I exhale through my nose. “Go sit on the couch before you cause a fire.”
He bites his lip, his eyes sparkling. “You gonna spank me for ruining your omelet?”
“Luke.”
He backs up, hands raised, laughing all the way to the living room. “Worth it.”
I dump the ruined food and crack new eggs into the bowl, shaking my head. This brat is going to kill me, and I’ll probably thank him for it.
TWENTY-THREE
LUKE
The omelet is perfect.
Which is infuriating, because it proves two things: One, Silas really is annoyingly good at everything. Two, he was right to kick me out of the kitchen after I "accidentally" made him burn the first one.
So, now I’m sitting on his couch, wrapped in his too-big sweatshirt, legs tucked under me as we eat on mismatched plates, while something domestic and dangerous crackles in the air.
“I told you I could cook,” he says smugly between bites.
“You kicked me out of the kitchen,” I counter, stabbing a piece of omelet. “Which was rude and a little authoritarian, by the way.”
“You burned the first one trying tomake me hard,Luke.”
“I was taste testing your resolve.”
He gives me a flat look. “You also stole a piece of cheeseoff the cutting boardwith your mouth.”
“I was making sure it was safe.”
“You were being a brat.”
“I was testing the ingredients,” I say, deadpan. “You should be thanking me for my quality control.”
He arches a brow. “You moaned while chewing.”
“It wasverygood cheese.”
I grin around the next bite, chewing slowly. His eyes flick to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back to his plate. He’s trying so hard to focus.
Which is adorable.
And also a challenge.
I shift slightly on the couch, stretching my leg until my bare foot brushes his ankle. He doesn’t react. So I nudge higher, slow and innocent, the ball of my foot gliding up his calf.
Still nothing.
Fine. Game on.
I press a little firmer and slide my foot up the inside of his thigh, slow and deliberate, until it rests—light and playful—over the bulge that’s definitely already there.
Silas goes still. Completely still. And I hold back my grin.
I stab another piece of omelet and hum, my toes curling over his length, casual as ever. “You were saying something about me being a brat?”
His jaw tightens. His eyes drop to my plate, then snap back to mine. “You act like I won’t put you on your knees right here.”
