He looks up from the stove, takes one look at me in nothing but his hoodie, and his eyes smolder, that river water brown turning to burning wood and green fire.
“Where are your clothes?” he scowls.
“They were damp, and I was cold, so I took them off. Thanks for letting me borrow this.” I tug on the bottom of the sweater, and it rises a little, revealing my thigh.
His lips form a hard line. “Dry your own clothes and then put them back on.”
“Wow. Okay. Fine. You got a dryer?”
“In the laundry. Next to the bathroom.”
“Could I have some more coffee first? And maybe a snack? I missed lunch.”
“You think you can just walk around in nothing and demandsnacks?”
“I’m watching a comfort show, and I need a snack, and if you were even a half-decent man, you would have given me a snackalready and maybe even offered to take care of my damp clothes yourself.”
He scowls again and, fuck, it’s sexy.
“I’m letting you stay here, isn’t that enough?”
I pour a cup of coffee and grab an apple out of the carton on the counter. “Since you hate these apples anyway, I’m taking one.”
“I don’t hate them,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Well, you sure as hell act like you do!”
CHAPTER 6
Knox
She storms off into the lounge, and I don’t know what to do. I hate that she’s mad at me. I hate that I don’t know how to offer her snacks. But how the fuck was I supposed to know I was meant to offer snacks? I don’t know the first fucking thing about how to speak to an Earth woman, let alone how to host one in my cabin!
I work on my sauce and try to pretend that she’s not here. Try to pretend she’s wearing more than just my sweatshirt. Pretend that her nipples aren’t so fucking pointy.
I sit on the kitchen floor and watch the tomatoes and garlic roast through the oven door and try to pretend that my cock isn’t aching for her. Try to pretend that when she offered to make me a cup of coffee, my heart didn’t leap at the idea of someone looking after me.
When the tomatoes and garlic are done, I start work on the sauce and boil some spaghetti in salted water. When it’s nearly ready, I grab some fresh basil from a pot on the windowsill, stir some into the sauce and save some for a garnish.
“I made lunch,” I call out as I scoop the spaghetti into two bowls. A little fuzzy feeling finds me at the sight of the bowls sitting together. Not just me and my own sad bowl of pasta, but twobowls side by side. First the coffee cups, now the bowls. I don’t really want to admit that this feels so… nice. But it does.
She wanders into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with the too-long cuff of my sweatshirt. Her dark blonde hair’s a mess, like she’s been asleep out there.
Gods, she looks so damn cute like this, all sleepy and sexy.
A random thought about her staying here with me forever crosses my mind. But that’s crazy. We don’t evenlikeeach other.
“It would have been better if I’d let it rest a few more hours, but I thought I should feed you before you got mad at me again.”
“I’m not mad,” she sighs, sliding into a seat at the dining table. She dips a fork into her bowl and starts spinning the spaghetti onto it. I hold a breath, waiting to see if she likes it.
She takes a bite, and a few seconds later, she lets out a moan that goes straight to my dick. “Oh my god! This is sensational!”
My heart does a happy dance. I stick my fork in and try a bite. “The sauce will be even better later tonight,” I say.
“It’s amazing now.” A little dribble of sauce slides out of her mouth, and I have to resist the urge to reach out, swipe it off her lips and suck it off my finger.
“Are you a chef or something?”
