Page 9 of Four Stepbrothers for Christmas

Archer's eyes met mine, clearly recalling the shared escapade, a tantalizing past experience that shattered our collective self-restraint. Four men, one beautiful woman. The memory hung in the air between us, a cautionary tale of what could happen when rules were thrown to the wind.

"Think history's about to repeat itself?" Archer finally asked, pulling me from the labyrinth of my thoughts.

I pondered the question, swirling the scotch at the bottom of my glass. The truth was, I didn't know. What I did know was that Becca wasn't just a temptation; she was a red line, a challenge to the professional and personal boundaries we'd all set. And like it or not, we were standing dangerously close to it.

"I guess we'll find out," I said, taking a final gulp of my scotch and setting the glass aside. I met Archer's gaze, both of us aware that we were standing on the precipice of something fraught with peril, yet undeniably exhilarating.

And just like that, the gauntlet had been thrown, the die cast. We all felt it, the gravitational pull of desire drawing us ever closer to a point of no return.

"Now you've got me thinking about Jessica," Archer's words shattered the silence, naming the actress who had briefly tangled our lives in LA. "Feels like déjà vu, doesn't it?"

The memories from that escapade washed over me. Things with Jessica had gone a bit sideways, but the fault had not been ours. It had been fun while it lasted though.

"Do you think Isaac and Vinnie might be open to, well, exploring a bit?"

Archer laughed, a rich, throaty sound that reflected both amusement and contemplation. "Did you see how they were looking at her? I think the question is moot."

A momentary silence settled between us, the night alive with the distant rustle of trees and the whisper of the wind. We were both wrestling with the same quandary.

"You know," Archer finally said, "the only way we're going to know if she's even interested is to let things happen naturally. Asking her directly could be playing with fire. Worst-case scenario, it's harassment and grounds for a lawsuit."

"I agree. If something's going to happen, it'll happen naturally, organically. There's no pushing it," I added. "At the end of the day, it's her choice. We can feel whatever we feel, but she's the one who'd have to be interested in navigating these waters with us."

"And I'd say we're all on the same page about her," Archer concluded, locking eyes with me. His gaze was an echo of my own thoughts.

We were all adults, all capable of making our choices. Yet as I stood there, staring at the mountains bathed in moonlight, I couldn't help but wonder about the choices that awaited us in the coming days.

The air was thick with uncertainty and unspoken desires, but one thing was clear: Becca wasn't just another woman, and this wasn't just another vacation.

The next five days were going to be a journey, not just through the snow-covered trails outside, but through the labyrinth of emotions, desires, and decisions that awaited us.

Chapter 6

Isaac

Sitting at the desk in the makeshift office I'd set up for this supposed "vacation," I found myself unable to focus. I'd read through the same quarterly marketing report three times, and it might as well have been in a foreign language for all the sense it was making. Normally, it would be child’s play for me.

With Becca occupying ninety percent of my brain, however, things were a different story.

Closing my eyes momentarily, I tried to clear my head, to bring my focus back to the numbers, the projections, the targets. But all that came to mind was Becca—her eyes, the curve of her lips, the lilt in her laughter. She was stunning, not just visually but in her totality. Smart, sharp-witted, and discerning—she made her point without being mean, her jokes somehow managing to include rather than alienate.

She had something—the kind of aura that made you want to be better just by being around her. She had it in spades, but the problem was, she reminded me of Mindy. Mindy, the woman who once filled my thoughts just like Becca was doing now, the woman who took my heart and trampled it into a thousand pieces. The thought made my jaw tighten involuntarily. Becca, however, was a universe apart from Mindy in one key area: she didn’t seem to have a cruel bone in her body.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the ghost of relationships past. Comparing her to Mindy didn’t do Becca justice. She was her own person, deserving of being seen for who she was, not as a reflection of someone else.

Leaning back in the chair, I let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell was I doing cooped up in this office wrestling with memories and what-ifs when the living, breathing inspiration for all this mental turmoil was mere steps away? And why did the thought of her affect me so much? I'd always been good at keeping my personal and professional life separate. This blurring of boundaries wasn’t like me.

I swirled the scotch in my glass, my eyes darting back to the damned marketing report. For the third time, the words blurred into a meaningless jumble. My mind was already miles away—specifically, just downstairs in the kitchen.

I imagined bumping into Becca in the kitchen late at night, both of us unable to sleep. Maybe she'd be whipping up some late-night dessert, the room filled with the warm scent of cinnamon and sugar. In my fantasy, I found myself leaning against the kitchen counter, just watching her, captivated. Our eyes would meet, and we'd share a knowing smile.

Each step closer would feel like a magnetic pull, our eyes locked, saying what words couldn't. Finally, I'd close the gap, our lips meeting in a kiss that would start off as soft but would quickly deepen—a mix of urgency and exploration. My hands would find the curve of her waist, pulling her closer, while hers would journey up my arms, her fingers lightly grazing the nape of my neck.

The tension would escalate, each touch setting off sparks that had been simmering ever since we first laid eyes on each other. And just as I imagined her hand drifting lower, inching toward--

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself, snapping out of the tantalizing daydream. I forced my eyes back to the marketing report, that damned anchor to reality.

My eyes fell on the leather-bound notebook beside my laptop, filled with years of hard-earned business wisdom. As if pulled by an invisible force, my hand picked it up, flipped it opened to a random page.

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