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Jack said, “Yeah, but I bet they only have white shorts.” He beckoned with inked fingers. “Come on—model them for us.”
Darien gave a quiet laugh. “Fuck no.”
Roman goaded him on. “Come onnnnn—fucking do it.” Paxton echoed his big brother, though he omitted the curse word.
Darien turned to face the group, walking backward now, and opened his robe to show off the Caliginous shorts. White, clearly, judging from the answering catcalls and laughter.
When he got to the door, he slipped out of the robe and hung it on the hook by the door.
“I’m going for a session,” Roman called. He was already halfway down the hall, a smile lingering in his voice. “Keep an eye on Pax.”
Paxton whined, “I don’t need to have an eye kept on me!”
“Yeah, you do,” Roman replied. “Hey, Shay, Ivy—they do massages here. Go talk to Tanya. Put them on my bill.” He was gone before either of them could reply.
Darien entered the chamber and shut the door. The room was soundproof, so they could no longer hear anything the others were saying.
Loren saw Ivy and Shay disappear in the same direction Roman had gone. The bounce in their gaits told Loren they were going to inquire about those massages.
But she stopped noticing what the others were doing, because Darien was walking this way.
“They’re right,” he said, his bass voice echoing, “white’s not really my color.” Those shorts were demanding to be stared at—and it had little to do with the color, which looked far better on him than he insisted, and a lot to do with the fit. It took every ounce of Loren’s self-control not to let her eyes stray downward. The white really brought out his tan.
“I think it is.” She added, “I don’t know about the satin, though.”
His laugh was deep and rich. “Me neither.” He stopped beside the table, reached into his right pocket, and took out a pair of white leather gloves. “These are for you. You’re supposed to cover up your conduit tattoos.”
“Those look really tiny.” She wasn’t convinced they would fit.
“Your hands are really tiny,” he countered. He gave them to her, and she slipped them on, squeezing her hands into fists. He was right—they fit perfectly.
Guess I’m smaller than I think, she said to Singer. The dog answered her with a wag of his tail.
Darien glanced over his shoulder—looking out the circular window in the door. Tanner and Kylar noticed him watching, and when Darien nodded once, Tanner stepped up to the panel beside the door and turned the chamber on.
Little balls of light winked through the air like stars, and shivering raindrops floated from floor to ceiling and ceiling to floor in zigzagging lines.
“Why don’t you lie down?” Darien suggested. “I think you’re technically supposed to, but clearly we don’t like following the rules.” He winked.
Her stomach felt jiggly. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“There’s not enough room.”
“You can lie on top of me if you’d like.”
Her face turned tomato-red.
“I’m just teasing,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. He had a really adorable dimple that he didn’t show off enough. It softened his face and made him—a bit—more approachable. He gestured to the table with a tip of his head. “Lie down. Get comfortable. I’ll be right here.”
She eased herself down onto her back, rested her arms around her middle, and propped up her knees. Her hair tumbled over one side of the table; she should have kept it braided. “Do you think Tanya’s right?” she asked him. Now that she was lying down, Darien only looked taller and more intimidating.
Blood rushed to her face as she imagined what he would look like directly on top of her, instead of off to the side like this.
Darien said, “About what?”
“That this could hurt me? Or you?”
