He’s in mykitchen. Of course he is.
I pause at the threshold, silently pleading for a moment of grace, but the universe refuses. Slade stands at the stove, bare from the waist up, cooking like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Strong shoulders taper into a broad back, smooth and powerful, every line of muscle shifting with infuriating ease.
He glances back, sensing me. “Good morning,” he says, as if we didn’t practically melt into each other’s magic last night. “You slept well.”
My voice catches. “I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what you’re getting.”
He returns to the pan, unfazed. There is a confidence in him so complete it almost feels like serenity—if serenity were carved into muscle and smirked like a sinner.
Before I can formulate a coherent thought, my phone rings on the counter. Rhea’s name flashes across the screen like a warning label. I grab it before Slade can decide he has opinions about my family. My phone rings again before I’m even halfway across the kitchen.
Of course it’s Rhea. I answer out of reflex, bracing myself. She doesn’t even greet me.
“Piper Leigh Bellamy,” she snaps, “I checked your house wards this morning and they’re humming like they’ve been having a night of their own.What thehellhappened last night, and why am I the LAST to know?”
I drag a hand over my face. “Rhea, it’s too early—”
“Oh gods, your voice.” She gasps dramatically. “You sound wrecked. Did you—did he—Piper, if you got ravished by something infernal and didn’t FaceTime me to give me the—”
“RHEA.”
Slade turns, amused, stirring the pan like he’s been waiting for this exact circus to occur.
Rhea continues, completely relentless. “Is he still there? Wait—don’t answer. I can feel trouble through the phone. I KNOW you’re not alone. Are you clothed? Is he? Are you clothed… butbarely? Do I need to stage an intervention or a celebration—because I can go either way—”
“I’m going to hang up,” I warn.
“You will NOT—PIPER—DO NOT—”
Ihang up.
Slade chuckles low, plating breakfast. “Your cousin is…passionate.”
“That’s one thing she is, yes.”
“She’s also observant.”
I stiffen. “About what?”
He looks at me over his shoulder, voice smooth. “Your attraction. You’re trying so hard not to show it.”
Heat prickles across my skin. “You’re delusional.”
“No,” he says simply. “Just paying attention.”
I fold my arms, grounding myself in irritation because anything else feels too dangerous. “Just give me food. Maybe chewing will stop me from hexing you.”
Slade sets a plate in front of me with slow, deliberate care. “Unfortunately, breakfast won’t solve your problem.”
“You are unbearable.”
“And you,” he says softly, “are blushing.”
“I am NOT—”
