What the fuck is going on here?
“Good morning, Grace,” he says, turning around and smiling when he sees me. “I made bacon and eggs. I hope you like it.”
“Thank you,” I say, coming slowly into the room and sitting down. He puts a plate down in front of me, and I look at it in astonishment.
The bacon is slightly burned on the edges, and the toast is pale, but overall, it’s a more than acceptable effort.
“Here,” he says, putting a cup of black coffee in front of me. “I’ll let you do your own sugar and milk, okay?”
“Sure,” I answer as he puts the jug of milk in front of me. I’m too stunned to move until he sits down across from me and digs into his own food.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
I realize I’ve been sitting as still as a stone statue for about five straight minutes, so I pick up my knife and fork. I carefully pierce a piece of toast with bacon and egg and try it.
“It’s actually really good,” I say, overstating it a bit, but wanting to give him praise.
“That’s great,” he says. “How about the coffee?”
I reach for the sugar, feeling much less confident. My morning coffee is a sacred thing to me, and it only takes one small mistake to ruin a whole batch.
Just take a sip. He’s trying. I should try, too.
I add a little sugar and milk, then pick up the cup to take a tiny sip. To my surprise, it’s full and rich, not too strong and not burned.
“It’s really, really good,” I say gratefully. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he says, scraping the last of his food off his plate. “I wanted to make pancakes, but the method seemed really complicated. I thought this was the safest option.”
“Well, you did great. I appreciate it.”
“That’s great,” he says, and the awkward silence I’m so used to falls between us.
Dan looks at me, and I look right back at him. I can’t for the life of me think of anything to say. Panic rises in me, but it doesn’t help me find any words, so I just look down at my plate and eat my food.
A couple of times, Dan takes a breath like he’s about to say something, then doesn’t. I keep my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with him.
We should talk about last night.
The thought comes out of nowhere, and it freaks me out so bad that I almost drop my knife.
Don’t care if we should. Doesn’t mean I will!
To my horror, the fantasy I had crowds back into my mind, even though I try to suppress it. Heat creeps up my thighs, rushing up my belly and tightening my nipples. The arousal keeps blooming until I can feel my cheeks burning, and I know they have to be bright red.
Fuck. Fuck! What do I do now?
Dan clears his throat, and with the heightened sensitivity my magic gives me, I can sense heat rising in him, too.
No, no. I can’t talk about this! The coven said I had to marry him. No one ever said I had to fuck him.
Keeping my eyes down, I reach for my coffee, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Yeah, but what if I want to? What if I want to stand up right now and go to him, jump in his lap, and rip his shirt open—
My coffee goes down the wrong way, sending a flood of fiery pain through my chest. I barely manage to put the cup back down as I fight not to cough my guts out all over the table.
“Grace? Are you okay?”
