Orion walks in first.
All heat and threat.
Immediately crowding me at the stove, grabbing my waist like he’s claiming territory.
He buries his nose in my neck.
Breath warm. Stubble scraping my skin.
“Smells fucking amazing, sweetheart. Is this the part where I tell you I’m starving or just bend you over the table and say thank you?” he asks.
God, I love him.
“Save that for dessert?” I nip his throat.
“You trying to get bred on the goddamn counter?” Orion says and lifts me.
“Someone say dessert?” Noah trails behind, lugging his guitar case and all that earnest, boyish heartbreak.
Oh.
My precious baby.
I want to nibble his jaw.
He stops short at the sight of dinner, presses a hand to his chest like I just shot him.
“You cooked without me?” His eyes go wide, mock wounded. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”
I roll my eyes and snatch his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. “I can cook unsupervised. I’m a grown-ass woman.”
Elliot’s already in his seat.
Tie loosened.
Eyes glinting over the rim of his glass.
“Can you, darling?” His voice is pure sin in a suit.
Callum plops down beside him, looking way too pleased with himself.
“She burned water last week,” he says and flashes me a shit-eating grin, that grin that says ‘I know what you look like with my come dripping down your chin and I’m never letting you forget it.’
I whip the towel at his face. “Excuse me? You want to talk kitchen disasters, or should I tell everyone what happened with the immersion blender?”
“Baby, water doesn’t burn,” Orion says, but he’s grinning, all dimples and bad intentions.
I ignore their slander, because if I let them, they’d roast me into oblivion.
And I have more important things to discuss than my one, ONE, tiny kitchen mishap that definitely involved a naked man and questionable use of olive oil.
“Callum.” I sit, fold my hands, stare him down. “Tell me about the woman.”
Elliot doesn’t miss a beat.
Slicing into a shell and feeding me a bite.
Fork to lips.
