I have no clue what she means by any of this, but it doesn’t sound like something I would enjoy, nor would I want Moira to experience it with them. “I think we’ll take a pass.”

Clint walks up behind us to stand behind the couch. With his drink in one hand, he reaches another out and caresses Cara softly on the back of her neck. “If you’re not into a four-way, we can split off.”

“Split off?” I ask stupidly, because while I think I have an idea of what he’s saying, the prospect is starting to cause my blood to boil.

“Yeah,” Clint says as his glazed eyes stare at me. “Cara and I get off on the group sex thing but, if that doesn’t appeal, you can have a crack at Cara and I’d love to f**k Moira until she can barely stand.”

My vision goes red, and I actually get a moment of brief dizziness from the blazing rage that filters through me. Not at the offer to do a four-way because only these vacuous people would be so deviant as to suggest something like that, and I find that not surprising in the least. But fury rises swift over Clint thinking he could even be entitled to breathe the same air as Moira, much less think he can f**k her.

I surge off the couch, turning toward Clint with a murderous stare. “What did you just say?”

He has no clue the danger he’s in, and I notice Cara watches me with a lustful gleam in her eye. “Moira,” Clint repeats as if I’m stupid. “I want to f**k her. I bet she has the sweetest, tightest pus—”

I go flying across the couch, leaping it with ease, and slam my hands into Clint’s chest. He goes careening back into the wall beside the mini-bar, causing glasses to lurch and two bottles to fall over where they shatter on the floor. His own drink goes flying, and then I’m on him. Wrapping both hands around his neck, I squeeze and watch his eyes fly open in fear.

“Oh, Zach… why the dramatics?” Cara drawls from her perch on the couch. I see her sitting there watching us with mild interest, but she frankly seems bored. “If you don’t want to, you just have to say ‘no’. Although, I honestly don’t know what you see in Moira. She seems a little mousy to me.”

I close my eyes, take in a deep breath and, when I open them back up, I turn my stare onto Clint. “Don’t you ever f**king talk about Moira like that again. Don’t you even think about touching her. If I even see you so much as glance at her again, I will f**king end your life, you miserable piece of shit.”

Clint nods his head vigorously in understanding, fear having diminished the drunken glaze in his eyes. I release my hold on his throat, and his hand comes up to rub at his skin.

Cara starts laughing behind me, and it gets louder as I can hear her walk closer. Her fingers come to the back of my neck, and she scrapes her nails along my skin. I jerk my head away from her and step back, looking at her warily.

“Oh, this is delicious,” Cara says in a mocking voice. She walks over to her brother, wraps her arms around his neck, and runs her tongue from his collarbone to his jaw. “Don’t you see, Clint? Zach and Moira are f**king each other. That’s why he’s so bent out of shape.”

Clint’s eyes go wide but he doesn’t say anything, my warning about Moira apparently still fresh in his mind.

“See,” she croons to her brother as she strokes his chest with her hand. His arm goes possessively around her waist, and he pulls her in tight to him. “He doesn’t deny it.”

My fingers curl inward to dig my nails into my palms, and I’ve never wanted to do violence to a woman before… until this very moment.

“Let’s go, darling,” Cara says, taking Clint by the hand to lead him toward the door. She turns her head toward me and gives me an appraising look. “This has been very insightful, Zach. I’m sure Uncle Randall would be very interested to know that Moira’s professionalism isn’t quite as professional as he took it.”

I never hesitate for a second. “Just as I’m sure he’d be interested to know that you and your brother are sick f**ks that are screwing each other.”

Cara blanches, so I know I hit the nail on the head. Clint pulls her by the hand toward the door. “Let’s go, Cara.”

“Stay the f**k away from Moira,” I warn both of them. “You do not want to incur my wrath.”

Neither of them responds as they walk out the door, and I let out a sigh of relief when they’re gone. I walk back to the couch and sink down onto it. A tiny laugh escapes my lips, and then turns into a full-fledged guffaw.

I can’t believe that just f**king happened. I can’t believe those twisted f**ks propositioned Moira and me like that, and I can’t believe I refrained from killing Clint. Moira would be so proud of me.

Standing back up, I walk over to the mini-bar and pull another beer out of the fridge. I twist the cap, throw it in the garbage, and take a huge gulp.

The door to the private room opens, and Moira walks through. She dressed tonight like she wanted to come dancing… like she wanted to show me the way her body could move. Her dress is silver and slinky, tying around her neck and plunging deep down her chest. The hem is short, barely covering her ass, but hangs loosely so it swishes as she walks. She paired it with a pair of black heels with wide, leather straps around her ankles, and when I first saw them, I thought they would look f**king magnificent resting on my shoulders while I pounded away inside of her.

All thoughts of Clint and Cara melt away, and my body reacts as it normally does when I see Moira. Whether she’s in jeans and a T-shirt or a f**k-me-in-the-club dress, I get a raging hard-on for her.