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"What do you mean, I didn’t?" I frown. "You a mind reader or something now?"
He raises his espresso cup to his lips, takes a sip, then sighs, "That’s how coffee should be drunk—strong and intense and bitter."
"Just like you."
"What’s that?" He smirks and I cough.
"Nothing, and don’t change the subject."
"I wasn’t."
"Yes, you were." I accuse him, "Here I am, trying to figure out what the hell you are up to, and you are extolling the properties of Italian coffee while making a combination of an all American/British breakfast…or a combination of breakfasts, that is."
"Don’t you like it?" He eyes the food on the plates in front of me, "I figured you'd prefer this over a traditional Sicilian breakfast, but if you’d prefer something else…"
"It’s not that." I drag my fingers through my hair. "I just wish you’d tell me why you decided to move me from the cell. And now, you are cooking me breakfast and…" I draw in a breath, "and this morning, even though you were, clearly, turned on, you didn’t try to—"
"Fuck you?" The alphahole smirks as he reaches for his pancakes and begins to dig into them. As I watch, he inhales a quarter of the stack in seconds. Shit, and I haven’t even started on mine.
"As you are well aware, your use of four-letter words doesn’t bother me, in the least." I scoff as I cut into my own stack. "And yeah, that’s what I mean." I pop the piece of pancake into my mouth and chew. "Whoa." I stare at him. "These are good."
"Surprised?"
"Well, yeah, I wasn’t expecting you to cook." I frown, "Speaking of, where’s the staff? Did you give them the day off?"
"The week off, actually."
"You did?" I dig into more of the pancakes and chew on them, "Is it some special occasion or something, that you allowed them time off?"
"It is." He nods, then pushes the plate with the eggs and bacon toward me, "You need to eat that too."
"After I finish the pancakes, if I have space, that is." I dig into the remainder of the food on my plate, then polish off the rest of the pancakes. I push my plate aside and he slides the other one in its place. "Eat," he commands, as he reaches for his second plate filled similarly to mine.
"Also," I say with my mouth full, "this is the first time I am seeing you dressed in sweats. Didn’t think you owned a pair, considering you are always dressed in suits that seem to be from Saville Row."
He makes a sound deep in his throat, "Wouldn’t touch those with a barge pole."
"Huh?" I frown. "Why’s that?"
"I get my suits tailor-made by an artisan who has been stitching them for generations for the men in my family."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Of course, you do."
He smirks. "You sassing me, Beauty?"
"Me?" I say crunching my way through the bacon, which is absolutely delicious, by the way, "Of course, not." I widen my gaze, "I wouldn’t dare… My Lord." I flutter my eyelashes at him and his grin widens.
"Very good. Keep that up, and I may just be willing to give you your next orgasm."
"And there he is; the alphahole extraordinaire makes an appearance," I raise my eyes skyward, "just as we were getting along, too… Or at least, it seemed that way," I mutter under my breath.
"I heard that." He chuckles, "And to answer your earlier questions, one," he holds up a finger, "I learned to cook when I went to university in the US, and I enjoy American and British style breakfasts and didn’t want to presume that the full English was the only kind of food you’d like to eat in the morning so I made both, and two," he holds up a second finger, "the reason I am wearing sweats is because there’s no one else in the house."
"Oh." I set down my fork and glance around the space, "That’s why the place seems empty. So, the staff is gone, and so are your brothers?"
"That’s correct." He finishes off his bacon, then cuts up the eggs and scoops them up with a piece of toast. I watch as he chews his food, the tendons of his throat moving as he swallows. Fuck, but only Michael Byron Dominico Sovrano would make eating into an orgasm-inducing process. My throat goes dry. Somehow, I manage to chew and swallow my food, as he lowers his gaze to mine. He sets down his fork, then reaches for his napkin and dabs at his mouth. I lower my gaze to his lips and heat tugs at my belly. I squeeze my thighs together, mirror his actions and place my fork down.
"So, how come your brothers and the rest of your family and the staff are away?"
