The scents of cinnamon and chocolate stop me in my tracks. Dammit. Has Dominic been baking again?
That man’s a feeder. He’s worked out I have a sweet tooth and seems determined to ply me with baked goods. I hope Angelo likes plus-sized women because I’ll soon be giving the thousand-pound sisters a run for their money.
I hesitate by the kitchen door, but the thought of freshly baked brownies draws me in like a moth to a flame, only when I step through the doorway, Dominic isn’t there.
But my asshole husband is. Along with his asshole enforcer.
24
Chiara
Kane smirks as I saunter in, but I ignore him. Instead, I make a beeline for the plate of chocolate brownies resting on the counter. They’re fresh from the oven and still warm and gooey inside.
The first bite is practically a religious experience, and I’m not ashamed to admit a small moan escapes as the rich, sugary flavor explodes on my tongue.
Both assholes watch me like lions surveying an antelope grazing by a watering hole. After I cram the last bite into my mouth, chew, and swallow, I wipe my hands and focus on them.
“Yes?”
Angelo’s wearing a crisp white shirt and charcoal suit pants. Small diamond cufflinks sparkle at his wrists. From the messy state of his hair, he’s been raking it with his fingers all day, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes, one of them bruised. The man needs to book a vacation. He’s clearly working too hard.
A loving wife would suggest that.
Except…I don’t give a fuck if he drops dead from a stress-related heart attack.
Kane’s dressed in black combats and a tight tee that molds every one of his ten squillion muscles. He’s taken a position against the wall next to the fireplace. Stormy gray eyes follow me as I open a cupboard to retrieve a glass before filling it with some chilled water from the dispenser. I’m tempted to open a bottle of wine, but I’m still buzzing from the spa champagne.
Neither of them says a word. I have no clue what’s going on, but Angelo seems to have forgotten he caught me making out with Luka last night. Or maybe he’s chosen to brush that moment of madness under the proverbial rug.
I’d do the same, only my body still hums with low-key arousal.
“Well if you both want to act like miserable fucking statues, then please excuse me while I go for a nap. It’s exhausting doing nothing all day.”
I snatch a second brownie from the plate and head for the exit before Angelo’s growl stops me in my tracks.
“We need to talk, Chiara.”
“About what?” I smile innocently. “Is this the chat where you accuse me of being a cheating whore and demand a divorce? If so, I’m on board. Bring me the papers, and I’ll sign them right now.”
Kane snorts, but Angelo’s eyes flare with annoyance.
“You’re lucky my brother is still breathing.” His fists clench.
“And you’re lucky I haven’t castrated you in your sleep, so everyone’s a winner.” This conversation isn’t doing much for me. The headache that’s been brewing since Vivian showed up like the Grim Reaper has worsened in the last five minutes, and if I don’t take a pill, it will end up becoming a full-blown migraine.
I rub my temples while praying for a stress-related heart attack to strike Angelo in the next five seconds. Only he looks in rude health despite the dark bags under his eyes, so I’m shit out of luck.
“You think you can kill me,cara?” Angelo moves so damn fast I’m caught off guard. He has me pinned against the counter in a heartbeat, but since I still have my glass of water, I lose no time tipping it over his head.
It’s a waste, honestly, but I’m not in the mood for his bullshit.
Water drips down his face, doing nothing to cool his mood.
I can hear Kane laughing from across the room, but Angelo and I remain locked in a stare-off. His hard body presses into mine.
Every. Fucking. Inch.
“If you want to come to my bedroom in the middle of the night,” he purrs. “I’m happy to entertain you.”
