Page 8

Firelight outlined his body, his thickly muscled arm around my waist, the bunching of his shorts below his ass, the bulging calves of his legs where they entangled with mine…and Roark’s.

Michio removed his hand to wrap it around my throat, his breath tumbling against my temple. “Let’s go.”

Okay, yeah. Good idea. To the shadowed corner of the room? The creaky porch? The dusky recesses of the forest? Nowhere was private enough. Not with two other overprotective men breathing down my neck.

I pulled away from Roark, but he caught my hand and pressed it against his erection. His eyes raised to my face, the emerald depths rotating like a windy forest. “Stay.”

My chest hitched, and I yanked against the shackle of his fingers. Michio understood the nature of my relationship with Roark, perhaps better than I did, but that didn’t mean he liked it. The sudden stillness behind me confirmed it.

I yanked again, no give. “Roark? What are you doing?”

The fingers around my neck vanished, as did the heat at my back. In the next breath, Michio stood over us, shorts in place and expression as forthcoming as a rock. Ever the strong, silent type, Michio simply looked at my hand where Roark held it against his hard cock. Michio’s stance was unreadable, but the man who simmered beneath it did not like to share.

I will kill any man who tries to own ye like a thing to possess.

Roark’s words, and I’d learned not to take anything he said lightly. But he’d never been so bold as to interfere while I was in Michio’s arms. If my suspicion was correct, Roark was asking—no, demanding—he join me and Michio.

Problem was, Michio was seconds from a throw down.

I twisted and jerked my wrist, and when Roark finally released it with a shove, I grabbed the t-shirt beside the bedroll and climbed to my feet. Hurrying to cover myself—neck hole, arm hole, inside-out, fuck it—I shoved the hem down and backed away from the approaching storm. I should say something, but what exactly?

“Ye den’ own her.” Roark’s brogue rumbled low and deep.

I dropped my head back and stared at the rotting rafters. “He knows that.”

Roark sat up and dangled his arms over bent knees. “Den’ think he does, love.”

The only thing Michio moved was his eyes, tracking the flex of Roark’s hands and probably the change in his breaths. Michio never attacked, never threw the first strike. No, he waited for it, his impossible stillness baiting it, and whenever it came, he annihilated.

So when Roark rose and rolled back his shoulders, I stepped between them, facing Roark. “Talk to me.”

A head taller, he lowered his chin, eyes on mine. “This isn’t going to work.”

“What?” I knew what but needed specifics.

“Him”—he jabbed a finger over my shoulder—“stealing off with ye in the middle of the night.” His hand lowered, fisting at his side. “Scuppering me chances with ye.”

“He’s not—” Scuppering? “We’re just trying to be respectful.”

“He can fuck the arse off ye right here.” His expression hardened, not a flicker of conflict in his eyes. “I can handle it.”

Oh my fuck, he wanted to watch? My greedy cunt spasmed just thinking about it. I didn’t just want him to watch. I wanted him to participate. Two men? At the same time? What hot-blooded, woman in her sexual prime wouldn’t want that?

Michio wrapped a hand around my elbow, his body heat suddenly against my side. “You took a vow, Father Molony.”

Roark’s nostrils flared. “Convenient, eh?”

“Can you shut up out there?” Elaine called from the bedroom.

I rubbed my temples and whispered, “Michio, listen. Roark’s not trying to…” I waved my hand around as if it would summon the right words. “Get with me. He just wants…affection.”

“You’re wrong,” Michio said, eyes on Roark. “The priest very much wants to fuck you.”

The veins in Roark’s forearm bulged, the knuckles on his fists blanching.

Michio cocked his head. “His vow is unraveling as we speak.”

Shit. I tried to meet Roark’s gaze, but he refused to look at me. Man, these two knew how to dump cold water on a woman’s libido. Pop. Fizzle. Done.

I stepped back and pointed a finger, first at Michio, then Roark. “If you fight, I’m outta here.”

He swung, and Michio swerved, releasing my arm. Roark threw another punch, but I was already moving, grabbing the carbine on the way out the door.

As I closed it behind me, the far wall shook, followed by a muffled grunt. Probably Roark’s fist. Hopefully, not his head.

The midday’s humidity had cooled off, and the moon cast a dim glow over the porch and surrounding woods. I scanned the tree line and spotted Darwin at the boundary. My vigilant German Shepherd lifted his head, twitched his ears, and returned to his slumber.

And there, in the corner of the porch, waited another complication, another confusing relationship, the guardian of my mind.