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For Henry Dean though? Yeah. It’s new.
And since he’s currently sitting in one of our recliners, he just got an eyeful.
And then there’s the other guy. The one lounging in the other chair as if he has every right to be there and is perfectly at ease in my chair in my living room surrounded by my family.
Cian Fucking O’Grady is in my house.
His Royal Highnesshimself.
Looking the epitome of sexy, laid back, and devastating.
Devastating not just because of how handsome he is or because of how long it’s been since I’ve seen him. Or even because this morning I was a little worried about him. It’s truly because there is some kind of crazy chemistry between us. Again. Still. Evidently nothing about the weekend we spent together was a figment of my imagination.
I can still remember locking eyes with him from the stage and feeling this zap of awareness, this strange feeling ofI know youandI want youthat hit me out of the blue in a single moment.
It’s as strong right now as it ever was.
Probably because I do know him.
At least I know things about him. Like that no matter what we were pretending to be that weekend, he truly is charming, attentive, possessive, and funny.
Devastating.
Despite it making it so much harder to be resolute about not wanting him to find me, I’ve loved having that all confirmed via the podcast and online posts.
We had agreed not to give each other many details. Or so I thought. But it turns out, he wasn’t just role-playing as Prince Charming.
“Hi, Mom,” Mariah says into the thick silence. “I need to tell you about something that happened today.”
Is it that a royal fucking prince showed up on our doorstep? Or is it about some stupid shirt and that little bitch Leah?
But before I can respond, Cian mutters, “What the hell?” Then he’s suddenly on his feet and stalking toward me.
His big body blocks me from the rest of the room, and I realize that he’s trying to hide my partial nudity from the other man in the room.
For some reason—probably because my brain is spinning with a myriad of emotions I can’t fully process—I laugh.
He’s right in front of me, frowning down at me. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be. The heat from his body, and the intensity and sheer overwhelm of just having him here, seems to wrap around me and squeeze.
“Henry has seen every inch of Ruby, and we’re identical twins,” is the first thing I say. For some reason.
That does not amuse Cian. His brows slam together. He opens his mouth but says nothing. His gaze roams over my face. Then he closes his mouth, steps forward, wraps his arms around my waist, lifts me until my feet are dangling inches off the floor, and starts walking toward the kitchen.
It takes a second—or several—for my brain to catch up with what’s happening. Then I wiggle. “Hey! Put me down!”
“In a minute,” he says gruffly.
I look over his shoulder to see everyone in the room staring at us.
I narrow my eyes at Henry. “You’re dead to me,” I tell him.
He is the only reason Cian is here. He brought him here. After telling me—promisingme—that he wouldn’t.
I look at my sister. Ruby looks slightly worried, and the way she’s curled up in the corner of the couch, away from Henry, makes me think that she’s not fully happy they’re here either.
Dammit.
It’s my fault they broke up. It’s my fault her heart’s been broken for the past month.