“Think about what I said,” she tells me. “I have to go now. We’ve stayed here long enough to draw attention.”
I don’t answer, knowing she’s right. That angers me. A few weeks ago, I would have been scouting the coffee shop for threats, and today, I was more interested in chatting about my husband.
Who the hell am I?
Five minutes later, I’m walking into the penthouse with two shadows trailing behind me.
Bronx is at the kitchen island when I walk in, laptop open, sleeves rolled up.
The first thing I notice is his hands… and the wedding ring he still hasn’t taken off.
Livvie’s voice is still in my head.
He shares his bed with you.
“How’s Livvie?” he asks. “You two spend the morning talking about me?”
I head straight for the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Idon’t really need a drink, but I need to play it cool because the cologne he’s wearing puts me under a spell.
“We talked about Reign, actually.”
My stomach flutters when he pivots on the stool to face me. “Why were you talking about him?”
“He’s single… isn’t he?”
“And?”
“Livvie was telling me she gets plagued with women asking about him.”
“What’s interesting about that?” He rises to a stand and pushes his sleeves up a fraction more.
“Nothing, really.” I shrug. “He just came up in the conversation.”
Bronx pushes away from the island and walks toward me. Before I can step aside, he plants one hand beside my shoulder and cages me against the fridge.
“Reign,” he repeats quietly.
His thumb drifts to my mouth and brushes over my bottom lip, the touch lazy…possessive.
My pulse jumps.
“Funny,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “You spend the morning with your sister-in-law and come home talking about the brother who isn’t married.”
His thumb presses a little harder against my lip. “You trying to make me jealous, wife?”
“Are you jealous?” I shoot back.
His expression remains neutral.
“No,” he says in a low rumble while his thumb hooks under my chin, tilting my gaze higher. “But I am territorial.”
His jaw flexes when I inch into him, mybreasts nudging into his chest. I stay there and let the heat between us simmer in the air.
“Same thing, husband…”
My fingers trail down the center of his shirt, over the buttons and the rise and fall beneath the fabric. They skate lower until my palm settles over the thick ridge trapped behind his zipper.
God, he’s so hard it makes my mouth water.
