Devon didn’t answer. Instead, he looked over at Con, who had stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “He’s not saying jack shit. Are you, Devon?”
His temper flared to the surface. “Can you let her go?” Devon asked, knowing the answer. “Because if you can, then you’re a hell of a lot stronger than me.”
“She needs time,” Con gritted out. “Don’t fucking push this.”
“Yes, don’t push,” Tory said, as she stepped out of the bed, the sheet concealing her luscious curves. “It’s late, and I’m ready to go home. Tomorrow I have a lot planned.” She bent and picked up her dress, then spared him a probing look. “So, are you going to take me or do I call a cab?”
“I’ll take you,” Devon said as he stood and headed for his shirt, which was lying on the floor in a wrinkled heap. He looked around the room. Shit, was that his pants? He picked up the black material, disgusted to note that he’d torn off the button.
“We’ll take you,” Con said, his tone clearly telegraphing the fact that he didn’t trust Devon alone with her.
Hell, Devon didn’t blame him one bit. He didn’t trust himself alone with her. He sighed. Way to screw up, idiot.
“Fine,” Tory groused. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Con pointed to a door on the other side of the room. Tory disappeared behind it, grumbling under her breath. Con came closer to him. Devon braced himself.
“What the hell was that? We agreed, Devon.”
Devon pushed a hand through his hair, knowing he had some serious apologizing to do. “I know, but I can’t lose her. Not now, Con.”
“And you think it’s any easier for me? Watching her walk away is killing me. But forcing her to decide isn’t the answer. She’ll only end up resenting us.”
He’d known Con was every bit as in love with Tory as he. They hadn’t been surprised to learn they both had feelings for her. Most of the time, Con had seemed more like a brother to Devon. Falling for the same woman wasn’t a big shocker. Not for either of them. “I’m sorry. Shit, I deserve to be kicked.”
Con slugged him on the shoulder, hard, knocking him to the side a few feet. “No, you deserve to have your ass beat.”
“Yeah,” Devon mumbled, as he rubbed his now aching shoulder. Christ, he knew Con had been working out, but he hadn’t realized how strong he’d gotten.
“Still, I know how you feel,” he admitted, pulling a black T-shirt over his head. “It was on the tip of my tongue too.”
At Con’s admission, Devon stopped in the middle of pulling on his slacks and asked, “Then why are you giving me shit?”
“Because you shouldn’t have asked her to choose, dumb ass.”
“I didn’t ask her to choose, exactly. It was sort of, you know, hypothetically.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. The point is, we give her a little breathing room. Then we confront her. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“If you two are quite through deciding things for me, I’d like to go home now.”
At the furious female tone, Devon and Con both turned. Tory stood in the doorway of the bathroom, her hair brushed out, her dress, that silken sapphire that molded so beautifully to her body, properly in place. The only sign of sex was in the ruby red of her cheeks and the kiss-swollen lips. Devon ached to strip her all over again. To seduce her into never leaving Con’s bed.
He forced a smile instead.
“We’re not deciding anything so much as working out a little disagreement.”
“Devon’s right. The only one who has a decision to make is you, baby.”
“The decision being whether or not I’m ready to dive into a relationship with the two of you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Devon
answered all the same. “Yes. A relationship like any other couple. The only difference is that you’ll have two men sharing your bed at night instead of one.”
Tory picked up her purse and shot him an angry glare. “That’s a really big difference, Devon. So don’t act as if it’s all so cut and dried.”