The Dom With the Perfect Brats by Leia Shaw, Cari Silverwood, Sorcha Black Page A

letters, Izzy figured – then let the cloth slide down again. “You don’t want to see my fucked-up legs. They’re scarred with my novice efforts. Come on. I’m hungry.”
    The glimpse of toned and tattooed thigh had been so tantalizing that Izzy had to fold her hand into a fist. They’d touched before, but dragging Gemma’s dress back up so she could ogle her some more would be construed the wrong way. And boy, they’d be right too.
    Cross put a hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “Fucked up? No. It’s a part of you. Your life in ink.”
    The way he’d touched her, the look of proprietary concern and the warmth on Godfrey’s face – that instant imbedded itself in Izzy’s mind. The man truly had a good side to him. He cared for Gemma. And that was both endearing and tragic. For a nerve-clenching second, she couldn’t see herself in their circle.
    Izzy frowned, dismissing her crazy thoughts. “Come on. You were showing me to the kitchen and whatever Cross bought that’s destined to become lasagna?” The kitchen door beckoned to the left and she stepped up to peek. “Wow. It’s so tidy!”
    “I know!” Gemma hurried into the white and stainless steel kitchen. “I have never seen a man this neat!”
    “Comes with the territory,” Cross said, propping his shoulder on the door jamb and looking them both over.
    The arrangement of the kitchen was friendly – across the right-angle counter top, it was open to the dining and living room areas. It was like living in a dancehall, especially with the spartan furniture. The space had an austere, almost churchy feel. Whoever was cooking could either chat or pass dishes across.
    “What territory?” Izzy raised her eyebrows. “This could pass as either a hospital kitchen or upmarket minimalist décor one for someone who is very anal.”
    “I prefer the latter. The territory? Being a Dom. It makes some people become ultra-organized.”
    It did? Heart in her throat, Izzy decided to ignore the challenge implied there – to find out more about this Domming he spoke of. Though she and Gemma knew, didn’t they? After what had happened at the shop, they both knew the man was kinky. And they were both here...so whatever had drawn her, maybe it was attracting Gemma as well?
    Strange how enticing the possibilities were. Being bi meant she liked both sexes but she’d never thought past one on one. The idea of a man being in charge and making her do things to him or Gemma ...or him doing things to her, to them...uh, all of them together, in bed... Arousal flashed through her.
    Focus. Cooking.
    “I gather you don’t want Cross cooking?”
    Gemma swallowed. “Hell no. Have you looked?”
    “At?” She looked about, bewildered.
    “She’s got a thing about ketchup in lasagna.” Cross hauled a stool into the counter and sat with his heels propped on the floor, attentive as a man about to watch a catastrophe unfold before his eyes.
    “Ketchup? Yeah that word is awful. No lasagna deserves ketchup.” The bottle of red stuff stuck up from the middle of a pile of ingredients. “We call it tomato sauce in Australia. Ketchup ...” She shook her head. “Such a weird word.”
    “This coming from a country that puts thongs on their feet.” The spatula in Gemma’s hand quivered indignantly as she gestured at Izzy. “Did you know that , Cross?”
    He shook his head.
    “Oh, so you’ve heard about our thongs? But flip flops is like a word a baby would make up.” She stuck her tongue tip on her upper lip and waited for Gemma’s next move.
    “Better than wearing my underwear on my feet. Thongs are underwear not shoes!”
    “Are you two going to keep playing word-wrestling games, or are you making food? Though if you want to combine the two, you can Jello wrestle out the back. Either of you want a glass of red? There’s beer too.” He slid off the stool and went to the fridge. From the door, he pulled a wine bottle by its neck. “Merlot. You can put some in the lasagna if