Scarlet dropped her purse and laptop case on the dining room table. She flipped open her work bag and sorted through the handful of different notebooks, trying to decide which one was most appropriate for a sex to-do list. “Bet we can top theirs,” she said with a laugh, only half joking.
Or maybe only a quarter.
No, she decided. She wasn’t joking at all. She wanted that list. It called to her draftsman list-making heart. She selected plain black moleskin. Making a little black book seemed appropriate. She grabbed a pen and turned to the kitchen, planning to lean on the island counter separating the kitchen from the dining area to write her list.
Then her gaze landed on three cream-colored envelopes.
Her heart stopped. The envelopes were embossed with a triquetra.
“Tate, Roman.” Her voice was strangely flat. Probably because amid the jumble of emotions she couldn’t decide where to land. Her name written in bold hand on one of the envelopes.
Roman and Tate stepped around the island to join her and stared, neither of them reaching for their own envelopes.
“Do you think…” Tate looked up at her.
Scarlet was touched by the hope in his tone. Because it was clear his mind had gone to the same place as hers, and it appeared they both wanted the same thing.
“Perhaps…” Roman started. “Perhaps we weren’t reading as much into Sebastian’s comment after the wedding as we thought.”
Scarlet thought back to the reception. It had been nearly three a.m. and most of the guests had turned in. She’d shed her heels and had her feet propped up in Roman’s lap, the three of them drinking the last of their third—or maybe their fourth—bottle of champagne. That was on top of all the curated, signature cocktails. She loved those moments right at the end of an event when she was flush with accomplishment and hadn’t just transitioned into cleanup mode.
She’d loved sharing that moment with the two of them even more.
Tate—who’d been off duty as of eleven-forty-five when Montana took over—had been toasting Scarlet, proclaiming her the greatest general in the history of strategic management. They’d been tipsy and giddy, running on fumes and fueled by alcohol. None of them had managed to grab more than a few hours’ sleep the night before the wedding, and the hour-long nap she’d managed in the afternoon hadn’t been enough to offset that.
Sebastian had stopped by their table to congratulate them all on a job well done just after midnight, when they were taking a break from dancing. Then he’d remarked that the Grand Master had been right about the three of them making a great team. Except the word team had only been spoken on a second attempt. What he’d really said was, “The Grand Master was right. The three of you make a great tr—team.”
It had been a vague comment said in passing. Scarlet suspected Sebastian wouldn’t have said it at all if he hadn’t also been enjoying the mixologist’s creations, but she’d gotten stuck on that “tr” sound just the same.
But Sebastian hadn’t been the only one of the Grand Master’s advisors to mention what a good team the three of them made. They’d talked to Franco before the ceremony and he’d started to say something similar, but that conversation had been interrupted.
The three of them had discussed both comments later that night as they’d lain tangled in each other’s arms, wondering if there had been more to their invitation to take part on the planning team than met the eye. After all, they’d surmised that while Scarlet’s inclusion seemed obvious, Selene’s sister, Theia, would have been a better family representative than Roman. And Tate’s presence had stumped them completely because, despite what had happened in Charleston, the need for a henchman felt out of place.
In the end, Roman had called their conjecture “wishful thinking,” and then he’d kissed her as Tate spooned her from behind, his erection slipping between her thighs. One sexy thing led to another and it was forgotten...until now.
Scarlet couldn’t wait. She opened her envelope, pulling out the letter within. She gasped, then smiled. “Open yours. Fast!” Her hand shook, not with nervousness but excitement.
Roman and Tate both tore into their envelopes, the three of them laying their identical letters down, side by side, on the counter. The three of them had been called to the altar, a week from tomorrow.
Same Bat time, same Bat place.
“A trinity,” Roman murmured. “We’re going to be bound together as a trinity.”
Scarlet laughed, as happy tears slid down her cheeks. She hadn’t been this thrilled since her company landed the job planning E3, the Electronic Entertainment Expo. “You’re going to be my husbands.”
Tate lost no time, reaching for her, pulling her into his strong embrace. “Our wife.”
Roman wrapped himself around her back and she was encapsulated between her men. Their laughter fell away quickly as they sought out each other’s lips. Tate kissed her, then Roman, long, slow, sexy glides with stroking tongues and shared breath. As soon as Tate and Roman parted, Roman twisted her in his arms, kissing her with a passion that made her light-headed.
Tate slid an arm around Scarlet’s waist. “What do you say we move this celebration—”
“Honeymoon,” Roman interjected.
“Pre-honeymoon honeymoon,” Tate amended. “To the bedroom.”
Scarlet grasped Roman’s hand, leading the way to the master bedroom they’d yet to explore. She’d reached for Tate’s, but he shook his head, pointing to where he’d left his duffel and her suitcase.
“Let me grab the luggage,” he said.
“I hardly think we’re going to need any clothes for this next part,” she teased.
Tate grabbed his duffel. “No. But we might want to make use of the lube I packed.”
Roman chuckled. “Great minds. I might have thrown a tube in my suitcase as well.”
Scarlet laughed loudly and raised her hand. “Me three.”
They walked to the
