Their Virgin Secretary

Chapter Ten

Three days later, Belle shook her head at Malcolm Gates, completely frustrated by his request. “Didn’t you do an inventory of the house after my grandmother died? Shouldn’t her insurance adjuster have one?”

The lawyer shook his head. He hovered just inside the foyer, but he looked deeply uncomfortable. It was obvious he would prefer to be anywhere else. “No, Miss Wright. The insurance company only had a very basic inventory. Your grandmother scheduled her jewelry and her collection of antiques, but nothing else. I’m afraid for the judge to finalize the will, we’ll need a complete inventory of the house. I’m going to send some workers in to do it for you.”

She saw a truck pull up, searching for a place to park. Her electrician. She definitely wanted to see him. The lights in the house flickered on and off at the oddest times. But other than the man who would ensure her lights worked properly, she didn’t need anyone else tromping through her house.

Updating a place like this would be a painstaking and delicate process. She’d pulled all the furniture to the center of the living room and covered it with a plastic tarp so she could paint the walls the quietly elegant color it deserved. She’d selected a warm, pale gray. She intended to strip the sage-colored paint from the gorgeous original wood trim. Instead, she’d opted for a crisp, clean high-gloss white. She’d also bought a charcoal and white drapery fabric in a damask pattern, as well as a soft white sheer that would peek from beneath the curtains, enabling light to stream in but keeping prying eyes out. A simple plush black area rug would ground the space, and she’d ordered lamps with the same pop of color in their hand-blown glass bases. They’d been a little bit of a splurge, but everything she’d chosen would coordinate perfectly with the attitude of the room. Comfortable but elegant. New Orleans glamour.

Now she’d have to put off the project—and starting her new design business—if she had Gates’s interns stomping around and getting in her way. God knew what they’d do to all this original hardwood flooring. It needed repair, re-sanding, re-staining, and a quality sealer. Until she could have all that done, she didn’t want strangers walking on them, much less moving the furniture or knickknacks around. She already had three men and an eager puppy who wasn’t housebroken running all over the place and causing chaos. Even more distracting, Tate had taken up working shirtless half the time just to tempt her.

“I’ll get you the inventory.” It might take her months, but she refused to have others pawing through her grandmother’s things and slowing down her renovation.

Since moving in here, Belle had become very protective of the woman she’d never met. She’d made it through half her grandmother’s journal, all the way to her dad’s junior high years. Her grandmother had written about how much “her girls” loved him and gushed that he was the king of her castle. So apparently, Grandma had run a business of psychics out of this house. Hiring only females had been fairly smart. Women tended to be more empathetic and in tune with those around them, so they probably made better psychics. Obviously, she’d run a lucrative business, too.

Belle loved getting glimpses into her father’s childhood. The boy her grandmother had written about had been a happy kid. She’d even found some pictures of her dad tucked into the volume. In one, he’d been in overalls, wearing a goofy grin as he hammed it up for the camera.

She often thought that her mother hadn’t smiled much since the day her father died. So much of her life came back to that one tragic afternoon. Her mother had given her food and a roof over her head after his passing, but Mom had been a ghost flitting through life, allowing no one—not even her own daughter—to touch her.

Maybe if she brought her mom these pictures of her dad she’d smile.

Mr. Gates frowned her way. “I don’t think you understand how much work this entails. How precise you must be. This is a big house, and the job is far too big for one person. It would be so much better if you let me handle this. I’ll have it done quickly, but we must have an accounting of every possession, down to the last piece of paper.”

That seemed a bit extreme, but she wasn’t an expert in Louisiana inheritance laws.

Belle sighed, heartily irritated. “Fine. Send a couple of interns, but I’ll be overseeing everything. Thank you, Mr. Gates. Now excuse me.” She nodded toward the electrician, a big guy who made his way up the walk, toolbox in hand. “Hello, Mike.” She opened the door wider, allowing Gates out so the electrician could enter. “I’m glad to see you.”

Mike winked her way. He was a handsome blue-eyed devil in his early thirties with broad shoulders and a ready smile. He’d given her an estimate the day before, and Tate had been trying to convince her since then that Mike must be a lothario, a serial killer, or an escapee from a mental ward—whatever he thought would convince her to hire someone else. Eric had threatened to run a background check on the man. She sighed.

“Good to see you, Ms. Belle. I’m going to start in the bathroom today. You have a lot of old knob and tube wiring to bring up to code. You’re damn lucky this place hasn’t burned down yet. Don’t be surprised if your homeowner’s insurance won’t renew you until it’s fixed. It’s happened to more than one resident in the Quarter.”

She winced. Naturally, building codes had changed a great deal since the house had been built. Her grandmother had renovated the house since taking possession of it, but the wiring hadn’t been terribly out of date then. Drywall and paint or wallpaper had covered what people now considered an electrical sin. Still, as low as Mike’s estimate had been, it chafed. Satisfying the city and changing things she really couldn’t see was rapidly depleting her design budget. Unfortunately, it was a safety issue, so she merely smiled. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Mike shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll see one of your…friends before I see you. They seem mighty interested in watching whatever I happen to be doing.”

As he walked into the house with a grin, Belle groaned.

For three days, Eric, Tate, and Kell had been steadfast. They worked. They cooked. And they tried to seduce her. When she went out to buy supplies for the renovation, at least one of them came along. She’d tried sneaking out yesterday, but Eric had been smiling and standing by her car, swearing he needed a break.

Despite their argument about her employment contract, none of them had tried to rope her into resuming her old job. Belle had noticed a don’t ask/don’t tell policy. As long as she didn’t ask when they were leaving, they didn’t tell her to pick up a case file and get busy.

Instead, both he and Tate had caught her alone and done their utmost to tempt her to kiss them. They’d invaded her space with their big, male bodies and stared down at her with hungry eyes, reminding her of everything she’d almost had. When she’d weakened enough to melt against them, when she could feel her blood humming and her sex aching, then the bastards would walk away, reminding her that she knew where to find them and they’d welcome her anytime.

Something had to give, and she worried it would be her. She’d spent three restless nights knowing that they were just down a flight of stairs. She’d also spent three nights dreaming of dead girls swinging from a rope and the monster who dragged them to their deaths.

She shivered, despite the heat of the day. It was morbid, but she couldn’t seem to stop the terrible dreams. She’d even gone so far as to check into the house’s history on a local historical website. It hinted at the home’s colorful past. Those tales were more rumor than anything, but the police reports on file corroborated Gates’s story. All the deaths had been suicides, not murders.

“I’ll be leaving now, Miss Wright. Thank you for allowing the interns to help with the inventory. We’ll get this mess put behind us so you can move on. The most important thing is to find your grandmother’s papers. She told me she had a life insurance policy, but I don’t have the name of the insurance company or the policy number. I’ll need to file on your behalf so you can receive the funds.” Mr. Gates looked nervously around the house as though he thought someone might jump out and yell “boo.” Belle found his demeanor unsettling.

A cool breeze brushed past her legs. Cooler than cool, really. In fact, it felt like an arctic blast. Mr. Gates obviously felt it as well because he stiffened and took a giant step back to the threshold of the front door.

“I think that’s my cue to leave.” The lawyer’s eyes had gone wide. He swallowed nervously. “Expect the interns shortly.”

Belle frowned. The guy was really freaked out about the house. She’d noticed that when she’d first come here. That cold draft probably wasn’t anything more than the air conditioning being temperamental. The HVAC expert would be here in thirty minutes. Problem solved.

Unfortunately, now she’d have a group of wet-behind-the-ears wannabe lawyers parading through her house. So what was one more, especially if he managed to keep the temperature in the house stable? If necessary, she would shut off the rooms with exposed wood and pray she didn’t have to spend more than the rest of the funds her grandmother had left.

“If you think your interns can find the insurance paperwork and it’s worth some money, I’ll dance a jig.” Belle smiled, mentally making a priority list of all the things she could renovate.

Gates backed out of the house until he stood in the midmorning sun. Once he’d cleared the threshold, he visibly relaxed and regained his composure. “Thank you, Miss Wright. You know, all these repairs to the house will be quite expensive. My buyer is still willing to take this house off your hands and pay you in cash.”

She shook her head. Even with the debt mounting, she refused to sell. Despite her bad dreams, Belle loved being here. The house had quickly grown on her, and she felt a connection to the place she never had before. Her father had grown up here, and being under this roof reminded her how much she’d missed him.

She looked up, and the sight caused every sad thought to dissipate.

Tate jogged up the sidewalk, his big body covered in nothing but sweatpants, sneakers, and a fine sheen of sweat. Every muscle on the man’s body bulged. The definition of his shoulders and chest almost made her drop her jaw. Belle hoped she could remember to breathe. Damn, when he wore next to nothing, she needed one of those arctic air drifts blasting through the house.

A flirty grin transformed his face as he jogged his way up to the house. “Hey, baby. You should have worked out with me. I burned roughly seven hundred calories given distance, time, exertion, and my relative weight.” He utterly ignored the lawyer nearly blocking the door and gave her a sexy little growl. “Although oral sex burns roughly a hundred calories per half hour, and you wouldn’t have to do anything but let me love on you.”

She gasped and slapped his perfectly muscled bicep. “Tate! Hush, you dirty man. Go take a shower. You’re supposed to be the one with the delicate nose.”

“I can’t smell myself.” He shouldered his way past Gates, who recoiled and grimaced. Then Tate leaned in and ran his nose along her neck, breathing against her and lighting up her skin. “But you smell so good.” He turned to Gates, suddenly focused and protective. Tate morphed from horny man to shrewd lawyer in the blink of an eye. “What do you need with my client, Mr. Gates?”

The older man frowned. “If that’s the way you treat a client, sir, then I’m afraid we have different ideas about professionalism. And my business here is done.”

He pivoted on his heel and walked away.

“You didn’t have to be rude,” he called back. Tate tended to correct people he didn’t like. He’d said he merely tried to make them more likeable, but Belle was pretty sure he did it to irritate them.

But that got her thinking… Maybe she should treat Tate a bit like Sir. When he was good, she’d toss a cookie his way. When he was rude, she could spray him with a water bottle. If nothing else, it would give her a giggle.

Tate eased inside and closed the door. “I don’t like him. He sets off my douchebag radar.”

Belle felt the same, but no sense in adding fuel to Tate’s fire. Once they’d finished all the paperwork associated with her grandmother’s estate, she’d never have to see Mr. Gates again.

“I need to get back to work.”

“One second.” He grabbed her elbow and pulled her so close the heat of his body wrapped around her.

God, even sweaty, he smelled amazing. So musky and manly… Her girl parts clenched in a silent pleading.

“What?” she breathed.

“Did you know that sex is one of the best workouts a man can get? I could burn a hundred and forty-four calories during actual intercourse and that doesn’t include the hundred I would have shed from eating your pussy.”

Heat flashed through her system again. The weak part of her longed to throw herself against Tate and forget prudence, but if she gave him an inch now, he’d more than take a mile. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Is he going on again about eating your pussy?” Eric asked as they meandered into the kitchen.

Crap, he wasn’t wearing a shirt either. His thin jersey knit pants rode low on narrow hips. What had happened to her buttoned up, always-in-a-perfect-suit men? Now they walked around her house like super-hot cavemen, scratching their perfectly formed six packs.

“Neither one of you should be talking to me about any sort of sex. In fact, you shouldn’t be here at all since this isn’t your office. And why doesn’t anyone wear clothing anymore? I thought you’d set up a legal practice, not a Playgirl cover shoot.”

Belle hoped like hell that they couldn’t tell how she’d flushed at the sight of all their muscles and bare skin. Her cheeks only grew hotter when they managed to wedge her in between them. Sandwiching her between them and the kitchen counter, they cut off her only avenue of escape—something they seemed intent on doing more and more these days. She constantly found herself surrounded by gorgeous men eager to verbally seduce her every chance they had. Even Kellan had developed an alarming problem with personal space. She’d asked him to stay, and he’d decided that meant right against her.

Eric grinned. “What’s the problem? I’m enjoying this whole telecommuting thing. I could totally get used to ditching the jacket and tie. And baby, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s way hotter down here than in Chicago. I’m too uncomfortable to wear clothes. When is the AC guy supposed to arrive? I hope he’s more competent than that idiot Mike.”

She sighed. “The electrician came highly recommended. I have a list of contractors. He was the first on the list.”

“Seriously? Who gave you the list?” Tate sounded irritated.

“My grandmother’s lawyer. You guys seem to have taken a dislike to Mike, but his quote is very reasonable and he seems to know what he’s doing. So let him do it.” The sooner she got the wiring fixed, the faster she could figure out how much money she had left for the pretty stuff. For now, focusing on prepping the living room walls for paint would force her to look at something besides the lovely male chests on display.

Another knock sounded on the door. Tate scowled. “I don’t like all these people coming in and out. We don’t know who they are. Baby, our place in Chicago doesn’t need this much work. You could move right in. We’d make sure you were totally happy and comfortable.”

She tried to squeeze between the two men to head for the door. But she brushed her breasts against Tate’s chest. Then she felt it. He had a massive, gloriously thick erection that pressed against his sweatpants and prodded her belly. The feel of him, hard and wanting, caught her off guard and she stepped back—into Eric.

Eric laughed, glancing down at Tate’s junk. “Dude, I have no idea how you run with that thing.”

But she felt Eric’s too, jutting against her ass. He wasn’t at all small or flaccid either.

“I can’t help it,” Tate defended. “The average adult male gets approximately eleven erections daily during waking hours, but when I’m around Belle or think about her—or even remember something that reminds me of her—I get hard. I’m probably skewing the average.” He shrugged. “I’m a guy who happens to be really crazy about a girl. Sue me.”

“Nah, I’d have to sue myself, too,” Eric admitted.

“No doubt.” Tate slapped his buddy on the shoulder and headed toward the stairs. “I’m going to take care of this thing, then I need to conference on the Harrison case.”

“Take care of what?” Belle just blinked. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

With a wink, Tate jogged up the stairs with more energy than a man who’d already spent an hour running should have. He would have that stamina in bed. The thought slammed her out of nowhere. This time, more than her cheeks flamed.

“He’s going to go masturbate,” Eric said matter-of-factly.

Someone knocked on the door again, this time more insistently.

“More information than I needed.” She scurried for the kitchen door, trying to put space between them. They were driving her completely insane, and if she didn’t spend the next hour imaging Tate bringing himself pleasure, it would be a miracle.

“We’re in your face because you’re being a stubborn little thing.” Eric caught her before she escaped by placing a palm flat on the door, caging her in. “Come home with us, Belle, to a place we can all share. Give us another shot, baby. Let us show you this can work.”

He was so close, his mouth lingering just above hers. She nearly lost herself in his glittering greenish eyes. All she’d have to do was lift her chin and inch up on her tiptoes to feel those firm, talented lips against her own. Already, her body prepared itself for him. She’d softened and had to force herself not to lean into him. Her nipples peaked. Her pussy moistened and throbbed.

Whoever stood outside banged impatiently against the door again, and the moment was broken.

Biting out a curse, Eric stepped back. “I’m going to set up that conference. This afternoon, we’ll help you paint.”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to do that. I understand you have work.”

“I said we’ll help you after lunch. And I expect you to eat today. Lunch is at noon. See you then.” Eric turned and planted himself at the breakfast table again.

Shaking her head, Belle pushed her way out of the room and hustled to the door, signing for an overnight package of new bedding she’d ordered.

As soon as she shut the door, she leaned against it and closed her eyes. What was she going to do? The guys weren’t going to leave. They’d already made that point crystal clear. If she kept them here, their business would eventually suffer.

Or they might do exactly what they threatened and move the whole damn office here permanently. Tate had already bought a book on passing the bar in Louisiana.

She dug into the box, trying to busy herself…but in the back of her head, she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she could resist them.

“Belle!” Kellan strode down the stairs, her puppy in the crook of his arm. “Your rat-thing crapped in my dress shoes. Do you have any idea how expensive those damn loafers were?”

She did since she’d been the one to order them. “Sir, please stop that.”

Belle refused to chastise the puppy too much. He still wasn’t completely housebroken, and he’d likely forgotten to bark at her so that she knew he needed to go.

She reached for her dog, watching as Kellan’s face went red. She winced inwardly because she’d managed to get through three whole days without the big bad Dom figuring out her little joke. But now the jig was about to be up. She winced.

“What is it you think I need to stop, Belle?” He clipped and carefully enunciated every word.

She scrambled to avoid answering him because she and Kellan had formed a decent truce and she was reluctant to upset him. “Uhm, you have to stop holding my dog that way. He needs to have his underbelly completely supported or he feels unsafe.”

Sir proved her words a lie as he did everything he could to wriggle out of her grasp.

Kell ground his teeth together. “Annabelle, did you name that thing Sir?”

She tried to send him a bright smile. “I wanted to help his self-esteem. I’m sure he could be an alpha dog.”

The puppy yipped, and Belle let him down. Immediately, he started chasing his tail. Somewhere beyond the kitchen, a door slammed shut. Sir scampered behind Kellan with a little whine.

He shook his head. “You’re changing his name.”

“Am not,” she said quietly as he walked into the kitchen.

“You absolutely are. Now, Annabelle.”

“My house. My dog.” She marched toward the living room, Sir hard on her heels.

Kellan came after her. The ringing of his phone was the only thing that saved her from more of this confrontation. Belle left the room while she could…but she was pretty sure he would think of some punishment soon.

* * * *

Tate sighed and let his weary body slide into the chair across from Kellan. Painting sucked. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as sex, but Belle probably didn’t trust that there’d be no repeat of the debacle in Dallas. And she obviously wasn’t ready.

The question was, would she ever be ready?

All Belle seemed interested in was reading that journal of her grandmother’s and fixing up this old house, though they’d had a promising couple of minutes earlier in the day, so Tate had high hopes for the evening. But right after dinner, Belle had escaped into her grandmother’s office and began browsing an old photo album she’d found.

Her father’s mother had been a beauty who had surrounded herself with other gorgeous women. Page after page showed pictures of Belle’s grandma standing near women who looked like they belonged on the silver screen. He’d loved the smile on Belle’s face as she pointed out her dad during various stages of his childhood and adolescence.

Again, Tate recalled the day she’d spoken to him about her father’s death. She’d haltingly admitted that her mom had shut down after he’d died. Though she’d received basic care, Belle had been utterly alone. He related. Even in a house filled with family, no one who shared his flesh and blood had reached out to him as a child. He wondered if that festering hurt caused any of Belle’s hesitation to dive into a relationship now.

Eric walked into their “office,” yawning. “I got the briefs filed in time. I’m going to have to fly back next week. I don’t want to, but I have to handle the court date myself.”

After just three days away, the strain on their business was becoming evident. They could handle much of their case load via computer and phone, but Kellan and Eric still appeared in court routinely. Tate avoided it like the plague. Mostly because he’d come to realize that judges were pompous windbags who liked to hear themselves talk, and being forced to listen to other lawyers pontificate made him want to punch someone in the face. He preferred contracts and corporate clients to dealing with criminal cases. He usually ended up wanting to punch unscrupulous assholes, too. Tate understood the law. People were another matter altogether.

At the moment, that included Belle.

“Okay. Do you need me to schedule the flight?” He was probably the only one of them who remembered their passwords.

“Yeah. Fuck, we need a secretary.” Eric sat in the chair beside him.

Kellan chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think any of us really understood until now how much Belle did for us.”

“I would reward her properly if she would let me.” In fact, Tate would reward her all night long.

Eric nodded. “Amen, brother. Did she eat anything tonight?”

He’d cooked a very nice roast that had filled the house all day with savory smells and made Tate’s stomach growl.

“A little, but I found her asleep at her grandmother’s desk with her plate half full,” Kellan grumbled. “I’m going to move the office into another room. The four of us need to sit down together at meals. This whole grabbing-a-tray-when-we-have-a-minute bit isn’t working, guys. We need to think things through.”

Scowling, Tate almost objected. He was always thinking. “Sorry, I had a six p.m. conference call. I couldn’t get out of it.”

And he’d eaten lunch at his computer because he’d gotten an emergency e-mail begging for clarification on a contract some clients hadn’t yet signed. Eric had been forced to leave to find a new router when the one they’d been using suddenly blew out. Tate blamed the flirty electrician.

“Clear your schedules tomorrow at eight, noon, and six. We’ll force Belle to sit down with us,” Kellan counseled.

“Yeah, like civilized people in a relationship.” Eric looked like his patience was at an end.

“She won’t admit we’re in a relationship.” Tate sure didn’t feel like he was in one, either.

“I really thought she’d give in by now,” Eric admitted, frustration contorting his expression and tightening his shoulders. His brows settled into a deep V. Tate might not be able to read most people, but he knew his best friend. “I hate how hard she’s working.”

“But she likes it. She seems happy.” He’d noticed her smiling and humming while she painted. There was a peace to her he’d never seen before. “I think we have to really consider the fact that she’s not going to leave this place. We fucked up.”

Maybe he should have let Kellan go and wrapped Belle in his arms for good. He could have kissed her and told her what she meant to him and maybe they wouldn’t feel as if they’d lost their chance with her. She could respond to his flirtations all day long, but if she didn’t give in or let herself fall in love, it wouldn’t matter.

And almost as soon as he finished the thought, Tate realized that he couldn’t abandon his friend. He felt disloyal for even thinking it.

“I’m sorry, guys.” Kellan stood up. “This is my fault.”

“Stop. No more apologies,” Tate insisted. “The question now is, what do you want out of this?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah, what do you want to do here? I think you should stay. Belle can handle you, but we’ve spent days just sitting around waiting for her to change her mind. It’s not working.”

“We need a plan.” They’d thought she would come around quickly, but Tate saw now she’d been serious about her career change. Just like she was serious about the move.

“What if we can’t get her to come home with us?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know, but I know I’m not giving up.” He loved her. He’d never felt for any woman what he did for Belle. He smiled more with her. He even liked himself better when he was around her. “If I have to move, I will. I love her. We need to put her first from now on.”

Eric held a hand up. “I agree. Putting her first is the only way this works, I think. If I really thought she couldn’t handle the type of relationship we want, I would allow her to choose one of us, but she needs us all. I think her reluctance now is about her wounded pride and her inexperience, not any fear she has about having more than one man.”

“I don’t know,” Kellan hedged. “You two need to show her you can make her life better. That starts with being organized. You’re right about putting her first and giving her what she needs. Any good Dom does. That means prioritizing her above business, too. Tomorrow we help her. All three of us. I’ve looked at your schedules and almost everything can wait.”

Tate thought through his calendar tomorrow, then nodded. He’d helped with painting today, and he’d felt wonderfully close to her for those precious hours. They’d joked and bantered like old times, but a new awareness had hummed between them. While he’d worked beside her, he’d been almost perfectly content. If he could have kissed her when they’d finished and taken her to bed, he’d be the happiest bastard on the planet. Instead, when she’d tidied up for the night, Tate had sensed her pulling away. The distance between them gnawed at him.

But that wasn’t the only thing troubling him.

“I want to look into that lawyer of her grandmother’s. I heard some of their conversation today and I didn’t like it. He told her he had to have an inventory of the house before the court will sign off on the will.”

Sure, probate law differed slightly from state to state, but if Marie Wright had left everything to her granddaughter and Belle didn’t have any contentious relatives to share the estate with, Tate couldn’t think of any reason the state would need a complete inventory.

“What? That makes no sense.” Eric frowned. “I guess that explains all the five-year-olds in ties crawling inside the house today.”

“Yeah. Look into that lawyer,” Kellan said. “These interns weren’t just jotting down an inventory. They were poking and prodding and taking shit apart. And we should also look into our dear friend, Mike the electrician. He crawls up my back.”

Tate kind of hated the fucker, too. He especially didn’t like the way ol’ Mikey smiled at Belle, as if the expression was a come-on. He was one charming asshole who needed to keep his eyes off other guys’ girls. Except she wasn’t really his. Crap, did she like the electrician? He probably didn’t cite statistics or verbally offer his penis.

“I don’t think he’s very good at his job,” Tate asserted. “He got lost all over the house. I had to tell him where to go three times today.”

“I’d like to tell him where to go,” Eric growled. “I know there are a lot of rooms in this house, but he seemed more interested in what was in Belle’s personal space than any wiring behind the walls.”

“I watched him, too. I agree,” Kellan said, sitting back. “So are we all on the same page?”

Well, two of them were. Kellan just happened to write the page. He wasn’t actually on it with them. Tate just had to keep hoping that Kell’s feelings for Belle would eventually fix that. “Are you going to help us out?”

Kellan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“So you’re going to let the bitch from hell keep defeating you.” Tate was really sick of the excuses.

“You don’t understand,” Kellan shot back, obviously trying to be patient with him.

And he was sick of people’s patient attitudes as they talked down to him, too. Yes, he was socially awkward, but he wasn’t a moron. “I understand that if you let Belle go, your ex and your dad have won again.”

Kellan forced his chair back, the loud scrape filling up the quiet room. “Again, you know nothing about the situation, so it would be best if you stayed out of it. You weren’t raised the way I was. You weren’t dragged through shit by your own family.”

Tate couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling. “Yeah, man, my childhood was a blast. So was Eric’s.”

“Your father didn’t impregnate your wife,” Kellan ground out.

“And your dad didn’t lock you in a room for three days when you came home with a 92 on a test.” Everyone had their troubles. Sometimes Kellan couldn’t see past his, and Tate realized he’d been treating his pal with kid gloves. Time to take them off.

“Your dad did that?” Kellan asked, horrified.

Tate could remember how humiliating it had been. “He left me with two bottles of water and a loaf of bread and he said that was how I would have to live if I didn’t study harder. And your dad didn’t tell you that you were a worthless wimp because you pulled out of football after your second concussion led to short-term memory loss.”

Eric held up a hand. “That was my asshole dad. He was a man’s man. Men played football. Brain damage was just a minor battle scar in his book. Look, none of us had it great in the dad department. My mom has only been a good parent since she left my dad.”

“And you didn’t have to contend with two brothers who called you a moron because you snuck in a little TV time at a neighbor’s house. The brainless box rots intelligence, according to my mother. They forbid television, books that weren’t academic, and most sports. Absolutely no girls. Hell, friends were even discouraged. I didn’t really have one until I met Eric.” The awkward day in high school when he’d been assigned to force some math into the jock’s head had been the single biggest turning point in his life.

“Okay,” Kell conceded. “So we all had some form of shithead for a father.”

“But that’s the past,” Tate stressed. “I think our future is upstairs in bed by herself because we didn’t handle her right. I don’t want to be that kid stuck in a room again. I broke out of it a long time ago and I won’t go back in. Whatever cell your bitch of an ex locked you in, you need to shove the door open. Otherwise, you’re letting her trap you inside.”

Eric’s eyes went wide. “Wow, Tate. That is the most emotionally astute thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, man.”

“I can learn.” He rolled his eyes.

He’d actually worked really hard to figure out why the people he cared about did the things they did. He just wasn’t always right. In this case, though, he was dead-on.

“I think Belle needs all of us, and that means you need to stop thinking with your PTSD-damaged heart and let your dick take over, Kell. Your dick is way smarter.”

“And there it goes.” Eric shook his head. “Obviously, his emotional intelligence comes in fits and starts.”

Tate wasn’t going to apologize for being blunt. He was right. If Kell would just follow his instincts and realize how much he valued Belle, they would all be happier. “Unless you really are turned off by the virgin thing.”

Kellan growled his way. “Of course I’m not. But I don’t think I can take care of her the way she deserves. I’ve explained that. She needs a husband and a family.”

“She’ll have one. Two actually,” Eric replied.

At least one of his friends backed him up. Tate was pretty sure if Kellan managed to let go of his fear, he’d find himself in a happy place. But so far, he kept managing to overthink the situation and continually fuck it up.

“Fine. We’ll take care of Belle,” Tate offered. “You can show up just for sex.”

But it wouldn’t be just sex, he knew. Kellan would balk at the notion that making love with Belle would be therapy, though it would be. For Tate, it would be coming home. Still, Kellan needed to keep things casual because he wasn’t over the hatchet his ex and his asshole of a dad had taken to his soul. Tate would give Kell one thing: at least he’d never had to see his dad naked and doing the nasty with his girl. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure even his mom had never seen his dad naked. Tate figured he and his brothers had been conceived in some petri dish because the idea of his parents boinking didn’t compute.

His life would have been like that—sterile and void of emotion—if they’d had their way. He would have dedicated himself to solving intellectual problems without ever really understanding what life meant. It was incomplete without friendship and love. Sometimes that meant sitting around watching action movies on a Saturday night. Sometimes that meant taking stock of who and what was important to you. A million little details and moments made up a life. Eric had taught him that. In some ways, Kellan had, too. It was why he couldn’t just let the guy simply drift away. Belle came first, yes, but his friends ran a very close second.

He wanted to have it all.

“I doubt Belle is going to be interested in that kind of relationship,” Kellan hedged, though it was easy to see he was thinking about it and aching for it.

“Just come have breakfast with us.” The first step to solving any problem was developing a hypothesis, and his was that Kellan wouldn’t be able to resist if he stayed around a while longer. If he was sleeping next to Belle every night, he’d be unable to keep his distance for long.

Shit. Another problem hit him squarely between the eyes.

“Wait, guys. There are three of us. Where does number three sleep?” Tate shuddered a little. “I can’t cuddle with Eric. It’s just…no.”

He’d had a vision of sleeping next to Belle, his arms wrapped around her. He could wake up to her sweet scent and the soft feel of her skin, then roll her over and slide inside her before they were really awake. That would be damn near impossible if his best friend was in between them.

Someone needed to write a book of ménage advice.

Eric laughed out loud. “I think we’ll have to deal with that problem when we come to it, buddy.”

Eric could laugh all he wanted, but this seemed like a real conundrum.

And then a high-pitched scream cut through the house. Tate’s heart damn near stopped. He leapt to his feet. “Belle.”

Eric and Kell jumped up, too. They were running for the stairs before the sound died, and Tate prayed he could make it to her in time.