20. Sina
I rounded the corner behind Rafe and Harlow, and the foyer opened up into the kitchen of all kitchens. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall. A big island with a sink sat in the middle. The cabinets were stained a dark cherry wood.
At the stove was Nikolai. My breath hitched at the sight of him. He stood with his back to me, sleeves of his navy button-down rolled to his forearms, blond hair slightly messy like he’d run a hand through it too many times. It should not be attractive watching a man cook. It really, really was.
“Yo, Nik, what’s for lunch, man? Sina’s hungry,” Harlow called, way too entertained with himself.
“What? No—don’t say that.” Heat crept up my cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Glad you could make it, Sina.” Nik glanced over his shoulder at me, and my stomach did that traitorous flip.
His glasses sat low on his nose as he raised a brow, then turned back to whatever he was stirring in the pan.
A sauce, maybe. The smell alone made my stomach tighten painfully.
I swallowed, pretending I wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of how long it had been since I’d eaten something that didn’t come from a to-go box.
My brain short-circuited. “You cook?”
Wow. Incredible. Flawless social skills.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “If I didn't, these guys would starve.”
Harlow dropped onto a barstool. “Translation, he doesn’t trust the rest of us not to burn water.”
Rafe stepped in close beside me. “It was soup,” he muttered while slipping my coat off my shoulders.
I smiled before I could stop myself. “That’s okay, Rafe. I can’t cook either. If it weren’t for takeout, I’d probably starve.”
I meant it as a joke. Something light. But the words barely left my mouth before the room went… still .
Rafe’s hand paused where he held my coat. Harlow’s grin faded, just a little. And from the stove, Nikolai stopped stirring. The quiet stretched just long enough to feel awkward.
My smile faltered. Had I said something weird? I tucked my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, suddenly aware of myself in a way I hadn’t been a second ago. It was just a joke. People said stuff like that all the time.
Right?
I cleared my throat. “So… what are you cooking?” I stepped a little closer to the center island where Harlow sat.
“Chicken alfredo,” Nikolai said.
“And the best fresh rolls you’ll ever have,” Harlow added, patting the stool next to him.
I looked around the space. The big open kitchen. The living area beyond it. Jackets thrown over chairs. A pair of boots by the door. A mug on the counter that clearly hadn’t been moved in a while.
“You guys all live here?”
Nik and Harlow exchanged a quick glance.
“Yep,” Harlow said easily. “Easier that way.”
“Easier for what?”
He shrugged. “Life.”
That was even less helpful. My brain immediately started trying to make it normal. Maybe this was some kind of shared housing thing. Trauma recovery? Support group? Court-ordered anger management for tall, emotionally unavailable men.
I snorted to myself. It made sense… sort of.
Nikolai turned off the burner and faced me fully. “Lunch will be ready in about ten minutes. Just waiting on the rolls. You should sit.”
I realized I’d drifted closer to the stove without meaning to.
My stomach growled. Loudly. Harlow noticed.
Of course he did. His mouth curved, but he didn’t tease me this time.
He just nudged the stool next to him with a boot.
I moved toward the island before embarrassing myself further, and took a seat.
I wiped my palms on my jeans under the counter, suddenly aware of how warm the kitchen was.
Or maybe that was just me, alone with the brothers for the first time.
Up close, I could see the similarities between them.
Same build. Tall, lean, broad through the shoulders.
Like they’d started from the same blueprint.
But life had taken them in opposite directions.
Nikolai was polished. Controlled. Harlow was all sharp edges and crooked smiles, like he enjoyed keeping people a little off balance.
And I was attracted to both of them. Fantastic. This was exactly why I needed therapy. It wasn't normal.
I side-eyed Harlow, who was openly watching me, just like he had last week in group.
I’d wanted to call him out then. I'd chickened out.
Not this time . I turned my stool to face him, crossing my arms over my chest like that might hide the reaction simmering under my skin.
Because I wasn't admitting out loud that I liked the way he looked at me.
“You’re staring at me again, Harlow. Knock it off ,” I demanded.
“Am I?”
He didn’t look away. Not even a little. If anything, he doubled down, leaning his elbow on the counter, chin resting on his knuckles as his gaze dragged slowly up and down like he was studying something fascinating.
Then his hand lifted, slow and unhurried, fingers catching a loose strand of my hair near my shoulder.
He wound it around his glove idly, gaze never leaving my face.
His forked tongue slid out, slow and absentminded, tracing over the metal of his lip piercing before disappearing again.
My stomach flipped. “Yes, Harlow, you are. Stop looking at me like you want to eat me. It’s creepy.”
His grin widened, sharp and predatory, still lazily playing with the strand of hair. It made me shiver. I should be afraid, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t explain why. I knew Harlow was dangerous. All of them were. But for some reason, I didn’t see them as a threat.
“I can’t help it, darling. I like what I see.”
My stomach flipped again, heat rushing up my neck so fast it made me dizzy. “What did I tell you about calling me darling ?”
“I don’t really care if you say you dislike it, Sina. Your body says otherwise.”
I huffed. “Don’t think for a second you have an effect on my body.”
Harlow hummed softly, and it did something funny to me, making me squirm. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something far away.
“Like little bird wings.”
My brows pulled together in confusion. “ What? ”
His blue eyes flicked briefly to my throat, then back to my face. “Your pulse.”
Nik had said something similar on the phone today, hadn’t he? That he could hear my pulse. I thought he meant my breathing.
But with Harlow saying it too…
“That’s not— you can’t—” I stopped, because the way he said it didn’t sound like a guess.
Behind him, Nikolai had gone very still at the stove.
I swallowed, and Harlow’s gaze sharpened like he’d heard that too.
“You get this flutter when you’re worked up,” he went on casually, two fingers pressing lightly to the hollow of his throat this time. “Right here .”
My heart promptly did exactly what he’d described.
I forced a nervous laugh. “You’re just reading body language.”
Harlow shrugged lazily, finally letting the strand slip free from his fingertips. “Of course.”
I frowned. I didn’t like how easily he let me brush it off, but before I could call him on it, the timer for the bread went off.
The sharp beep cut through the moment. I watched as Nik pulled the tray from the oven, doing my best to ignore Harlow, and he set the rolls onto a cooling rack.
Steam curled up around his hands as he worked.
He picked one up, split it open, and smeared butter across the inside.
It melted instantly, soaking into the bread.
Then he crossed the room, leaned forward, bracing one hand on the counter between us, the other holding the roll.
The space felt smaller now. Closer. He lifted the buttered roll toward my mouth.
“They’re best fresh out of the oven.” His voice had dropped to a low murmur, his eyes flicking between my lips and my eyes like he was tracking every breath I took.
The air felt charged, like a storm waiting to break.
I probably shouldn’t.
But the way he was looking at me… and the way it smelled… I leaned in. I was starving. Tentatively, I took a bite. My lips brushed his thumb. Nik went still. A small hitch in his breath from the contact. His shoulders tightened just slightly. Stormy blue eyes flashing darker.
I pulled back, chewing, warmth flooding my mouth. Garlic, butter, herbs, rich and perfect and overwhelming in the best way. My eyes fluttered closed. A soft moan slipped out before I could stop it.
Behind me, Harlow groaned. The air went heavy, thick with something that had nothing to do with food.
“ Wow ! You were right, Harlow. These are the best rolls.”
Silence.
Then Harlow’s voice, lower than before. “Don’t make sounds like that, darling.”
“What?” My eyes flew open. Nik still hadn’t moved. His gaze fixated on my mouth. Was he trying not to kiss me? Heat crawled up my neck. “Oh. Um. Sorry. ”
Nik’s jaw tightened at my apology, but he didn't say anything. I desperately wished I knew what he was thinking. I looked down at the counter, my hair falling forward like it might hide how red my face had gotten.
What was wrong with me? I sounded like I’d never eaten before.
Harlow’s snort drew my attention. He wasn’t looking at me but across the room. I followed his gaze to see Kiron… shirtless and pissed off.
Gulp.
This man was gorgeous. I had almost forgotten just how much. That was a lie. I’d just never seen him outside his leather jacket, let alone with all his muscles on display.
Bare chest. Broad shoulders. Arms thick with muscle like he actually used them for something other than lifting weights in a gym.
His skin glistened faintly, like he’d just come in from the rain or worked up a sweat, and the light from the windows caught along the hard lines of his abs.
He looked wild. Untamed. Like he didn’t belong indoors at all.
For one very embarrassing second, my brain supplied the image of running my tongue along the bead of moisture sliding down the center of his stomach.
“Fuck,” I muttered, which drew his dark gaze to mine.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly too aware of my body, and just…
stared at him. Open-mouthed. No shame. And no survival instinct apparently.
Because Kiron didn’t just look good. He looked like the kind of man who could break things.
Or protect them. Which I’ve seen him do.
Memories of him smashing that guy's face into the table made me shiver. And my stupid heart couldn’t decide which part it liked more.
Harlow leaned forward from his chair behind me, his breath washing over my ear. “Might want to close your mouth, darling. You’re drooling.”
I wanted to tell him to shove it. I didn’t though, because Kiron still hadn’t looked away.
He stood there like a storm barely contained in human skin, chest rising slow and deep, jaw tight, fists at his sides.
There was something coiled in him. Tension.
Heat. Like he’d walked in already fighting something no one else could see. I knew that feeling.
Fighting demons that haunted me.
Instead of feeling scared or intimidated by him, I felt this pull to soothe him. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slid off the stool.
“Sina. Be careful." I barely listened to Nik’s warning. My feet carried me across the kitchen on their own.
I just hoped I knew what I was doing.