Page 107 of Coldhearted King

“Oh, that’s right. You know, I can see the appeal. She really is gorgeous, isn’t she? All those curves, and that mouth. The things I could do—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I roar. “I don’t want you anywhere near her. If you touch her again, I will end you.”

The way his brows rise makes me realize how unhinged I sound. About as unhinged as I feel.

Seeing Delilah looking so fucking beautiful and real while I was forced to stand next to Jessica for appearance’s sake had made me a little crazy. When Tate brushed his thumb across her lower lip, I’d almost crushed the glass of champagne I held in my hand.

Jessica had called out after me as I stalked over there, but in that moment, I hadn’t given a fuck about my fiancée. The only thing that had thrummed in my veins over and over again was that Delilah was mine.

But of course, she wasn’t mine, as she’d pointed out a few minutes later on the balcony. The ice in her eyes when she told me she wanted to forget I existed had been the reminder I needed. Whatever was between us—hadbeen between us—would die just as surely as it did for everyone. Better to see that coolness in her gaze now before I did something stupid like tie us together and condemn us to a lifetime of regret.

That didn’t stop me from being furious with my little brother. He has always been a man whore, but he’s never gone after a woman I’ve slept with. It’s an unwritten rule that all three of us have stuck to over the years. What he did with Delilah is unacceptable.

“Why all the fuss?” he asks, as if he doesn’t notice that I’m about to launch myself across the desk at him. “You’re about to be married. Why should you care about one of the many women you used to sleep with?”

My nostrils flare. “She’s not—” Although it must be obvious from my actions that she’s far more than that, I cut myself off before I can admit the truth. The fury suddenly leaves me, and I drop into one of the leather chairs facing his desk.

I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck.”

When I look at him again, there’s an expression of curiosity on his face. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “You haven’t been around me enough to see me in any particular way.”

He nods. “Fair point. But if I had been around you more, would I have seen you like this before?”

I shake my head, and he leans forward.

“So what is it about this woman that has you all jealous and possessive when one of the most beautiful women in New York is wearing your ring on her finger?”

The reminder of the huge rock I’d given Jessica a couple of weeks ago has my stomach clenching. It was expensive, gaudy, and ostentatious, and Jessica had loved it. Mainly because she’d sent the details of the ring she wanted to Samson, and I hadn’t cared enough to look for something myself. In fact, I’d sent him out to buy it for me.

Tate appears genuinely curious about what’s on my mind, but I’m at a loss for how to explain it to him. Even if I knew, I’m not sure I want to share my feelings with him. Despite being brothers and working in the same building, we barely see each other. Not until our father’s arrest six months ago, anyway. Since then, we’ve spent more time together than we have in the past ten years.

“Do you remember how we used to play hide and seek whenever Mom and Dad were out of the house?” I surprise myself by asking.

Tate sits back in his chair, caught off guard. “I remember. You two could never find me.”

“That’s because you were small and could hide in places we couldn’t reach.”

His lips curve up, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the little boy I used to play with. A dull ache throbs in my chest. “When did we stop being friends?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

His smile fades. “Were we ever really friends?”

I’m taken aback by his response. Doesn’t he remember? He and I were closer in age than me and Roman, so we naturally gravitated toward each other. “I thought we were.”

He nods, but his expression grows distant. It’s rare to see my youngest brother looking so pensive, and I find myself leaning forward. “Remember that time you hid in the heating vent so you could leap out at old Mrs. Jenkins when she was folding the laundry? She almost had a heart attack.”

The pensive expression vanishes, replaced by his familiar smirk. “Fuck. I was an asshole.”

I chuckle. “We all were.”

It hits me suddenly. I can’t point my finger at any one thing that caused the distance between us as kids, but perhaps dwelling on the why isn’t as important as working out a way to bridge that gap now. If my time with Delilah taught me anything, it’s that life may not be perfect but having even one person who shows up for you when you need them can make everything better.

Our parents won’t ever be those people, and there’s no way my future wife will be. But maybe, just maybe, Tate and I can be that for each other.

“Would you like to grab a drink tonight?” I ask.

His eyes widen a little, and he rubs his chin. “I’m game. But only if you answer one question for me.”

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