Page 32 of Indulge
Now I have to explain this to Reggie.
15
BELLA
I practically bolt from the bathroom, cheeks flushed, heart hammering.
Rowan.
Of course Reggie would have a twin. Because one terrifying Irishman clearly wasn’t enough for the universe, it had to spit out two of them.
And they’re not even identical. In looks, yes. In personality? Absolutely not. Where Reggie’s built like a fortress, solid, brooding, impossible to read. Rowan’s got that same frame but lighter, easier. He smiles with his whole damn face, eyes brighter, mouth always twitching like he’s in on a joke no one else has caught.
Reggie feels like a locked vault. Every glance, every clipped word, makes you wonder what’s trapped inside him and why he won’t let anyone close enough to touch it. Rowan, though? He’s all show. Flirty grins and smart-ass comments, like he can charm the devil himself. But underneath that towel, dripping water and smirking at me like I was dessert? He’s got the same edge. That same intensity.
And I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t rattle me.
Because Reggie might make me feel like I’m caged, but Rowan? Rowan makes me feel like I’m standing too close to a fire I can’t resist touching.
Two sides of the same dangerous coin.
Neither should have an effect on me. Yet here I am, burning for my fiancé’s twin brother’s touch. By the time I make it to the kitchen, my pulse has settled. Sort of. I perch on a stool at the island, eyeing the spotless counters and state-of-the-art espresso machine.
Rowan strolls in a minute later, hair damp, now in jeans and a long-sleeve black tee that clings to him. He looks annoyingly good for someone who just walked in on me in shorts and bed hair.
“Right, caramel queen,” he says, rolling up his sleeves as he fiddles with the machine. “One latte coming up. Don’t say I don’t spoil you.”
I snort. “You barely know me. This might be the highlight of our relationship.”
“Not true.” He winks over his shoulder. “I’ve already made you clap for me in the shower. I’m peaking too early.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”
“Funny, actually. That’s the word you’re looking for. And a fuckin’ great singer.”
He slides me the mug, foam perfect, caramel syrup zig-zagged on top like art. I take a sip, groaning as the sweetness hits my tongue. “Fuck. Okay, I’ll admit it, you’ve earned some points. And your voice is good. I’d still kick your ass at karaoke though.”
“Sounds like a date.”
As soon as the words slip out of his mouth, he grabs a pan, tossing in butter with an unnecessary flourish. “I’m not just a pretty face and killer vocals. I make eggs too.”
“Careful,” I warn, sipping again. “You’re making Reggie look bad.”
He did tell me he had work this morning. I just thought, maybe, he might want to get to know me. Rather than behaving like I’m some sort of legal contract.
His grin falters for half a second, and then it’s back. “My brother doesn’t care about points. He’s more of a… winner-takes-all type.”
I raise a brow. “You sound like you know that from experience.”
“Oh, I do.” He cracks eggs into the pan with one hand, smirking.
The smell of butter fills the kitchen; it’s cozy and almost normal. Until I tip my latte too far and a thick stream of caramel syrup dribbles down my chin, across my throat, and onto my tank top.
“Fuck.” I grab a napkin, but Rowan’s already there, hand catching mine midair.
“Let me.” His voice drops, softer, as he wipes the syrup off my skin with his thumb. His gaze lingers on my chest for a beat too long before he clears his throat and steps back fast, tossing the napkin on the counter like it burned him.
“Sorry. That was… yeah.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered.
