She stares at the tray. Her nose twitches, smelling the rich and savory scent. “I thought it was a dream.” She rubs her brow. “I’m still dreaming.”
I reach out and pinch her upper arm. Not hard, just enough.
“Ow!” she yelps. “What was that for?”
“Proving it’s no dream.” I rub the tiny sting. “And compared to the marks I left on your lovely ass, that pinch was light.”
Pink to scarlet, the flush spreads, and I imagine the memories are flooding back. Other than her coming apart for me, my favorite moment was when she called me ‘Sir’.
She squeezes her eyes shut, pursing her lips. When she opens them again, she stares at me, blinking, discerning, then…lowering.
I’m wearing the clothes I express-shipped from a nearby boutique shortly after I put her to bed—a gray thin-knit sweater and casual black slacks. Nothing fancy, but clean. Normal. I showered in her bathroom, using her vanilla and floral soap. My hair is still damp.
I look like a man who could walk into a coffee shop and order a latte. Not like the bloodied, broken bastard she dragged out of an alley.
“Where did you get all this?” she wonders.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out her credit card, waving it in the air. Her jaw drops.
“You—” She lunges for it, but I lift it out of reach.
“Don’t be worrying yer pretty head, Lexie,” I scold playfully. “I’ll be payin’ ye back with interest.Generousinterest.”
She glares at me, still clutching the sheets. “And what? You have no other source of revenue but mine?”
“Not without endangerin’ myself…and you. Trust me, I’m good for it. I used some of my emergency stash, too. Your card isn’t suffering much.”
Jaw set. Fiery expression. She wants to argue. But the smell of the hash is doing its work, and her growling stomach is louder than her pride.
Sighing, she reaches for a fork, stabs a piece of hash, and slides it into her mouth. “Oh my God,” she moans, lashes fluttering shut.
The sound goes straight through me. Warmth pools low in my gut, jerking my cock.
She takes another bite, and another. Everything is magical. How her lips part, how her shoulders relax. And those whimpers of appreciation.
I’ve never been so jealous of a fork in my life.
Soon, I will kiss her. I know she was shocked I didn’t last night. But she deserves a powerful kiss, dark and deep, meant for the books she loves.
When she finally looks up, I don’t hide my expression, warm, possessive. She’s mine. The thought brands itself in my chest. She will know it. Soon.
“How long do you plan to stay here?” She plucks up a sausage link.
I lean back against her pillows, folding my hands behind my head. The movement pulls at the wound in my side, and I wince. She catches it.
“Until it’s safe,” I finalize.
One brow quirks. “And you have no other safe houses or friends to bunk with?”
I reach for one of the sausages, but her hand darts out, smacking mine away. I stiffen, a muscle in my jaw working.
She pulls the plate closer, clearly flirting. “Mine. This is too good to share.”
I toss her a knowing look before stealing a kiss from her cheek, lingering enough to see goosebumps blooming. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She glows, trying the omelet next. With one bite, she gushes.
I lie back against her pillows, my hands in my lap now, studying everything she does.
