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for a moment.
    Matt held the door as she stepped inside, the aroma of fresh basil and other Italian spices filled her lungs. She looked back at Matt and found him watching her. “I told you I make a mean lasagna.” Her hand still in his, he led her through the narrow entry way, farther into the house.
    It was a quaint little space, not too big and not too small. Perfect, really. The house felt old, but it was moderately decorated with soft colors and comforta ble spaces. It felt like a home. Not just a house filled with random people. There was a history here and she could feel a warmth she’d never felt before surrounding her like a thick blanket.
    As he led her toward the back of the house she noticed a large sitting area with a co zy, little, brick fireplace, pictures and knick-knacks lining the hearth. Next was a smaller room with another small fireplace and a large desk that sat in front of a bay window. What little she saw had the feel of an office. It would be a nice room to hold her tutoring sessions with Con. She found that the typical kitchen table sessions were far too distracting when the family was at home. Of course she was used to her visits being more about emotional issues than arithmetic, but she would adjust.
    “Mason?” Matt called out as they rounded a corner into the kitchen but it was empty. “Oh, good he remembered to take the bread out before it burned.” Matt released her hand and pulled out a seat at the small island bar that separated the kitchen from a common living area. “Have a seat and I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Wine or beer?”
    Claira watched as Matt stretched up to retrieve something from a tall cupboard, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders flexing against the tight material of his white tee shirt as it strained against his flesh. She’d probably need a fifth of tequila to get through this. “Um, wine would be nice.”
    Matt pulled a bottle from the fridge and uncorked it. “Where is Mason?” she asked as she glanced around the charming little kitchen. From what she’d seen so far, it was the only room in the house that had a woman’s touch.
    “I was just washing up.” Mason’s smooth voice flittered over her skin like the wings of a butterfly.
    Claira turned in her seat to see Mason leaning against the door frame, his long, lean legs crossed at his ankles and his thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his faded blue jeans. His eyes were as warm as she remembered and she fought the urge to walk up and snuggle into his arms. “Hi,” was all she could manage to get past her lips.
    “Hi,” he smiled and pushed away from the doorway. Claira’s insides melted as he leisurely approached her then brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’m glad you came.”
    She felt heat rise in her cheeks to meet his touch. She looked away and caught Matt watching them. She had expected to see jealousy, or shock, but instead saw an answering passion in his eyes. What was he thinking?
    “You look beautiful , sweetheart.” Mason said as he withdrew is hand and crossed the small space to stand next to Matt, who grinned and nodded in agreement.
    Claira felt the room shrink. She clasped her purse in her lap and tried to keep from pressing her thighs together. With both of them standing side by side in such a small space, the testosterone level became like a life force all to itself. She couldn’t help but stare. The similarities were overwhelming, but now she could also see their differences. Matt was a little more tan and thicker in the chest. Mason’s hair was longer but had more sun streaked highlights than Matt’s. They were both lean in the hips and as far as she could guess were probably just a little over six feet tall.
    She realized she was staring and dropped her gaze to the wine glass she found herself holding onto as tight as a drowning victim would a life preserver. “Sorry, you probably get that a lot.” She shook her head and took a sip of the wine. “I