Tia

Without Fallon around, the tension in the house is almost nonexistent. The men are relaxed, and the easy flirting between us isn’t strained. No one is here to look over my shoulder.

But he’s been gone all day, and I’m starting to get worried.

“He just needs to let off some steam,” Giles says, when he catches me by the window. “He’ll be back.”

I give him a small smile. “You act like you know each other.”

Giles stands beside me, arm brushing against mine. The soft light that floats through the window make the freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheek more apparent.

For such a big man, there’s a softness to him that Fallon doesn’t have. His eyes, a green that in this light almost looks gray, go distant for a moment.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. Same class. Shared a dorm room when we were transferred to the facility for training.”

“Has he always been so...”

“Impatient. Arrogant. Moody...” He raises a brow. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

I chuckle. “I was going to say stubborn.”

“That too.” He grins, staring out at the snow-covered lawn. “But he’s a good man. Loyal to a fault. His parents...” There’s a catch to his voice.

“You know his parents?”

“They were like a second family to me. His dad still is. But they never believed in this-” He motions around the room. “They believed a woman should only have one husband. I think some of that rubbed off on Fallon. But he wouldn’t have taken the vows if he didn’t think he could abide by them. He may just need some more time than the rest of us.”

My chest squeezes at the affection I hear in Giles’ voice for Fallon, and my respect for the man increases.

“And you?” I ask, watching him.

One side of his mouth quirks up. “What about me?”

“You’re okay with this? With...”

“Sharing you?” He turns and reaches out, brushing his knuckles across my cheek. “Yes, Tia. I’m more than fine with it. Because it means being with you. And I know that there are things I can’t give you. Things that the others can.”

My heart misses a couple beats as I hold his gaze. Gentle. Kind. Thoughtful. The man is all those things and more.

I lean up, resting my hand on his chest and brush my lips against his. It’s warm and soft, and I feel my body begin to tingle, anticipating more.

There’s a cough behind us, breaking the moment.

I hadn’t even noticed Banks sitting on the couch, a dozen books piled around him. Glasses sitting on the end of his nose, he gives a slight frown before burying his face back in a book.

Giles gives me a crooked smile and sighs. “I think-”

The front door flies open, and Huxley and Salinger come in, shaking snow off as they carry in a bunch of boxes and set them on the floor.

Emerson who was in the kitchen, most likely preparing dinner, comes out to join us. He’s self-appointed himself the house chef, and I’m grateful for it. Despite the few cooking classes I was made to take at boarding school, I can still manage to burn toast. I always preferred books over domestic duties, which is why I think Banks and I have more in common than he cares to admit.

We might actually have an intelligent conversation if he ever took his nose out of a book long enough to talk to me. Even now with all the commotion, he just keeps reading.

“What is all that?” I ask.

“Supplies,” Huxley says, pulling out a smaller box from one of the larger ones that contains cans and other nonperishable food items. With a mischievous grin, he hands me the smaller box. “And a gift.” He leans closer, and whispers, “You might want to open it when you’re alone.”

My cheeks warm, because I have no doubt the gift is of a sexual nature.

“Thank you.”

He nods, and then says to Giles, “We can take these down to the storage space in the basement.”

“This is a little excessive. It’s more than we need,” Giles says, dark red brows pulled down.

Huxley shrugs. “Better to be prepared. You never know...”

The men hold each other’s gazes and I swear a silent conversation goes on between them. Eventually Giles nods, and picks up one of the boxes.

As the men take the boxes downstairs, I sit beside Banks and pick up one of his books.

“Multivariate statistical analysis.” I give a low whistle. “Sounds like a fun Sunday read.”

He grunts and takes the book from me.

“What are you working on?” I pick up another textbook and flip through the pages.

“Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Right, because I’m just a woman,” I snap back, shutting the textbook with a thud.

“No.” He lifts his head, dark eyes piercing me. “Because you didn’t spend ten years in school studying chromosomal mutations.”

“Maybe not ten years,” I take the notepad he was scribbling on, and glance over the formulas. “But I wrote my MA thesis on the methodology of gene manipulation.”

I probably shouldn’t have told him that. Keeping my identity a secret is more important than my ego, but I hate the way he treats me like I’m an uneducated floozy.

One dark eyebrow lifts, and I can see the questions in his eyes. Women, especially not women from lower socioeconomic backgrounds like the identity I claimed coming here, don’t have the means anymore to get degrees, unless they’re of a domestic nature. Or, unless like me they were raised and educated in one of the top boarding schools in the country. My father may have backwards thinking about a woman’s role in society, but he never denied my desire for higher education. Even fought the dean of the university to have me placed in the Master’s program.

My throat tightens at the memory of my father. We’d never been close, but the past couple of years, often working side by side with him on his research, I thought we’d connected. That was until he decided to sell me off to Lawson for an insanely large bride price without even asking my opinion.

I’d known Lawson since I was a teenager. From one of the wealthiest families on the west coast, the man had been a graduate student under my father, and afterwards rose up the ladder within the University quickly.

I’d worked with him on occasion at my father’s labs. He was attractive in a way. Nothing like my husbands. But it was his arrogance that had repulsed me.

There was cruelness behind his stoic gaze, one that promised pain if I ever disobeyed him.

Banks is still watching me, questions in his eyes.

I’m saved from having to give an explanation, by Fallon who comes in the front door, features pulled tight, skin flushed from the cold, and probably anger.

At least with Fallon I know he’ll never hurt me. I didn’t have the same assurance with Lawson - or my father.

Banks takes one look at Fallon and shakes his head and sighs. Fallon doesn’t notice. He only has eyes for me at the moment. He walks straight up to me and tells me he’d like another word with me. “Alone,” he adds.

Banks snorts.

Fallon’s eyes go hard. “What?”

Banks picks up his book, eyes back to the page. “Maybe you can intimidate Huxley to leave the room, but not me.”

I pull in my lips, hiding the smile that’s creeping across them, but I can tell Fallon is ready to fight by the way he clenches his jaw.

“Play nice,” I warn them both. Then I take Fallon’s hand and lead him from the room. Our fingers lace together and there is a giddy thrill of excitement running up my spine. Truth is, the idea of being alone with Fallon is more than intriguing. And while the day was relaxing as I got to know the men better, part of me kept waiting for Fallon to return, to scoop me up in his arms and drag me away to my room.

I want to be alone with him even if his attitude is infuriating. Because when we were alone last night he revealed another side of himself.

A side I want to see again.

I expect him to take the lead and drag me upstairs, but instead, once we are alone in the hallway, he turns to face me, a familiar look of intensity on his face.

“Why are you mad at me now?” I ask. “I didn’t leave the house all day, I swear. And I didn’t sleep with anyone, even though I have your permission to do so.”

His fingers rake through his hair. “No, dammit, it’s not that.”

I frown. “What is it then?”

“I know I’ve been an ass and to make up for it I thought we could go out tomorrow after breakfast. Just the two of us.”

My mouth falls into an O. I was not expecting that.

He shuffles his feet, not meeting my eyes. As if this is the most difficult thing he’s ever done in his life. His confidence seems to flounder as I consider his words and it softens him to me.

This is all new to him as well.

“I’d love to,” I tell him. “But the othermen are going to bepissed.”

“I’ll talk to them. I owe you for being such an ass.”

His words soften me to him, and I appreciate that he can at least see the error in his ways.

“Anything I need to know beforehand? Should I wear anything in particular?”

He lifts his eyes and nods. “Yes, Hypatia. Wear something green.”

“Green?”

He nods again, this time I swear there’s a hint of pink on the tops of his cheeks. Is the intimidating Fallon blushing?

“Green,” he repeats. “To match the color of your eyes.”