I don’t remember waking at all during the night because I was safely cocooned in his embrace.
Just like old times. After Mama died. When he comforted me on so many nights.
Just like then, last night wasn’t about lust or sex. He was simply comforting me, and I love him so much for taking such good care of me.
Dragging my weary ass out of bed, I head into his en suite bathroom to freshen up before I can face him in the cold light of day. I know he has questions, and I need to give him answers. When I emerge from the bathroom, the smell of bacon lures me to the kitchen on autopilot. My belly rumbles and knots at the same time, and I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to eat.
“Good morning.” I enter the kitchen, wincing at the raspy sound emitting from my throat.
“How are you feeling?” Leo looks over his shoulder at me.
“Like I got trashed last night.”
It’s a miracle I can string a sentence together because Holy. Hell. Leo is standing in front of the stove, bare-chested and bare-footed, in only low-hanging black sweats.
And he is a sight to behold.
Has a back ever been so sexy?
When he turns around, my mouth trails the ground. He is all broad shoulders, hard muscles, and curved abs. The ink on his arms and upper chest only adds to the overall appeal. He even has those V-indents on either side of his slim hips. His body pays homage to dedicated hours spent in the gym and more than twenty years as amafioso. Scars cover his chest, and I long to trace every single one with my tongue. Saliva gathers in my mouth, and a familiar ache takes up residence down below.
Leo is staring at me too. His gaze rakes up and down my bare legs, lingering a few seconds on my chest. I’m not wearing a bra, so the fact my nipples are hard as a rock is obvious in the extreme.
His eyes lift to mine, and they are dark with longing. My chest heaves and I’m torn between running into his arms and fleeing his apartment before we both do something we can’t take back.
My tummy rumbles, breaking through the sexual tension, and I laugh.
“You look hot in my clothes,” he says in a gruff voice. “You are too damn sexy. Go sit at the table before I decide to haveyoufor breakfast.”
My ovaries dance a tango while the inner devil in my ear screams at me to jump up on the island unit, spread my legs, and let him feast on me. At that thought, I scurry to the table and sit down, keeping my eyes glued to the window instead of looking at the temptation in the kitchen.
Leo comes over a few minutes later, setting a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast down in front of me. “Eat.” He curls my hand around a fork before leaning down to kiss my brow.
I swoon all over again.
He walks off, returning with his food and two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
I tuck in, moaning as the buttery eggs and crisp bacon hit my mouth. “This is good. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Mama taught me and Frank to cook, and I have lived alone since I was twenty-one. Eating out and living off takeout got old real fast.”
“I like your place.” I cast my gaze around the large open-plan living space. The modern kitchen with white gloss cabinets is tucked in a corner, near the hallway to the bedrooms. The table and chairs are slotted against the window in front of the kitchen and to the side of the large living room, which stretches the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view over Central Park is impressive, and it’s the main reason Ben beat out his competition to purchase this site.
Unlike my brother’s penthouse above, which was furnished and styled by an interior designer, Leo’s place is homey with patterned rugs and cushions and an eclectic mix of furniture. Framed photos of his family and friends adorn the walls, and his bookshelf is teeming with books and knickknacks. It’s neat and clean and lived in.
“Finished your inspection?” he asks, his tone teasing.
“I really like it. It has personality.”
“It’s perfect now you are here.” He peers deep into my eyes. “There have been so many times I have visualized you sitting here, eating my food, sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes.” Emotion fills his eyes, and he is shielding nothing from me.
I gulp over the emotional lump wedged in my throat as heat creeps into my cheeks.
“Still so fucking beautiful when you blush.” He reaches out, touching my face. His smile melts another layer off my heart and tears down another piece of the wall. “Eat.” Removing his hand, he points at my plate. “You need to soak up the alcohol.”
“I doubt there is any left in my system,” I say, before shoveling more eggs in my mouth.
“I’m sorry about your dress.”
