Page 105 of Coldhearted King

With one last piercing look, Paul slinks off and Tate turns to me, his lips tilted up in a smile.

I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you would have handled him yourself. I just don’t like his face much.”

I laugh and he tilts his head at me. “You know you have awful taste in men, right?”

My heart pangs. “I know.” My lower lip trembles before I can stop it, and his eyes drop to it. He reaches up and brushes my hair from my face.

“You deserve better.”

I stare at him in confusion. Is he flirting with me?

He grins and leans closer. “Just go with it, beautiful.”

His eyes dart over my head and I stiffen, certain of what his wicked smile means. Cole and Jessica are here.

“Why are you doing this?” I murmur.

His gaze meets mine, a serious expression darkening his eyes, somehow making him even more good looking. “Because at one time we actually were brothers.”

I don’t know the full story behind Cole’s relationship with Tate and Roman, but I know enough to understand there’s pain there. I put my hand on his arm. “You’ll always be brothers. Don’t let go of what you have because it’s hard. You’re all still here. You still have each other.”

His eyes search mine for a moment before the mischief sparks back to life. “My brother really is making a mistake.”

I shrug, unsure what to say, and he laughs. Then he takes my barely touched champagne from my hand and downs it before placing it on the table behind him.

“Come on,” he says, putting his hand on my back and guiding me to the bar. “I need something harder than champagne.”

In my peripheral vision, I glimpse a tall, dark-haired form with a statuesque blonde at his side. I deliberately don’t look in Cole’s direction. He doesn’t deserve my attention and I refuse to give it to him, even though I can sense his gaze on me.

“Whiskey?” Tate asks me, and I flash back to the first night I met Cole. My first instinct is to say no, but then I square my shoulders. Maybe I just need to go back to that moment and redo it. Pretend I never went home with Cole.

“Yes, thanks.”

He orders, and when we receive our drinks, he turns so he’s leaning back against the bar.

I match him. I don’t intend to look for Cole, but I’m unable to avoid him because he’s directly in my line of sight and staring right at me. His brows are lowered, his lips in a tight line.

Seeing him for the first time in weeks sends a jolt of pain through me, but I refuse to let it show. I stare back as coolly as I can. Our eyes are locked, but I have no idea what’s going through his head. I want to look away, but it’s as if I’m trapped in his gaze.

Until Jessica breaks his focus. She presses herself against him and he looks down at her, his hand coming to rest on her waist as if on automatic.

Pain punches the air from my lungs and tears blur my vision. Damn him. And damn my stupid emotions. Before I can look away, his gaze is back on me and I know, I just know, he can read the hurt on my face because I didn’t have time to school my expression.

I lift my whiskey, throw it back, then gasp and shudder in response. But the burn of the liquid is exactly what I need. I put the empty glass on the bar, ready to excuse myself from Tate’s presence, but he stops me before I have a chance by cupping my cheek and sweeping his thumb over my lower lip, then raising it to his mouth. I freeze when his tongue flicks out to taste the drop of whiskey that must have clung there.

He hums in approval.

“W-What—”

“You’d better go,” he says. “He’s on his way over.”

I don’t hesitate, spinning and walking away. I’m sick of this, of the two of them and whatever it is they’ve got going on. Of the games that rich people play with people’s emotions. Of feeling hurt all the time.

I’ll get tonight over with, and then I’ll be done with all of them.

I keep walking as raised voices beat against my back. How dare Cole be pissed off. He has no right. No damn right.

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