Page 74 of This Wild Heart

“So it’s the perfect time for me to give you all the shit I want? Noted.”

Sheila didn’t so much as bat an eye, sliding a cake knife from the drawer in front of her and handing it to me.

“How do you ignore them so easily?” I asked.

“Years and years of practice,” Sheila answered smoothly. “The cake is lemon poppyseed with a blackberry jam filling.”

I let Anya take a couple of pictures before I sliced through the middle of the cake, then made a second cut to slide out the first piece onto a white plate.

My sisters oohed at the sight of the layers inside the cake. Cameron marched into the kitchen and snagged a fork, taking a seat right in front of us with an impatient look on his face. I rolled my eyes and snatched it away from him. “Get your own wedding cake.”

“I hope I’m not supposed to share this with him,” Anya said, swiping her finger through the frosting. The sight of her finger in her mouth had my stomach tightening, as did the contented moan she let out as she sucked off the last of the frosting.

Sheila laughed. “Honey, you do whatever you want with it. It’s your cake. But I would like one video of you two feeding each other a bite, if you don’t mind.”

The air went thick when Anya’s gaze shifted up to mine and held. Her blue shirt made her eyes electric, and I swallowed hard at the proximity after most of the day was spent at a safe distance.

Anya snapped the tension by looking away, scooping a bite of the cake onto a fork. Then she carefully picked it up between two fingers and held it toward my mouth, her eyes glinting devilishly.

“Be nice,” I told her. “Payback’s a bitch if you’re not.”

“You’d smash cake in your wife’s face? That’s not very polite.”

I leaned down and snatched the bite of cake off her outstretched hand, allowing my teeth to graze her fingertips. The flavors were perfect. Light, fluffy cake, the punch of the blackberries, and I let out a small grunt as I finished chewing. Her cheeks were red now, the flush spreading across her chest. I swallowed, licking at the corner of my mouth when the cake was gone. “Never said I was polite, did I?”

There were only a few people close enough to hear us.

Ivy smirked. Cameron’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and behind her phone as she filmed, Sheila dabbed at some happy tears on her cheeks.

I cut off another corner, holding it up for Anya, and she gave me a warning look when I grinned. She didn’t nip at my fingers, but her tongue brushed the pad of my thumb, and I watched the movement of her jaw as she chewed and the helpless flutter of her eyelids at the taste of the cake.

A speck of frosting clung to the curve of her lip, and the temptation to kiss it off almost brought me to my knees. Instead, I used my thumb to brush it off, then sucked that into my mouth while her eyes tracked the movement.

“Now kiss your wife,” Sheila stated.

My eyes snapped in her direction. “What?”

Anya coughed around her bite of cake. I swear, if my wife survived all the shit this family pulled, it would be a miracle.

Sheila arched an eyebrow. “You heard me. We missed everything. You’re lucky I’m not making you repeat your vows in the backyard.”

“Oh, let’s do that!” Poppy said.

I gave her a dark look. “Can you not encourage her?”

Poppy sighed. “You boys are no fun.”

Sheila clapped her hands, sliding her readers from the top of her head onto her nose while she fumbled with her phone. “Come on now, I’m not getting any younger. Kiss your wife, Parker, just like you did at your wedding.”

I didn’t kiss my wife at our wedding.

Anya’s eyes were big in her face, something about the mention of the ceremony had her looking up at me like she was the one ready to tap out. Carefully, I set down the knife and turned to face her. The room was so quiet, I was sure they could hear the hammering of my pulse as I cupped her face in both hands.

Her eyelids fluttered, and I tried not to think about how I shouldn’t be doing this. That this was a bad idea after what we’d already done, after trying to tug some boundaries into place that were too little, too late.

My thumbs swept over her cheekbones, and Anya’s hands curled into my shirt at my waist.

The expectant hush in the kitchen stretched the moment into something surprisingly delicate.

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