Page 75 of Rising Heat

The way she squirms when she realizes one of us caught her staring. The way she starts trying to put herself back together, smoothing over the evidence like we didn’t already see it happen.

What she doesn’t know is that watching her try to rein it in makes it considerably harder to do the same. Harder not to think about getting her between us and taking her apart until she stops trying to manage every reaction before it reaches her face.

I’ve been carrying that thought around since breakfast, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I pull myself back before that train of thought becomes a structural issue.

“Which part?” I ask as I pour the melted butter over a bowl of popcorn big enough to feed five.

She gestures vaguely around the room, bourbon balanced against her knee.

“All of it. Nobody warned me the apartment came with⁠—”

“With what?” I probe.

“—never mind.”

She swallows.

Mack glances over his shoulder while he throws another log into the hearth.

“Please. Finish that thought.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

The comment catches me off guard. Not because my brother’s flirting. Mack’s always had game. It’s the way Darcy keeps throwing elbows and he keeps throwing them right back. Most women either melt under the attention or get out of the way. Darcy digs in, asks follow-up questions, and then acts surprised when he gives them.

The thought makes me chuckle.

“Don’t encourage it.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“But it was just getting good.”

Darcy opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and reaches for her bourbon instead.

Smart girl.

She’s outnumbered and Mack and I have had thirty years of practice being a pain in the ass together. At a certain point, self-preservation becomes the correct choice.

She tucks one knee underneath her, my old BU hoodie swallowing her hands, and I drop down next to her with the popcorn and the cards because I need something to do with my hands before I do something I won’t be able to walk back.

I’ve wanted her since the day she walked through the front door and looked around the upstairs apartment like it owed her something good and she was finally ready to collect.

What’s new is realizing how much I like having her here. Not just looking at her, but talking to her.

And then there’s Mack. We’ve been here before, the two of us noticing the same woman at the same time. Usually somebody makes a move and the other follows suit.

With Darcy, neither of us seems particularly interested in doing that. Instead we’ve spent the day pretending we’re not both looking for reasons to keep her downstairs.

Which is probably something we should both get a handle on. Just not today.

Across from us, Mack settles into the armchair nearest the fire. Darcy’s attention shifts to the deck of cards I’ve set on the coffee table, suspicion written all over her face.

“That…looks dangerous.”

I open the deck and start shuffling the cards.