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Although for the life of her, Shyla couldn’t say who she liked best between the three of them. They all had their good… and their bad sides. It might be quick, but she felt like she knew them all pretty well after their enforced circumstances. Shared experiences like that usually meant the layers that made up a person’s character were peeled away pretty fast, and you were left with the bare bones of reality. Despite that, maybe because of it, she found she had deep feelings for them all. Even Dante, regardless of their bumpy start.
But as they made their slow descent, she felt herself growing further and further away from them. Like the thread that had bound them together was being stretched thinner and thinner with every kilometer that passed.
There was a chaotic flurry of activity when they finally got back to the mountain rescue headquarters.
People surged around them; statements were required from all of them about what had occurred. A doctor was required to sign off on the four of them before they could leave, and Shyla had begrudgingly signed for a pair of crutches, she didn’t feel she needed, simply to speed up the process.
Messages had gone out to the next of kin for each of them because even though Lazarus, Jericho and Dante weren’t injured, and had acted of their own accord, they were still designated as snowbound in hazardous conditions. That wasn’t something she had expected. Of course, her father was off in Tanzania, exploring the Eastern Rift Mountains and was probably halfway up Mount Kilimanjaro by now; certainly not anywhere easily accessible. If they’d asked, she could have saved them the hassle of trying to track him down.
And all that was on top of the general hubbub of the rescue center with all its staff, both practical and clerical. There was even a pastor and a councilor in attendance in case they were traumatized.
After the days of quiet it made Shyla’s head spin.
She was still trying to reorient herself and regain her equilibrium when two things happened in rapid succession.
First three women surged into the room in a flurry of high-pitched voices, perfect hair, and a cloud of perfume. As wobbly as she was on the damned crutches, she hadn’t quite got the hang of, they almost knocked her over in their haste.
She’d barely righted herself, with the help of a steadying hand from one of the rescue team, when Antony came sauntering in right behind them. His pace was leisurely and unhurried, like he didn’t want to risk getting a hair out of place, and it was as aggravating as the women’s rush.
Shyla desperately looked around for her lovers, any one of them. But she had the sensation of ice filling her veins when she saw that each one was enveloped by one of the women who’d just barged their way in.
Lazarus had his arms full of a busty blond who was stroking his cheek. Jericho was locked in a tight embrace with a very physically fit looking girl who had her head buried in his neck. And Dante was caught in a rather passionate lip lock with a tiny, petite little thing with perfect platinum curls who made Shyla feel clumsy and ungainly just looking at her.
She felt her blood run cold and the color drain from her face. They’d told her they weren’t married… her mind rushed back to that conversation. There had been a moment of awkwardness that they had brushed off as a joke, but she realized they’d never told her that they weren’t engaged or cohabiting, or even just had girlfriends.
Shyla gripped the smooth, indented handles of her crutches; she felt sick. Oh god! What had she done? Damn, she was a fool. Of course, three good looking, successful guys like them weren’t single.
And that’s when Antony joined her, his abrasive character - something she’d never noticed was quite so pronounced - rubbing her the wrong way and angering her even more than she already was.
His words, when he spoke, made it all even worse.
“Shyla! You’re finally back.” He made it sound like she’d inconvenienced him and when he tried to grab hold of her, she blocked him with a crutch and managed to make it look like she was simply a bit clumsy with them. “These guys had a devil of a job finding your father, so I instructed them to alter your personal information and put me down as your next of kin.”
Shyla’s mouth hung open as she looked from him to the bank of desks where the clerical staff sat. “How the hell did you manage to do that?” she asked, seething.
Unfortunately for Antony, he failed to notice how aghast she was at the news.
“Oh, it was easy. I just told them you were my fiancée. It’s almost true, after all.”
It was not even close to being true.
Did Antony really think it was?
Shyla deflected, rather than deal with that since she didn’t want a very public altercation and she could already feel her blood boiling. “Did you get stuck out on the mountain after you left me?” she asked instead, wanting to reassure herself he was really okay. She still felt responsible for taking him hiking, despite her annoyance with him.
Antony waved her off. “Of course not. I told you I’d get back fine. Why on earth would you imagine I didn’t?” he asked, arrogantly.
Shyla frowned, her issue with the Fortney brothers and their women momentarily forgotten. “But I thought… I mean…”
She stopped and collected herself. “When we spoke to the rescue center, they said you were listed as missing because you didn’t call in.”
Antony had a derogatory noise in his throat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Of course, I got off the mountain without any problems.” He said it like she must be insane to imagine anything else. “Now let’s get out of here so you can get cleaned up. I’ve made reservations, but there’s no way I’m taking you to dinner looking like the wreck you are right now.”
What?! Did he seriously just say that?
Yes. Yes, he did.
His words lit the fuse to her rare temper which had already been smoldering after seeing Lazarus, Jericho and Dante being swarmed by the woman who’d almost pushed her over. But she shoved his insult and attitude aside and focused on Antony’s other words.
