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of seducing Phoebe back into his bed?”
    The question made Damon growl. “As both. And I’m not the
only one who wants her back in his bed, am I?” He withdrew his keys from the
hip pocket of his jeans and tossed them to Will. “Now shut the fuck up, Tiny,
and go get our kits from the car.”
    Will snatched the keys from midair. “Yes, boss .”
    Despite the wholly disturbing discovery they’d just made,
Damon laughed. “Yeah, remember that later when I’m telling you where to put
that dick of yours.”
    Will grinned. “As long as it’s not inside you.”
    Damon laughed again. “Oh no. It’ll be inside a certain glass
artist we both know.”
    Will’s grin turned wry. “That’s if she’ll have us.”
    The knot in Damon’s gut rolled. “She will,” he said. But he
wasn’t sure.
    And that scared the shit out of him more than
anything.

Chapter Three
     
    It was no use. She was officially screwed.
    Phoebe stopped pacing the converted mechanic’s garage that
was her home and dropped herself into the old, worn armchair she’d only five
minutes ago flung herself from. She should be worried about her destroyed
studio. She should be worried about her materials and supplies and all the
works she’d lost in the fire, all the tools and equipment now damaged beyond
repair by the flames. She should be freaking out about how the fire started.
    Instead, she was obsessing over the naked want she couldn’t
miss seeing in Damon’s and William’s eyes.
    She scrunched up her face and gnawed on her thumbnail,
staring at the large abstract sculpture sitting on the floor in front of the
window opposite her. She’d only finished the artwork the day before yesterday,
a commissioned job for the Prime Minister that would soon be collected by
courier. Thank God she’d brought it home with her to photograph, otherwise it
would’ve been destroyed along with the rest of her studio.
    She let out a sigh around her thumb. She was exceedingly
proud of the evocative piece. Tall and elegant, the twin glass columns stood
pressed together, two blown forms of black glass manipulated to the brink of
shattering and yet still dominating the space they held with irrefutable power.
When she’d created it she’d done so purely from the heart, with no pre-planned
conception of how it was going to finish. Looking at it now, she couldn’t help
but wonder if somewhere along the line it had become prophetic.
    The two forms, one darker in its blackness and slightly
taller than the other, could be Damon and Will.
    “You jinxed yourself, Masters.” She glared at the artwork.
“You bloody well blew them into existence and now they’re out there in your
studio picking over the remains of what was once your life.”
    Jesus, how melodramatic can you be, woman?
    She curled her lip, glaring some more at the sculpture.
“Very. Example, only two hours ago you were holding a scorched piece of glass
in your hand and referring to it as an accidental dildo. How’s that for
melodramatic?”
    Actually, if you take into account you created an artwork
that was meant to represent the mystery of forever that instead embodies the
two men who forever changed your most secret fantasies, I’d say the accidental
dildo was Freudian.
    With a groan, she flung herself from the armchair. Again.
And paced the area of the converted garage designated as her living room.
Again.
    Ten paces to the left. Spin. Ten paces to the right.
    She chewed on her thumbnail some more. She shot the glass
sculpture—until about a minute ago titled Untitled Time , now more likely
due the title Oh Fuck, Why Can’t I Get Them Out of My Fucking Head? —a
glance over her shoulder. Her sex twinged with unsubtle insistence over the twin
shapes.
    “Damn it.”
    She came to a halt, nowhere near the armchair this time, and
closed her eyes, pulling a deep breath. Of course, her brain told her she could
smell Damon and William on the air. They had, after all, held her, their
fingers wrapping