He sets down the knife, leans across the shiny white counter, and drops a kiss to my nose. “Because I turn you on.”
He’s right. I should sayyes, you do. But this is part of our game. “A little,” I say, feigning indifference.
He arches a brow. “Watch it. Or I’ll make you come again before you go into work.”
I shoot him a look like he’s gone mad. “So Ishouldsass you?”
He pauses, stares at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. “Yeah, you should.”
“It’s on,” I say with a pop of my lips as I stare at the spread, thennod at him. “What’s your meeting for, and will you wear a tie that you’ll tie me up with later?”
His eyes glimmer with filthy thoughts as he cracks an egg into a glass bowl. “Of course I’ll wear a tie. And slacks and a button-down. And it’ll make you hot.”
Dammit. He’s right. I’m turned on thinking about him dressed like that. “We’ll have to test that theory.”
“Fine by me,” he says, cracking another one. “And the meeting is with the parks and rec department. About sponsoring the upcoming Dog Day Afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s next week! I love that event, and so does Captain,” I say, glancing down at my dog. “He loves to swim in any pool but especially the community one when it’s open only to dogs.”
Sawyer looks over the counter, catching my dog’s attention and saying in a voice people use for their pets, “Then I’d better ink a deal for the sponsorship, right, buddy?”
Captain’s tall ears prick higher. Sawyer’s whisking the eggs as I point at the bowl. “This tracks. Like I said, I pegged you as a cook.”
“And why’s that?”
“You like to be capable. You like to fix things. You like to be a knight in shining armor.”
“You think I’m cooking for you because I have a knight-in-shining-armor complex?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug.
Shaking his head, he pours the eggs into a saucepan, and they sizzle softly in the butter. “You’re wrong.”
“That’s not why you’re cooking?”
“I’m cooking for you because I fucking want to.” This time it comes out a little harsh—but in a way that I like. It’s an admission from him. And I don’t know if it was hard to say, but I’d bet it was.
I rise, round the island, and move behind him, catching a whiff of the peppery scent of the omelet, then the soapy, citrusy cedar scent of him. He’s cooking, so I don’t want to disturb him too much. I press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “Because you look hot in the kitchen.”
Briefly, he leans his head against me, sighing softly, indulging in my touch for a second or two. Then he says, “It’s the mangoes, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
And that’s the truth. The man bought mangoes for me because I love them. Because he listened to one random comment about the fruit. Because he planned for last night before it even happened, and that thought makes me feel…bubbly. But I don’t want to get too caught up in the good feelings or to mistake them for something neither one of us is ready for. I want to make sure I’m clear on the rules. “You’re going to drive me back to my house, and we’ll go to work in separate cars, right?”
He turns around and meets my gaze. There’s no apology in his eyes. Just certainty, a man who’s weighed the situation. “I think that’s for the best, don’t you?”
He says it like the boss, the manager, the man who knows how to navigate any situation. And while it’s not against any sort of rule at our shared workspace to date—or to bang—a co-worker, I have my reasons for not wanting to get tangled up in something.He does too. His reputation. His appearance. The way people see him as a professional. That’s important to him, and I want to honor that.
“I agree,” I say with a crisp nod. “But there is one thing I want.”
He rolls his eyes as he plates the eggs. “You and your blackmail.”
“I think you’ll like it.”
“Hit me.”
I take a deep breath. “I want to put your rose tattoo on you tonight.”
