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They were in some real fucking trouble here. The never-let-her-go kind of trouble that was sure to cause a nuclear meltdown in both D.C. and Barcelona.
And he didn’t give a damn.
A virgin. Their virgin. Sweet, innocent, and completely theirs.
Now he just had to figure out what to do about the virginity thing.
“Trouble,” Sebastian murmured. “Real fucking trouble this time.”
And they were going to love every minute of it.
WEEK TWO
As the second week of Alyssa’s vacation rolled in, Sebastian kept his questions about toys or virgins firmly quiet as he and Shane made all attempts to put a lock on their self-control and continued their slow seduction of Alyssa.
Arriving at her apartment several days after the episode with the toys, armed with sweet treats, fruits, and coffee, they let themselves in.
More often than not she was still asleep when they showed up early. Waking her was becoming a greater test in self-control each time. And they were becoming weaker by the day.
Depositing the sweets and fruits on the table, Shane turned back and locked the kitchen door before pausing.
His gaze swept over the kitchen, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the floor-to-ceiling windows next to the doors. They were easil
y eight feet tall and they were clean. So clean they almost shimmered without the various fingerprints and bits of salt and sand that sometimes clung to them.
Inside and out.
The kitchen table was closer to the windows, and on the wide deck …
“Son of a bitch.” He could feel every muscle in his body tightening in impending danger.
Sebastian stepped over; years of being raised together, working as couriers for the CIA between Spain and the United States, had given each of them a sixth sense for the other when it came to danger.
Shane felt the tension that suddenly surrounded Sebastian as he saw the problem.
“She’s five five at the most, if she wears those silly built-up sneakers she likes so well,” he suddenly growled. “And she’s climbing.”
“We’re six two,” Shane murmured. “These windows are easily eight feet tall.” Turning, he moved to the table with its rough stone top and surveyed it carefully. “She stood on a chair, ’Bastian. She put the fucking chair on a table, then stood on it.”
Visions of what could have happened to her began racing through his head. A fall to the floor, covered in stones matching that of the table, would have killed her. One crack of her head and it would have been over.
He found his insides shaking.
Together he and Sebastian stalked to the bedroom, worry, hell-fucking fear—riding them as they pushed inside the large, dim master suite to find Alyssa sprawled on her stomach, blankets kicked back, the boy shorts and snug T-shirt she wore doing little to dampen the lusts storming inside them now.
“At least she’s fucking breathing,” Sebastian pushed the words between clenched teeth.
Five five at the tallest, Shane thought. And she was climbing to clean windows clearly out of her reach.
Standing still, assuring himself she was fine, he watched as Sebastian eased closer, bent, and narrowed his gaze on her leg. When he looked up at Shane, his lips were thin, his eyes narrowed in anger.
Moving to where Shane stood, he inhaled hard. There, just below her knee on the side of her leg, a bruise the size of his fist. Black as pitch, the bruising deep and obviously serious.
Turning from the sight of it, Shane swiped his fingers through his hair, clenched his teeth, and held back his possessive, protective instincts. For the moment.
Just for the moment.
Turning back to the bed, he almost grinned at the sight of Sebastian on the floor next to the bed, his wrists resting on his upraised knees as he glared at the ceiling, cursing silently, though his lips were forming the words perfectly.
