Page 6 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

“At least let me carry these into your bedroom,” he says.

“Really, I’m—”

Right, he’s already lifting one huge suitcase in each hand like they’re nothing more than grocery bags. I just point to the door of the bedroom and he carries them through, giving me another one of those knee-weakening smiles as he passes me. I grab a duffel bag and a smaller suitcase and follow him in, determined to at least make myself somewhat useful in my own suite.

While I’m at it, I check out his butt.

It’s a very nice butt.

He puts the suitcases down next to the room’s closet — a closet meant for a mining baron; it’s about the size of my entire bedroom back at the apartment in California I share with two roommates — and I sling my duffel onto the massive four-poster bed, covered in frothy white sheets, duvets, and blankets, all topped off with a furry sheepskin. It looks like it’s made for lounging on Sunday mornings while drinking coffee and doing the crossword puzzle.

Not that I’ve ever lounged in a perfect bed on a Sunday morning while drinking coffee and doing a crossword puzzle. Maybe someday I’ll be that ideal version of myself, but right now I’m usually catching up on piles of dishes or laundry, and we don’t get the paper anyway.

“Thanks,” I say again, hoping I don’t sound too much like a broken record.

“No problem,” he says. “I was raised to help out. My mom would have a fit if she learned I wasn’t carrying bags for ladies. I’d be out of the will for sure.”

That winkagain. My God.

“Well, we can’t risk that, can we?” I tease back, leaning against the bed. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of your missed fortune.”

This time it’s his turn to laugh.

“I’m not sure that five pickup trucks in various states of disrepair constitute a fortune,” he says. “I’d hate to miss out on Grandma’s wedding ring, though.”

“It’s an heirloom?”

Cash just nods.

“It belonged tohergrandmother, who brought it over on the boat from Sweden a hundred years ago. She hid it in her corset the whole boat ride because she was afraid it’d get stolen.”

“I guess it worked,” I say.

“Guess so,” Cash says. “Anyway, if you ever—"

“Are youcoming?” Poppy asks, suddenly appearing in the doorway to my bedroom.

“Is it lunch already?” Cash asks.

“Yes!” she says, mock-exasperated. “Dalton and Gavin are already halfway finished. You know, Cash, in another two days the five of you are going to be here on your own and you’ll have to get your own lunch.”

“I’m well-practiced in eating peanut butter off of a spoon.”

Poppy just sighs, then waves one hand at me, hurrying me along.

“Come on, Larkin. You haven’t even met Gavin and Slate yet.”

I nearly ask if they’re also insanely hot men my age but think better of it.

“Great!” I chirp, stomaching tightening again. “I can’t wait!”

Chapter Four

Larkin

Poppy leads me downstairs,back through the great hall, past the formal dining room and to what she told me earlier was the breakfast nook.

It’s not much of a nook. It probably seats at least twenty people, plus their servants. I just assume that everyone who stays at The Centennial under regular circumstances has servants, because it seems like that’s how rich you have to be.

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