Page 101 of Reactant

Hunter paused, mug to his lips. “Who?” he asked. “When did you have time to have sex? Haven’t you been—oh.” His green eyes darkened. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Jericho wished he could. “I’m not. I’m sure you don’t want specifics.”

“Six might. I don’t.”

Jericho had always loved Six’s dirty mind for a reason. Normally, he’d be happy to regale Six with his latest exploit; Six had always enjoyed the play-by-play when he returned from Vegas. He wasn’t planning on telling Six anything about this. It was too precious. Too fragile. Toosomethingthat was keeping him up at night and destroying his self-control.

“Are you compromised?” Hunter asked.

Jericho didn’t have a clear-cut answer for his brother. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The definition of “compromised” was complicated. Sebastian was his charge, and his job was to protect him, or, in the most Hollywood cliche, take a bullet for him. This wasn’t like a case where he might care for one of the others more and would put them before Sebastian. They were a package deal, and something inside him wanted to keep them all safe. Hisownsafety was compromised in that situation because there were four of them to protect, and that meant four bullets.

“I said stick on him, not stick it in him,” Hunter said, frowning.

“I haven’t been in him,” Jericho retorted. He hadn’t been in any of them. One time and five men didn’t give him a chance to explore all the possibilities. And there wouldn’t be a second time. There couldn’t be.

“Don’t argue semantics with me.”

“This is why people think you’re the older brother,” Jericho said.

“It’s not my fault that you make questionable choices.”

Jericho was offended at that. He made impeccable choices. Usually. Sometimes the rules needed more flexibility. He’d never done anything that he would consider “questionable.” Until now, he supposed. Sleeping with any of them. Flirting. Kissing. All of it was questionable. He should have retreated from all of them the second he’d wanted to bend Sebastian over his desk. One by one, he’d met all four of them properly, and he’d fallen deeper into a hole where he couldn’t find the ladder to get out.

“Are you going to again?” Hunter asked, scowling.

Jericho hesitated. “We agreed, only one night.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I—if they asked? I… Yes. I would.” He couldn’t deny that. If they offered him another night? Another fuck? Another touch? He knew he would take them up on it, every single time. Regardless of the damage to his soul or the fact that they would go to bed together at the end of the night, and he would be alone. Downstairs, or in another house, it didn’t matter. The point was that they had a future together, and Jericho was an interloper. He didn’t belong with them. He was a shadow. He didn’t exist on paper, and he couldn’t exist with them.

“Do I need to put someone else on them?”

“No,” Jericho blurted, too quickly to try to maintain some semblance of dignity. Heat rose in his cheeks.

Hunter’s face hardened. “Andrew.”

Jericho winced. Fucking hell. He hadn’t heard that name in years.

“No,” he said more quietly. “I need to do this. You asked me to do this.” Hunter might be the face of the operation, but Jericho was at the top of that structure as well, and if he wanted it, the leader role could be his. He didn’t want it. He never had. He just wanted tobe.

Hunter rarely requested he do anything. Jericho volunteered and went where they all needed him to because they were ateam.

“I never would have asked if I thought this was going to do you harm.”

“They haven’t hurt me,” Jericho said, offended at the idea that any of them would. All of them were beyond-honourable men.

“Perhaps not physically.” Hunter pushed away from the bench and crossed his arms over his chest. “You might be good at hiding yourself from everyone else. But you can’t hide from me.”

Not for lack of trying. “We’ll finish this, and then I’ll keep my distance.” It was the only option available. Anything else would destroy him.

“Or I can pull you now, and we can put Six or Moira on them. Better yet, you and Six can go to Melbourne and put some distance between you, and Spence and Ken can take over.”

Jericho slammed his mug down so hard the tea sloshed over the side, heating his fingers. “I said no, Alex. It’s my job, and I’ll see it through.”

“With your hand down their pants?”

Jericho scowled as he wiped his hands with a napkin. “You’re not too old to put over my knee,” he warned.

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