“Mhmm. Maybe I need to have you and Connor over here so I can cook for you.”
“I think he would think that’s the coolest idea in the whole wide world.”
“Good. It’s settled,” he purrs, shifting suddenly and pulling me over his body so that I’m straddling him. The movement sends spark through my core. His hands slide up my thighs, hitchingmyteehigheruntilitbunchesatmy waist, hisgaze roaming over the heatedskin where our bodiesmeet. The intensity in his eyesmakes me feel deliciouslyexposed and utterly cherished.
“What are you doing?” I murmur, breath catching as he stiffens underneath me.
“I’ve got to get a workout in before breakfast,” he replies, voice low and teasing.
“A workout, huh?” I wiggle against him and he lets out a soft groan.
“Just a little cardio,” he says with a smirk.
I raise an eyebrow. “Cardio? Is that your polite way of saying I need to tone up?”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling straight through me. “That’s one way to put it. But really, babe, this isn’t about you hitting the gym.” His fingers trail up my torso, skimming under my breasts before sliding back down. “I just want to remind you how much fun we can have together.”
My heart hammers at the promise. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
His gaze darkens, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes. “By reminding you how good it feels to be on top…or letting you take a ride while I get a shotgun seat.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I bite back a smile, my heart doing little flips at the thought of the man I’ve wanted for so long being right here in front of me, challenging me in a way that feels so utterly thrilling. “Oh, really? You think you can just say that and I’ll pounce?”
His playful smirk fades. “Oh, sorry.” He starts to sit up. “If you’re not interested we?—”
“Nuh-uh-uh.” I press a firm palm to his chest, pushing him back down. His grin slowly reappearing when I shrug out of my shirt and toss it aside. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, Meers, but let me tell you this…” I lean down so my lips hover over his, my nipples brushing his skin. “I didn’t come here last night for waffles.”
Harrison’s kitchenlooks exactly like I knew it would. Clean but lived-in, all sharp lines and warm wood. There’s a professional coffee machine that probably cost more than my couch sitting in the corner, a faint smell of espresso lingering in the air.
I’m barefoot wearing one of Harrison’s T-shirts holding a spatula like it might attack me. “This is…very advanced,” I say cautiously, eyeing the stove.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with open amusement. “It’s an omelet, Harper. Not a nuclear reactor.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You grew up with a hockey mom who probably made breakfast for a small army.”
He grins. “That is wildly accurate once I gained some friends on the team.”
I crack the egg too hard, the shell splintering into the bowl and freeze. “Oh shit.”
He steps closer, peering down. “Did you just assassinate that egg?”
“I panicked,” I say defensively. “It was staring at me.”
He laughs, low and fond, and gently takes the bowl from my hands. “Okay. Rule one is confidence. Eggs can smell fear.”
“I do not smell like fear,” I argue. “I smell like…victory.”
He waggles his brows and leans to whisper, “You smell like me, babe, and I love it.”
Blushing at his comment, I successfully break open another egg and mix it with the other ingredients before pouring it into the frying pan. After a few minutes, I try to flip the egg but it lands half on the burner, half on the stove.
Shit.
Again?
We both stare at it.
“That’s not right, is it,” I ask.
