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Sweet baby Jesus in a manger.
Who needs foreplay when you have Aiden Murphy keeping you trapped in his arms?
Brady shakes his head. “Oh, how the tables have turned. Wait until Coop hears about this. Come on, Bash. Let’s get to the party before all the good beer is gone.”
Bash grabs his keys from the counter and walks out of the kitchen. We hear Brady and him laughing, then a loud, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” coming from Bash before the door slams shut.
Murphy lets go, and I feel the loss of his warmth immediately. He walks to the fridge and grabs a carton of eggs. “Omelets sound good? I’ve got some ham, romano cheese, tomatoes, and fresh basil.”
“That sounds delicious. What can I do?”
“Want to grab the bread from the cabinet? You can make the toast.”
He goes to work chopping the ingredients with ease, and I go to work ogling his ass like a champ. There’s something so hot about a man in a fitted suit with sleeves rolled up. Add to that him cooking for me, and I’m sold. Murph syncs his playlist to the speakers in the kitchen, and “Paint the Town Green” by The Script plays through the room.
I pop the bread in the toaster and lean against the counter next to the Viking range while Murphy cooks for me. “So, tell me, Mr. Hotshot Football Stud. How are you feeling? Is your shoulder bothering you?”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “Honestly?” I see the exhaustion in them for the first time since he picked me up. “My whole body fucking hurts. I popped a pain reliever when we walked in earlier. I’m waiting for it to kick in. I didn’t want to take anything on the plane because I wanted to be okay to drive when we got back.”
He waited so he could pick me up.
And my heart just stopped for this man.
* * *
“Tell me about this fundraiser next weekend.” Murph’s looking at me from the opposite side of the kitchen table as he devours his omelet and a big glass of orange juice because, apparently, it’s sacrilegious to eat eggs without OJ. The omelets are excellent—light, fluffy, and bursting with flavor. He could definitely give a few chefs I’ve met a run for their money.
I think about his question for a moment. “What do you want to know?”
“Who will be there?”
I think about that for a second. “Hmm. Everyone who’s anyone in Philadelphia politics will be there. They all want to be seen, especially now with so many people fighting for their lives in the upcoming election. It’s less than a month away. This is the final push.” I pop a tomato into my mouth and then throw my napkin on my empty plate. “I’m sure there will be a few players from DC that come up for the event too.”
“What will you have to do that night?”
“Not much. We won’t have to stay the whole night, but I need to make sure I’m there for the photo ops. You’ll probably be in a few of those pics. I didn’t really think about it before. Are you okay with that? Being photographed, I mean?”
Murphy stands from the table and grabs our plates, then walks over and places them in the sink. He turns around and leans back against the counter with his feet crossed at his ankles. The carefree jokester I’m used to is nowhere to be seen right now. He looks sexy and relaxed in his skin. One eyebrow raises as that damn grin crosses his face. “If I look pretty in the pictures, will I be rewarded?”
I cross the room to him, lacing my fingers through his belt loops. “Oh, I think that can be arranged. But it sounds like it should be a sliding scale, don’t you think? The more votes you earn, the bigger the reward.”
“Oh, Princess. I love it when you talk politics. It’s so sexy.” His big hands rest on my shoulders.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind next weekend.”
“Anyone I need to work on impressing?” Those fingers start to explore my bare shoulder, stoking the fire that was lit the second I opened my dorm room door earlier.
“Nope. Just be you.” I lean my head against his chest, not wanting him to see what his touch is doing to me.
Murphy runs his hands up my neck and through my hair, wrapping it around his fist, pulling my head back the slightest bit. He runs his nose up the side of my neck and inhales deeply before leaning his forehead against mine. “God, I want to take you upstairs and spread you out on my bed right now.”
My voice comes out needy. “So, do it.”
His lips crash down on mine as his hands move down my body, grabbing my ass and lifting as if I weigh nothing.
My legs wrap around his lean waist, and my arms wrap around those magnificent shoulders. “Murph.” I pull back as he starts walking toward the stairs. “You should put me down. I don’t want you to hurt your shoulder more.”
He kisses me again, our tongues tangling as he carries me up the stairs. “Nothing about this hurts, Princess.”
