I’m standing in the office kitchen, staring at the espresso machine like it’s a piece of alien technology that might explode if I look at it wrong.
There are buttons. So many of them. And levers, plus a steam wand that appears vaguely threatening.
I press one button experimentally. The machine makes an angry hissing sound that suggests I’ve deeply offended it.
“Not that one,” I mutter.
“You look like you’re trying to defuse a bomb.” The deep voice comes from behind me, and I spin around so fast I nearly knock over the empty mug on the counter.
Jasper is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and my entire body betrays me in the span of a heartbeat.
He’s devastating this morning. In all black again, a Henley that fits him like a second skin, showing off broad shoulders. His blond hair is slightly damp, like he showered not long ago, and it falls in waves that frame his face perfectly. Blue eyes fixed on me with amusement, and there’s a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
All I can think about is how his mouth felt against mine last night. How his hands gripped my thighs. How he tasted—dark and male and intoxicating.
How he lifted me like I weighed nothing and pressed me against that door as if he intended to consume me whole.
My pulse is hammering. Heat floods my face and lower, settling between my thighs with an intensity that’s absolutely inappropriate for this moment.
He’s studying me like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong, his brow furrowing slightly. “You good, man? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Right. Words. I need to use words. In Ash’s voice.
I clear my throat, dropping my register to that lower, masculine tone. “Yeah. For sure. Just trying to figure out this machine. Pretty sure it’s plotting against me.”
“It hates everyone, so you’re not special.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, and suddenly the kitchen feels about ten times smaller.
He’s close. Too close. His scent of sandalwood, pine, and molasses wraps around me, and I have to actively stop myself from leaning in and breathing deeper.
Get it together. You’re supposed to be a guy right now.
Except I’m absolutely going weak at the knees.
He reaches past me to adjust something on the machine, and his arm brushes mine. That contact, even through layers of fabric, sends electricity racing up my arm and straight to my chest.
“There,” he says, pressing a sequence of buttons with the confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times. “Should work now.”
The machine hums to life properly, and coffee starts flowing into my mug like magic.
“Thanks,” I manage, my voice slightly strained.
He’s still close, grabbing a mug for himself from the cabinet above my head, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of space between us. From the way his shirt rides up slightly when he reaches… to his muscles flexing. My brain is fogging over.
I need to get out of here before I do something catastrophic like grab him and?—
“So,” he says casually, filling his mug. “How’s your sister doing?”
My mind blanks completely. “What?”
“Anita. Your sister.” He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “How is she?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.” I’m fumbling through this like an idiot. “She’s good. Fine. Great, actually. I didn’t see her this morning. She was still sleeping when I left for work.”
“Hmm.” He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. “She mention anything about last night when she got home?”
I shrug, trying to seem disinterested even though my heart is pounding. “She came home happy. Smiling a lot. Kept humming and spinning around the apartment like she’d had the best night of her life. Talked about you, actually.”
His head snaps up, and the grin that spreads across his face is pure male satisfaction. “Yeah? What’d she say?”
