I continue searching, so lost to discovering all the delights this place has to offer that I don’t realize I’m no longer alone.
The second a throat clears, I shriek, stand up straight, and immediately hit my head on the cupboard door I’d left open above me.
“Ow, damn it,” I curse, holding the sore spot.
“Shit, are you okay?” a familiar, deep voice asks.
Mortification burns through me.
I squeeze my eyes closed as the bump on my head continues to pound at the same increased rate as my heart.
Do not cry, Freya. It’s already bad enough.
I’m still desperately trying to get a hold of myself and my emotions when his manly scent invades my senses. The citrus scent that hit me when I walked in here mixes with something earthier, sandalwood maybe.
Whatever it is, I want more of it.
“Let me see,” he rasps, gently wrapping his fingers around my wrist and pulling my hand from my head.
My eyes fly open at his touch, and I realize I’m staring right at his throat. My eyes move down to a very fitted white T-shirt.
My temperature spikes. I haven’t been this close to a man since…well…him.
He was a perfect gentleman the night of the Valentine’s gala. But we danced and it was the first time I touched a man since…
Nope. Don’t go there, Freya.
“You’re lucky,” he mutters, interrupting my thoughts.
Based on my current situation, I can’t help but agree.
“O-oh?” My voice is all breathy, and I curse myself for it.
“You haven’t split the skin. Just a little bump. I have some painkillers, if you’d like some.”
“Um…no, I think I’ll survive.”
“Good to hear.” He moves away and pulls out one of the stools tucked under the island. He has his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaving me with one incredible view. “So, do you like what you see?”
2
COLE
Freya stares at me as if I just asked that question in another language.
“Uh…um…yeah,” Freya stutters, her cheeks a little red. “Your kitchen is incredible. Such a waste not to use it.”
“Trust me, it would end up burned to dust if I attempted to do anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not that bad. Everyone can cook.”
I raise a brow in response.
“I brought you cookies,” she says in a rush, reaching for the covered plate that sits at the other end of the island. The second she peels back the foil and my eyes land on the chewy, oaty goodness, my mouth waters.
“I could get used to this,” I muse as I reach for one. “Oh my god,” I mumble the moment the flavors explode on my tongue. “Thisissogood.”
I have no idea if she understood my ramble, but she smiles and ducks her head as if she gets the idea.
