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The scent of coffee and bacon hits me halfway down the staircase. My stomach growls. I drift through the house, following the aroma into the kitchen where I find Jonah at the stove, tossing potatoes around a frying pan, looking like sex on legs in nothing but a pair of black gym shorts.
His face lights up at the sight of me, his gaze burning hot.
“Morning, angel.”
My stomach flutters like a bird’s wings. “Morning.”
He pulls me flush against him, the fingers of his hand weaving into my hair. He’s so tall I have to crane my neck to look at him, and so good-looking it physically hurts. Gently, he angles my face to the side and leans in to kiss me. I swear, if he wasn’t holding me, I’d be on the floor.
I whine softly as he breaks the kiss to ask, “How’d you sleep?”
“Amazing,” I tell him, and it’s not a lie. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in any other bed.
Heat radiates from his bare chest, warming me all over. He kisses me again and then turns his attention back to the stove. He’s making enough food to feed an army.
The muscles in his broad back flex as he reaches into a drawer. “How do you like your eggs?”
My mind goes blank. When was the last time someone cooked me a hot breakfast? “Whatever you like is fine.”
“Fuck what I like. I’m interested in whatyoulike.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. “I want to know everything about you, angel. All the things you love and hate. Don’t be afraid to ask for anything. I want nothing more than to give you everything you deserve, and you deserve it all.”
I hold tight to his hand as my whole world shifts on its axis. It’s been so long since anyone bothered to ask me what I wanted with genuine interest. “Over easy...I guess?”
“Two eggs over easy, coming up.” Jonah smiles. “Coffee?”
I nod. He grabs a mug from the cupboard and pours me a cup from the pot by the stove.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
He fixes my coffee and then hands it to me. I sip and hum with pleasure.
“Take a seat.” He points to the pair of stools tucked beneath the center island. “Food should be ready in a few.”
I claim my perch, warming my hands on the steaming mug as I watch him resume command over our breakfast. He moves around the room like a well-oiled machine. So self-assured and confident, like nothing can touch him—except me.
Arousal blooms between my legs at the memory of his hardness in my hand and the way he growled—like actuallygrowled—when I pulled down his underwear. I rock gently against my seat, hoping he won’t notice, chasing the ghost of last night’s pleasure.
Jonah moves to the fridge to grab a carton of eggs, and I’m reminded of his limp. I noticed it last night, but was too distracted—for obvious reasons—to ask how he’d gotten it. He fries two eggs and scrambles three more, then dishes them up with the rest of the feast.
“Breakfast is served,” he says, setting two heaping plates down on the stone countertop. He hands me a fork and then takes a seat on the stool beside me.
I cut into one of the eggs, sending bright-orange yolk oozing down over the potatoes. My mouth is full of sausage before I remember not to eat like an animal.
“Good?” Jonah asks with a smile.
“Very.” I swallow my mouthful. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He drags my stool closer, then curls his arm around my waist. I still can’t believe this strong, hard, impossibly sexy man wants to be with me. My gaze catches on a silvery patch of puckered skin on his thigh. A scar, obviously. A puncture wound, or maybe a gunshot—
“Gunshot,” he says, confirming my suspicions. I wonder if he has an exit mark on the other side.
“How’d you get it?”
He wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. “I used to be a cop.”
I take my time chewing as I process this new information. My experiences with cops haven’t been the greatest. Most of the ones I’ve met would just as soon drag you back to an abusive foster home as try to take advantage of you themselves. But I know Jonah wouldn’t do that. He’s the kindest, most generous person I’ve met—seconded only by his sister.
