Three of Hearts by Kelly Jamieson

of trash talk and insults. Now they seemed to be communicating about me, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. This look was charged with . . . something I couldn’t read.
    “I was afraid of this,” Ben muttered.
    Lucas sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. I remembered only too well what that felt like, his thick, soft hair . . . My respiration sped up again, and I started to panic even more.
    Lucas frowned. “Hey,” he said. “You look like you need a paper bag over your face.”
    I frowned at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
    “For your breathing. Relax.” He edged closer, and his hand rubbed my back in a slow rhythm. “Relax, babe. It’s okay.”
    I pulled the duvet up over my head. Lucas’s soft chuckle permeated the thick layer. His hand continued its soothing strokes, and the darkness and probably lack of oxygen eased my panic.
    Gentle hands tugged the duvet away from my face. Lucas handed me my tank top and pajama shorts. “Here. Put these on. We’ll talk later. We need to get moving.”
    Okay, enough of the sweet stuff. He was back to take-charge Lucas.
    Ben gave Lucas a long look as Lucas rose off the bed, then turned his gaze back to me, the skin around his eyes tight, his lips set into a straight line.
    The room spun as it had the night before after the drinks I’d had. Yep, freaking right the hell out. I tried to gather my thoughts and get control of my trembling body. I sucked in a long breath and fumbled beneath the covers to tug on the shorts. When it came to putting on the tank top, it seemed ridiculous to hide beneath the covers when they’d seen everything I had, and that meant everything . So I dropped the duvet and pulled on the top, my breasts tightening as I knew they watched. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment. “Okay,” I said. “I need to get dressed and pack.”
    We were going home. Home to Nashville. After being on the road for so long, I’d been looking forward to getting back to our house and normal life, and back to writing and recording. But now . . . How normal could things be? My heart kept up that fast, frantic rhythm.
    “We’ll meet you in the lobby for breakfast,” Lucas said, heading for the door. “How long? Ten minutes?”
    I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Ten minutes to get ready? Clearly he knew how low-maintenance I was. “I’m not really hungry. I’m just going to get packed. You guys go on and have breakfast without me.”
    Lucas nodded. “Okay, sure, babe. We’ll be back.”
    They left me alone again. I still sat on the edge of the bed, hands planted beside me. I looked down at my toes, all professionally pedicured with peony-pink polish. Well. This was mortifying. Lucas’s cocky assumption that we’d be doing it again that night made my insides do another slow roll of lust, even as it terrified me. On the other hand, I got the feeling Ben wasn’t so eager. Confusion twisted up inside me as I considered rushing to the phone to change my flight.
    No. How could I run from them when we lived together? Somehow we’d have to deal with this.
    I rose from the bed. I’d better get busy.
    I hit the shower, then searched for clothes. It was a travel day, so I dressed in my favorite faded low-rise jeans and a T-shirt—but, acknowledging the fact that there could be photographers anywhere, the T-shirt was a silky slub-knit white with silvery graphics on the front, my boots were bronze-and-black Lucchese, and I added a small fitted jacket in charcoal, super-soft leather.
    When I went to do my makeup I expected to look like hell, but strangely, once I faced myself in the mirror, it wasn’t that bad. I’d slept like crazy after . . . well, after . And even though I might have drunk a teensy bit too much last night, I looked okay. I took inventory of how I felt: I didn’t feel hungover. My thighs felt tight, which reminded me of lying with them spread apart while Ben and Lucas pleasured me. Heat curled low in my