Page 20 of My Bodyguard’s The Boss

Dominic had to give him credit. He lasted all the way through pancakes before finally giving in.

“Okay,” Austin said in a rush, dropping his fork. “I gotta know. Is it a collar?”

Dominic eyed him over his pancakes. Austin had barely touched his own pancakes, except when Dominic told him to eat, too busy snarking at him and twirling his fork in a way that dragged Dominic’s attention to those long, inked fingers.

“I told you,” Dominic said. “It’s a surprise.”

“It’s a collar,” Austin said flatly, looking over at the bag on the end of the table. Dominic had mostly placed it there to see Austin’s reaction, which was so full of eager nerves he regretted not placing it right next to him.

“It’s not a collar,” Dominic said.

“Oh.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No,” Austin said, and blinked. “Uh. I don’t think so.”

Dominic filed that information away for later and cut another precise slice off his stack of pancakes he’d made. He’d brought the batter and garnishes; Austin provided the frypan. Then he’d run around the kitchen, trying to find an electric beater to whip the cream, because of course Austin didn’t know where his basic kitchen utensils were. Dominic had seen the inside of his fridge, and it was a constant stream of meal prep crap delivered to his door.

“You have to give me a hint,” Austin said, tearing his gaze away from the bag on the table. “Come on. Is it lacy?”

“No lace,” Dominic said. “This time.”

Austin gave him an eager, nervous grin. “This time? What else are you making me wear?”

Dominic reached over the table to nudge his plate. “Eat your pancakes.”

Austin picked up his fork, giving an effortlessly sexy flip before he dug obediently into his pancakes. He’d accepted two of them, but only after Dominic had wiped the pan clean of butter before he poured them in. And he hadn’t poured anything on them except for a thin line of syrup.

Dominic looked down at his own stack of pancakes: five of them, crispy with butter, piled high with whipped cream and banana slices. Sometimes Austin’s eating habits made him genuinely sad.

Austin cleared his plate and sat back, wiping his mouth.

“Good,” Dominic told him. “Have another.”

He started sliding another pancake onto Austin’s plate.

Austin pulled his plate away and lifted his shirt, flexing to show his toned abs. “What part of contractually obligated do you not get?”

“You’re not under contract right now,” Domnic said. “And you could make them take that clause out of your next job.”

Austin looked down at his abs consideringly. “I do miss complex carbs.”

“Say you’re bulking up,” Dominic offered.

“They’d want that to mean muscle.”

“Well, they can go fuck themselves.”

Austin stared at him with an incredulous smile. “Wow. You’re really passionate about this.”

“You already knew that.”

“Yeah, but I knew the polite version,” Austin pointed out, spinning that damn fork again with such dexterity Dominic wanted to put his own cutlery down and watch it. Or maybe start sucking Austin’s fingers.

“I had to keep up some semblance of professionalism,” Dominic said. “Figure I can let that go when I’m not on shift.”

Austin beamed like that was the best thing he ever heard. Then he ducked his head—something he did often, Dominic noticed. Like he didn’t want anyone to see how big his smile could get. When he was onscreen, all his smiles were threatening. Nobody could call this smile threatening. Dominic had to fight the urge to grab his chin and force his head up to see it in full bloom.