I can’t say no. In fact, I’m pretty fucking certain if she asked me to run butt naked through Hartley Ridge, I’d say yes. Sayingyesto her is a future I could willingly be a part of. Whatever it is about her, every part of me likes it.
Chest tight, I nod. “Let’s get you working then.”
She beams. And I’m screwed. Bringing joy to this woman, making her happy, has become my driving reason for breathing.
She follows me to the kitchen and watches me select ingredients and utensils. “So whyareyou being hounded by the paparazzi? Are you related to someone famous?”
I snort, keeping my focus on meal prep despite being acutely aware she is so close that all I’d need do is snake an arm around her waist to haul her to my body.
Do it!
“I rescued thesonof someone famous,” I say, deliberating way too long over which knife to use to chop the vegetables.Focus on the food, Conroy. The food.
“Wait.” Surprise fills her voice. “You’rethe firefighter that actress thanked last night at the Oscars.”
My shoulders slump, and I let out a wry laugh, shooting her an askew smile. “If I say I’m not, will you believe me?”
“No.” She laughs, leaning against the counter. “Wow. So you reallyarea real-life hero.”
“Just being my real self,” I correct.
She studies me, chewing on her bottom lip. What would it be like to feel that lip with my own? Soft. Warm. Inviting? Would she open to me if I sought out her tongue with mine?
“You don’t like the attention,” she states. “Or the fame.”
A warm thread of happiness unfurls through me. She gets it. Or at least she isn’t incredulous or wondering why I’m not interested in the attention like a lot of people are.
“Nope.” I lean my hip against the counter and hand her the knife hilt first. “Now, this ismetrusting thatyou’renot a psychopath.”
Mischief twinkles in her eyes again as she reaches out and takes the knife. “You’re a brave man, Mister…” She frowns. “Um, I have no clue what your surname is.”
“Jake Conroy.” I hold out my hand. “Your friendly neighborhood firefighter.”
“You’re a brave man, Jake Conroy.” She grins and wraps her hand around mine. Electricity tingles up my arm, and I draw in a slow breath. A soft one escapes her, and her stare locks on mine.
It takes all my control to not yank her to my body and crush her lips with mine.
“Mind you,” she says, a huskiness to her voice as she releases my hand, “If Iwerea psychopath, I’ve done a very bad job of picking a victim. I think you’d win a wrestling match with a grizzly.”
My cock throbs. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
She swallows. “Do.”
I can’t tear my stare from hers. I can’t move. It’s as if I’m trapped in molasses, aching for something that isn’t meant to be. Not this quick, this fast.
I suck in another ragged breath.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, her lips parting, her breasts rising and falling.
Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Waverly,” I rasp.
She jerks her eyes up to mine.
“Do you…” I swallow. How the fuck do I ask this incredibly gorgeous woman, who I’ve known for scarcely an hour, if I can kiss her?
“Like mushrooms?” she whispers, a soft hiccup of a laugh falling from her.
