Their Virgin Secretary (Masters of Ménage #6)(68)

"I think Belle needs all of us, and that means you need to stop thinking with your PTSD-damaged heart and let your dick take over, Kell. Your dick is way smarter."

"And there it goes." Eric shook his head. "Obviously, his emotional intelligence comes in fits and starts."

Tate wasn't going to apologize for being blunt. He was right. If Kell would just follow his instincts and realize how much he valued Belle, they would all be happier. "Unless you really are turned off by the virgin thing."

Kellan growled his way. "Of course I'm not. But I don't think I can take care of her the way she deserves. I've explained that. She needs a husband and a family."

"She'll have one. Two actually," Eric replied.

At least one of his friends backed him up. Tate was pretty sure if Kellan managed to let go of his fear, he'd find himself in a happy place. But so far, he kept managing to overthink the situation and continually fuck it up.

"Fine. We'll take care of Belle," Tate offered. "You can show up just for sex."

But it wouldn't be just sex, he knew. Kellan would balk at the notion that making love with Belle would be therapy, though it would be. For Tate, it would be coming home. Still, Kellan needed to keep things casual because he wasn't over the hatchet his ex and his asshole of a dad had taken to his soul. Tate would give Kell one thing: at least he'd never had to see his dad naked and doing the nasty with his girl. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure even his mom had never seen his dad naked. Tate figured he and his brothers had been conceived in some petri dish because the idea of his parents boinking didn't compute.



       
         
       
        

His life would have been like that-sterile and void of emotion-if they'd had their way. He would have dedicated himself to solving intellectual problems without ever really understanding what life meant. It was incomplete without friendship and love. Sometimes that meant sitting around watching action movies on a Saturday night. Sometimes that meant taking stock of who and what was important to you. A million little details and moments made up a life. Eric had taught him that. In some ways, Kellan had, too. It was why he couldn't just let the guy simply drift away. Belle came first, yes, but his friends ran a very close second.

He wanted to have it all.

"I doubt Belle is going to be interested in that kind of relationship," Kellan hedged, though it was easy to see he was thinking about it and aching for it.

"Just come have breakfast with us." The first step to solving any problem was developing a hypothesis, and his was that Kellan wouldn't be able to resist if he stayed around a while longer. If he was sleeping next to Belle every night, he'd be unable to keep his distance for long.

Shit. Another problem hit him squarely between the eyes.

"Wait, guys. There are three of us. Where does number three sleep?" Tate shuddered a little. "I can't cuddle with Eric. It's just … no."

He'd had a vision of sleeping next to Belle, his arms wrapped around her. He could wake up to her sweet scent and the soft feel of her skin, then roll her over and slide inside her before they were really awake. That would be damn near impossible if his best friend was in between them.

Someone needed to write a book of ménage advice.

Eric laughed out loud. "I think we'll have to deal with that problem when we come to it, buddy."

Eric could laugh all he wanted, but this seemed like a real conundrum.

And then a high-pitched scream cut through the house. Tate's heart damn near stopped. He leapt to his feet. "Belle."

Eric and Kell jumped up, too. They were running for the stairs before the sound died, and Tate prayed he could make it to her in time.





Chapter Eleven



Belle lay a trembling hand over her mouth, then reached for her nightstand to turn on the lamp and crawled from bed. When a golden glow illuminated the room, she scanned it, panting wildly. But she saw no sign of the person she'd sworn had just whispered in her ear.

After an exhausting day painting-that reminded her she'd grown unused to physical labor-the comfortable bed had lured her. The quiet had enveloped her, lulling somewhere between awareness and sleep. Just before she'd dropped into the dark chasm of slumber, she thought she'd heard the menacing hiss of a warning. 

Get out before he gets you, too.

Then an ear-splitting cry had jarred her awake.

Panting, Belle let her skittish stare bounce around the room. No one visible, but the idea of a stranger in her bedroom made her nauseous. Fear shook her. Had someone been here earlier? Her door was still shut, as was her window. How would anyone have gotten in? Where? It looked somewhere between unlikely and impossible. But she would absolutely swear that someone had stood over her in the dark and whispered the warning.