Page 6

But some things are different. Most of the feminine touches are gone, and I swallow hard.

Cayden lost his mom and dad a few years after I'd left the mountain. I heard about it too late to go to the funeral. I sent a card and even tried to call, but he'd already been gone. To hear my grandmother tell of it, he'd barely waited for them to be put in the ground before signing up for the army and shipping off. He couldn't bear to be here without them.

But he's back now. And he's not alone.

I'm reminded of that fact by the gruff sounds of voices coming from the kitchen. I knew there were other men living here, but the reality still makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

"Come on," Cayden says, leaning in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Let me introduce you to the guys."

4

For a second, I think I've wandered onto the set of a sexy calendar photoshoot.

Cayden stands at my back as we enter the kitchen, brightly lit with what must be an entire store's worth of candles. Jax shoves past us and heads straight to the fridge for a beer. He cracks it open and brings it to his lips, and the sight of him like that, head leaned back, throat bobbing with the deep pulls he's taking off that can should be riveting.

Only it's got some stiff competition.

By the stove, there's a pale guy with red hair stirring a pot of something that smells delicious. A green thermal shirt clings to his leanly muscled chest and firm shoulders, cargo pants riding low on his hips while suspenders hang uselessly but tantalizingly from the waistband.

Beside him, back turned to the counter, is a broad man with deeply tanned skin and silky black hair that falls in uneven waves to the collar of his blue denim shirt. A toothpick dangles from his sexy, full lips, and dark stubble decorates his chin.

The final mountain man in the kitchen finishes washing out a frying pan and hangs it from a hook on the wall, then turns, andmy throat goes dry. He's huge—a solid foot taller than me. His skin is the color of midnight, and his eyes are just as dark. His hair is buzzed short, but a full beard decorates his chin and jaw. He must have splashed himself doing the dishes, because his thin black T-shirt is plastered to his chest, showing off the dips and ridges of hard, cut muscle.

My head spins, looking at these guys. They all were kind enough to pay their respects at my grandmother's funeral, but I didn't have a chance to really appreciate them, then. Now it's all I can do.

I must make some sort of noise, because their chatter cuts off abruptly. The all turn to look at me, and that feeling of intense vulnerability rears its head again.

And again, I don't mind.

Jesus. There's not a man here who isn't a specimen. If any one of them made a move on me, I'd be tempted. No one does, though. At least not right then.

A warm hand grazes the small of my back, slipping beneath my jacket. Cayden's touch is brief but steadying. "Hey, guys."

A round of "hey"s ring out in reply.

"You remember my friend, Haley."

They nod. The guy by the stove connects his gaze with mine. His voice is a low rumble, cut by a deep southern accent. "Sorry to hear about your grandma, miss. She sounded like a fine woman."

My heart squeezes. "She was," I manage to squeak out. "Thank you."

"Sorry." He shakes his head and sets down his spoon, then wipes his hand on his pants before stepping forward and holding it out. "Adam."

I hesitate, glancing at Cayden for some reason I can't explain. He nods, and it gives me the confidence I was apparently looking for. I put my palm in Adam's, and he closes his fingers aroundmy hand, and wow. He has a firm grip. His hand is smooth, despite his rough-hewn look, and all I can think about is how it would feel on my body, sliding over my inner thighs or cupping my breasts.

His green eyes sparkle. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

Cayden steers me to the left as Adam lets go, toward the man with the toothpick and the thick hair just begging for me to run my fingers through it. As I focus on him more fully, I notice a fine web of scarring on one side of his face. It runs down his throat, toward the ink that peeks out from under the collar of his shirt.

I'm taken aback for a moment, but then the guy smiles, and you'd never even notice his injury.

Cayden holds his hand out toward him. "And this mook is Sergio."

"Hola," Sergio says.

Oh. His voice is warm velvet.