Page 99 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

“Why are you mouth breathing outside my room like some creep?” she asks, her tone sharp but not as cold as I expected.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m a big, dumb idiot, and she knows it.

She’s wearing these tiny shorts and a form-fitting top, her hair pulled up in a messy knot. I can see her belly, rounder than the last time I really looked at her, and it makes my heart trip over itself.

“Ivy,” I start, but the words still won’t come.

I want to tell her how sorry I am, how much I want her. I want to tell her that I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. But all I can do is stare at her, drinking in the sight of her, and I can’t stop myself.

I grab her face and kiss her.

She gasps against my mouth, surprised but not pulling away. Her hands come up, pressing against my chest like she might push me back, but I kiss her harder, trying to pour everything I can’t say into it.

Her lips soften under mine, and I feel something crack open inside me—a hope, a chance, a spark I thought I’d lost. I pull her closer, my thumb brushing her cheek.

I kiss her deeper, feeling like I can finally breathe again, and when she kisses me back I don’t think I could be any happier.

Chapter 45

Ivy

Hank is kissing me stupid, that’s the only explanation. He has melted the brains right out of my head. Because he doesn’t deserve to even look at me, let alone put his lips on mine. But here he is, doing it anyway, and I’m too shocked to stop him. The worst part is, I don’t even know if I want to stop him.

How messed up is that?

I stand there, my brain lagging five steps behind my body. This is the same Hank who told me I was trying to baby-trap them. The same Hank who can barely look at me without a frown. I should shove him away, tell him he missed his chance. But his mouth is hot and urgent, and I’m melting against him like a snowflake on a damn bonfire.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he groans, the words tumbling right against my lips. His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “I’m sorry. So damn sorry.”

I’m dizzy, and it’s not just from the lack of oxygen. I’ve spent days convincing myself I’m better off without him, that Holt and Wyatt are enough. But now he’s here, all six-foot-whatever of brooding, bearded intensity, and I’m forgetting all the reasons why I was supposed to stay mad.

I try to pull back, but my body has a different agenda. My fingers tangle in his hair, his beard scraping deliciously across my skin. He shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be letting him. But when he cups my ass and lifts me like I weigh nothing, I gasp instead of protest.

“Thought I lost you,” he says, and there’s a rawness in his voice that hits me hard. I want to hit him back, scream that he did lose me, that hethrew me away. But then he’s kissing me again, and I can’t find the words.

He’s moving, carrying me out of my room, and I’m too stunned to ask where the hell we’re going. I expect him to take us to his room, but he veers left, heading toward the living room.

Wyatt and Holt look up from where they’re standing in the kitchen, and their eyes go wide.

Wyatt lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “About damn time.”

Holt just stares for a second, then scrubs a hand over his smile. “You really know how to drag shit out, don’t you?”

They’re both moving by their next breath. Wyatt crosses the room in a few easy strides, his hands landing on my hips as he presses a kiss to my temple. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice is soft, but there’s a heat in his eyes.

I nod, still breathless, still spinning. “Yeah.”

Holt presses a kiss to my lips. “You sure?”

I hesitate. Not because I’m unsure about this—about them—but because the past few days have left me shaken in ways I don’t know how to articulate. But then Hank’s lips press against my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and I know.

I meet Holt’s eyes and nod. “I’m sure.”

Hank exhales sharply, his grip flexing on my thighs where he’s still holding me against him. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You two just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me make this up to her?”

Wyatt chuckles, his hands already moving, while Holt lets out a quiet, knowing hum. “Oh, we’re gonna help.”

And then there’s no more talking. Just hands and mouths and heat. It’s a blur as I try to wrap my head around the fact that this is happening. That they all want this. That I want this. Hank’s mouth is back on mine, and it’s like he’s trying to kiss away every doubt he ever put in my head.

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