I almost choke. A job is the least of my worries right now, especially when it comes to my neighbors.
But I nod numbly.
“It’s a little cold,” I murmur. “Maybe I’ll take off the jacket when we’re inside.”
Marsha turns away.
“Suit yourself,” is her careless reply. “Jim? You ready? I don’t want to be late.”
And carefully, we pick our way across the yard and onto the Morgan’s property. Going in the back door, Maddy Morgan is slaving by herself in the kitchen.
“Hi there,” she says breathlessly, pounding something with a pestle. Holy cow! Is Maddy making her own pesto with fresh basil? My respect for the woman skyrockets.
“Oh hello Maddy,” coos my mom. “How’s it going?”
Immediately I rush over.
“Can I help?” I ask, looking down at the stone bowl. Sure enough, the citrusy scent of fresh basil rises to my nostrils, mouth watering hungrily.
But Maddy shakes her head, shooing us with fluttery hands.
“No, no, you’re the guests. Go ahead and say hello to Ted, he’s waiting for you folks in the living room. Besides, I’ve been cooking for a full house for years, it’s nothing new,” she says with a smile.
I nod, and the three of us head out to the common area. Unfortunately, Mr. Morgan is in a sad state. He’s in a wheelchair by the table, the left side of his mouth pulled down and immobile. In fact, it looks like his whole left side is impaired, and my mother scurries over to his side, hugging him and gushing over how sorry she is that he’s been so sick.
My father salutes him. “Hell of a hit to your golf game, hey Ted?”
Mr. Morgan waves his right hand dismissively.
“Temp’rary,” he manages, the functional side of his mouth smiling.
My parents sit down and tell me to head into the living room to say hi to the Morgan boys. But before I do, Mr. Morgan holds out his right hand and when I take it, he pulls me in close.
“Such a pretty one,” he manages, wheezing a bit. “So pretty.”
I blush and he chuckles. Man, some guys. Even when they’re seventy and partially paralyzed, they still got game. No wonder the boys are the way they are.
But where is everyone? As my parents chitchat with Mr. Morgan, I make my way into the living room. And here’s the answer. Seven tall sentinels look at me, making it difficult to breathe. Seven pairs of blue eyes, all trained on me the minute I walk into the room.
I note that the last brother, Sam, has finally arrived. He’s quite a bit older than me. His dark hair is wavy like his brothers’ but has a little bit of grey strewn throughout. He still has the Morgan build, though, muscular and fit. And his eyes are that bright blue of topaz Caribbean waters.
Man, what a silver fox. All dressed up in a button-down shirt and dark jeans. In fact, all of the guys look nice tonight, in designer clothing, freshly showered and smelling like musk and pine. Immediately, my senses prickle.
“Hi,” comes my soft greeting. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Is that all I can say? Really? After all that’s happened? A blush covers my cheeks immediately.
But the brothers are smooth.
“Hey Macy,” greets Matt. “Good to see you. Macy, this is our brother Sam.”
Sam looks unimpressed as his eyes look me up and down, assessing every inch from the crown of my head to the peep-toe heels on my feet. He takes my hand and shakes it.
“Nice to meet you,” comes a smooth growl. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
My heart starts beating fast and furious. Because Sam’s so gorgeous and the fact that he’s older just makes teacher-student fantasies run through my head. I press my thighs together to keep from getting too wet, squirming a little already.
But Sam doesn’t seem affected at all. In fact, the opposite. He’s a little dismissive, looking off into the distance. Like he’s not nearly as impressed with little Macy Jones as his brothers have been.
Oh shit. Or maybe he knows what I’ve done? Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed. Maybe I really am a whore, a super slutty piece of trash. Maybe what I’ve done is not okay, even if it does feel good.
The confidence I came in with has now left the building, and I’m wrapped in a full-body blush. Sam’s eyes go dark as he takes in my physical reaction to this encounter, but still, there’s no glimmer of lust or arousal or even interest. Just flat blue.
But the other brothers are on a different wavelength. Matt sits and pulls me onto his lap, his lips to my ears. “Don’t worry about him,” he whispers. His breath on my skin makes me shiver. “He’s a crabby old bastard but he likes you.”
This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be sitting on a man’s lap, ready to let go after five seconds.