Page 50

When I felt somewhat presentable, I left the room and stepped quietly down the stairs. The loud sounds of amiable chatter greeted me, as did the rich aroma of coffee.

The sun was streaming in through the kitchen window in a blinding beam that made my eyes water. I raised my hand to shield my face as I squinted my eyes and walked into the kitchen.

Court was standing by a coffee pot to the right of the sink, his back to me as he poured a generous amount into a giant blue mug. Everyone else was here, too, crammed around the table, making it look like a tiny prop instead of the normal size it was.

Cade spotted me first. He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and turned his attention back to his food.

Prick.

My gaze lingered on the septum piercing in his nose, the ring in the middle of his bottom lip, the studs in both eyebrows. He was so different from Court. The opposite of his brother in every way.

Brooks was to his left, his laptop open in front of him and fingers flying across the keys. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gave me a smile and a soft, “Hello,” then went back to whatever he was doing.

Vincent had his back to me but turned when everyone else greeted me. “Good morning, Whitney,” he said politely with a soft smile that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes.

Out of all of them, he’d been the most outwardly courteous and respectful. But there was something beneath the polite exterior that felt cold and dangerous. A conspicuous lack of warmth in those dark eyes, unlike Court’s.

“Good morning,” I said, then made my way to the coffee. Court was still there, leaning against the counter and taking slow sips of the steaming brew, watching me over the top of his mug.

Damn him. He looked fucking good. There was a tiny bit of stubble on his face, and for a single second, I was tempted to go up to him and rub my cheek on it, feel the rasp of it on my skin. He had on black cargo pants and a black t-shirt, black boots to go with the rest of the outfit. And he was so damn tall.

Fuck, I was staring. And he was smiling, enjoying my ogling.

“Morning,” he said through the steam of his coffee. He picked up a mug that was half the size of his—so, normal size—and held it out to me. “You want some coffee?”

“Yes,” I said curtly, taking the proffered mug. “Thank you.” When he didn’t move, I reached around him for the pot. He was so close I could smell him, a soft scent, almost flowery. I inhaled, then caught myself and put all my attention on pouring the coffee.

“Mm.”

That single grunted hum drew my gaze up to his. “What?”

He leaned over me, pressing his nose into my hair. “You smell good.”

Momentary shock held me frozen in place, and then I took a huge step away from him, shooting him a baleful look.

“Real good.” He smiled at me, his eyes literally twinkling as the sunlight danced through them.

“Fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath, slamming the coffee pot back in place.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

He set his coffee down and picked up a plate. “What do you like? Eggs? Bacon? Oatmeal? Hash browns? All of the above?”

“I just said I wasn’t hungry.”

“And I heard you.”

It was going to be pointless arguing with him. “Do I get a real fork today?”

“Nope.”

I scowled at him, then said, “All of the above. Is there any cream? For the coffee?”

He crowded me, stepping into my space as he reached over me and opened the refrigerator. “Yeah, hold on.” My face was basically squished into his chest. I set my palm on his stomach and pushed. He didn’t budge.

“Get off me,” I seethed. Having him so damn close was agitating.