meet my girl,” Rush said.
“Whoa,” the green-eyed one muttered.
This made the one who had not ceased his assault on his big brother do just that, step back and look up at me.
Then he went still.
“Rebel, baby, these are my little brothers, Ride and Cut,” Rush introduced.
“Hey,” I said on a smile.
The green-eyed one, Cutter, stared at me.
The blue-eyed one, Rider, blinked.
“What do you say?” another rough, deep voice came.
Not Rush’s, Tack’s.
I looked to see the gang all there. Tack. Tyra. Tabby. And Shy.
Shy was holding a baby to his hip.
Serious.
Good-looking men and babies.
Melt.
I turned my attention back to the boys when there was a clamor caused by them cutting and running.
They disappeared at the back of the house, which was kind of impossible, considering it looked like the whole main floor of the house was one big great room.
One big fantastic great room.
The living area had black-painted walls with some kind of treatment that made them look like velvet. A caramel-colored leather chesterfield. Black leather club chairs, four of them, allowing for lots of seating. Brass, iron and distressed wood. Great spot lighting. And a sepia print over the sofa that was an enlarged copy of a patent that had a drawing of an old motorcycle on it and was dated December 23, 1919.
The Harley patent.
Awesome.
The large open kitchen at the back was a cave of black cabinets, marble countertops, clean gray subway tile and chrome fixtures, lighting and fittings, with a glass bowl of green apples on the island that gave a pop of color and granite-colored countertop appliances.
To the left was a dining table and the area was so awesome, with the rest of the awesome, I couldn’t take it in.
The whole place was kickass.
And it smelled of good food cooking, which made it even better.
“My sons have no manners. I blame it on their father,” Tyra declared, coming to me and giving me a hug.
I gave it back, replying, “Anything wrong with children is always the man’s fault.”
“Takin’ the blame. Our lot,” Tack muttered, moving in after his wife, looking in my eyes and saying, “Hey, darlin’,” before he gave me a one-armed hug around my shoulders that included an affectionate jostle.
I liked that they hugged.
I liked it a lot.
I smiled at him when he let me go only to have Shy come in and say, “Hey,” before he gave me a one-armed hug, his around my waist, this necessitated by him having his son on his other hip.
When that hug was done, Rush cut in front of us in order to take possession of his nephew.
Oh shit.
“This is Kane,” he told me something I knew before he shoved his face in Kane’s neck, blew a raspberry, making the boy giggle and clutch at his hair. Rush then pulled him away and grinned in his adorable baby face.
Totally a natural.
Like he handled babies every day.
Okay.
I pretty much knew I was gone for this guy.
But watching that, and him with his little brothers, I was now officially gone.
I jolted out of my fascinated study of Rush with a baby when a woman’s voice said, “And I’m Tab.”
I turned to her.
Tyra was in one of her tight skirts, with blouse and heels.
The men were in jeans and various forms of tees (Rush, a washed-out blue Henley, Shy, a gray thermal, Tack, a black thermal).
Tabby was wearing black skinny jeans with the knees frayed, a dark-red, slouchy V-neck sweater that fell over her hips and down her shoulder, a black tank under. Bare feet. Burgundy toes.
Outside Tyra, who had obviously come from work, I was overdressed.
And I was okay with that. It said I’d made an effort, this was important. And I had made that effort because this was important.
Tabby put me right there. “Rad dress.”
“Thanks,” I replied.
“Want a beer?” she asked.
“That’d be great.”
She gave me a cautious smile, turned and moved to the kitchen.
“Please tell me you didn’t cook,” Rush called to her back.
“We like Rebel so we want her to survive the night,” Shy declared.
“I would care about the stick you’re giving me if I gave a crap about cooking,” Tab called back as she opened the fridge.
“I cooked,” Shy shared.
This surprised me, even with the smell.
Not him cooking and Tabby not.
The kitchen was pristine.
“Thank God for that,” Rush muttered then called to his sister, “I’ll take a beer too, you’re getting them.”
“Whatever,” Tabby replied, but came out with two beers.
“For God’s sake, give that child to Rebel before he sprains something,” Tyra ordered.
I looked to Rush to