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“Are you awake?” His husky voice startles me, and I turn in his arms.
“My phone woke me up.”
Even with sleepy eyes and messy hair, he’s still so damn gorgeous. Then he leans down and kisses the top of my head, melting my heart and making me want to cry.
“I’ll make some coffee.” He slides out of bed and walks to the kitchen bare-assed naked, and I lean my cheek on my hand, watching his muscles flex as he moves.
Less than an hour ago, that sexy body was above me, inside me, surrounding me with his scent, for the who-knows-how-many-eth time. I do love his strength, the weight of him holding me down, his mouth opening mine, our tongues curling as our bodies become one.
I can’t imagine that strength turning on me in anger.What have I done?
Sliding out of the bed, I scoop my shorts off the floor and pull his navy Henley off the chair and over my head. It smells so good like him, clean, fresh, with a little undercurrent of something deeper. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my cheek against the firm muscles in his back. I can hold him a little longer… before I have to run.
“Shit, I’m out of coffee.” He turns, wrapping me in his arms. “Hang out, and I’ll run up to Steamy Beans and grab us a go-order.”
I freeze. It’s the perfect opportunity to search his place, and he’s dropping it directly in my lap, with total trust in me. I remember his words from last night, how he stopped trusting anyone, and I look up at his open smile, his hazel eyes brimming with something so close to…
“I’ll go with you.” I plant a quick kiss on his lips. “Let me put on some jeans and you can show me the town.”
I’m brushed and ready, still wearing his Henley, now paired with fresh jeans and boots and a light canvas jacket. A swipe of lip gloss, and I catch his hand, leaving his apartment and my task behind.
Just before we head out the door, he stops and puts his arm around me, pulling me close to his side. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”
Reaching for his cheek, I kiss his lips briefly. “I like so many things right now.” I can’t begin to tell him all of them.
Steamy Beans is a cute little coffee shop with black and white mosiac tile floors and dark wood cases filled with pastries. They have a delicious house blend, coffee made with cinnamon, and we sit at a black metal table in matching metal chairs with the scent of fresh baked bread and sugar floating in the air around us.
Dirk has a cup of coffee as well, and we split a plate of scones with jam. He’s wearing a navy ball cap, and that dimple I adore is in his cheek. I love watching him. He polishes off two scones while I’m still working on my first.
“I have to get over to Hugh’s and exercise Training Day. Otherwise we can do pretty much whatever we want.”
Leaning closer, I lower my voice. “I like what we’ve been doing.”
“Same here.” He kisses my lips. “We’ll do plenty more of that. Still, I can show you around. We’ll stop by my office, so you can see how exciting my work is here.”
A touch of sarcasm is in his tone, and I tease, “Shall we christen your work desk as well?”
“Depends on how much of an exhibitionist you are. Our front walls are glass.”
“Sounds like you need some curtains.”
When we’ve finished our coffee and breakfast, he takes my hand, and we walk across the street to a glass-front office with a door that readsWinston and Lourdein old-school hand-painted lettering. At least it looks hand-painted. I suspect they’re stickers.
“It’s like something out of an old film noir.” I trace my finger over the words.
“All we need is a femme fatale.”
“Yeah.” My voice trails off as I consider the femme fatale, the seductive woman who leads the hero into a trap.
Dirk turns the lock, and I follow him into the heart of their operation. The one they used to take down almost all of the organization four years ago. Natasha would be turning herself inside out at the thought of me being here. It’s a sparse, open space with three desks, a few filing cabinets, two desktops, and a large computer server.
“I call this the brains of the office.” He pats the server. “Although it took my brains to set up the network.”
“Are you saying you’re the brains of the office?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “I am.”
That makes me smile, but my tension won’t ease. I step over to the desk I’m pretty sure is his. It has a photo of him crouching behind a little girl in pigtails and a softball uniform holding up her hands like she’s catching a large, sprinkled donut instead of a softball.
