“Shower and sleep,” she said. “I’m on an unstoppable trajectory to get clean and unconscious.”
He grinned that sexy, promising a good time grin, and she nearly caved. Before Mac changed her mind, she ducked into the bathroom and shut the door. Locked it. Keeping temptation out of reach—for her, not him. Tapping her phone, she selected her favorite playlist and cranked up the volume. Nothing like Freddy Mercury’s soaring vocal plea for someone to love to set the mood for a refreshing, loooong shower.
Mac sang along—too bad if Joe didn’t like her voice—and took her time under the steaming-hot jets while Freddy gave way to Madonna, Bryan Adams, and Simple Minds.
Once her fingers started to prune, she relented and got out, pouncing on the free bottle of expensive body lotion. While Cyndi told the world about girls just wanting to have fun, Mac finished slathering on the lotion. She’d been a little premature turning down the opportunity to mess up the sheets with Joe because parts of her were very refreshed.
She flung open the bathroom door, shimmying everything she had, the chorus on her lips—and met the startled gaze of Joe, beer bottle in hand…and two other men.
One sat on the sofa, the other reclined on their bed, beer balanced on his flat stomach. Three pairs of eyes locked on her assets, jaws sagged, followed by wide, appreciative smiles by the two strangers. Joe turned a murderous stare at the two men—who were obviously his brothers, judging by their same coloring and bright blue eyes.
Mac froze momentarily, like a possum in a hunter’s spotlight, a flight or fight response kicking in, even though in this case, embarrassment would kill her before the adrenaline overdose. She bit down on the urge to shriek like a train whistle and slapped an attitude-infused hand on her waist instead. What was the point of rushing away when men had a photographic memory for boobs and bums? They’d be retelling this story for years.
“You must be Joe’s brothers,” she said. “Nice to meetcha.” As if she met her boyfriend’s family bare-assed every day of the week.
“Pleasure is all ours,” said the brother from the bed, lifting his beer in a silent toast. “I’m Kyle.”
“Luke,” the older of the two men said, from the sofa. “We brought beer.”
Both men, after their initial surprise, met her gaze squarely without their gazes lowering to her…assets. Now if she could just figure out how to make a graceful exit…
Joe solved the issue by hauling the gold-and-purple bed runner off the comforter and crossing the room in double time to wrap it around her, using the bulk of his body to block his brothers’ view.
“Flippin’ hell, Mac,” he muttered, tucking the tail of fabric between her breasts.
His voice was gruff, but not with the chastisement she’d assumed. His face told her he was caught between laughter, annoyance, and possessive arousal. Suddenly, she wanted the Whelan brothers gone. Suddenly, she didn’t need a nap, she just needed Joe.