She bumped her head against my legs and greeted me with a plaintive, “Breow.”
Desmond stood in front of the stove, measuring dried oregano into his palm.
“You know I don’t eat, right?” I rubbed Rio’s back with my foot, and she flipped over, clawing at my toes.
“I tried to tell him that, but he insisted.” Holden emerged from the bedroom and leaned beside me in the kitchen entrance. Neither of them touched me, no one having the possessive upper hand here, but I could sense Holden’s gaze on the back of my neck, and Desmond was staring right at me.
“How’d it go?” Desmond asked.
“It’s done.”
“And how do you feel?”
I shrugged and let out a sigh. “I thought it would be a release. Thought I’d be done once it was over. But…”
“It’s still there,” Holden said.
“It’s still there. But maybe now the nightmares will let up.” I tried for a smile and succeeded a little because Desmond looked back to the sauce he was making and stirred in the oregano.
“Why are you cooking?” I asked.
“It helps me destress. And besides, unlike the two of you I actually do have to eat.” He replaced the lid on the pot before wiping his hands on a dishtowel and shooing Holden and me out of the kitchen. He was welcome to claim it as his domain. I had no use for it.
Holden sat on the loveseat, and I plopped down beside him, leaving some extra space since I wasn’t sure how to behave with both of them in the same room being so…nice.
Desmond answered the question for me when he sat on my opposite side, forcing me to smoosh against Holden, sandwiched between them. The two men exchanged a glance, and I expected them to go for each other’s throats at any moment.
Finally when a good five minutes passed without Holden calling Desmond a dog or Desmond reminding me Holden was a walking corpse, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Either you guys drank the Kool-Aid, or I really am dead, because you two have never been this nice to each other.”
Holden brushed my hair back, and Desmond squeezed one of my hands. “Look,” Desmond started. “This isn’t…perfect. I don’t like him, he doesn’t like me, but we both love you. And considering everything that happened, and how we both almost lost you for good…”
If they proposed a happily ever after ménage a trois, my poor little brain was going to explode then and there. It wouldn’t work, of course, but I couldn’t help think that’s where this insane discussion was going.
“We’re calling a truce,” Holden finished for Desmond.
“A truce?” Not as sexy as ménage a trois.
“For right now, at least, we won’t fight for your affection. We’ll respect that you have feelings for us both, and leave it there. For now,” Desmond explained.
As far as arrangements went, it might be as good as I’d ever get from them. And I didn’t have it in me to choose between them, not now. Not after everything.
“Okay.” I nodded, but nudged each of them on the shoulder, drawing their attention to how tightly packed we were on the loveseat. “But is it okay with you guys if I move to the chair? You’re kind of squishing me.”
About the Author
Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.
Ever since she was a young girl she has loved the idea of the supernatural coexisting with the mundane. As an adult, however, the idea evolved from the notion of fairies in flower beds, to imagining that the rugged-looking guy at the garage might secretly be a werewolf. She has used her overactive imagination to create her own version of the world, where vampire, werewolves, fairies, gods and monsters all walk among us, and she’ll continue to travel as much as possible until she finds it for real.
Sierra can be reached all over the place, as she’s a little addicted to social networking. Find her on:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/sierradeanbooks
Website: www.sierradean.com
E-maiclass="underline" sierra@sierradean.com
Twitter: @sierradean
Boys of Summer, Book 1
Emmy Kasper knows exactly how lucky she is. In a sport with few opportunities for women at the pro level, she’s just landed her dream job as head athletic trainer for the San Francisco Felons baseball team. Screwing up is not an option.
She’s lost in thought as she pedals to the spring training facility, her mind abuzz with excitement as she rounds a corner—and plows head-on into two runners. The end of her career dances before her eyes when she realizes she’s almost run over the star pitcher.
As Tucker Lloyd watches the flustered Emmy escape with his bandana tied around her skinned knee, the view is a pleasant change from worrying about his flagging fastball. At thirty-six, the tail end of his career is glimmering on the horizon. If he can’t pull something extraordinary out of his ball cap, the new crop of rookies could make this season his last.
The last thing either of them needs is a distraction.
The last thing either of them expects is love.
Warning: Contains a down-on-his-luck pitcher, a good-girl athletic therapist, chemistry that’s out of the park and sexy times that’ll make them round all the bases.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Pitch Perfect:
Emmy Kasper had been thinking about her luck when she managed to drive her bike headfirst into a batch of the bad kind.
She’d been so busy musing about her new job she’d sort of neglected to think about the important things in the present, like watching the road for joggers. When the two men stepped out in front of her, she was struck by a moment of absolute stupidity.
Oh, there are people in the road. What should I do?
A second later, her brain caught up. Oh shit, there are people in the road and I’m about to fucking hit them.
She shrieked, because screaming like a girl seemed to be the only thing she could think of to warn them. It worked, because two heads pivoted towards her as she finally remembered how the handbrakes on her bike functioned and squeezed down on them for all they were worth.
The world went upside down suddenly, and she was vaulted from her bike seat ass over handlebars and landed in a heap directly in between the two men she’d narrowly avoided maiming. Adding insult to injury, her bike decided to keep rolling forward and only stopped when it slammed into her. Pain formed an ache at the center of her back, but it was the giant smear of blood on her knee that really caught her attention. The line of blood on the pavement didn’t look so good either.
In spite of all evidence she was the only one who’d been hurt, she awkwardly blurted out, “Are you guys okay?”
“Aside from almost being killed?” This from the shorter, slightly chubbier of the two.
“We’re fine, are you okay?”
When Emmy finally focused on the taller of the two, her heart caught in her throat, and it wasn’t because he was gorgeous. Which he was. Staggeringly so. No, she kind of wanted to curl up and die because of who he was.
“Oh, Christ. You’re Tucker Lloyd.”
“Guilty.” He crouched beside her and reached his hand out to her. She was so awestruck by his long, beautiful fingers she didn’t realize what he was doing until he’d already rolled up her ripped pant leg. Emmy let out a shuddering breath and gasped when his fingers brushed against her knee.