Page 15 of Cinnamon Strudel
“He does, but we just wanted to get a feel for the woman you are. We might be assholes but that doesn’t mean we want our brother hurt.”
“Hurting people isn’t really my thing.”
Alexander scanned a card that gave them access to the building, and they led her right up to Morgan’s floor. The door sprang open before Manuel could even knock.
“We brought you someone.”
Ignoring his brother, Morgan offered her a hand. “Ruby,” he hummed, though his anger simmered behind those pretty green eyes. When she took his hand, Morgan pulled her over the threshold. “Piss off,” he growled and slammed the door shut.
She giggled, bending down to greet Blue, who’d come up to her. “Hey sweetness.”
“I’m sorry they bothered you,especiallyat work.”
She stood and looked around. “I don’t think they intended for me to recognise them.”
“Then they’re either dumber than I thought, or just as blind as I am.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Mind if I take my shoes off?”
“Please do. Make yourself at home.”
“Good thing you said that—I brought my own slippers.” She dropped her bag and sat on the bench next to the door to switch out her footwear. “My feet always get so cold.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“With my boss?” She shook her head, then kicked herself and answered verbally instead. “No.”
He gave a nod and when she stood again, he beckoned her closer by opening up his arm, holding her close when she stepped up to him. “Were they at least nice to you?”
“Curious, but respectful.”
He let out a gruff, “Fuckers.” His free hand found her neck, fingertips tickling over her skin until he cupped her jaw. “I told them they would meet you oncewewere ready.”
“They’re your brothers. I’m sure they were just worried about the girl who asked you out.”
“They can stick their concern up their ass.”
With one last caress of his thumb over her cheekbone, Morgan took her hand and led her down the hall and into a galley-style kitchen. Large windows on the far wall flooded the space withevening sunlight, casting a glow over the ingredients spread out on the countertops.
“Do you have a recipe?” Morgan asked.
She shook her head looking through everything. When he didn’t answer, she grimaced. “No. I’m sorry. I keep giving nonverbal answers.”
“Habits are hard to break.” He grinned and squeezed her hand, he didn’t seem to want to let go—not that it was a bother, she welcomed the touch. “Just let me know what you need me to do.”
“I thought I was cookingyoudinner.”
“I’m more than capable of assisting.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I meant, Morgan.”
“So, what did you have in mind I do?”
“Sit down and look pretty.”
Morgan blinked, one brow raised, but then he nodded. “As you wish.” Letting go of her hand, he pulled himself onto the counter and smirked.
“Perfect.”
