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His words brought her back to the present.
“Megan’s latest health kick.” Magenta eyed the food. There was toast, a variety of spreads, eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms and potatoes. “How many people are you feeding?”
“Just us.” He winked at her before handing her a plate loaded with food.
Magenta reached for the coffee and was grateful to find that it was mud thick. Exactly the way she liked it. She eyed Harry thoughtfully, feeling slightly nervous that they were hanging out half naked in her bedroom. Not that her body had a problem with this. No, her body wanted to rub against Harry’s chest, to feel the muscles and sprinkling of hair against her skin. Her body wanted Harry’s huge, skilled hands dancing over her. Her body wanted to be licked, and kissed, and touched. It took a great deal of effort to get her body to shut up.
She opened her mouth to thank Harry for the food and tell him to clear out. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what came out. “How often do you work out?” she said instead.
She felt the blush heat her cheeks. He had way more than the two-pack he’d claimed in the mine. There were at least six well-defined muscles decorating his stomach. His biceps were firm enough to bite, but it was his wide shoulders that made her shudder. She was a sucker for a broad-shouldered man.
“Every day,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Otherwise I’d spend 24/7 sitting at my computer and have a backside like Jabba the Hutt. Plus you don’t want to be unfit and fight. MMA is gruelling. You need to be on top of your game physically as well as mentally—even when you’re an amateur.”
She thought about that as she nibbled on some toast. “Let me get this right. You compete at mixed martial arts, you run a company, you are the UK expert in security-based programming and you go rock climbing when you have free time.” For some reason, all of that irritated her. “I hate to tell you, Harry, but your life screams overachiever. Are you good at everything you do?”
His eyes grew dark. “How about you find out the answer to that for yourself?”
Magenta swallowed hard as her body started screaming at her again. Her body had needs, it told her. Harry could satisfy those needs. Harry was good at everything. Her body was convinced he’d be very good at satisfying her. Magenta frowned at herself. She didn’t have time to lust after Harry. There were things to be said.
“Harry, about what you said last night?” She couldn’t seem to make any more words come out of her mouth.
His eyes twinkled. “I wondered how long it would take you to freak out about that.”
She scowled at him. “I wanted you to know that I know you didn’t mean it. That you were just comforting me after…after everything I told you. I wanted you to know that I’m okay with you not meaning it. People say things in the heat of the moment. I understand that.”
His eyes went wide. “You think I told you I love you to make you feel better?”
She nodded. She couldn’t think of another reason he might say it. He wiped a hand over his face.
“Those freaks from your past really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. Instead she bit her bottom lip and waited. Part of her wanted him to deny that he’d told her he loved her in the heat of the moment. Another part of her wanted him to agree. Her head was a mess.
“Baby.” He reached for her hand and wound his fingers with hers. “I meant what I said. I came back for you. Not for the business. Rachel is right about that—it would probably be better if we kept our base in London. I don’t care about that. I care about you. I love you. I wasn’t lying. It’s always been you for me.”
Well, hell. She knew she was gaping at him, but words weren’t forming in her head or her mouth. He loved her? He meant it? Was this real? Had she somehow fallen into one of the dreams she’d had as a kid?
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” His grin made her lick her lips. “Especially seeing as you’re in love with me too.”
Her back snapped straight. “I am not.” Was she? Maybe. Probably. Who knows? Shouldn’t she be the one figuring it out? Instead she had him telling her what she felt. She glared at him.
He flashed that sexy grin of his that needed to be outlawed. “You might as well admit it, baby. You love me.”
Magenta narrowed her eyes at him. Irritating, frustrating, annoying man. “Don’t tell me what I feel. And don’t call me baby. Scottish men don’t call their women baby. They use darling or pet, or who knows what the hell else. But baby is an American thing.”
He grinned. “So you admit you’re my woman?”
“No, I don’t admit that. Listen to yourself. What century are you living in?” She lowered her voice to mimic his. “Me man. You woman. Me own you. You mine.”
He laughed, which made her frown. Bloody caveman.
“I’m just saying,” Magenta said, “that in general, Scottish men don’t use baby as a term of endearment.” And yes, she was more than aware that she was using this discussion to ignore the whole “I love you” thing. Her brain was not ready to deal with that yet. It might never be.
“Baby, I’m a child of a global culture. I watch more American TV than any other type. I was brainwashed into the American way before I could walk properly. I’m not ashamed to admit that I thought Captain Picard was my real father and the only reason he let my parents raise me was that he didn’t want me on the Enterprise.” He grinned. “Space can be dangerous for a kid. Look at all the stuff that happened to Wesley Crusher.”
Magenta leaned forward and smacked him on the back of the head. Not hard. Just enough to snap him out of the weird little detour his brain was taking.
