She stares at me for a long minute, then nods. “Mint chocolate chip?”
“Obviously.”
The suspicion on her face dims, just a bit.
“Goodnight, Lochlan,” she says.
“Goodnight, wife,” I say, testing the waters.
Her lips twist. “I hate when you call me that.”
I grin. “I know.”
Hours pass, but I don't catch a wink of sleep.
The guestroom bed is comfortable enough. Reaper is curled up at my feet. His breathing is even, his big body warming me. The city quietly hums outside the windows.
But my brain is a frenzied mess of thoughts. And I can’t do a damn thing to silence them.
Thoughts of Adriana keep wallpapering my mind. My God, she looked fucking stunning in that dress, something I tried hard not to focus on but shit, it was impossible not to notice how it hugged every inch of her body. She walked into that reception with her head held high. Adriana was the picture of charming, confidence, and sophistication.
I grin, remembering how her verbal sparring with Ronan sent him off with his dick between his legs. I watched from a distance, just to get an idea of how she’d interact with my brothers. And she shut him down fast and hard.
I think I really am in over my head. Cillian was right.
Around two in the morning, I give up on sleep and head to the kitchen for some ice cream, my universal coping mechanism. Thank fuck I’m not lactose intolerant.
I'm three spoonfuls in when I hear footsteps and the creaking of floorboards.
She appears in the doorway seconds later in silk pajamas and I look up. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, face scrubbed clean of all the makeup. She looks younger like this. Softer. More human.
“You couldn't sleep either?” I ask.
“Nope.” She eyes the pint of ice cream. “Is that your solution to everything?”
“Most things. It hasn't failed me yet,” I say, pulling a second spoon from the drawer.
After pausing for a split second, Adriana sits on the counter stool across from me. I slide the pint toward her and hand her the spoon.
She looks at the spoon. Then she digs it into the container and takes a bite. Her eyes float closed, and a tiny moan escapes her lips.
“Okay,” she admits. “That is so good. I haven’t had ice cream in so long.”
“Do you like self-inflicted torture? Because that’s what a life without ice cream is.”
Dots of pink color her cheeks. “I try to eat healthy.”
“Healthy is no fun.”
“It may not be fun, but for me it’s a necessary evil.”
“Well, I think you should eat more of it. Moan like you did.” My lips curl up. “Really enjoy something, for once.” I hold up the spoon. “And don’t tell me you really enjoy your work because you can’t possibly enjoy work like you enjoy ice cream. You don’t moan when you sign deals, do you?”
She fights the smile, but it’s right there in her eyes. “Maybe I do,” she says with a shrug.
“Then definitely count me in for the next one. I need to witness it live.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says after pulling the spoon from her mouth.
