Come home and find some girl who's willing to sleep with all of you?"

A tight knot of anxiety forms in my lungs. I can't entirely explain it, except I don't want that to be what this is about.

Cayden reaches out. He takes my hand and stares deep into my eyes. "We were waiting foryou. We didn't know it yet, but we were."

He sounds so sincere, is the thing. But there's this unhappy brain cell in the back of my mind that says it could have been anyone. They all seem to like me well enough, but I'm disposable.

For a moment, Richard's frowning face swims before my vision. For him, I really could have been anyone.

And here, I'd imagined he could bethe one.

"Okay," I finally say. But it's less because I believe Cayden's promise that I'm special and more because I'm paralyzed by my own conviction that I'm not.

He senses at least a little of my doubt. "I don't expect you to accept this all at once. None of us do. But soon enough, you'll see. You fit here."

I nod again. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my lips. That helps—it really does.

It just isn't quite enough.

We settle in for the night soon after. Maybe it's a little weird that I've slept with four of the five men in this house, but I always end up here. Cayden keeps extending the invitation, though, and I keep accepting. He feels safe. Comfortable.

Even his presence can't quiet my mind tonight, though.

Exhausted as I am, physically and emotionally, I can't seem to settle. Long after Cayden has slipped off to sleep, I lie there, my mind going a hundred miles an hour.

Finally, I give up. I manage to sneak out from under Cayden's arm and dress in the dark. Grabbing the book I've been reading, I pad to the door and out into the hall.

It's late, but there are still signs of life in the house. While most of the closed bedroom doors I pass are dark, the muted sounds of some sort of action flick drift through the air. A mindless movie holds a certain appeal, but in the end, I'm craving solitude more.

Funny, how I left my grandmother's house in part because I was afraid to stay there alone. But after a few days of almost constantly being surrounded by people, I'm ready for a little alone time.

Avoiding the big den where the TV lives, I head for the living room.

I pause right at the threshold, though. Turns out, I don't have this space to myself, either.

And its occupant is a decorated ex-military sniper.

At the tiniest, barely audible squeak of a floorboard beneath my feet. Sergio lifts his head. His dark gaze settles on me. Wordlessly, he lifts his brows.

His calm quiet flusters me. I trip over my words. "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not."

His voice washes over me, honey warm.

"I just. Couldn't sleep. So." I hold up my book helplessly.

To my surprise, he holds up one of his own. It's a big, thick one, too—non-fiction from the look of it. My cozy mystery suddenly feels about as thin as the paper it's printed on. My reading's been about fun and comfort, lately, though. I'm just glad I didn't bring down one of my steamy romance novels.

He points to the low fire crackling away in the hearth and the blanket draped over the side of the couch. "Plenty of room, if you want."

It's an awfully tempting invitation. I thought I was craving solitude, but maybe it was just quiet. Sharing silence and a nice warm reading nook doesn't sound half bad. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all." When I waver, he flashes a crooked, self-effacing smile at me. "Promise I won't talk too much."

I chuckle at that. Yeah, too much chatter is definitely not what I'm worried about when it comes to hanging out with Sergio.