...Scott led Adam to the second floor and paused outside a closed door. Adam was expecting a bedroom on the other side, but it turned out to be some sort of den. The floor was free from clutter, and a couple of well-worn, but plush couches were set up on either side of an entertainment center.

Scott ignored the couches to fold himself into a sitting position on the floor, his back braced against the nearest sofa. “I’m not sure I even remember the last time we did this.” His eyes shone when they met Adam’s. “Thank God you got hungry today.”

Sasha settled beside her husband and put the tequila on the floor between them. After hesitating a moment, Adam sat with his back against the other couch, facing them. Once again, he was struck by how stunning the two of them were together. They complimented each other perfectly, and for a moment, Adam wished he had met them a decade earlier. How beautiful must they have been then?

“More like, thank God I got hungry for real food and not McCrap. And I’ll definitely make it a point to help little old ladies from now on.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Ida’s not helpless,” she said as she peeled off the T-shirt she wore. She did it casually, like a woman comfortable in her own skin, completely unaware of how she looked sitting there all tawny flesh and full breasts. The lace on her bra looked even whiter where it strained over the golden swells, and the dusky tip of her nipple peeked through the delicate design. “But in this case, I’m not going to hold it against her.”

Adam knew it was impolite to stare, but nothing short of the Hand of God would force him to look away from Sasha’s body. She didn’t look like any doctor—or mother—Adam had ever met. In any other venue, such open appreciation of another man’s wife would earn a fist to the face, but Scott didn’t seem to mind.

“Then why did she insist I help her?”

“Because she realized you were a stranger, and wanted to invite you to a nice, home-cooked dinner.” Scott opened the bottle of tequila and poured a shot. “But would you have agreed to come home with her if she had just simply invited you?”

“No. Probably not.”

“And then you wouldn’t have met us, and you’d be stuck on the road, probably wishing you were anywhere but in your car in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere,” Sasha finished. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she leaned her neck against the couch so that her back was angled, her breasts thrust into full view. She plucked one of the lime slices and smiled at Adam. “And isn’t this nicer than that?”

There was no way to reply to that. Adam’s throat was tight as he watched her place the lime between her lips, a small drop already trickling down her chin. When Scott handed him the tequila and the shot glass, he poured it automatically, hypnotized by the way Scott bent over Sasha’s breast and licked a wet path along the upper curve. The salt pebbled her skin, making Adam’s mouth water. He wanted to be the one licking it away, the one knocking back the tequila, the one slamming his mouth to hers to suck away the lime juice. Even the temptation to lean forward and kiss away the remaining droplets clinging to Scott’s lips was almost too much to resist.

Sasha’s eyes were black, her nipples hard and visible through her bra. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

Adam cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded a bit hoarse when he spoke. Scott settled back against the couch, his tongue darting out to catch a bit of alcohol lingering on his lips.

“This. Definitely. I’ve gone home with people a few times, but I’ve never done anything like this.” He looked down to the shot in his hand and wondered if they expected him to take his turn with Sasha.

“We used to do this all the time.” It was Scott’s turn to shed his shirt, though there was nothing hiding the musculature of his chest when he tossed away his garment. “You’re just the kind of guy that always drove us craziest.”

That seemed fair enough, because Scott was just the sort of man that always caught Adam’s attention. He clearly did not spend his whole life sitting behind a computer—his body betrayed hours of either exercise or physical labor. A trail of hair disappeared into his waistband, and Adam wanted to follow it with his tongue.

“Why?”