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“Just because I sell myself doesn’t mean I let anyone—”
He held up a hand. “I was teasing, and even if you didn’t care, I don’t share.”
“Good, because I don’t… I choose my clients.”
He turned to face me and took my hands in his. “Let me make this clear right now. I don’t have any less respect for you than I would if you were a waiter or an accountant or a doctor.”
“Thank you, and you… you really don’t share?”
“Never. I’m possessive of everything I want. And I want you.”
“You’re… really something else.”
“I am.”
I pulled on the t-shirt, which came halfway down my thighs, and we went downstairs.
“How about an omelet?” he asked as he opened the fridge and studied the contents. “I’ve got pancetta, spinach, bell pepper, and I’m sure I have an onion or two around here. Maybe a shallot.”
“You cook?”
He looked back at me, startled. “Of course I cook, though an omelet will hardly show off my skills.”
“I just wouldn’t have thought…”
“You don’t grow up in my family without learning your way around the kitchen. Cooking was always part of life.”
“I thought maybe you hired someone to cook or something like that. You seem…”
“Wealthy? Oh, I am, and we did have a cook growing up, but that didn’t mean my mom and dad didn’t also spend time in the kitchen. I have two brothers, and they were both taught to cook as well, although the youngest one… Let’s just say if he’s cooking, you probably want to order out.”
“Hopefully he has some other talents.”
He huffed. “I’m hoping so too.”
I couldn’t hold back a smile. I’d created a picture in my mind of an arrogant man who got everything he wanted and ran some sort of criminal empire, but now I had a new image of domesticity: Remy arguing with his brothers and cooking with his family. How did I reconcile the two?
“So, an omelet?”
“Yes, that sounds fantastic.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had food that wasn’t ramen, pasta, or something frozen.
He poured a mug of coffee, which seemed to have magically appeared in the carafe, and asked me if I’d like some.
“Yes, thank you. Did you get up and make it before I woke up.”
He shook his head. “The machine is programmed to make coffee every morning. If I don’t have a cup first thing, the day goes downhill from there.”
I used the cream and sugar he offered, and when I took a sip, I was sure it was the best coffee I’d ever had.
Remington smiled, true warmth on his face. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Amazing.”
“I get the beans straight from a fair-trade farm in Peru.”
“Wow. That’s… I’m going to need more than one cup.”
“Yes, you will. I’m going to expect you to be very energetic later.”
Later? Surely I would only be there a few more hours.
I felt fidgety as I watched him cook, and it wasn’t just the excellent caffeine. Being with him like this, sitting at his kitchen bar, was strange. When we were in bed, I could fall back on the personality I’d created for my job, but now I felt like a kid playing pretend. Remington was a prince treating me like the finest guest in his castle. It made no sense.
“You can relax, you know. This isn’t meant to be a formal brunch.”
His words helped my unease. I glanced down at the long t-shirt of his I was wearing with nothing underneath. “I guess not.”
Remy had pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that was tight enough to let me see all the muscles in his chest and back. It made me long to touch him again.
He didn’t talk much as he made our breakfast, so I just sipped my coffee and stared at his strong hands as he expertly chopped vegetables. When he turned to face the stove, I studied the lines of his back. He was so perfectly formed, and his ass… It was absolutely drool worthy.
I wanted to walk up behind him, squeeze his cheeks, and rub myself on him. Being with him wasn’t like work at all, and that made it far too seductive. I needed to get out of there. I was starting to spin fantasies no one in my profession should have, but the food smelled so good. My stomach growled in anticipation. I would stay long enough to eat and get my phone back. I really couldn’t leave without it. I couldn’t leave at all if Remington didn’t want me to.
When the omelets were done, Remington handed me a plate, then sat down beside me with his own.
“Go on. Try it. I want to be sure you approve of my skills.”
“I don’t think you’re a man who needs anyone’s approval.”
“No, but I’d like yours anyway, especially since you were so skeptical.
“I wasn’t skeptical. I was surprised. I just thought a man like you would have servants.”
