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I’m going to crack a tooth with how hard I’m clenching my jaw as I make my way back up the stairs to rejoin my family. I’m annoyed with myself and my mother for allowing Sage—No, Ms. Bergen, keep it professional—to join our family’s festivities. I’m also annoyed with Reese.

For what? Having eyes.

Yes.

No.

Shut up.

“Did you get her all settled, dear?” My mother’s question makes me flinch as the idea of different ways I could get her settled—none of them appropriate or what actually happened while I was downstairs—flash through my mind.

“What? Yeah, uh, sure. Said she’s just going to head to bed.” I try to go for an air of nonchalance. Like I could care less what mother’s companion is doing in my basement. I do feel like an ass for basically drowning her but now that’s resolved, Ms. Bergen who?

I settle down next to Mars at the table. I refuse to look at my mother or younger brother, instead keeping my gaze focused on the remains of the picked apart grazing table. “You know, it’s not going to sprout legs. You can just eat the grape.” Mars elbows me and I jump.

“Shut up. It looks soft.” I grumble out the lie. The grape looks fine, juicy even. I reach out and grab a cube of cheese, tossing it into my mouth and munching down on it like it offended me.

Everyone moves on, chatting about the plans for the rest of the week and I make occasional noises of acknowledgement, stuffing food in my mouth before anyone can look for an extra comment for me.

Mother jumps like she’s been shocked. “Oh no! York, dear, Sage didn’t get a chance to eat anything before she went to bed. Could you make her a plate of what’s left? I’d hate for her to go to bed hungry.”

Nooooooooo.

Reese starts to vibrate with excitement. “I can run something down to her.” He volunteers as he jumps up from his seat, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a plate like he owns the place. The grazing table was the size of, well, the table which means there is still plenty left to give Ms. Bergen.

“Oh, Reese, my love, you need to get settled. You left your luggage at the door.” Mother’s tone is slightly scolding, which turns the tips of Reese’s ears pink. He sets down the plate with another word, heading to the front door, grabbing his luggage, and climbing up the stairs to his room.

“Mars and Sybil are taking the kids to bed and I don’t think my hips will survive going up and down those stairs. You don’t mind, do you dear?” Mother blinks innocently and I fight back a grumble, clenching my jaw to keep the sound deep in my diaphragm.

“No, of course not. Would you mind loading her plate up? You know what she likes best.”

While she tackles that, Mars and Sybil corral their children up the stairs to their respective rooms, and I head over to the fridge and grab a bottle of water to accompany the plate. Hopefully the plastic bottle isn’t too traumatizing.

Mother hands me the plate with a loving tap on the cheek before she heads to the only room on the main level. She has been complaining about some new pains going on with her hip, she was only being slightly dramatic about going up and down stairs, but seeing her shuffle along causes a spot of worry to spin in my stomach. I make a mental note to talk to Mother sometime this week about how she’s really doing.

I know that Ms. Bergen has been going above her position as my mother’s personal chef. Her agreeing to travel to my home for a week as my other’s companion is proof enough of that. Perhaps a conversation with her about how Mother is doing would be helpful. These thoughts are spinning around in my head as I make my way down the stairs.

“Christ on a cracker.” An unexpected groan of frustration has my head snapping up and searching for the sound.

Christ on a cracker is right.

Sage stands in the middle of my game room, my towels in a pile around her feet, every single delicious curves on full display for me.

“Ms. Bergen?” My voice comes out like a growl. I can feel my pants tightening and there’s a chant in the back of my head like a caveman pounding his chest.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Her breasts are perfect, heavy enough for gravity to pull them down slightly. Dusty pink nipples that are hardening before my eyes. And between those soft thighs, a little tuft of copper curls.

“Oh sweet hell.” Sage’s voice comes out as a little whine, my burning gaze traveling back up to her red face. Oh shit. She’s caught me checking her out. If she looked down, she’d see how much checking her out has affected me.

Do I want her to see how she’s affecting me?

Would it be only fair for her to see my reaction?

Why hasn’t she moved?

Fuck, why haven’t I?