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care of that.
    Ward seemed to agree. He also seemed to have trouble tearing his gaze away from her modest cleavage.
    “What’s for dinner?” Hazel asked breezily. She had expected to find Dylan puttering around the stove. It was an interest of his—the pair of them owned at least as many hardcover cookbooks as they did mystery paperbacks. But the kitchen was a sleek and clean as ever. Not a chopping board was out of place.
    “I called for sushi,” Dylan reported.
    “Oh.”
    He arched his eyebrows, registering her note of surprise. “You wanted something else?” This, too, was a little rough, a little like an order, but Hazel knew Dylan wouldn’t leverage his role in the bedroom as a means to control her life outside it.
    Or, at least, he hadn’t done that yet. The pendulum could always swing the other way.
    Hazel shook her head, banishing the shiver of unease. “So… How was work?”
    “Good,” Ward replied.
    “Really?” Dylan’s lips twitched.
    Aggravation dispensed with, Ward shrugged. “I was just venting. Don’t take me so seriously.”
    “I’d never dream of it.”
    “Floor’s a little cold,” Hazel said into the ensuing lull, loath to cut through the fond look Dylan and Ward shared. “Is it okay if I—”
    “Here.” Ward pushed his tumbler into her hands. Whiskey swirled at the bottom and clung to his breath. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
    Her heart sank a little. It was one of Dylan’s few rules—no drinking before a scene—and yet here Ward was, sampling oak-barrel bourbon on an empty stomach. She let him steer her from the kitchen table but didn’t otherwise follow his lead. The chill would go away on its own.
    “How was work?” Ward wanted to know. He’d settled a palm at Hazel’s waist as they covered the breadth of distance between kitchen and living room, but slid it down to give her ass a quick pinch just before she sat.
    “Oh, good. You know.” Hazel shrugged.
    “And Sadie?”
    The S-word . Collar or no collar, Hazel shot him a glare. “Good, too.”
    It was impossible to stay mad at Ward, particularly when he joined her on the couch, his thigh warm even through the fabric of his soft wool pant leg. He reclaimed his glass when she offered it and drained it in a single gulp.
    “No manners.” Dylan sighed. He looked good with shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons of his collar roguishly open. It marked a contrast from the put-together, professional financial analyst he played by day—the same one who had once ventured into Hazel’s workplace and made eyes at her over coffee.
    Back then, she’d been tempted to upend her coffee pot into his lap. Now it was all she could do to stop herself crawling between his knees and drawing out his cock.
    Ward’s hand at her nape brought her back down to earth. “You dressed up for us.”
    Hazel turned her head, choosing to consider his soft, tickling caress an invitation. Sometimes, she needed a few minutes to fall into her role. It wasn’t like the flip of a switch. But with the surprises of the day and acutely aware of a clock ticking somewhere at the back of her mind, she couldn’t afford to wait.
    Careful to telegraph her movements before she committed to them, Hazel pressed a knee to the couch and twisted around. Ward’s fingertips were on her cheek, her lips. All it took was a gentle parting of the mouth for his index and middle finger to brush her tongue.
    Dressing up was a tease, a visual cue to get her boys paying attention. This was the invitation that spelled out her desire.
    Ward let out a low, dark curse. “Greedy tonight, aren’t we?” He clucked his tongue. “You’d think after all this time, you’d know how to beg properly…”
    “I suppose we’ll have to teach her,” Dylan mused. He sounded less than dismayed by this turn of events.
    Hazel watched him from the corner of her eye—the man who had eased her back into the realm of instructions and props, restraints and harsh