My father, the senator, has two rules for me this summer: stay inside the estate, and don't give my stepbrothers any trouble.
He doesn't mention a rule about them giving me trouble.
Roman, Knox, and West Hale. Thirty, thirty-three, and thirty-one.Ex-military. Tattooed. Built like they were designed to make a woman forget her own name.I met them three months ago at my father's wedding, and I've been avoiding them ever since — because my body does things around them it has never done for anyone else.
Now my father's received threats against his family, and he's leaving the country for a month. His solution? Lock me inside a gated estate with the three men I can't be in the same room with without losing the ability to form a sentence.
They're my stepbrothers. No shared blood. No shared childhood. Nothing except a marriage certificate that makes us family on paper and three months of pretending I don't notice the way they look at me.
One month. Three men. One house. Zero supervision.
The guys at college called me frigid. Said no one wants the virgin.
My stepbrothers strongly disagree.
But the threats against my father are closer than anyone realizes, and the danger isn't just beyond the gate — it's inside the house. Someone is watching. Someone we trust.
And the only men who can keep me safe are the same ones my father told me to stay away from.
Turns out, I've never been good at following rules.
