“I do, Chloe. I do,” I say, raw and truthful. I want to know everything about her.
“It’s a deal,” she says.
I shake my head. “No, it’s a date.”
And her smile, my god, it does something terrifying to my heart. Until she mutters, “Oh shit.”
“What is it?” I tense. She’d better not take off now.
“I promised you a blow job.”
I relax. “You promised the blow job of a lifetime.”
“I suck,” she says with a sigh.
“I wish you sucked.”
“Hey! Don’t make me get on my knees right now.”
I tug her close. “Tomorrow night, sweetheart.”
She sighs happily, and that cracked-open feeling returns, staying even when she says, “We should keep things on the down-low for now.”
“Agreed.” I hop out of bed, grab a washcloth, and clean her up. After, I wrap an arm around her and tug her close. “I guess we’ll have another secret.”
“I like our secrets,” she says, snuggling against me.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”
Far too much.
30
SECOND BREAKFAST
CHLOE
By the time I pad into his kitchen, the smell of mango and brewing coffee hits me. “I knew it.”
Sawyer turns around, meeting my gaze as he pauses while slicing a mango. “Knew what?”
I make myself at home at the island, Captain settling in at my feet like he owns the place already, the morning sun streaming through a big window overlooking Sawyer’s yard. “That you could cook.”
“I’m slicing a mango, woman.”
“And doing it well,” I say, nodding to the artfully arranged fruit on the wooden cutting board. He’s not only cut the fruit open, he’s scored it. Juicy little perfect cubes are attached to one side of it—no easy feat. “Do you know how hard it is to score a mango?”
He meets my gaze with a smug grin. “I don’t. Because it wasn’t hard.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so cocky.”
“Just good,” he says, then nods to the array of food he’s taken out of the fridge. A carton of free-range eggs. A basket of blueberries. Some mushrooms that look fancy. And a couple of peppers—orange and red. No boring green peppers for this man. A loaf of bread and some avocados sit next to the peppers. “Do you eat eggs?”
“I do,” I say.
“Then sit down, and I’ll cook you an omelet. With mushrooms and peppers. I already let your dog out at six, then took him for a run while you were sleeping. Excellent running companion, by the way. And,” he says, stopping to peer at the clock on the kitchen wall—a minimalist steel thing—“I should be able to feed you and still get you to work on time for your first training session. And my meeting.”
Sparks shimmy through me. He’s so…on top of things. “Why does your efficiency turn me on?”
