Page 83 of King of Temptation

“Yeah, well, did he tell you what happened before that?”

The shift in Reagan was subtle, but it still made Goldie’s stomach flip to see the way her gaze hardened, the way her jaw firmed just like Brody’s when Goldie had finally pushed him too far. “You mean when you inserted yourself into a very fraught, potentially dangerous conversation between two warring mafia families?”

Heat rose to Goldie’s cheeks. “Ah, yeah. That.”

“He mentioned it.”

Rolling her eyes, Aria swatted her sister-in-law’s arm. “Don’t be such a hardass, Rae. You’re acting like one of them.”

“I am one of them, and you’d both do well to remember it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Goldie answered without thinking, the warmth in her cheeks cranking up to an inferno when Reagan smirked. “Anyway, I didn’t know he was meeting with Salvatore. I thought he was on a date and I was… Well, it’s not important what I was,” she hurried to say, though it didn’t stop her friends from sending her knowing looks. “But at the end of our dinner with Salvatore, I ordered a slice of cheesecake and Brody made me get it to go. I don’t even know what happened to it, because, well, everything kind of went sideways after that night.”

“Oh.” Everything about Aria softened, and maybe it was a trick of the light but Goldie would swear she could see tears glinting in her eyes. “He replaced the cheesecake you never got to eat on your first date. That’s so romantic.”

“It wasn’t actually a date.” Allowing herself a small bit of hope, she glanced between her guests. “You really think it’s romantic? I’m not making too big a deal out of it?”

Snorting out a laugh, Reagan shook her head. “Honey, the fact that Brody even has junk food in this house is proof that man loves you beyond reason. Aria and I have to hide the goodies in our own home because he’s so goddamn militant about it.”

Ice replaced the heat of embarrassment in Goldie’s veins. “He doesn’t love me. He barely knows me.”

“He’s already been ring shopping.” Tilting her head to the side, Regan studied her, seemingly peering straight into the depths of Goldie’s soul. “What more proof do you need?”

“People marry for all kinds of reasons. I’d think you’d know that better than anyone.”

Reagan shrugged. “Sometimes. But not Brody. If he wants to marry you, it’s because he’s head over fucking heels in love with you and he can’t imagine not having you by his side every day for the rest of his life.”

“But he’s never actually said he loves me. I don’t even have my own drawer in his dresser.” Ugh, she hated sounding like a needy, clingy girlfriend, especially when they had so many larger issues at hand.

Reaching across the counter, Reagan gave her hand a squeeze. “Brody is… particular about his space. He’ll come around.”

“But he shouldn’t need to ‘come around’. Not if he really wants me here the way you think he does.”

Something flickered in Reagan’s dark eyes, a grief that made Goldie’s chest ache. “Brody’s been on his own for a long time. He’s convinced himself he likes it that way.”

“And the O’Rourkes are a stubborn bunch,” Aria added, lifting her shoulder in a nonchalant gesture that was so at odds with the nerves dancing in Goldie’s stomach it was almost laughable. Digging her fork into her cheesecake, she lifted a hefty bite to her lips. “Oh my god. This is amazing. I’m gonna make Killian buy me one of these a week until this baby comes.”

“He would, too.” Reagan grinned. “He’s as gooey in love with you as Brody is with our friend here.”

Love. Letting the word roll over in her mind, Goldie scooped up some of her cheesecake and lifted it to her mouth. The silky taste of it slid over her tongue, and she nearly groaned.

It didn’t have to mean anything, even if Reagan and Aria insisted it did.

Sometimes, a cheesecake was just a cheesecake.

Chapter 29

Brody

Raucous laughter greeted him the moment he opened the door to Killian’s house. He found his cousins in the den rather than Killian’s office, each with a drink in their hand as they lounged in various chairs around the room.

“Brody!” The cry went up as he stepped inside, and he had to fight the urge to grin, instead rolling his eyes as he crossed the room to pour his own glass of whiskey.

“What are you miscreants up to?” he asked as he settled on the opposite end of the couch Murphy was currently occupying.

Across from them, seated in an oversized armchair, Killian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Or alcohol.

Probably a combination of both.