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need a haircut.”
    He grunted. “I know. It’s getting crazy. I’m waiting until we get home. I have a girl in Chicago.”
    Drake snorted from behind us. “Again about the girl?” he jibed. “Is this the same one who paints your nails?”
    “No, ass.” The rumble in Fletch’s chest reverberated through the one breast mashed against him. “You’re such a barbarian. Angelique does my hair, and Crystal does my nails.”
    Drake smacked his own forehead. Their bantering interaction had me giggling at once. Sometimes, like now, everything was so easy and fun and carefree with them, a perfect justification of why the equilateral triangle was conceived. Why couldn’t geometry give us forever, as well?
    No more time for pondering that answer—not when I was too busy squealing—as Fletcher unceremoniously plopped me down on the enormous bed. Mischief danced in his brilliant blue eyes. I tried to scramble back but he caught my ankle and quickly climbed on top of me.
    “What’s so funny, little miss?”
    “You.”
    “Really?” He stared down while sidling his hips, crushing my body with his.
    “Mmmm hmmm.” Attempting to push up into an escape was pointless. He had me pinned. Not that I was particularly complaining—or actually fighting—but the more I “challenged” him, the more alluring his face became. He was really in the mood to play—and when he dug his fingers into my sides in tickling sweeps, I knew I was in trouble.
    I screamed. Like that made any difference to the ruthless rogue. With a sultry snarl, he intensified the attack. Soon, between laughing hard and trying to wiggle away, I could barely breathe. Fletcher laughed too—though his mirth was wicked, taunting…one of the sexiest sounds I’d ever heard.
    “Uncle!” I gasped it—barely. Dizziness set in from thrashing around.
    “What was that?”
    “Uncle!” I panted. “I give up! Stop!”
    He dipped in a little closer, stare boring into mine, the chiseled angles of his body seeming to hit all the most perfect parts of mine. Half a smile canted his lips before he dictated gruffly, “Say ‘I submit’.”
    “Whaaa— what ?”
    “Say it or I’ll keep tickling you.”
    “Okay, okay ! I submit.”
    “Perfect.” Drake, the bastard, had been watching the entire time—a fact I hadn’t missed. Also not missed: the steady steps that moved him closer to the bed. But while I detected his general movement, I couldn’t discern other details, thanks to the mountain of down pillows into which my head was half sunken. Details like what, exactly, dangled from his hands. I only knew it was white. That narrowed the possibilities down to, ohhh, about a million things.
    Finding out should have been a priority—but wasn’t. I lay there, air sawing in and out of my lungs, giggles still breaking loose here and there.
    “God, Tolly…you are stunning.” Fletcher’s tone was reverent. All I could do was smile. Well…beam. To have a man gaze at me like that, even with tracks of teary laughter running down my face— not as glamorous as it sounded—had to be one of the most incredible feelings in the world. I adored him just a little bit more, if that was even possible.
    “She’s about to look even better. Take her clothes off.”
    Drake’s commanding tone spurred Fletch into motion. I looked between the two of them as the man peeled my princess party clothes off, setting fire to every inch of my skin with the kisses he bestowed in the wake of his eager but graceful motions. But even through the haze of arousal, I quickly sensed they were up to something.
    “Wh-what are you two doing?”
    Fletcher set free a low chuckle against my left breast. Drake picked up where he’d left off, continuing the sound in his seductive baritone. “We’re going to blow your mind. Then later, we’re going to have a little talk.”
    “Can we just stick to the mind blowing part?” I tried for cheeky.
    “How ’bout just the blowing part?” Fletcher