“Good morning.” The words croak out of me as I resist the urge to smooth back my hair. To adjust my clothes. To try to look as appealing to him as he is to me.
I can’t allow myself to get in that headspace. Not again. Not with Titus. I’m just his employee. The woman who makes his meals. He’s only down here out of obligation. Thinking—even for a second—there’s more to it, would be setting myself up for failure. Again.
I just really wish I wasn’t suffering from an abundance of additional blood flow and the nearly constant state of arousal that seems to come with it. Wasn’t expecting that fun pregnancy symptom at all. I actually assumed my libido would dry up like a raisin in the sun. At least there’s a reasonable explanation for all my fluttery feelings about Titus.
I’m just horny. Not hopey.
I’d really love for this little side effect to pass. I can’t be spending most of my days—and nights—lusting over my sort of boss.
Guilt pinks my cheeks, and I avert my eyes from where Titus sits—looking serious and gorgeous and virile—as I make my way to the fridge in search of something to focus on besides the way his attention is almost always directed at me.
I open the door and survey the contents, in search of inspiration. “What sounds good for breakfast?”
I’ve tried planning out meals, but since nothing ever sounds good, I struggle to come up with ideas. I can’t wait for my appetite to return. If for no other reason, so I won’t be staring down a pile of ingredients every morning, noon, and night with absolutely no clue what to do with them.
“What about an egg in a basket?” His words ripple up my spine and curve through my limbs.
Why does his voice have to be so sexy? Now that I think about it, why does all of him have to be so sexy?
It’s not fair. It’s like the universe knows I’m trying to changemy ways, and instead of helping me out by giving me a boring, mediocre man to cook for—one I would have no problem finding uninteresting—it dropped Titus right into my lap.
Taunting me. Daring me to dream. Tempting me to think of all the possibilities.
To hope for what I most definitely cannot have.
And I most definitely cannot have Titus Bradshaw. Not just because he’s my employer. The source of security I need for myself and Peanut. But because no man is going to be interested in a woman who’s pregnant by someone else.
I should tell him. It would be an easy way to nip this whole little fantasy I’m trying to have right in the bud. I’ve come downstairs every morning since Titus left his rooms with the intention of laying it all out. But every morning I don’t.
Because I’m an idiot. An idiot unwilling to give up her ridiculousness.
I reach into the refrigerator and pull out the carton of eggs. “An egg in a basket sounds perfect.”
It’s one of the easiest breakfasts I’ve made for Titus since coming here, but seems to be his favorite because he suggests it more often than not.
Pulling out one of the ridiculously expensive pans he bought me, I set it on the stove and go to work slicing off the bread. I’ve only got one piece cut before Titus is at my side, his big body crowding me and making my heart beat faster.
“Let me.” He gently works the serrated knife from my hand as his free palm comes to rest against my back, urging me away from the cutting board. “You sit down. I’ve got this.”
The bite of panic clenches my already troublesome insides. “But this is literally my job. It’s what you pay me to do.”
If I don’t cook for Titus, then what is the point of me being here? What’s stopping him from sending me on my way when he finds out I’m kind of a package deal?
Nothing, and that cannot happen.
I was supposed to come here and show Titus how valuable Iam. Make him enjoy my cooking so much it wouldn’t even occur to him to get rid of me once he finds out I’m pregnant. Instead, I passed out on his floor, making him so nervous it’ll happen again that he’s now the one trying to take care of me.
“You do plenty of things I don’t pay you to do, Mariah.” Titus's hand stays on my back as he follows me around the island, practically scooping me up and depositing me into the chair he just vacated. He leans close, the scent of him surrounding me as his soulful eyes hold mine. “I probably need to be a little better at making sure you don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
Holy cow, I wish he would take advantage of me.
I swallow hard, hoping to God he cannot read my thoughts, because they are really unprofessional. “You’re not taking advantage of me.” A little bit of a smile manages to work across my lips. “You’re actually the best boss I’ve ever had.”
I loved working for Maryann at the inn, but she sure wasn’t making random extra deposits into my bank account. She also didn’t smell nearly as good as Titus does. And I definitely never spent most of the day hoping her body would accidentally brush mine.
Titus's eyes move over my face as a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “You’re the best chef I’ve ever had.” I could swear his gaze drops to my lips before snapping back to meet mine. “And I’m not your boss.”
The last words settle between us, hovering in the air as I struggle to breathe.
