I really need to stop doing that.
But though I try to lose myself in the task before me, unfamiliar tension is coiling tighter and tighter.
Today, my reprieve is over.
Dom and Beau arrived back about an hour ago. Lucky is cooking up a big venison dinner. No one has said so explicitly, but I know it’s time to work out the schedule.
I’ll have to sleep with one of them tonight.
God. Have I ever been so nervous? I can’t tell if I’m excited or terrified. Or both. Or if maybe, somehow, I’m excited because I’m terrified. That thought I bury quickly because it’s too scandalous for me to contemplate.
And if the more I dwell on my nervousness and shame about what I’m about to do, the wetter and needier I become, well, I can ignore that too.
Pressing my hand to my stomach, I decide I need to put on my big girl panties—and while that might be easier if I currently owned any panties, I can’t procrastinate any longer.
I’ve already spent a frankly creepy amount of time on these boxer briefs.
Piling up the washing, I make my way inside quietly and try to convince myself that I’m not sneaking. But when I round the corner, I collide with Dom.
He catches my basket quickly, steadying me. I silently curse myself as my eyes fly to his, and I’m surprised that he looks as caught off guard as I am. He’s freshly showered, still damp and rosy from the heat. Then his gaze flickers over my wet shirt and muddy knees and whatever momentary boost of confidence I felt shrivels.
Then I notice the bruise shadowing his jaw, angry and a touch swollen.
“Are you okay? How did that—？”
“Dinner’s ready in ten minutes,” he says, cutting me off. “Get dressed.”
I swallow hard and nod once. I step around him and into the laundry room, not looking at him again. Jerk. God forbid I show a hint of concern.
Oddly, though, his tone knocks me back onto familiar ground. My grandmother would have given me the exact same distasteful look if she had seen me looking like this.
Some of my nervous-excited flutters have stilled, and when I’m safely closeted inside, I dump the basket and shove the wet clothes into the dryer. I don’t even sort them.
Dom can deal with lint balls for all I care.
Tears prick my eyes as I make my way to my room. Damn it. This is going to be a disaster. I’m not even naked yet and his disappointment is still enough to chill me to the core.
Then I see the clothes.
Spread across my bed are jeans, blouses, sweaters, activewear, loungewear, boots, and pretty dresses that I itch to slip into. I wonder if I could get away with wearing dresses like those while I’m here. It’s been years since I’ve been able to wear anything but the most practical clothing.
Sitting beside my new clothes, piles and piles of lacy, sinful lingerie beg for my attention.
I finger the edge of a satin lavender bra that has clasps around the throat with a touch of wonder. I’ve never worn lingerie like this in my life. Eyeing the tag, I realize that they even managed to get my sizes right. Not that I should be surprised. They certainly had an eyeful that first night.
Conscious of time, I speed through my shower routine, glad I washed my hair earlier. Confronted again by the multitude of underwear, I pluck the least outrageous set from the pile. They’re a shimmery, metallic cream, silky soft and cut low. See-through lace peekaboos my bare skin on either hip.
The bra has a simple hooked front clasp that looks like a shining s, and it isn’t until I fasten the clasp that I realize exactly how dizzyingly high it pushes up my breasts.
After a moment of indecision, I brush past the activewear. I slip into a short, flirty blue dress and leave my room before I can let my dread convince me to do something stupid.
Like lock myself in the bathroom and refuse to come out.
God. What if it’s Dom first? If he looks at me with that kind of disgust while I’m with him, how will I ever be able to respect myself again? What if I cry? What if I’m so bad that they immediately demand I leave? Is there a notice period for my eviction? Am I going to be graded on this?
I stop outside the kitchen, breathing fast. Why can’t I choose who is first? Beau wouldn’t be so bad. The memories of his fingers and indecent mouth are fresh. He’s thoughtful and sexy. I think I could bear it if it was him. Or maybe Lucky. I’m sure he’d be gentle with me—though he’s so carefully friendly, I’m not sure if he’ll inspire that same kind of thrill.
And, so far, I have been thrilled. Somehow. Despite everything.
Jasper. He had his mouth all over me, his teeth pushed me over the edge, and his kindness with the books warmed me to him . . . but something in that dark, dangerous control of his makes me certain I’m deeply out of my depth. Then there’s— The kitchen door swings open.
“Come on in, darlin’。 We’re waiting.” Beau’s voice is kind, inviting.
I am so screwed.
Chapter 11
Eden
SURVIVAL TIP #200
A safe place is worth any price.
Even your pride.
“D amn it, Beau!” Lucky complains from behind the beautiful doctor. “I bet a week of chores that she’d come in by herself!”
Pushing my glasses up my nose, I go inside. All five of them stand about the room. Lucky and Jasper are working over the dishes on the countertop. Lucky’s wearing a Kiss the Cock apron that makes my cheeks color primly.
“She wasn’t coming in, idiot. She was standing outside hyperventilating.” Jaykob is sprawled by the small table, flipping his pocketknife. He doesn’t look at me.
Ignoring him, I meet Dom’s gaze. He towers by the door to the dining room, and I can’t read anything in the regal lines of his face. Impassive and assessing, he takes me in. Sourly, I decide he must be great at poker.
“You’re late,” he says. “Grab the plates, Lucky.”
As he turns and pushes into the dining room, Lucky rolls his eyes at me. He picks up two plates, muttering, “Yes, oh lord and master. Shall I shine your shoes too, your highness? Perhaps you’d like a neck rub?”
My lips twitch, some of the heavy lead in my stomach lightening. Jasper is watching Lucky closely from behind his back, an almost-smile playing around his mouth.
Lucky winks at me and raises his voice as he makes his way to the dining room. “Goodman, shall I cut your venison into tiny bite-sized pieces?” He hip-bumps the door open and he croons, “Oh no, mustn’t strain yourself, sire. Allow me to feed you!”
There’s a loud thud followed by a muffled curse. Beau squeezes my arm and collects two plates, and Jaykob brushes past me to grab the last two.
Jasper shifts his attention to me from behind the counter, and I’m struck again by how beautiful he is. The others are dressed nicely enough, though casually, but Jasper doesn’t seem to wear anything but his elegant silk button-downs. This one is black, open at the collar, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The muscles in his toned forearms flex as he leans forward on the counter.
“You look beautiful, Eden,” he murmurs, and a few strands of sable hair fall over his forehead.
His dark eyes devour me. They lay me bare. But the simple, approving words are surprisingly calming, and my shoulders unknot just slightly.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.