Page 36 of Mended Hearts

Panoramic sunroof—wide open.

The rumble of my Bentayga through the floorboards had me itching for open roads to let her run.

Traffic—terrible, but I was too goddamn happy to care.

The aftertaste of Leighton Rhodes was a heady concoction on my tongue, and every inch of me buzzed with the echo of her touch.

Holy shit. She kissedme. Wantedme. Welcomed me into her home—and then her bed—and looked like a damn angel beneath those lust-drunk lids this morning. If the last thing I saw in this life was her face when that first orgasm hit, I’d die a very happy man.

She was a dream. And I had no intention of waking up.

Still grinning like a teenager, I waited for the gate to open and pulled into the driveway. I was back in my own gym set, her folded sweats resting in the passenger seat, the glorious sun warm against my face as I stepped from the car.

Men talked about walking on top of the world with the right woman by their side. I used to think they were suckers. But now? I damn near floated through my front door, breathing in the scent of bacon and coffee and the delighted laughter of my kids. I was one step from levitating when I rounded the corner into the kitchen to find Beau and Mattie bopping along to some kiddie tune with the nanny.

“Good night, boss?” Oaklyn chirped, already reaching for the coffee pot.

I just grinned and leaned down to kiss both my kids’ cheeks. Happy. I'd forgotten what that felt like. “Morning, sunshines.”

“Morning, Daddy,” they chorused.

Coffee in hand, I strolled toward my office, planning to clear a few emails before brunch. That plan ground to a halt the moment I stepped inside and saw Greyson sitting in the chair across from my desk, looking far too serious for a Saturday.

What was it with brothers shitting on the perfect day?

He cleared his throat. “Where you been, Ollie?”

“Out,” I clipped, circling him and ignoring the jackass perched in my chair like he paid the mortgage.

“Care to expand?”

“Not particularly.” I crossed to my espresso bar, setting down the black coffee and reaching for a sugar packet. “What do you want, Greyson?”

I could feel him watching me for a long beat, analyzing, strategizing. Even as I fetched a carton of plant-based creamer from the mini fridge and stirred it into my mug before returning it.

The man dominated the conference room only in part because of his strategy. What the opposition never realized was how much power he held in his ability to stay silent. Waiting. Eventually, they would crack under the weight of his stony, expectant glare. He’d always had it, but fuck if it wasn’t worse after his time in the Navy.

But this wasn’t some executive takeover.

This was my house.Myoffice. And I might answer to my brother on the board, but not here.

“You’re in my chair.”

“I am.”

“It’s Saturday. I blocked this morning off.”

“You did.”

“So, what are you doing here? Is Alice okay?”

“She’s fine. Thank you for asking.”

I turned and finally faced him.

“Take a seat,” he instructed.

“I don’t think I will.” Just to be petty, I leaned against the espresso table and took a slow sip. The first cup of the day was sacred, and he was fucking with my ritual.

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