closer look.
Her bag slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor with a clatter.
The man lying on his back leapt to his feet. The one on top reeled backwards, arms flailing. Unfortunately he still had a firm grip on the other guy’s erection.
“Fuck!” The bottom guy doubled over, clutching his groin, and their heads, one light, one dark, butted together. The blond who’d been on top fell to the floor.
A string of curses split the air. The dark-headed guy straightened then leant down and pulled the other man to his feet. Two pairs of eyes, one a smoky blue, the other a golden brown glared at her.
The brown-haired man, stockier of build and maybe a bit older, shoved his abused penis into his pants and pulled up the zip. “Who the hell are you?” His low voice carried the suggestion of menace, of power that could be dangerous if unleashed.
“And what are you doing in our house?” the other male asked. He sounded more curious than aggressive, but Sophie didn’t underestimate the danger. These men were trespassers. Criminals.
Then his words made their way through the fog of confusion in her brain. He thought it was…” Your house? That’s a total lie! This was my grandparents’ house, and now it’s mine.”
“I don’t care whose house it was ,” the dark-haired guy shouted. His chest rose with the furious breath he took. “This is our stud, our business, our home.”
Before she could reply the blond cut in, calmer, but no less determined. “If you are the owner of the property, you’re entitled to inspect but you have to give us notice. And you have to go through the agent. You can’t just walk in unannounced.”
Sophie was too angry to give him a fair hearing. How dare they tell her what she could and couldn’t do in her own house? At least she hadn’t been nailing someone in the middle of the living room. “I can do what I like! This place is mine. Get out.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” The dark-haired one folded his arms and stared at her grimly, as if the force of his will alone could send her flying backwards out the door.
“There’s obviously some misunderstanding.” The blond was once again the voice of reason. He looked directly at Sophie, his eyes framed by the hair falling loosely on his forehead. “How about we start over. I’m Hamish Maguire. This is Jackson Blake.” He held out his hand.
Sophie stared at him. For a moment she forgot he was a trespasser. He was just so beautiful. His chest was hard and firm. The muscles in his arms were delineated by the slanting light. His jeans hugged his lean hips. The hint of a hollow V disappearing under the blue denim made her mouth water. Was it some kind of rule that the gorgeous ones always had to be gay?
He looked at her, holding her gaze, his lips curved up into a lop-sided smile, one eyebrow raised in query. Liquid heat pooled in her groin. Gay or not, he was as sexy as hell.
He tilted his head, and that devastating eyebrow rose a little higher, as if he were waiting. In her peripheral vision she saw something move. His hand. It was still there, waiting for her. Her brain finally kicked in to remind her of social protocol. Hamish wanted to shake hands. And he wanted to know her name.
“Sophie Driscoll. Yes. I’m Sophie Driscoll.” Great. She sounded like a fool who wasn’t even sure of who she was. And once she grasped his hand she seemed to lose the ability to let it go.
“I hope I can say it’s nice to meet you, Sophie,” he said, eyes twinkling. “How about we sit down and find out?” He bent down and snatched a blue chambray shirt from the floor then led her to the table at the far end of the room.
She finally released her grip then rubbed her palms together to ease the surprising tingling sensation that remained. Hamish pulled out a chair for her then shrugged into his shirt.
The other man, Jackson, hadn’t moved. Then he spun on his heel and walked out through the still open door onto the front
Her bag slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor with a clatter.
The man lying on his back leapt to his feet. The one on top reeled backwards, arms flailing. Unfortunately he still had a firm grip on the other guy’s erection.
“Fuck!” The bottom guy doubled over, clutching his groin, and their heads, one light, one dark, butted together. The blond who’d been on top fell to the floor.
A string of curses split the air. The dark-headed guy straightened then leant down and pulled the other man to his feet. Two pairs of eyes, one a smoky blue, the other a golden brown glared at her.
The brown-haired man, stockier of build and maybe a bit older, shoved his abused penis into his pants and pulled up the zip. “Who the hell are you?” His low voice carried the suggestion of menace, of power that could be dangerous if unleashed.
“And what are you doing in our house?” the other male asked. He sounded more curious than aggressive, but Sophie didn’t underestimate the danger. These men were trespassers. Criminals.
Then his words made their way through the fog of confusion in her brain. He thought it was…” Your house? That’s a total lie! This was my grandparents’ house, and now it’s mine.”
“I don’t care whose house it was ,” the dark-haired guy shouted. His chest rose with the furious breath he took. “This is our stud, our business, our home.”
Before she could reply the blond cut in, calmer, but no less determined. “If you are the owner of the property, you’re entitled to inspect but you have to give us notice. And you have to go through the agent. You can’t just walk in unannounced.”
Sophie was too angry to give him a fair hearing. How dare they tell her what she could and couldn’t do in her own house? At least she hadn’t been nailing someone in the middle of the living room. “I can do what I like! This place is mine. Get out.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” The dark-haired one folded his arms and stared at her grimly, as if the force of his will alone could send her flying backwards out the door.
“There’s obviously some misunderstanding.” The blond was once again the voice of reason. He looked directly at Sophie, his eyes framed by the hair falling loosely on his forehead. “How about we start over. I’m Hamish Maguire. This is Jackson Blake.” He held out his hand.
Sophie stared at him. For a moment she forgot he was a trespasser. He was just so beautiful. His chest was hard and firm. The muscles in his arms were delineated by the slanting light. His jeans hugged his lean hips. The hint of a hollow V disappearing under the blue denim made her mouth water. Was it some kind of rule that the gorgeous ones always had to be gay?
He looked at her, holding her gaze, his lips curved up into a lop-sided smile, one eyebrow raised in query. Liquid heat pooled in her groin. Gay or not, he was as sexy as hell.
He tilted his head, and that devastating eyebrow rose a little higher, as if he were waiting. In her peripheral vision she saw something move. His hand. It was still there, waiting for her. Her brain finally kicked in to remind her of social protocol. Hamish wanted to shake hands. And he wanted to know her name.
“Sophie Driscoll. Yes. I’m Sophie Driscoll.” Great. She sounded like a fool who wasn’t even sure of who she was. And once she grasped his hand she seemed to lose the ability to let it go.
“I hope I can say it’s nice to meet you, Sophie,” he said, eyes twinkling. “How about we sit down and find out?” He bent down and snatched a blue chambray shirt from the floor then led her to the table at the far end of the room.
She finally released her grip then rubbed her palms together to ease the surprising tingling sensation that remained. Hamish pulled out a chair for her then shrugged into his shirt.
The other man, Jackson, hadn’t moved. Then he spun on his heel and walked out through the still open door onto the front
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