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Her shoulders stiffened at that as she shot an outraged look at me. “I’ll cook,” was all she said, though, and once again, I was left amused by her stance.
Watching her maneuver around my kitchen made my chest pang with new and unusual feelings. There’d never been any woman in here. Not cooking anyway. One might have gone to the fridge for some water or beer, but they’d never cooked, and somehow, that felt right.
Like this space was hers.
My thoughts were enough to make me want to bash my head into the marble counter, but instead, I just accepted them. I was fucked over this woman, and I had no idea why.
Watching her move around this space was like watching a ballerina dance, and before I knew it, before my very eyes, she’d managed to find everything she needed—which was a miracle as the cupboards might as well have been empty for all I knew, not just of staples but of the appropriate kitchen tools—and had whipped up a stack of pancakes and served it with bacon.
I hadn’t expected that.
Most women I dated ate salad around me, and like I said, they’d never cooked around me, either. Still, I wasn’t about to fucking complain.
I’d half expected some miserly egg white omelet, especially when she’d started whisking a shit ton of egg whites, but instead, I was faced with the fluffiest motherfucking flapjacks I’d ever had.
As she cooked, I didn’t say much. Just let her work and kept an eye on my emails and messages as I sat there. Normally, I was in the office by now. Fuck, sometimes I was in there at four in the morning.
Today?
No chance.
When she served up a large stack for myself and a small portion for her, I smiled at her in thanks. “I didn’t expect this. Thank you.”
Her cheeks bloomed with heat. “I-I thought after a workout, you might like something that will fill you all day. I-I guess I didn’t have to use the bacon, but I use more eggs in my recipe, so the two sources of protein should—”
I reached for her chin and forced her to look at me. “I wasn’t asking for a nutritional breakdown. Thank you. I can’t wait to dive in.”
She shot me a wary smile, and I cursed at a society that made a woman who was just fucking curvy question every bite she ate.
Jesus, what were we doing to the kids of today?
And even as the thought crossed my mind, I asked myself when I’d even started thinking gobshite like that.
Drenching my pancakes with syrup, I tucked in, and moaned after I got my first taste. “Fuck. These are good,” I told her, half moaning the words, too. “Christ almighty.”
Her lips curved. “Blasphemy.”
“Worth any and all the repentance Father Doyle asks of me. Fuck, Aoife, fuck!” Seriously, this shit? It was fucking good. “Did you serve these at the tea room?”
Her mouth pinched as she shook her head and daintily forked up some of her own meal. “No. It wasn’t that kind of place. I baked mostly cakes and made a lot of amuse bouches. Tiny little canapés, you know? I was getting a name for my scones, though. They’re like the English sweet version of our biscuits. And my cookies and bread were popular, too.”
My mouth watered. “Would you bake me some bread?”
The question startled her, and she reared back in surprise—shit, it more than surprised her. She almost fell off the counter seat. I grabbed her and steadied her, relieved she didn’t flinch from my touch. I’d half expected her to, but she didn’t.
Because it felt right, I didn’t move my hand away. I pressed it to her lap and kept it there, letting my fingers dip into the seam of her thighs. I felt her press her legs together and wondered if I’d caused an ache to stir inside her also.
“You’d want me to?” she asked, sounding dumbstruck.
“Please?” There was a hoarseness to my voice that stunned me. The last time someone had properly baked anything formewas when I’d been back home.
Yeah, even though I hated my parents, I still considered the place where hell had been dished out to me,home.
Only fuck knew what a shrink would make of that.
“Now?” she questioned, her words a whisper.
“After breakfast?” I forked up some food, then after I’d swallowed, stated, “I have to leave soon. Business. But feel free to use the kitchen. It’s yours to play with.”
