Page 21 of Wade’s Wrath

He added more cream, and she tasted it again. “Perfect.”

“That's not coffee anymore,” he said.

“It's happiness in a mug,” she insisted.

“You're weird,” he said under his breath.

“You slept sitting in a chair all night.” Wade paused and noticed that her expression softened. “You stayed.”

“You asked me to,” he reminded.

“You could've left after I fell asleep,” she said. “But you didn't.”

“Nope.” Something shifted in her eyes, and Wade didn't like the way it made his chest feel.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Don't,” he warned.

Her brows pulled together. “Don't what?” she asked.

“Make a big deal about it,” he said.

“It is a big deal to me,” she admitted. Fuck. Wade looked away from her. He wasn't built for conversations like this. Give him a bar fight. Give him some drunk asshole waving a knife. Hell, give him Frank Donnelly standing outside his house. Anything was easier than a beautiful woman looking at him like sitting in an uncomfortable chair all night meant something to her.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Harlow smiled at him. “You feed people when you're uncomfortable, don't you?”

“No,” he said, hating that she could already read him so well.

“You asked if I was hungry last night too,” she reminded.

“Because you hadn't eaten,” he insisted.

“And now?” she asked.

“It’s breakfast time,” he said, pointing to his watch, as though proving his point. Wade opened the refrigerator. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you're having,” she said.

“Bacon and eggs,” he offered.

“Sounds good.” He started pulling things out. Harlow climbed onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Wade tried not to notice the shirt riding higher up her thighs, but failed. He turned toward the stove, needing to put distance between them. He needed more fucking distance, but he was also out of room in his tiny kitchen.

“You cook?” she asked.

“I'm a grown man,” he pointed out.

“So is my father. I don't think he's ever operated a toaster,” she countered.

“Your father sounds useless.”

Harlow laughed. “Don't let him hear you say that.”

“Don't give a fuck what he hears,” Wade said. Her laughter faded, and Wade glanced over his shoulder. She was staring into her coffee. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied.