Chapter 4
Four
Thorn
Brooks’s apartment smells like garlic and onions.
In other words, it smells damned delicious.
And I know it’s because of one woman.
A woman I know is still here…because I saw her car in the parking lot.
As I walk through the space, I find that River’s standing at the kitchen counter, her gorgeous ass clad in burgundy leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt that’s dusted with flour across one sleeve, her brow furrowed in concentration while she aggressively whisks something in a bowl.
Aggressively.
Something’s bothering her.
Before I can figure out exactly what, Brooks comes down the hall, sans suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened…
And there’s a smudge of lipstick on his collar.
“You’re late,” he says.
“And you’re glad I am,” I reply, deliberately flicking my gaze to the lipstick stain.
Across the kitchen, River snorts unexpectedly. I glance at her, and though she’s still intently focused on whisking the contents of that bowl, I can’t miss that one half of her mouth is curved up.
Pride tears through me.
I made her smile.
Halfway.
But God, I’d pay a million dollars to see that smile in all its glory.
Hell, I’d give up all of my businesses if only to make her do it again.
“That smells good,” Briar says as she emerges from the hallway with slightly mussed hair and a kiss-swollen mouth.
“Well, I didn’t swap sugar and salt,” River replies nonsensically.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, my brows dragging together.
But my question is masked by Brooks and Briar’s uproarious laughter.
Whatever.
I loosen my tie slightly and move toward the kitchen, hating that River immediately clocks the movement and goes stiff—though she doesn’t stop whisking.
That shouldn’t bother me.
But it does.
I want her to look at me, to smile at me, to want me.
Fucking stupid.
“What are you making?” I ask…or maybe it’s more of a rasp that draws everyone’s focus—including River’s for one brief, blazing second.
Her whisking halts. “Brownies.”
“You seem angry about it.”
That earns me a sharp look. “I’m not.”
I glance at the violently abused batter. “Right.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Fucking hell,” Brooks mutters under his breath.
River sets the whisk down harder than necessary, sending splatters of batter onto the counter. “Dammit,” she hisses, glaring at me as she goes to wipe them up.
I snag the towel from her hand, clean the mess myself.
Her glare intensifies. “What are—”
I nudge the pan toward her. “Don’t you need to put the batter in that?”
She doesn’t move, not for a long moment. Then she sighs heavily and reaches for the bowl.
“You know,” I say, “I don’t get the fuss about chocolate.”
I know women love it, especially when they’re on their periods and that entire national holidays have been built around giving it—Valentine’s Day and fancy chocolates, Easter and the chocolate bunnies and pieces hidden in tiny plastic eggs.
I just…don’t get it.
When she doesn’t answer, I look up from the counter, see she’s gone slack-jawed. “What?” I ask into the quiet that’s fallen.
“You don’t like chocolate?”
Why is she asking it like that? Like I’ve just committed the worst sort of crime?
In fact, they’re all looking at me like that.
I frown as River stares at me for several long seconds, and frankly, I don’t care if she’s looking at me like I’m nuts. It’s nice to finally see her eyes, her adorable nose, her kissable mouth—
The way her blush spreads prettily on her cheeks.
Then she shakes her head slowly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, pouring out the batter.
“Though”—I set the towel aside—“if there was any chocolate that I’d like, it would be yours.”
Her eyes fly to mine.
“What?” I ask again.
River blinks, something sliding across her expression.
Not annoyance. Something…softer?
Then it disappears. “I need to get these in the oven so I can go home.”
“You’re not staying for dinner?” Briar asks.
“No,” she says. “I have to go.”
Briar opens her mouth to protest, but River holds her stare. “I have plans.”
“What kind of plans?” Briar asks suspiciously.
“My plans,” River says firmly.
“But—”
“Raindrop,” Brooks interjects and their gazes clash for a moment.
Then Briar huffs out a breath. “Fine.” A scowl. “But if your plans are so important, I can finish the brownies up.”
River has just slid them into the oven and she turns back, concern on her face. “I—”
“Set a timer, River,” Brooks says. “I’ll make sure they come out on time.”
Another blip of hesitation before she nods. “I’ll just finish the dishes—”
“I can do them,” he says.
She freezes. “I couldn’t ask you to—”
“You aren’t.”
“But—”
I cut the argument short by reaching forward for the bowl.
Unfortunately, I do it without thinking and I do it too fast and—
She jerks back, putting distance between us.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I—”
Pink spreads on her cheeks, and her eyes are deliberately avoiding mine again. “It’s fine.” She looks at Brooks. “I’ll just grab my stuff and head out.” Her gaze flashes to mine then skates away just as quickly, but she doesn’t say anything.
I almost stop her.
God knows I want to.
But instead, I lock myself in place, let her slip by me even as something cold and ugly settles beneath my ribs.
I know exactly what kind of man teaches a woman to flinch like that.
I was that man.
River walks away, and I watch her smile shakily at Brooks then hug Briar, all while tension still lingers visibly in her frame.
Brooks’s eyes hit mine.
And I see the same darkness in his as I know resides in mine.
“I…”
This time I’m the one who jerks in surprise.
I turn to see River standing back beside me.
“Um…” A shake of her head before she finishes abruptly, “Here.” She shoves a plastic bag at me and then spins on her heel, hurrying toward the front door and disappearing through it.
I stare down at the bag, at what’s in the bag, and feel something hitch in my chest.
It’s a cookie—
A sugar cookie.
Without a hint of chocolate in sight.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Brooks and Briar, moving after her.
But I don’t make it to her before the elevator door closes.
And by the time I make it down to the garage, her car is gone.
The only positive?
I still have my cookie.