His mouth curves in a slow, sexy smile. “Good morning.”
“Mm, morning.” I can’t look at him today without feeling the soft abrasion of the bonds he’d placed on my wrists last night. The faint ache lingers there, along with a deep thrum of yearning that still clings to me now, even after I eventually fell asleep boneless and exhausted from pleasure last night.
He rests the spatula next to a griddle and a bowl of pancake batter he’s about to pour into it. He strolls up to me and lifts my chin on the edge of his fingers, lowering his mouth to mine for a kiss. It’s too tender, too brief by half. I moan, biting my lip as he withdraws.
“Insatiable,” he murmurs, his grin waking those twin dimples that never fail to weaken my knees and my resistance. “Coffee?”
“Love some. Just black, please.”
“Coming right up. Have a seat.” He indicates one of the two stools that sit on the other side of the short L-shaped counter. And he was right about his kitchen window. It does, indeed, look into a unit in the brick building next door.
I smile to myself as I take my phone out of the pocket of my stretchy black pants and set it next to me on the granite. I notice his glance as I place it there, and the flicker of question in his expression.
“I talked to Andrew this morning,” I volunteer as Gabe pours a mug of coffee for me and brings it over. “He called before I got in the shower. He said he just wanted to say hi, but I think he was afraid to admit he was checking up on me. We haven’t spoken since our blowup in the boutique.”
“What did you tell him?” Gabe’s voice is as measured as his stare.
“That I was spending the weekend with a friend.” I smooth my finger idly over the rim of the phone’s case. “It’s not a lie, but it feels like one.”
“I know.” He frowns, making a low noise in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like keeping secrets, Gabe.”
He nods, his brow creasing into a deeper furrow. “I need to fix this. Iwillfix it. Right now, I just need you to trust me.”
“I do.” I swallow, resting my palm against his cheek. “I trust you completely. Last night should’ve been evidence enough of that.”
“Last night was amazing,” he growls, his consternation replaced by a look of dark, male desire. His hands frame my face, lifting me toward him for another kiss, this one long and unrushed, hot and possessive. “If you’re not careful, you might find yourself bound to my bed for the rest of the weekend. Maybe longer.”
I smile against his sinful mouth. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
He chuckles. “Maybe the better plan would be to hold you captive in your apartment instead. I think I warned you my place didn’t have much to recommend it.”
“It has you. And besides, I think it’s a nice place.” I draw out of his loose hold, glancing at my surroundings. The rooms are organized and orderly, neat as a pin. “Sure, it’s compact, but this is New York, after all. And I have to say, I’m particularly impressed with the lack of clutter. Even your furniture is arranged with exacting precision.”
He smirks. “Interior decorating skills courtesy of Uncle Sam.”
“Is that also where you got your baking skills?” I gesture to a basket of obviously homemade blueberry muffins that sit on the counter next to the toaster.
“Those? They’re a gift from my neighbor down the hall in Apartment 5.”
“You have a neighbor who bakes for you?”
“Every week.” He shrugs, all charm and dimples. “I try to warn Mrs. Bernstein that she’s spoiling me, but I think that’s the point. She makes me a fresh batch on Saturday mornings and drops them off at my door.”
“I’m sure she does,” I remark, giving him a flat look. “And does this tart down the hall expect something in exchange for giving you her fresh muffins every week?”
He grins at my double entendre. “Considering she’s in her eighties, the only muffins I’m getting from her are the ones over there on the counter.”
“Good.” I laugh, happy to replace the image of a married cougar on the prowl with one of a gray-haired little old lady who probably views Gabe as a grandson more than a juicy hunk of man-meat.
He fetches the basket and offers it to me. And, dammit, the muffins do look and smell amazing. I select one and start peeling off the paper wrapper. Breaking the crumbly muffin in half, I hand him one piece. I takea bite and can’t hold back my sigh.
“Oh, my God,” I moan around a mouthful of blueberry goodness. “This is incredible.”
He nods, watching me chew in my state of culinary rapture. “Maybe I really should sleep with her, right?”
I almost choke on my laughter. “Maybe we both should.”
