Hot 4 (Multiple Love)

"Of course, you do." Holden's voice is soothing, like the slide of a warm hand over my bare ass cheek. Maybe I should insist on being naked for everything he's promised me, and blindfolded. Maybe I won't even need to ask.

"Can't you drive any faster?" I ask.

"Patience, baby." His eyes find mine in his rear-view mirror, and he waves. If we weren't on a major road, I'd be suggesting that we pull over and take the edge off our sexual tension. But waiting will make it so much sweeter.

The sign to Hope Springs is large and faded, and I feel as though I'm entering another world as we drive down the quaint Main Street. We pass an old-fashioned butcher and a barber that would look at home in an Elvis movie. There's a small market with trays of fresh fruits and vegetables outside and an old-world diner with a giant flashing burger and ice cream sundae above.

We don't pass the fire station, but I keep my eyes peeled for it, fascinated to know where my boys head to work each day and where three of them are right now. At least, I think they are. If there's a fire, they could be out risking their lives.

A cold shiver passes through me. Up until now, I haven't given their jobs much thought, aside from their bravery in choosing a career in the fire service. Now I'm imagining them running into burning buildings, facing terrible danger, and it isn't a good feeling.

Further through the town, Holden turns in to a small road. There are three properties here, all on large plots, and Holden's truck pulls into the driveway at the end.

The house is beautifully built from white wood, with a large front porch and a door so huge, I'm going to feel like Alice in Wonderland after her shrinking potion when I get up close. The yard is so pretty, filled with trees and pots that spill flowers. Either they love gardening, or they pay someone to tend this. I never imagined them as gardening enthusiasts either, and a rising sense of panic moves through me.

I'm moving in today, and I don't know them enough. I have no idea about the important things at all.

I stick my car into park and throw the door open, drawing in a lungful of fresh air, trying to swallow down my anxiousness.

"Here we are," Holden says, jumping from his truck. "Home sweet home."

"It's so pretty," I say, forcing a smile to my lips. "Who's the one with green fingers?"

"Harris." Holden nods, his face suddenly serious. I was expecting him to laugh. Why isn't he joking about how his brother has old-man hobbies? Yet another thing I can't explain because I don't know enough.

"Shall we unpack the truck?" I round the back of Holden's large black vehicle, but he catches me by the arm.

"Not so fast, missy. I think we'll leave the unpacking to my brothers. I'm intending to redeem against the forfeit right now." He scoops me up, carrying me like a bride, managing to unlock the front door without fumbling, and I stare around at this place that is about to become my home. A huge open-plan area spreads out before us, which incorporates the kitchen, complete with rustic oak cupboards, the dining room with matching long table and chairs, and the den. The couches look amazingly comfortable, and the TV is almost movie-theater-sized. I expected that from four bachelors. More surprisingly, a large bookshelf filled with books spreads across one wall.

Amazing.

"I can walk," I say to Holden, wishing that I was on my feet so I could trail my hands over the spines of those books and take in the kinds of stories that inspire these men. This whole experience feels like opening a book in the middle and trying to work out the story so far from only the pages that are visible.

"No walking for you," he says. I'm finally lowered to the floor over a soft rug, my boots sinking in. "Strip, and I'll be back." His eyes burn into mine, seeking my acquiescence, and I blink at the intensity.

"Okay," I whisper, and he nods before walking away and jogging up the wooden staircase to the top floor. My pink shirt has small buttons, and my fingers feel like jumbo hotdogs as I fumble to unbutton them. My baggy mom-style jeans hang low on my hips and only need one button to open before I can slide them down. In my bra and panties, I'm exposed and vulnerable, exactly how I crave to feel.

I'm slower to remove my underwear, my hands gripping the material on either side of the fastening and pausing. It's daylight, and I'm standing in a strange place about to bare my whole body. This is crazy.

But crazy is good. Crazy makes me thrum with energy and prickle with sensation. Crazy makes me want to do things that will shock even me.