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I put a hand to her shoulder. “Stop, Letty, I’m kidding. If you don’t relax, I’ll be forced to make you relax.”
She licks her lips, and goddammit, I want this chick too bad. I take a seat at the far end of the table.
“Is it okay that I stayed? I wanted to make sure you were all right. You drank a lot last night.”
I dug into the food on the table, piling scrambled eggs high on my plate along with some toast.
“You gonna lecture me about my drinking?”
“Nope,” she smiles. “I stayed because after you threw up, I was worried you might choke or something.”
“There you go, Letty, worrying about me again.”
I smile at her, and she looks away, red circles blooming on her cheeks.
“I think I like it, having someone worry about me like that.”
“Your MC guys worry about you, don’t they?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course, they do, but it’s not the same as a woman’s worry. It comes with breakfast and a beautiful view.”
I snag another piece of toast and bite into it before I bite into something else that’s not on the menu.
“There’s only one problem.”
She blinks and frowns in my direction. “What’s that?”
“If you were really worried, you should have slept beside me. Constant supervision is really the only way to keep me safe.”
Her mouth forms a sexy, shocked ‘O,’ and then a feminine as fuck, husky-throated laugh escapes.
“You, Shades, are what they used to call a rapscallion.”
She chuckles some more, and eventually, I join in because it’s hard not to when she’s around.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. It means you’re full of mischief, which you are. Mischief and naughtiness.”
“In that case, thanks.” I wink and add more food to my plate. “You’re a damn good cook, Letty.”
“Thanks. My mom thinks all women should know how to cook because it’s the quickest way to a man’s heart.”
My brows shoot up. “You trying to wiggle your way into my heart?”
“No, but I like to eat, and I figure you do too.”
“Oh, you have no idea how much I like to eat,” I tell her, my gaze holding hers until I’m sure she understands what I’m saying. The blush rising up her chest and neck tells me she does.
“What are you up to today?”
Why does this feel like a morning-after conversation when I have yet to get inside her?
“Church,” she says simply. “It’s Sunday. You should come.”
I shake my head. “I don’t do church, Letty.”
Her brows wrinkle in confusion. “What does that mean, you don’t do church? You do business with a church. You donate to the church. You’re there every day protecting it.”
