Page 22 of Guilty as Sin

"What makes me different?" I ask, curiosity mingling with the afterglow of pleasure still humming through my veins.

The brothers exchange a look over my body, one of those silent communications that speak of years of understanding each other without words.

It's Karl who answers, his finger tracing the outline of my lips with reverent precision. "You’re our perfect match. You’re absolutely magnificent." His voice trails off as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.

“You captivated us the moment you walked into that bar." Rolf’s hand slides between my thighs, finding me still sensitive from our lovemaking. "But enough talking.”

My breath catches as his fingers begin a slow, deliberate exploration. Karl shifts behind me, his hardness pressing insistently against the small of my back. The intensity in their eyes makes it clear that our night is far from over.

"I thought you said to let me rest," I tease, even as my body responds eagerly to their touch.

"We did," Karl murmurs, his teeth grazing my earlobe. "For approximately seven minutes."

“Which was very generous of us," Rolf adds, his fingers circling my clit with maddening lightness.

I arch against them, suddenly desperate for more. "And now?"

Karl's hand tangles in my hair, gently pulling my head back to expose my throat to his hungry mouth. "Now we make sure you understand exactly what belonging to us means."

Morning finds us still tangled together, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains I hadn't noticed the night before. Karl is already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with those intense eyes.

"Bonjour," he murmurs, tracing my jawline with his finger.

Rolf stirs behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. "Did you sleep well?" His voice is rough with sleep, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

I stretch between them, feeling delicious aches in places I never knew could ache. "Better than I've ever slept," I admit.

Karl smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. "Good. Because today, we have plans for you."

"More plans?" I raise an eyebrow, feeling a flutter of excitement. "Haven't you exhausted your repertoire?"

Rolf's laugh rumbles against my back. "Oh, Zoe. We've barely begun."

His hand slides up my thigh, and Karl's mouth finds my breast, and I realize with startling clarity that this—this exquisite connection with these two extraordinary men—is exactly what I've been searching for my entire life.

Paris stretches outside our window, the city of lights waiting to be explored. But for now, our world narrows to this room, to our three bodies moving together in perfect harmony, to the pleasure that builds between us like a symphony reaching its crescendo.

And I surrender to it completely.

CHAPTER 16

ZOE

The restaurant has the uneasy air of an overcrowded aviary, sleekly feathered women and their sharply suited counterparts throwing back their heads in abrupt cries as they peck at arugula and tiny crocks of crème brûlée.

Harper leads me through the midday rush, her confident strides cutting a path through the congested rows of tables. I watch her move and imagine what it would be like to carry my secrets as effortlessly as she carries herself. She angles toward the corner, where Mom and Harper’s mom, Celia, are holding court like two endangered species with their jewel-bright plumage, attracting admiration from the lesser fowl around them.

Mom is serene in her sapphire dress, coolly acknowledging the staff that comes and goes with their hands full of tiny plates. Celia looks ready to be served for lunch, red hair pinned up like a juicy tomato and a flowery scarf draping her shoulders. Next to them, Harper seems youthful, confident, and happier than I’ve seen her in years. Her recent engagement to Silas Fraser probably has something to do with that. She greets the mothers with a warm smile and takes her seat, leaving me to settle into the crossfire.

"We were about to send out a search party, dear. You look positively radiant!" My mother’s words are honeyed but firm, with the sting of a well-aimed barb.

"Sorry I’ve been hard to reach," I say. "The last week was a blur." The knots in my belly grow tighter. “How have you been?”

"Things must have gone well," Mom says, eyeing me like she's guessed my secret, "considering how much you're glowing."

Celia's eyebrows shoot up, a reporter's instinct for sniffing out the scandal buried beneath my layers of misdirection.

"Oh, it was fantastic. Wonderful." I search for another word, then two or three more to deflect the blow. "I got back late last week and I’ve had meetings with clients almost every day." I glance at Harper, hoping she can steer this conversation with the same efficiency that lets her command a room.

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