“You smell good,” he murmured.
Her breath caught. “I showered.”
He loved the effect he was having on her because she was having that same damn effect on him.
“I’m glad you stayed for breakfast,” he said.
“Stay? I was kidnapped.”
“Are you pressing charges?”
A shadow darkened her gaze while the air grew turbulent. Unable to resist her, he pulled her close, kissed her. A surge of electricity flowed between them. The desire to touch her, kiss her, bed her was ever-present and so damn powerful. For a man who craved control, this was totally and completely out of his.
Strangely, he liked that.
He liked that a lot.
“I’ll scramble the eggs.” Instead of waiting for his answer, she started opening cupboards until she found a bowl, cracked several eggs, then whisked them together.
Having her there with him, cooking alongside him, felt good. On the nights he did cook, he cooked for one. Ate alone at his expansive kitchen island.
Brit didn’t just bring the heat, she soothed his angry, vengeful soul. As if she could feel the shift, she ran her hand down his back.
“I love your touch,” he murmured.
“Same,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Nothing means anything.” He paused. “Or does it mean everything?” He winked then got busy adding the eggs into the heated pan.
She opened his fridge.
“Whatcha need?” he asked.
“Just looking,” she replied.
“Take whatever you want.”
This time, she palmed his ass. “I already did.”
Minutes later, they sat at his kitchen island, chowing down. His phone rang. It was his mom.
I’ll call her back.
Brit glanced over. “Why don’t you talk to her? It must be important. It’s not even eight in the morning.”
“It’s okay.”
“Seriously, I don’t mind.”
Rebel answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“I’m sorry to be calling so early, but everyone is worried about Kurt.”
“Kurt? Why?”
“No one’s heard from him for a few days.”
“So?”
