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He sighs, gesturing to my chest. “What. Are. You. Wearing?”
“Oh, it’s a baby wear,” I say, hopping off the last step. Phoebe barely moves, proving she’s strapped in correctly. “This way she’s cuddled into me and can have some bonding time whilst also working on her tummy time, but I’ve got my arms free so I can do what I need to do.”
A deep frown—the V only a little smaller than that lick-able one on his stomach—forms between his light brown brows, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. The bulging muscles causes flutters to appear in my stomach, and honestly, I am so fucking turned on.
We need some house guest rules.
At least until I get the all clear from my doctor.
“I can be your arms,” Ben offers with a cheeky smile. “I can follow you around all day and carry everything you need carried so that you don’t even need arms.”
“Um, I appreciate it—” Do I really, though?
“Amazing!” He leans in very close, and I take a step back as he tries to shove his face into my tits. Phoebe is there, inside the carrier, and I slap his chest so that he doesn’t come closer.
Sparks shoot up my arm—quite similar to those horrid electric shocks, except these are pleasant and soothing. I snatch my hand back like it was burnt, not just because of the sparks, but because his chest is so fucking warm… so so warm.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, wrapping my arms around my daughter as I give him a dirty look.
Good defence, Maia—let your anger hide your attraction.
“I was checking if she’s awake.”
“Why?” I do not understand this man.
“So I knew whether to shout or not,” he says, patting me on the hand, eliciting more of those sparks. It would be nice, if he wasn’t being extremely patronising. “Since she’s asleep, I shall go and tell my brother’s of our new development rather than just shout so they know.”
“How about we don’t?” I offer, scooting around him to try and make my way to the kitchen. “Where is everyone, anyway?”
“In the kitchen having breakfast. I made you a smoothie, and Seb made you some food, but then I ate it since you took so long, so he got mad and made you some more, which?—”
“You ate again,” Alex says as Ben and I enter the kitchen. Alex is sitting at the table with an iPad open to a crossword as he drinks some black tea. He’s wearing a pair of fitted navy trousers and a white shirt that stands to be less fitted, so maybe he works in an office.
We never really got that far in our get to know each other talks, but they were all—minus Seb, actually—pretty well dressed yesterday, too.
Christopher is decked out in a full suit and doesn’t even make eye contact as I enter the room. He’s typing on a computer, but the screen is turned away from me so I can’t see what he’s working on. His fingers fly over the keyboard, though, and his only acknowledgement of my presence is the way he takes a deep inhale.
Seb’s standing next to the oven, and he gives me a smile as I enter, his eyes flicking straight to my chest where Phoebe is nestled. He stayed in my room—well, his, I suppose—until quite late last night, and only left once both Phoebe and I were in bed and asleep.
I forewent the shower and had that this morning instead whilst Phoebe napped, since he really didn’t want to be alone. The others left us be, which shouldn’t have surprised me but did.
It’s easy to tell them apart this morning, despite the identical looks. I have no doubt the more I get to know them, the easier it’ll be.
“Breakfast?” Alex asks, and I nod. Seb turns and starts cooking, and Alex crooks his finger, beckoning me forward. I sigh but move towards him, stopping just outside his arm range. “What are your plans for today?”
I frown, not sure if this is a trick question. “I was going to go home and?—”
“You are home, Maia!” Ben says, nudging me. “Remember?”
“Careful,” Christopher barks without even looking up at his brother. “She’s smaller than you, weaker than you, and carrying a child.”
“Sorry, Maia,” Ben says with a grimace. “I forgot that you were a runt, too.”
I let Ben’s words wash over me and don’t bother acknowledging them. Seb kicks him for me. I try not to take offence with Christopher’s words because, honestly, I just want to punch the prick.
He doesn’t even try to excuse his asshole nature, and instead, just makes me feel unwanted and uncomfortable in an environment he has forced me to endure.
“Weaker, maybe,” I say, shooting a glare his way. “But, trust me—I don’t need to be a werewolf for my bite to be savage.”
