As he picked up his large duffel bag, Keiley headed for the stairs, heading for the second floor and the guest room she had chosen for him. The room furthest away from her and Mac’s. He could make her rather loud when they were having sex. Too loud. She was going to need a gag; then she might have a chance that Jethro wouldn’t hear them at the other end of the house.
“It’s a damned nice place,” Jethro said as he followed her up the stairs.
Why did she feel his eyes on her ass?
“We’ve done a lot of work on the house since we moved in.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably, suddenly very much aware of the fact that her jeans molded to her butt. “Mac’s very handy with a hammer.”
“That and a gun is all a man needs,” he joked.
She paused at the landing to stare back at him with narrow-eyed intent. “Mac no longer carries a gun, Jethro.”
His lips quirked. “A screwdriver?”
She inclined her head in acceptance and began moving down the hallway.
“Here’s your room.” She opened the door that led into the spacious guest room. “There’s a private bathroom.” She opened the nearby door before moving across the room. “And this is the closet. The phone line has its own number, and there’s wireless and wired Internet access from the port on the desk.” She motioned to the wide cherrywood desk.
“The perfect hostess,” he murmured as he set the duffel bag on the queen-size bed and watched her carefully. “All the comforts of home.”
His voice was quieter now, deeper. His blue eyes watched her closely, the colors shifting and changing, much like Mac’s did as emotions or passion filled them.
Keiley cleared her throat. “Dinner should be ready in about half an hour if you want to shower or anything. Just come downstairs and take the doorway to your right.”
He tucked his hands in the back of his jeans, causing his dark blue t-shirt to stress across his broad shoulders.
He looked dangerous, too similar to Mac when she first met him. In the past three years the suspicion in Mac’s eyes had begun to ease, the paranoia she associated with being an agent not as present as it had been before they left Virginia. Mac was more relaxed now, more prone to smile, while Jethro still carried the look of a man ready to kill if need be.
“I’ll be done in plenty of time to eat,” he assured her. “It’s been a long time since I had a decent meal.”
Keiley breathed in deeply, her gaze flickering around the room.
“Well, I’ll talk to you later—”
“There he is.” Mac’s voice surprised her. She hadn’t been aware he had entered the bedroom and had no idea he was behind her until his arms surrounded her, pulling her back against his chest. “Is he behaving himself, Keiley?”
Keiley tensed. It wasn’t normal jovial good cheer in Mac’s voice. She heard the dark undercurrent of desire and felt the proof of it pressing imperatively into the small of her back.
His voice clued her into much more than his arousal, though. It was different, unlike any tone she had heard in his voice before.
She knew it.
Jethro wasn’t just there to visit. She stared back at the other man, watching his gaze flicker to Mac’s before he stared back at her, his eyes darkening, a subtle cast of sensuality sharply defining his features.
Her lips flattened, and before she considered her actions or even thought, her elbow rammed into her husbands undefended abdomen, bringing a surprised grunt from him as he released her quickly.
“What the hell was that for?” He was rubbing his hand over his stomach as she turned and glared at him, a frown brewing on his face.
“For being an ass.” She smiled tightly. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. That is, if you’re brave enough to come down and eat it.”
She pushed past him. The blood was thundering through her veins, her emotions were rioting, and God help her, but she was aroused. She hated that. She hated being manipulated, hated being lied to, and she had never believed Mac would resort to such games with her.
He had. He had brought Jethro here with every intention of inviting him into their bed and she knew it. She knew it, and she hated the contradictory emotions that knowledge fed through her body.
Her flesh was sensitive, her br**sts swollen, and she could feel the heat building between her thighs. Suddenly her beliefs in herself, her relationship with Mac and what she felt they shared, began to waver.
A fantasy was just that. She was aware he had fantasies, and over the past months she had guessed at the source of them. But fantasies were supposed to stay in the mind. They weren’t meant to ever meet reality.
She had fantasized herself for years. Ever since the first rumor she had heard of Mac and Jethro sharing their women. Both men were darkly handsome, both were dangerous and broody. But it was a fantasy.