Page 84 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

My belly warms. “You already know what happens when you praise me while we’re touching.”

His mouth tips at one corner. “It was noted.”

Roman appears in the doorway. He watches us for a moment, hazel eyes dark in the lamplight.

I reach one hand toward him.

Roman sets down his plate and comes to us. “A three way dance?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever you need, beautiful.” He steps behind me, chest warming my back. His palms settle on my hips while Wes steadies me from the front.

I’m surrounded. Cedar. Cardamom. Rain and music. My muscles release one by one. We sway through one song and into the next. Roman’s thumb strokes slowly along my hip, and Wes’s breath warms my temple.

I stop waiting for them to decide whether I’m too fragile for what I want.

“Touch me.”

Both men still.

“I know what I’m asking,” I say. “Whatever happened to me out there distorted what I heard. It didn’t invent this.”

Wes’s hand slides into my hair. His eyes search mine. “Tell me what you want.”

“Both of you.”

Chapter 20

Roman Osprey

Wes kisses Scarlet, and I notice the change when she leans back into me. It’s only an inch, the quiet press of her spine against my chest while her mouth opens beneath his, but she keeps the contact instead of straightening again. Scarlet holds herself upright through exhaustion, fear, rainstorms, public humiliation, and conversations with people who deserve to be punched. Even when she lets us touch her, I’ve watched her stay ready to gather herself and stand alone again.

Tonight, she lets more of her weight rest against me. My arms tighten around her to tell her I noticed, that I’m here and she can keep leaning if she wants to. Scarlet settles into my embrace. The trust of it moves through me more deeply than the sight of Wes’s hand disappearing into her hair or the soft sound she makes when he kisses her harder.

I’ve wanted Scarlet from the beginning. Wanted the wit sharp enough to leave a mark. Wanted the woman who can look at a room full of powerful people and decide none of them are particularly impressive. But this is the part of her that owns me, the woman who fights the world and then, for one breath, decides she can lay down her sword with me.

She turns her head, breaking the kiss long enough to look back at me.

Her mouth is pink, and her eyes are bright and open. She looks happy. The sight nearly brings me to my knees.

Happiness changes her. It eases the hard line she keeps around her mouth and clears the watchfulness from her eyes. She looks almost startled by the feeling, as if joy wandered onto her property without permission and she hasn’t decided whether to chase it off with a broom.

I want to keep her joyful. That desire is more frightening than lust. Lust asks for a night. This asks me to believe I might be allowed to build a life around the way she looks right now.

There are old wounds inside me that distrust that kind of hope. I have spent years making myself easy to keep, funny enough to lighten a room, useful enough to earn my place, and open enough that no one has to work too hard to reach me.

Scarlet looks at me as if none of it is the reason she wants me. It’s like she sees the parts not polished and likes them anyway.

She reaches behind herself and finds my hand. Her fingers slide between mine. She brings our joined hands to her stomach and holds them there.

The gesture is simple, but Scarlet doesn’t offer simplicity lightly. Everything with her has layers: a joke over a fear, a glare over concern. Now she is opening those doors from the inside.

One for Wes. One for me.

With her, I feel worthy of being invited through.

I kiss beneath her ear. Scarlet tips her head, giving me room, and her body settles more fully against mine while Wes keeps one hand at her waist.