Page 3 of Stolen Faith

Mom sighed. “If that’s true, we’ll be stuck here until dawn while he pleads his case.”

“Good luck and stay strong,” Izabel teased before they left the restaurant, climbing into the back of her parents’ limousine. Rowan’s poker face faltered—just the tiniest bit—when he saw the vehicle, his brows furrowing for a split second before he smoothed them out again.

“Nice car,” Brennon said as the three of them settled on the backseat. Izabel sat in the middle, taking note of how different her new husbands were. While Rowan kept a polite distance, no part of him touching her, Brennon was more willing to push boundaries, his thigh pressed tight against hers, his arm resting on the seat behind her.

Both men had dark hair and rich brown eyes, Rowan’s jawline chiseled and clean-shaven, Brennon’s covered with a five-o’clock shadow. While Brennon was lean with a runner’s build, Rowan was pure muscle.

Izabel decided to invade a bit of their personal space to test the waters. She leaned toward Brennon, her shoulder bumping his chest, as she shifted her legs closer to Rowan, her knee brushing his muscular thigh. He looked at her but, mercifully, didn’t pull away.

“Fan of limos?” she asked Brennon.

He shrugged, using the motion to lower his arm from the seat, his hand brushing against her shoulder. “The only time I ride in them is to movie premieres and award shows, and it’s always on the studio’s dime, which means a bunch of us writers, production managers, and art directors who are lower on the food chain have to share, squeezing in since we don’t have the same red-carpet appeal as the stars.”

Izabel smiled, placing her hand on Brennon’s thigh. “I want to thank you for being such a good sport about the party.” She reached over and placed her other hand on Rowan’s leg. His thigh muscles felt as if they were made of steel, and for the first time, she got a sense of just how strong he was. He accepted her touch, even going so far as to place his large, calloused hand on top of hers. He exuded strength and confidence, both attributes ridiculously hot. Rowan was the tougher nut to crack, but Izabel liked a challenge. “I realize it was a lot to ask, so soon after our binding ceremony.”

“I enjoyed it,” Brennon said easily, giving up all pretense of playing it cool, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. His touch was warm and comforting. Until the tips of his fingers stroked the side of her neck, and suddenly she wasn’t feeling warm as much as hot. “You have very nice parents…all three of them,” he added. “That definitely gives you a leg up on how this all works. I was raised by just one mom and one dad. Must seem boring by comparison.”

“Not at all. I look forward to meeting them. How about you, Rowan?”

There was a long enough pause that Izabel thought for a moment he wouldn’t answer. Then, finally, he said, “It was just me and my dad.”

“Ah.” Izabel waited for him to expand, but, of course, the quiet man simply fell silent. She wasn’t getting “don’t ask” vibes, making it clear through his silence that he wasn’t going to volunteer anything else. Izabel wasn’t typically the type of person to back down if there was something she wanted to know, but she decided to table the question until later.

This thing between them was brand new and she didn’t want to push so hard she pushed him away. They had plenty of time to learn about each other.

A lifetime, she thought happily.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said to Brennon, returning to the original subject. “I do have a working understanding of a trinity marriage. Obviously, how we go forward from here is something we’re going to have to decide.”

“Agree, but…” Brennon quickly covered his mouth as he yawned.

She nudged him with her shoulder, the gesture a friendly one. “But not tonight.”

It was a short ride from the restaurant to the hotel. She and Brennon discussed his current screenplay, Rowan—as always—a silent part of the conversation, listening but not contributing.

When they arrived at the hotel, they disembarked, slowly walking toward the elevator. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, one thing had become very clear to Izabel. She was completely attracted to her husbands, both of them, the physical closeness they’d shared in the limo, driving that point home.

The ride up to the penthouse suite was made in silence as she considered the rest of the evening. Following the binding ceremony, she had shared a short kiss with each man.

The too-delicate touches hadn’t been enough, something she wanted to rectify before she went to sleep. Because until she knew where the three of them stood from a physical standpoint…well, rest wouldn’t come easy.

As they stepped into the suite, Rowan closed the door, locking the dead bolt then sliding the chain. She’d noticed his attention to details, his habit of scanning their surroundings every time they moved.

There were three rooms in the suite, each with a king-sized bed. It allowed newly formed trinities options. To spend their first night together or apart.

“Well,” she said.

“Well,” Brennon echoed. He gave her a charming grin, and she realized that though he was clearly tired, his thoughts were traveling the same path as hers.

Izabel debated saying something else, but this wasn’t the time for words. Stepping up to Brennon, she lifted her arms to his shoulders, tilting her face upward. He was taller than her only by a few inches, and their bodies lined up perfectly. Brennon lowered his face to hers, taking her up on her unspoken invitation.

His lips were soft against hers, much like they’d been this afternoon after the binding ceremony. But Izabel wasn’t interested in polite kisses. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, thrilled when Brennon’s arms circled her waist, drawing her firmly against his body, making it immediately apparent that not all parts of him were jet-lagged.

Their lips parted at the same time, Brennon’s tongue stroking hers, the two of them sharing the taste of champagne and the strawberries from the tarts they’d had for dessert. His palms flattened against her lower back, stroking up and down, always stopping just short of her ass.

When they parted, Brennon gave her that easygoing smile that told her in an instant that this man wasn’t just going to be her husband and lover. He was going to be her best friend too.

“Wellll,” he drawled.

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