“No, they were counting on just the opposite.”
Cash shrugged. “Whatever, man. They’re here now and by the number of suitcases they unpacked earlier, it looks as if they plan to stay a few days.”
“Then I’d better go let them know we’re here, too.”
“Want some company?” Cash asked.
Mitch chuckled. “I think I’ve got this.”
“You never know, the little minx might want to add another couple of men to her bed.”
“Don’t even let your mind go there,” Mitch said, watching as the color drained from Cash’s face. “Trixie has always belonged to Brock, Rory, and me. There’s no room for anyone else.”
Cash sneered. “Friend or not, Mitch, that’s something we’ll have to see if the little woman will entertain.”
“No,” Mitch stated flatly. “It’s not open for discussion, Cash. Get some rest. Make yourself at home.” Before he left the house, he turned and said, “Oh and, Cash?”
His former cellmate faced him with a completely different demeanor. His cheeks were flushed. His jaw was tense and his eyes were an icy cold blue.
“What?” Cash bit out.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mitch said, trying to smooth over what Cash must’ve viewed as an insult.
Cash grunted. “Sure, man.”
Mitch should’ve explained the situation with Trixie. Instead of elaborating on the delicate matter at hand, he said, “Cash, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Tonight, I need to see Trixie.”
“And what if she doesn’t want to see you?”
“Believe me. She will.”
Chapter Eleven
Good God, Mitch had never seen a more beautiful Trixie. Even as she lay there in her flannel pajamas, PJs that were anything but sexy, she looked absolutely perfect.
The light from the hallway shone upon her flushed face and her golden hair fanned around her head. She looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last taken her to bed and stroked those pretty puckered lips, that incredible mouth of hers.
He focused on those rosy red lips. She’d gone to bed pouting. Her mouth gave away the obvious, but if he needed more confirmation, her body language told the tale. Her arms crossed right below her voluptuous breasts and she was as rigid and still as a fashion mannequin.
Brock and Rory were snuggled close beside her. Brock’s nose was buried in a tangled mess of natural curls while Rory’s lips were mere inches from her cheek.
The image painted was one for consideration, if not for show, and he wondered if either of his friends—as if “friends” described them now—were aware of his presence there. Had he been tailed? Had one of the Cartwell pawns followed him and notified Brock of his arrival there?
He cocked his head and steadied his breathing, wishing he could go to her, tell her how he felt, and win her over without interference from Brock and Rory, but it was easy to see now what they had to fear. The bed easily accommodated three, but four, in many ways, represented a crowd.
Mitch backed out of the bedroom and released the last breath he’d held. He tiptoed to the living room and eyed the mess they’d made of the place.
Leaning down to an open leather satchel, he picked up a pale pink negligee. Holding the silky material to his nose, he inhaled the rich scent of Trixie’s perfume, a fragrance with a hint of honeydew and roses. As the gown slipped from his fingertips he imagined Trixie dressing for him, the way the soft material would shimmy across her silken flesh then cling to her every curve.
Good God, he longed to hold her then. He needed to tell her how much he’d missed her.
He sat on the sofa. Splaying his legs, he rested his head on a cushion and stared up at the ceiling. His presence there wouldn’t be welcomed and he couldn’t help but understand the angst Brock and Rory would feel once they discovered he was back at Cow Camp.
He threatened to turn their worlds upside down because he didn’t want Trixie for one night. He wanted her for a lifetime.
Brock and Rory wouldn’t be happy when Mitch told Trixie of his intentions. In many ways, Mitch didn’t hold a grudge. He even understood their fears.
Mitch represented the dark side of good loving, the kind of loving he needed and craved. He symbolized the very past Brock had left behind when he chose to love Trixie.
Still, he had to find out the reasons why Brock felt inferior. Why was he most threatened? Did he refuse to revisit the lifestyle because he truly didn’t want any part of it, or had he put aside his needs and wants because he was afraid Trixie couldn’t cope with her role as a submissive woman?