Page 35 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“Food Network,” Ryan quips. “Plus, don’t knock Omaha. They’ve got a budding foodie scene there. And the tacos aren’t half bad. Just ignore the Yelp result thatincorrectlysays Village Inn is the best thing in town.”

I hum a laugh, and the smile he gives me in return makes my stomach flip.

He pulls the scones from the oven just before plating up dinner, and I stare at the pan of pastries with my mouth open.

“Are those…?”

“The one you wanted the other day,” he confirms, grinning. “Figured you might take a whole dozen home as an apology for the shortage.”

I groan, “That’s not fair. Now I have to give you the picture.”

Ryan pauses in plating, a yellow sauce hovering over the slice of fish in a shallow plate. “I’m sure we could work something out.”

The physical attraction zips through me, almost like the sudden realization that you have to pee. I squeeze my legs together and try not to let on to how much he’s affecting me.

Travis is dangerous in how dark he is, how off-limits he feels. But Ryan is something else altogether—sweet and palatable at the onset, but with a sexy undertone that hits you when you least expect it. He’s a cocktail of charm and passion, and you’ll drink way too much before realizing just how strong it really is.

He carries the plates to his dining table, and I bring my drink, joining him. The walk across the floor in my socks feels domestic, intimate, and the look he gives me as I sit down is heated.

“This looks amazing,” I say.

Ryan winks at me. “Well, wait until you try it before you offer praise.”

The food is, of course, the best fucking thing I’ve ever had in my life. Before moving to the city, I would have said I didn't likefish. That came from a long history of cheap fish sticks out of the oven. After having some street food andgenuinelygood fish tacos, I changed my tune.

After eating this—flaking off rich chunks of halibut and dragging it through a crab curry—I’m definitely a convert.

“It’s a celery pave,” Ryan explains, gesturing with his fork. “That’s what I was slicing.”

“Jesus.” I swallow, doing my best not to moan. The way he’s looking at me, he’s either waiting for me to, or can tell I’m fighting it. “It’s… really good.”

“Would you say itbrings to mind the artful chaos of the fish market, the meandering peace of shopping for local vegetables, and the impossible harmony of a well-structured oil painting?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Ryan laughs, points his fork again—something he really likes to do, “No, they said that about me in theTimes.”

I give a dry laugh of my own at the dissonance there, the reminder of who I’m sitting across from right now. “You should see what they’ve said aboutme.”

He gives me a serious look. “Send me the photos of those flowers atPerle. I might be able to make something like that happen.”

Just like when Bianca talks about paying for me, there’s a flutter of discomfort just under my skin. This is what peopledo, this is the reason to be in the city. Connections. I know people don’t just get their photography in major publications without an in, but I still don’t know how not to feel slimy about the whole thing.

So, instead of lingering on it, I just stand, picking up my empty plate and making my way into the kitchen. Ryan is hot on my heels, the padding of his socked feet a heavier mirror of my own.

I’m reminded of Travis chasing me through that hotel, the thrill of slipping off my shoes to race down the hallway. Since when do I like being pursued so much?

“What are you doing?”

“The dishes?” I glance over my shoulder at him, before ducking down and looking under the kitchen sink. “Where is your soap?”

He closes the cabinet door gently enough not to trap my fingers, but firm enough to make a statement. “You are not doing the dishes, Serena.”

I straighten up, “You cooked. I clean. That’s a healthy division of labor.”

“I have a cleaner,” he says, stepping in closer to me, taking my hands in his own. “He comes in the mornings.”

My pulse quickens, that touch like a warning to the rest of my body.These hands are coming for the rest of you—get ready, girl.