“Sophia.”

Broad, rough hands slid down her naked back. She arched up into the hands, still more asleep than awake.

“Princess.” The voice was precise, with a cute English accent.

Another set of hands smoothed the hair from her face. Her blood heated, desire flowing through her though she was still resting in that place between asleep and awake.

Even in sleep she responded to their touches. Her husbands.

Sophia rolled over onto her back, her nipples hardening as the cool air washed over her naked chest.

Taking their wrists, she guided one of each of her men’s hands to her breasts. Their touches were distinctly different, and with her eyes still closed, she tested herself to see if she could tell the difference.

The hand on her right breast was hard with calluses, the touch tentative at first. Then hot, strong fingers closed over her breast, squeezing with just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

The hand on her left was large, and lay more heavily on her breast, cupping it for a moment before thumb and forefinger captured her nipple, plucking at the sensitive tip of her breast.

The breath she’d caught when Tristan squeezed her right breast escaped as a moan of pleasure when James played with her left nipple.

Tristan’s hand slid down her torso, skimming over her ribs, belly, then dipping under the sheet. Sophia spread her legs. Her sex, which ached a little from their previous lovemaking, was once more wet and ready for them.

James bent his head, kissing her nipple, and then moving up to her throat.

Sophia tipped her head to the side and blinked her eyes open. Tristan loomed over her, one hand braced beside her head, his knee on the bed. His right hand disappeared under the covers, and when their gazes locked, he spread her pussy lips with index and ring fingers, his middle finger feathering over her clit.

“Sophia.” He leaned closer. Maybe she was Sleeping Beauty, and here was her noble knight come to wake her from her sleep.

His fingers in her pussy made this a very adult version of the fairy tale, and she was more than happy with that.

There was a wicked glint in Tristan’s eyes, and Sophia tangled her hand in James’s hair.

“Sophia,” Tristan said again.

“Yes, husband?”

“Mmm, I like it when you say that.” James’s words were muffled against her neck. He flicked his tongue over the soft skin under her ear, then dragged his lips down her neck and over her collarbone, headed for her nipple.

Sophia arched up, offering her breast to James as Tristan’s fingers continued to play with her pussy.

Tristan stopped touching her long enough to throw the covers off, leaving her naked. Sophia gasped as cold air touched her hot, wet sex. “Sophia, James.” There was a note of command in Tristan’s voice.

Sophia spread her legs wider in instinctive response and licked her lips.

“Kiss me,” she demanded. Maybe it was a plea.

Tristan leaned down, his mouth hovering over her. His hand cupped her sex, palming it. She wanted him to slide his fingers into her, then his cock. She wanted James to watch, then she wanted James to fuck her. Then she wanted to watch James fuck Tristan and—

Tristan patted her pussy and straightened, leaving her poised for a kiss, her legs splayed and waiting for one of them to slide between.

“James.” Tristan’s voice was sharp.

James kissed her nipple one last time and got off the bed.

Sophia blinked. They were both dressed. She hadn’t noticed until now.

“What’s happening?”

Her husbands grinned down at her. Tristan looked at his watch. “Time to get up. We have a flight to catch.”

They walked out of the bedroom. Sophia gaped at them as she lay naked and ready on the bed. When she heard James’s chuckle float in from the living room, she narrowed her eyes. She flung herself off the bed and stomped to the closet. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for, but she pulled on a short robe of pale blue lace that was completely sheer.

She posed carefully in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, her other arm raised and bent so she could play with her hair.

Her nipple pebbled as it rubbed against the scratchy lace.

“Where are we going?” she asked them. James was seated on an armchair, the decorative pillows that normally filled it carefully stacked on the floor. The grin on his face faded as he turned and looked at her. She knew that with one arm raised, the hem of the robe only barely covered her pussy.

She wished she’d put on heels.

Next time she would. Her husbands wanted to play? Well, she was more than willing.

Tristan had his suitcase spread open on the coffee table and was carefully packing it. He looked up and froze, his eyes turning to liquid gold as he raked her from head to toe with his gaze.

But he shook himself and went back to packing.

“We need to go home.” He zipped an inner cover closed.

Sophia dropped her pose, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I am home.”

Tristan checked the buckles that held his sword to his belt. “We need to go to England.”

Anger and anxiety pooled low in Sophia’s stomach. “My home is here.”

Tristan finally met her gaze. “I’m a Knight of England.”

Sophia swallowed against the panic and anger that were choking her. Now she wished she were dressed. The robe no longer felt like a weapon in a sexy game—it felt inappropriate for the conversation they were about to have. “I am a member of the Carabinieri, a member of Italy’s military. I have dedicated my life to protecting the art and beauty of Rome.”

Tristan shook his head. “James and I are both from England.”

Sophia’s stomach burned with rage. Tristan’s arrogance was sickening. “Ah, but of course,” she purred. “I must give up my home, my life, my job to join you, because I am your wife.”

Tristan crossed his arms. “We can debate this later. I’m not saying you have to move to England.”

James muttered something that sounded like, “Abort, abort.”

“You’re not?” Sophia arched a brow. “Oh, thank you, sir.”

“Hey, you two, why don’t we talk about this—”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed and he ignored James’s interjection, speaking to Sophia. “At least not right now. But our flight to London leaves in four hours.”

James used his hands to push himself out of the chair. Their vigorous lovemaking must have hurt his knee.

“You go. I will remain here,” Sophia said.

James shook his head, holding his hands up the way a suspect did when cornered. The universal sign for don’t shoot. “Let’s just get through the next few days, then we can figure everything else out.” James looked back and forth between them. “We need to stay together.”

Sophia was starting to feel cornered. “There are plenty of triads who live separately.”

James frowned, lines appearing on either side of his mouth. He looked almost…hurt. “Is that what you want?”

Sophia refused to be put on the defensive. “I want my husbands to talk to me, not make arrangements without me.”

She expected the argument to continue, but at her words, both men relaxed and shared a grin.

Sophia’s brows shot up in alarm. Why were they smiling?

“We tried that,” James told her. His eyes sparkled. “A couple of hours ago. We ended up having sex.”

Sophia frowned, but the memories were there. Soft words she was too sleepy to translate, warm hands and warmer lips.

“You were hard to resist,” Tristan admitted. “That’s why we had to get dressed.”

Sophia let her anger fade away. She felt mollified that she had managed to seduce them in her sleep. She wasn’t losing her touch. “Good.” She slid her hand from her waist over her hip to her thigh, and started toying with the hem of her robe.

As one, their gazes dropped to where her fingers fiddled with the edge of the lace. Tristan shook himself, deliberately turning to look at the late-morning sun that bathed the piazza outside her windows. He stuck his hands in his pockets, adjusting the fabric to accommodate his hard cock.

Bene. He deserved to suffer. After all, her body still hummed with the lingering tremors of the arousal they’d called up with their fingers and mouths.

“The conclave is being held tomorrow,” Tristan said.

That sobered Sophia. “So soon?”

“The conclave has to happen within three days of the fleet admiral’s death.”

“I didn’t know that,” James said.

Sophia hadn’t known either, and that unsettled her. She’d thought she knew everything. With an admiral for a father and a security officer brother, she was sure she knew all the rules.

“At Triskelion Castle?” she asked.

Tristan shook his head. “The Spartan Guard said they cannot guarantee the safety of the admirals.”

James whistled. “They actually admitted that?”

“They did, and I could tell it cost Mateo to admit it.”

“Then where?”

Tristan turned to look at her, but didn’t speak.

He wasn’t going to tell her. “I’m your wife.”

“He won’t tell me either,” James said.

“Do you need help packing?” Tristan asked in a clumsy attempt to change the topic.

Sophia’s anger of a moment ago returned. “You’re a knight, and I know what that means. But we are your trinity.”

James held out a hand and Sophia took it, letting him draw her into his embrace.

Tristan’s jaw was hard, the muscles standing out he was clenching his teeth so hard.

“Knights make the same vows as other members when they join a trinity,” James said quietly. “I know, we both know, what it means to you to be a knight, but if you’re always going to be loyal to the knights first, and us second, then you need to tell us that—right now.”

Sophia laid her cheek on James’s broad, warm shoulder. “Are we your trinity, Tristan Knight?”

Tristan scrubbed both hands through his hair. “There will be things I can’t tell you.”

“Is this one of those things?” James asked.

Tristan shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. There are rules and protocol for what happens when we need a new fleet admiral, and there’s protocol for what to do if the Isle of Man is attacked, but not for both.” Tristan swallowed and there was uncertainty in his eyes. Knowing what little she did about him, Sophia was sure that uncertainty would be harder for him to deal with than danger.

James held out his other arm, inviting Tristan to join them.

Tristan’s first steps were hesitant, but then he placed his hand in James’s. James drew him into his other side, and Sophia reached out to take Tristan’s other hand, completing their connection.

“My vice admiral told us that we have to trust our instincts. Our security officers are working with the Spartan Guard, and are going to provide security for the conclave. The knights will be security in the conclave itself.”

“The conclave is in London?” Sophia asked.

Tristan nodded.

It made sense—London was the closest large airport to the Isle of Man, and most members stopped there on their way to Man.

Sophia thought about it for a moment before saying, “You will have decoys go to the Isle of Man, in case he is watching?”

Tristan frowned. “Decoys?”

Sophia shrugged. “My father employs decoys quite often as a security measure.”

“No decoys. The Domino is dead.”

“He did die?” Sophia asked. She had a flashback to the man twitching and falling to the floor.

“Yes. He had a cyanide pill in his cheek. They tried their best to keep him alive, but he passed away. With his death, there’s no direct threat against the conclave.”

James jerked at Tristan’s words. Sophia lifted her head off James’s shoulder and looked at him. Their gazes met, and the same worry she felt was reflected in James’s expression.

Tristan was still talking, as much to himself as to them. “The main issue is figuring out where the security breach on the isle was, or is. The Spartan Guard are going to keep working on that, hence the London security officers working the conclave.”

When Tristan stopped, there was an uneasy silence.

“There is still danger,” James said slowly. “The Domino always has an apprentice.”

Tristan pushed away from them and started to pace. “But this Domino is, was, younger. He probably was the apprentice.”

Sophia and James shared another look. “What aren’t you saying, Tristan?”

Tristan swallowed. “I am a knight, I will—”

“You’re a knight, not a soldier.” Sophia stepped into Tristan’s path, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Tell us what you really think is going on.”

Tristan started to scrub his hands through his hair, but Sophia caught them in hers. James joined them, his big shoulders blocking out the sunlight that spilled in through the windows.

“I think this is a trap,” Tristan whispered.

“A trap?”

“The fleet admiral was killed in what is supposed to be our most secure stronghold. His death means we have to elect a new fleet admiral, which means we have to have a conclave. Our first-choice location is compromised, so we’ll go to a second location.”

“You think the Domino himself—assuming the man who died was the apprentice—is going to try to attack again?”

Tristan shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know. Clearly the Domino knows enough about us to have gotten past the Spartan Guard. He may know enough to be using our own rules to manipulate us. What if he knows we have to have the conclave within three days?”

“But he had no way of knowing where the conclave would be if it’s not on the Isle of Man,” James countered.

Sophia squeezed Tristan’s hands. “But he could guess. Or maybe have one person in each territory capital.”

Tristan shook his head. “Maybe, but that would mean there were at least nine people working with the Domino.”

“There’s never been any indication of there being more than two—the Domino and the apprentice,” James said.

“Exactly. And…and I’m sure the people in charge of security have thought of this. The admirals and security chiefs from each territory will be working with the England security officers to ensure tight security for the conclave. The knights are decorative in this case.” Tristan grimaced. “I just can’t shake this feeling.”

Sophia squeezed his hands one last time and headed for the bathroom. “I will shower and then we will call my brother.”

“And pack,” Tristan called out.

Sophia’s only reply was to move a bit more quickly toward the bathroom. The playfulness of their waking, and the fight they’d had both seemed far away, as if they’d happened hours, not minutes ago. Sophia jumped into the shower. She hated to wash away the traces of their lovemaking, but she carried reminders in sensitive patches of flesh on her hips and breasts, the aching muscles of her inner thighs, and a faint beard burn on her neck from Tristan.

She was packed and ready to go in half an hour. As she secured the locks on her windows, she looked around her apartment. It had been her home, her sanctuary, for years. Massive by the standards of Rome, this space had hosted parties and lovers alike. And now she had memories of her husbands kneeling before her in the living room, touching and caressing her in the bedroom.

She took a final look around her soft, warm home, at the way the light painted the neutral-colored surfaces gold, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she would never see this place again.

That she would never again come home.