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“‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’”
“Yes,” he answered slowly, images turning in his mind. “How did you remember that?”
She gave a small shrug. “We only danced once that night.”
Right. Because he’d been an asshole.
“How did you know about the tattoo?”
“Your hair was up, but long pieces hung down the side. I moved some of them aside, and I saw your tattoo behind your ear.” He pointed to the right. “Your right one, if I’ve got things straight in my head.”
Her hand rose, and she tucked a long strand of tangled hair behind that ear. “You’d be right again.”
There was so much he wanted to say, and yet Wyatt knew he was on the verge of losing her. She was shutting down.
“Let me get this place heated. The bathroom is through there. I’ll get some breakfast going, and if the roads are good, I can take you home after we eat.”
He built the fire and then headed to the kitchen. Once the coffee was on, he grabbed eggs, cheese, green pepper, and onion from the fridge, before searching out a few potatoes from the bin. By the time Regan joined him, he had scrambled eggs on the grill, and was frying up potatoes and onion in the pan.
“Oh my gosh. Smells amazing.” Regan wandered over. “Can I help?”
“Plates are to the right of the sink and mugs are beside them. Relax and get your caffeine fix. I’ve got this under control.”
She made Wyatt a coffee and leaned against the counter, watching him as he added seasoning to the potatoes.
“You’re not cold?” she asked.
“No. Why?” He glanced over and caught her checking him out. Which was when he realized he was still shirtless. “Never heard of the naked chef?” He grinned, flipping the potatoes over.
“No. Can’t say that I have.”
“Huh. Well, that takes cooking to an entirely different level. If you’re comfortable with it, I’m more than happy to oblige.”
She laughed. A straight-from-the-gut, no-holds-barred laugh. He kind of liked it.
“Oh my God, Wyatt. You haven’t changed a bit. Always looking for an angle. Looking for that sure-fire way to win.” She shook her head.
“When a guy wakes up with a beautiful woman in his bed, you can’t blame him for trying, can you?”
Her laughter slowly died, and he glanced over to Regan. Her lips were parted, and he heard the breaths as they escaped. Each one of them caused her chest to rise and fall, and damned if he didn’t sneak a peek. Those green eyes of hers darkened, and she licked her bottom lip, though she didn’t take her gaze from his.
“About that,” she said slowly. “I don’t remember…”
Wyatt turned off the heat to both the grill and the frying pan. “I carried you.”
“Oh.” She pondered that for a moment. “But you slept on the sofa. Not many guys would have done that. Especially considering it’s way too small for you.”
“I’m not like most guys.” Her focus had dropped to his chest again, and he fought the urge to pound it like an animal. “I’m taking this slow.”
Her gaze jerked up to his. “This?”
Wyatt slowly nodded. “Yeah. This.” He grabbed their plates from the table and began to fill them with food. “You and me.”
“There isn’t a you and me.” Regan moved to the other side of the table and sat down.
Wyatt took his seat without a word. He’d let her have some room. Let her get used to the idea. And then he’d tell her how wrong she was.
“If you say so.” He handed her a jug of OJ.
