Their Virgin Secretary

Chapter Eight

“I think you’re wrong about them, hon.” Kinley’s voice sounded through the speaker of her new phone.

Buying a new phone and changing her number had been Belle’s idea because she’d suspected her former bosses would call, at least to settle any items related to their business. She couldn’t stomach the thought of talking to them in cold, business-like terms. She’d left her office passwords and the statuses of her most important tasks with the intern—whom she hoped would remember all the information. He said dude a lot and often reeked of herbs that were illegal in most states.

She dusted off the gorgeous Queen Anne desk she’d found in what seemed to be her grandmother’s office. The heavy cherry-wood antique anchored the room now with its elaborate moldings, scroll work, and mahogany inlays. After vacuuming the dupioni silk drapes, Belle had scrubbed the stained glass windows, and now sunlight poured through. She wasn’t completely sure, but she thought that might be actual Tiffany glass. The huge chandelier in the dining room certainly was. In fact, everything in the house, while old and dusty, was classic, well made, and worth a small fortune. Her grandmother had possessed amazing taste. Who knew palm reading was so lucrative?

Now soft afternoon light illuminated the whole room, and Belle surveyed all her hard work with pride. Thankfully, that hard work had prevented her from dwelling too much on her former bosses—at least until Kinley’s call.

“I don’t want to talk about them,” she said to her bestie. “I just want to forget them and move on.”

“Do you really think it’s that easy?”

No, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

“Sir is doing really well. I think he likes it here. He’s napping in the window seat.” His little puppy chest rose and fell with each breath. His paws moved as though he was running in his sleep. Puppy dreams. Belle smiled faintly.

She didn’t want to think about what she would dream of tonight. She knew. The minute she’d closed her eyes, she’d been right back in their arms, feeling their hands stroke her body, their lips claiming hers, their fingers on her nipples and in her aching pussy.

“Don’t change the subject. They were genuinely worried. And they put me through a serious interrogation.”

Damn it. Belle hadn’t meant to get Kinley in trouble. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was fun. I rarely get the chance to be so bratty anymore. Dominic tied me up, and I swear I was begging him, Law, and Riley after about ten minutes of torture. Luckily, Law is a cuddle bear.”

“You mean he took pity on you?”

“Yep.” She giggled. “I cried a lot, and he gave me an amazing orgasm.”

Wow, that was a lot of personal information. “I’m glad that worked out for you.”

Kinley cleared her throat as if realizing that she’d just spilled way too much information. “So Sir is adapting?”

Suddenly, he raised his head and twisted, his ears perking up as he stared out the window intently with a low growl. He began barking his little heart out.

“He was. But every once in a while, he’s just loud.” She moved, trying to see what had the dog’s attention. “It’s weird. He barks when I see absolutely nothing to bark at.”

She could almost picture Kinley’s shrug. “Animals are more sensitive to their surroundings than humans. I’m sure he’ll settle in. Belle, I really wish you’d listen to me about your men.”

They aren’t my men. “Sir will be fine eventually, though he isn’t exactly housebroken yet,” Belle sidestepped Kinley’s comment. “But I guess that will take time. Got any good tips?”

Kinley huffed. “Stop trying to change the subject. They’re worried about you. Tate was practically crying. He’s weirdly hot, you know. He’s got that soulful geek thing. He’s longing, Belle. Pining. All for you.”

She closed her eyes, trying not to imagine that look on his face. She was sure Tate would be on her doorstep if she hadn’t made herself scarce…though he was smart enough to track her down. If he wanted her, he would find her. She hoped she had the strength to turn him away.

“It wouldn’t work with just me and Tate.” He must know that, too. And it would be cruel to tear him away from his buddies when she knew their pairing couldn’t last. “I care about him, Kin. I really do, but he needs Eric and Kellan. They understand his quirks and forgive him when he says the wrong thing. Without them, he’d just retreat into his shell. And they need him because he’s logical and honest. I can’t get in the middle of that. It would be like separating brothers.”

“Of course you can’t do that, honey,” Kinley’s voice was soothing even from five hundred miles away. “They’re a set. Besides, you need something from each of them and you wouldn’t be happy with just one.”

It seemed wrong. So many women out there couldn’t find one man, and Belle was insisting on three. Maybe she wasn’t the right woman for any of them. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Does lying to yourself really help?”

Belle sighed. “I just don’t think it’s meant to be.”

“I think you’re giving up awfully easily.” Kinley paused. “Kellan was leading the charge to find you.”

That shocked Belle. “He must feel very guilty.”

“Or he realizes he made a terrible choice.” Her long sigh sounded over the line. “You know, you might be expecting Shangri-la between the three of you too quickly. Riley fought his feelings for me at first. He had things to work through. We talked. We argued. He had a lot of hesitation and second thoughts, but eventually he came around. Maybe Kellan needs more time and you need more patience. Men take their time in coming to conclusions that women just instinctively know. They fight their feelings, especially when they have baggage. Kellan has a whole boatload of it from what I can tell.”

She thought so, too. Still, what she’d overheard from the bathroom in their suite had been very clear. He didn’t want responsibility. He didn’t want permanence.

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Nothing worthwhile is. A relationship like this isn’t easy, and if you’re expecting it to be, you’re setting yourself up for failure. It takes a lot of work and honest talk. You three aren’t communicating.”

Maybe Kinley was right, but honestly, what else was there to say? She couldn’t make Kell want her for more than a night.

Suddenly, Sir’s whole body went on full alert and the barking began anew. Belle frowned as she moved to the window. From here, she had a great view of the courtyard that now swayed with the wind as the weather turned a bit chilly. A pretty orange and yellow tabby cat pranced across the bricks and turned her smug feline face toward the dog, looking deeply entertained by the dog’s irritation.

Belle pulled Sir up into her arms and dropped the shade over the window, hoping the cat would be out of sight and out of mind. It wasn’t working for her when it came to Kell, Tate, and Eric. Weariness set in. “Kinley, hon, I’ve got to go. I still have to get the bedroom ready for tonight and find some kibble for the little beast.”

She hoped she could find a store nearby. It would get dark soon.

“All right. I love you. Promise me you’ll think about calling them, at least to let them know you’re all right.”

Belle bit her lip. In some ways, hearing their voices would be so tempting, but what would it accomplish? What she wanted hadn’t changed. “They’re probably on their flight home to Chicago.” Then something occurred to her. If Kellan was spearheading some effort to find her, then… “They did catch their flight, right?”

“I don’t know. They checked out of the hotel and caught a cab. You know what I know.”

“But if you had to guess?”

Kinley hesitated. “I don’t think they’re folding up their tent and going home.”

The answer filled Belle with both dread and an insidious thrill. “Thanks.”

The phone clicked, and she was alone again. Belle had a feeling the night would be long.

A loud bang shot through the room. She started and let loose a little shriek. Sir scurried to huddle against her breast and buried his face.

What was that?

Dead silence followed. The roof didn’t cave in. No murderous fiend jumped into the room. Nothing.

About thirty seconds passed before Belle let out a breath. A nervous laugh shook her chest. She would have to get used to the sounds this old house made. Maybe the furnace had kicked in.

“Some guard dog you are,” she teased Sir.

When she turned back toward the desk, she noticed a piece of molding hanging from the bottom, just under the alcove where she’d tuck her knees when she sat. Belle frowned. Weird. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d been dusting or sat there earlier.

With a puzzled frown, she knelt and tried to fit the piece back in place. Belle hoped this wasn’t a sign the desk was falling apart and would need replacing. That would be a huge shame. Her grandmother’s antique was a stunning, one-of-a-kind treasure.

As Belle fiddled with the molding, her fingers found a hidden niche the wood had concealed. It was deep under the desk. She set Sir down and crawled under, the Persian carpet a soft cushion for her knees. Though the space under the desk was too dark to see, she could feel the open compartment with her fingers. As she reached into the little space cautiously, she immediately encountered two items tucked inside. With a wince and a ginger tug, she pulled them out and crawled back.

Two old, pocket-size journals, one slightly more faded than the other. Belle frowned. This was her grandmother’s office and her grandmother’s desk. She flipped open the cover of one and glimpsed the handwriting. Decidedly feminine.

“Looks like Grandma wrote her memoirs. Or hid some secrets,” she said absently to Sir as she sat on the rug.

Sir plopped himself down on her lap and immediately went back to sleep. She opened the other volume, the smaller of the two, and rifled through it a bit.

Belle frowned at the slightly yellow pages. Maybe her grandma had been on the crazy side because all she’d written in this journal was a list of long, random numbers that corresponded to even more random words, like “sunny,” “backdoor,” “raincoat,” and “canceled.” None of it made a lick of sense. What did 10056 00099873 have to do with “pink” and “fuzzy?”

Even more strangely, the latter half of the book had been written by a different hand. Same sorts of odd codes, but different penmanship for sure.

Frowning, she laid that one aside. Maybe the odd entries in this book had something to do with her grandmother’s psychic business, though Belle had no idea how. Maybe the code protected her clients’ anonymity? The second book was bigger, and Belle knew what it was the minute she skimmed the first page.

Grandma’s diary.

Belle’s heart skipped a beat.

September 27th, 1955. Her father’s birthday.

Oh, my baby boy. How I love you.

Tears pierced her eyes as she realized she was reading her grandmother’s uncensored thoughts—those of a stranger related to her by blood about the birth of her own father. Belle thumbed through the pages, her wonder growing. She’d wanted to figure out who her grandmother had been. Well, this would probably be a good start. In fact, after skimming ahead a few pages, it seemed the whole volume was a book of letters written from mother to son.

Her grandmother hadn’t been heartless or indifferent. She’d loved him very much, based on just the first page or two alone. So what had happened? Why the rift?

Belle was willing to bet the answers lay in this book. She slid the one filled with gibberish back in its hiding place and jimmied with the molding until she felt a little groove slide back into a seemingly corresponding tongue. It locked in place easily, as if made for just that purpose.

As she stood to head to the bedroom, she wondered how the strip of decorative wood had come loose like that. It seemed so secure now. And where had the loud bang come from? When she really thought about it, the noise had seemed too close to be the furnace. She’d have to solve that mystery when she wasn’t utterly exhausted.

Sir followed her from the room with a sleepy yawn, and she shrugged away her questions. Since nothing terrible or tragic had happened, did it matter now? She had some reading to do. But not until she washed the sheets on the bed and made sure the house’s many doors and windows were all locked.

As she looked around once more, Belle shook her head. An inch-thick layer of dust, the ancient hot water heater, the peeling wallpaper. Being the owner of a home with so much history and recent neglect was hard work…but at least it might keep her mind off her broken heart.

* * * *

Eric finally managed to get that fucking intern Belle had hired to pick up his phone just as they turned down the narrow, busy street that should lead them to her new home.

Her temporary home.

“Yeah?” Warrington Dash III had an upper-crust name and three judges in his family, which was good for him because Eric was pretty sure the kid had a lot of pot in his system. Without such familial influence, he’d probably be behind bars.

“Sequoia, we’ve been calling you for hours. Why haven’t you been answering the damn phone?”

The kid was all of twenty but had already decided not to go by Warrington, the family name he’d been given. Instead, he’d chosen the name Sequoia in honor of trees or some shit. He was studying to become an environmental lawyer, and that made Eric weep for the planet.

“Dude, I was doing yoga. No phones. It blocks the process. Hey, I could get you in sometime. You three could use some serious introspection.”

They’d have better “process” with another intern. “I need you to handle the calls at the office for a bit. Something’s come up on this trip, and we’re going to be away a few more days.”

Kellan pulled into a parking space and gestured up the street, letting him know they weren’t far from her address. Tate bounded out of the car in an instant.

Eric put a hand over the phone. “Catch him. He’ll run down the street, screaming her name like some Streetcar Named Desire impersonation.” Eric turned his attention back to his call the minute Kell closed the car door. “So I need you to go back to the office and grab the calendar on Belle’s desk.”

“Dude, Belle and I already had this conversation. I’ve already done all of the stuff she told me to do. It’s a total bummer she quit.”

“She did what?”

“Yeah, she called a couple of hours ago and said she wasn’t coming back. Oh, and she faxed her resignation, too. I’m supposed to tell you guys that she found a new home and stuff. Do you think she’s going to want the yogurt in the fridge? I could use that tomorrow because work makes me hungry and it’s the only vegan thing in the office. You guys eat a lot of animal flesh. Do you really think that’s good for you?”

She’d quit—and she’d done it by telling the goddamn intern. She hadn’t even had the courtesy to call them and tender her resignation. “Don’t touch her yogurt. No matter what she told you, she’s coming back.”

He stabbed at his phone to end the call, then hopped out of the car, his heart pounding in his chest. Anger simmered in his veins, mixing with cold panic and encroaching dread.

He jogged up the street, his dress shoes slapping against the concrete, heading for the other two. Kellan had managed to contain Tate, and the two of them stood in front of a three-story house set right against the street with a blue door. In the dark, he thought it might be connected to the little house around the corner, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Belle quit. She called Sequoia and told that pot-smoking fucker she wasn’t coming back,” Eric grated out.

Kellan cursed. “That’s not a good sign. I really expected her to tell me off, then give me the cold shoulder until I groveled.”

And just like this “move,” the fact that she hadn’t more than suggested she really didn’t intend to come back. This wasn’t just a snit. They were about to launch a battle to bring her back…but for the first time, Eric wondered if the war was unwinnable.

Eric stared at the pale stucco house with its bent screen door. It might look a little rundown, but once it had a coat of paint and a few repairs, the place would shine and look like the mansion Belle’s paperwork suggested she’d inherited. In fact, in both location and historical significance, he was looking at pure New Orleans splendor.

Restoring the house would be Belle’s dream project.

“Shit.” Tate stood beside him, shaking his head as he studied the place in the streetlamp lit evening. “She’s never going to want to leave here. We have three bedrooms that she says need paint with ‘personality,’ whatever that means, and a game room she refers to as the man cave. She holds her nose when she walks in there. Do you think that means something?”

“It means you should pick up your damn socks,” Eric groused.

“I’d even be grateful for that,” Kell put in. “But you’ve heard her diatribe about your kitchen. Even if this house needs a lot of work, she’s going to be far more interested in redoing a historic charmer in New Orleans than some suburban abode in Chicago.”

“We’re fucked. Our only saving grace might be that she can’t live here forever. This place is way too big for one person. I looked around for the front door. That guest house behind it is attached, but I didn’t find the main entrance. This isn’t it.” Tate pointed at the little blue door.

Usually, Eric liked to be aware of the problems he faced. This time, the entire conversation just unnerved him.

Kellan studied what they could see of the place. “The taxes will be a killer. I don’t think Belle has a ton of cash, unless that was part of her inheritance.”

“Her grandmother left her some money,” Tate said. “But the amount wasn’t specified in the documents I saw. Those were about the house, but if her grandmother had a lot of money, would the place be in disrepair? Even if Belle sinks her whole bank account into the house, I doubt it will be enough.”

“Before we can worry about the house or her intentions, we need to remember that she ran. Will she even let us in the door, presuming this is it?” Eric hoped there was a hotel nearby with rooms available. Even this late at night, tourists walked up and down the street. They all had to sleep somewhere. He and the guys did too, though he sincerely hoped it would be with Belle.

He scanned the exterior of Belle’s new house, assessing the modest but colorful door flanked by shutters. The rusted screen door flapped a bit in the breeze. He didn’t see any light from the inside coming through the windows. Was she still awake or had she gone to sleep, blissful that she hadn’t had to talk to them all day?

He’d played through about a hundred scenarios in his head, ranging from Belle running into his arms to the one where she found her inner warrior princess and went medieval on their asses.

Now that he was standing outside her darkened house, he really worried. He wasn’t sure how the hell he would handle it if she told them to go to hell.

“Why are the lights out?” Kellan stepped up to a little carriage-style fixture affixed to the exterior that should have illuminated the area.

“The house hasn’t been lived in for months,” Tate explained. “She’ll be lucky if the power is still on.”

Standing here in front of the place, a chill swept through him, much colder than anything the fall breeze had swept in. Just a couple of yards away, the street was lit, looking bright and elegant, but here, a deep gloom clung.

He glanced around the back of the house, looking for any sign of life. Total darkness. There was a thin alley between Belle’s house on one side and a neighbor’s fence on the other. Just enough for a man to lay in wait. Belle wouldn’t see anyone creeping through her yard. No one from the street would see a thing either.

If they couldn’t persuade her to come back to Chicago with them in the morning, they would so be getting some lights to brighten up the alley and exterior tomorrow. And whether it lacked charm or not, he’d make sure the perimeter had a sturdy fence.

“I don’t like it,” Tate said. “It’s too dangerous. This is just two blocks from that woman’s murder yesterday, the one we heard about on the radio.”

The death of Karen Ehlers had made a huge news splash across New Orleans. It had been all over the radio as they’d driven into town. The fifty-nine-year-old socialite had been discovered in her New Orleans mansion, strangled by unknown intruders.

She’d been one of the toasts of the city, known for her philanthropy and love of her home town. Turned out that she’d also been known for something else.

“Belle’s not a hooker,” Eric reminded him.

“She won’t be turning tricks for strange men so that will reduce her odds of being strangled significantly,” Tate added. “That’s true.”

The big guy hadn’t factored him in. Eric was still really mad. And yeah, he hadn’t done the best job of letting Belle know that he would treasure her virginity. Not as bad as Kell, but even so…she shouldn’t have run off.

“But technically, Karen Ehlers wasn’t a hooker. She was a madam.” Tate was always so fucking precise. “Should we knock on the door or something, even if it’s not the front? You two constantly tell me I can’t just hang out around her house and look like a pervert stalker or the cops will arrest me.”

Kellan was still fiddling with the light fixture. It came on suddenly. The old, dusty bulb bathed the door in a hazy, yellow glow. “The bulb was out of the socket. That’s odd.”

At least they could somewhat see now.

An odd banging sounded from somewhere around the house. Eric’s instincts went on high alert. He dashed around the side of the building and looked down the alley. The illumination from the street didn’t penetrate this far back. In fact, it was eerily dark. If anything, the neighbor’s interior lights behind him blinded him just enough to make seeing anything almost impossible.

Still, he could swear he saw a shape moving in that alley in the distance.

He was just about to run after the asshole when he heard a scream from inside the rundown house that made his whole body freeze in terror.

Belle.

They had to get to her.

* * * *

Belle woke from her dream, certain that she was no longer alone in the house. Her hands shook. Her heart drummed in her chest. Pure fear threatened to choke her.

Move! Don’t just lay here.

As quietly as she could, she kicked the covers away and swung her feet, moving slowly so the wooden floors wouldn’t creak. Belle shivered with every step, but forced herself to keep moving. When had the room gotten so cold? She wrapped her arms around herself and she could practically see her breath, as though the air around her was freezing. She’d turned the ancient heater on a few hours ago. Had it stopped working?

In the short time she’d been in this house, Belle had quickly realized that she had plumbing, electrical, and flooring problems. Now she could add the HVAC unit to that long, expensive list. That was before she tackled updating the décor.

Something loud banged downstairs, startling her. She shrieked. Her hands shook in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Fear iced her veins. Someone was in the house.

Where the hell had she put her cell phone? Sir was suddenly right at her heels, yipping up at her. Did he think it was play time?

“Keep quiet,” she hissed under her breath as she remembered she’d left her new cell phone on the charger downstairs since that seemed to be one of the few electrical sockets currently functioning. She’d decided to find the fuse box in the morning and see if she could trip the breakers and get some of the upstairs sockets operational. She’d been too tired to deal with it before going to bed.

The moment her head had hit the pillow, she’d fallen into a deep, thick slumber where she’d had horrible nightmares of dead women swinging from the rafters of her house. Different girls in different eras, but all hanged in the same room from the same beam. Creepy. She’d let Gates’s warning get into her head. Even now, Belle tried to shake away the vestiges of the dreams. They had seemed so real to her.

The lawyer had said young women committed suicide in this house. Her dream had clearly shown a murder. Belle really hoped she hadn’t gotten her grandmother’s gift. She hoped even more fervently that she hadn’t dreamed about her own violent end.

Was someone really in her house or was she just freaked out? Who would have broken in? Squatters? The place had been vacant so long maybe some of the homeless thought they could just move in. Despite what Mr. Gates had suggested, it couldn’t really be ghosts.

She tiptoed through the bedroom and toward the stairs, trying to control her runaway breathing. Until she reached her phone, she didn’t have a way to call 911. Right now, she didn’t even have a weapon to fight off an intruder. What the hell was she going to do? What time was it? She wished she knew if there was any chance that there were still people on the street outside to hear her call for help.

Belle paused, trying to decide if she should risk going for her phone or just get out of the house. Then she realized that everything around her had gone quiet. She didn’t hear footsteps, per se. She didn’t see shadows or movement, but every creak and groan of the stairs brought fresh terror. Was someone here?

Maybe she really was just overreacting because the dreams had provoked her imagination. They’d started as soon as she closed her eyes. One vivid nightmare bled into the next in a terrible montage.

Helplessly, Belle had watched pretty young women being pulled through the house, screeching and pleading and fighting with every step. Each had been utterly helpless to stop a noose from winding around her neck before a dark figure hauled them high up the stairs. Finally, the assailant tightened the rope around the poor women’s throats and shoved them over the banister, leaving them to dangle to their death.

As the last had been pushed, her neck broke. A jarring crack had jolted Belle awake.

Except that noise hadn’t been a byproduct of her dream. Had it? She’d heard another sound awfully like it since she crept from her bed.

Even if the noise had been real, that didn’t mean someone had broken in. Old homes shifted and groaned. She had to get used to that fact. Her newish apartment in Chicago hadn’t been noisy until the middle school kid living with his single mom above her had taken up the sax.

At the top of the stairs—the very stairs she’d seen in her dream—was a small umbrella holder. She’d noticed her grandmother’s canes stashed there earlier in the day and she inched one out of the little bucket triumphantly. At least now she had some kind of weapon.

Sir barked again.

“Shh.” She tried to shush him, but if she died because her puppy couldn’t stay quiet, she was going to kill Kinley. She just was.

She managed to sneak to the first floor, wincing with each step down. Just another few tiptoes, and she would have her phone in hand. If she was simply hearing things, who cared? She was terrified, and if the police laughed at her, so be it. She wasn’t going to put off calling for help just because she wasn’t absolutely positive she was about to be killed.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light filtering into the house from outside, she made out the small table in the kitchen where she’d stashed her phone. Ten steps to the table, then she could dash out the servant’s door and call for help. It didn’t matter that she was in her nightgown. This was New Orleans. Surely they’d seen freakier things than a woman in her PJs emblazoned with martini glasses and shoes all over it, decorated with the words Girls Night In across her boobs.

Once she was on the street, she wouldn’t be alone, she prayed.

She was almost to the phone when the light over the back door flickered on, pouring light through the big kitchen window and blinding her for a moment.

Then she felt something—or someone—brush past her. Not around her ankles. Sir couldn’t stir the air like that. No, this had been done by something terribly near her torso.

Belle screamed, the sound coming from deep in her gut. There was another loud crash, then something that sounded like metal wrenching, then a splintering sound. Sir barked madly, placing his little body in front of hers with as much of a menacing growl as four pounds of canine could manage.

Acting on pure instinct, Belle swung out, hefting the cane and trying desperately to whack whoever was coming after her.

“Belle, baby, stop,” a familiar masculine voice commanded. Suddenly, warm, strong arms wrapped around her. “It’s all right. It’s just me.”

Tate? When had he gotten here? How had he found her? Belle didn’t care. She threw her arms around him, taking in his familiar scent, his comfort. His big body was warm and safe against hers.

“Let’s go check the rest of the house to see if there’s any sign of an intruder.” Kellan brushed past her, leading Eric along. “Tate, don’t take your eyes off her. If you see anything out of place, beat the shit out of it.”

After a moment of fumbling against the wall, light flooded the L-shaped kitchen, and she could see again.

Tate’s arms tightened around her. “Baby, what happened? You screamed, and we could hear you from outside.”

“I think someone might have been in the house.” Her words shook. Now that she knew she was safe, the adrenaline bled from her veins, leaving her weak with relief. “We should call the police.”

Though she didn’t know what they could tell her at this point. Whether there’d been some forced entry and where? Maybe she could hope for prints. Or maybe they would tell her there was no sign of anything other than her overactive imagination.

Kellan walked back in the room. “It was just the screen banging open and shut with the wind. Looks like it’s bent and the latch is broken. The door itself was locked but the screen made a hell of a lot of noise. I’ll jimmy it so it will stay secure for tonight.”

“All the downstairs windows are locked,” Eric said a minute later. “I checked. Are you sure someone was actually in the house?”

“I felt someone run past me.” It had been a light touch, a stir of the air, then nothing.

Kellan looked around the room. “Did you do a thorough search of the premises when you got here?”

Why was he using his lawyer voice on her? She’d heard him use that quiet tone on many a skittish witness. “I checked a couple of rooms, but it was getting late and I was too tired to look everywhere. I focused on the office and master bedroom since I’m using them.”

“What is this?” Eric picked up Sir, frowning. “Is this one of those puppies from the wedding?”

She grabbed her dog and held him close, crooning, “Don’t you mind him.”

“It’s possible you’ve had squatters here, Belle,” Kellan pronounced. “This place has been abandoned for months, right?”

“Yeah. I thought of that.” She winced. Tate would remember that she’d inherited the house. They’d done their research—fast.

“We’ll search every room before we go to bed, open every door and every closet. Tomorrow morning, we’ll improve the security. We’ll make a comprehensive list of everything that needs attention and break it out.”

Kellan was in charge. It should have annoyed her that he thought he could just walk into her house and take over, but his authoritative voice calmed more than irritated her. Still, she couldn’t let them stay here.

“Are you okay, Belle?” Tate asked, inching close again.

Was she? She’d been so terrified before they’d arrived. The door banged again and she jumped. Yes, that had been the sound. God, what was she doing? She pulled away from Tate. She’d had a bad dream and convinced herself she was hearing things that weren’t there. The house was old and in need of repair. Exhaustion still weighed on her. She needed to turn on some white noise and go back to sleep.

After she figured out why they were standing in the middle of her kitchen at midnight. “What are you guys doing here? You were supposed to have flown back to Chicago already.”

Eric shook his head as he walked back to the front door. “You were supposed to be on that flight, too, Belle.”

“I canceled my reservation, but not yours.”

They eyed her as she spoke. She wished again that she’d packed a robe. Though the nightshirt covered the essentials, she wasn’t wearing a bra. She worried that her nipples would give away how glad she was to see them.

“We’ll also have to replace the screen and the door,” Eric said, walking back in.

“What?” She better not have heard that right. “That door looked like an original part of the house.”

“Now it’s kindling.” Eric shrugged.

Tate frowned sheepishly. “Sorry. Once I heard you cry out, I didn’t think about anything but getting to you. I’m really sorry about the door, but I was completely justified in breaking it down. Not only was that madam who lived two blocks away murdered just yesterday, but look at the overall murder rate in New Orleans. I probably should have done a quick assessment of the physics of busting that old slab of wood down. My shoulder really hurts. And then you clocked me with the granny cane.”

“He hit that freaking door like a linebacker,” Kellan agreed. “We should be glad there wasn’t a glass screen in front or we’d be stitching him up. You know, a well-placed kick might have worked just as well, man. I’m also pretty good at picking a lock.”

If she let them, they would devolve into an argument about how they should have broken into her house. “I quit, guys. Didn’t Sequoia tell you?”

All three men zipped their gazes her way now, wearing scowls ranging from unhappy to forbidding.

“You quit to the intern. Does that seem like an adult way to handle this situation?” Kellan had dropped the lawyer tone and now spoke in pure, grade-A Dom voice.

She so had a way to address that concern. “The last time I saw you, you and Tate were fighting like a couple of school kids, so don’t you dare accuse me of being unprofessional.”

Eric shrugged out of his jacket. “That was sex, Belle. There’s nothing professional about sex.”

“Damn straight. And I want to know where the guy is,” Kell said, his voice turning deeper, darker. “Why isn’t your ‘friend’ here defending you.”

“Who are you talking about?” She set Sir back down and he did a quick sniff of all three men.

“Kinley said you left with someone you called Sir,” Tate said. “But you were just being polite, right? You’re a very well-mannered woman. You wouldn’t have just met some random man and run off with him. I mean, if you waited twenty-six years to have sex, you’re probably not going to copulate with a stranger.”

“Tate, you’re not helping the situation,” Kellan said.

Oh, her BFF was such an awesome bitch. Kinley had told them she’d run off with Sir without mentioning that Belle had slapped that name on her new dog. She had to hold in a little giggle.

Sir scampered around their ankles as Belle did her best to look innocent. “Of course I’m polite.”

Tate winced as he moved his sore arm. “I simply pointed out that she’s picky. Aren’t you, Belle? That’s not a bad thing.”

“I’ll get you some ice to put on that.” She did feel bad about hurting Tate. She hadn’t exactly held back. “If I have any.”

She practically ran to the old fridge around the corner in the kitchen when the truth hit her. Her former bosses and almost lovers were here. All three of them. She wasn’t sure what to do about it. On the one hand, she’d severed ties with them. None of the reasons why had changed. Except…despite the house being locked up, Belle had still felt something brush past her. Surely the house wasn’t really haunted.

She found a freezer bag in the dusty pantry and dumped some of the cubes from the trays to make a quick ice pack as she contemplated what to do. Let them stay…or make them go.

Tate stood in the doorway of the pantry, his face a weary mask. “Don’t throw us out, baby.”

Well, she’d never said they were stupid. They’d been smart enough to send in the one she couldn’t turn away. Tate had always held a soft spot in her heart. He was awkward and a little weird and she adored that part of him. He was unlike anyone else.

“Here, put this on your shoulder.”

He took the baggie out of her hand. “I won’t sleep tonight unless I know you’re safe. Please let us stay.”

His dark, soulful eyes searched her face hopefully. Damn, the man was hot and there was something so earnest and sexy about the way he asked. It wasn’t Tate’s instinct to be polite. He was more likely to give a PowerPoint presentation about why he was right. He was thinking their interaction through, being careful with her. She found something about that so sweet.

Did she really want to stay here alone tonight? Sir bounced into the tight space, skidding to a stop at Tate’s feet. If they left, she would be alone with an overly hyper puppy. “You can stay the night. I need someone to fix the door.”

He nodded, looking so relieved. “I’ll get it done in the morning. Kellan said he’d secure it for the night, and Eric is going to walk through the house once more. We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

From everything but them. “Thanks.”

“And we’ll talk in the morning. Belle, you can’t just run away from us. Leaving without a word wasn’t fair.”

She could still feel how vulnerable she’d been standing there naked while they debated the merits of her virginity. “Humiliating me wasn’t fair.”

Tate started to pace, a familiar habit but one that spoke of his frustration. “I didn’t humiliate you. I was happy about your…news. A little surprised, but happy. I would have been gentler if I’d known. I’ve never slept with a virgin before, Belle. I should have studied how to do it properly. I’m sure I could find a book or two that explains how to make it as pleasant as possible. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m…well, I have a large penis.”

He was going to kill her. She so would rather deal with Eric’s logic or Kellan’s authority than Tate’s brutal honesty.

She held up a hand. “Stop. I understand your reluctance, but you know damn well that wasn’t Kellan’s problem. Let’s just get some sleep and we can deal with this tomorrow.”

“All right.” He leaned his good shoulder against the doorway, way too close to her for her peace of mind.

At their feet, her puppy hiked a leg.

“Sir, don’t you pee on the floor.”

Tate’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

Then comprehension seemed to set in. He snorted as she held her puppy. “Ah, hello, Sir. That is absolutely the meanest thing I’ve seen in a long time, Belle. You can’t name the dog Sir.”

He couldn’t tell her what to name her puppy. She wasn’t about to let him take away her little revenge. “I already did. And I need to start house training him. Can you walk outside with me while he does his thing?”

Tate grinned, and Belle’s heart did an unwanted flip. “Sure, baby. And I’ll let Kellan wonder a little longer about the mystery Dom Kinley said you left Dallas with. He deserves to stew for a while, but he’s going to spank you for naming that little thing Sir. Is it really a dog? Have you checked to make sure it’s not a rat with a bit of extra fur?”

He wasn’t that ugly. “Be nice to my dog, Tate.”

Tate opened the back door for her. “Yes, ma’am. That’s a beautiful animal you’ve got.”

At least one of them was listening.

She let Sir down, and he ran around the courtyard, looking for a good place to handle his business. She stood by Tate, feeling safer than she had in hours.

She was in so much trouble.