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“Yeah, Dad, the museum’s fine, running like clockwork.”
She paused in the doorway, swallowing the lump in her throat at the sight of him wearing nothing but soft cotton boxers the same dove-grey shade as his eyes, cradling a cell between his ear and shoulder while deftly flipping bacon with the other hand.
His back muscles rippled with every movement of his arm, his long bare legs sending an instant flush of heat through her as she remembered how they’d felt entwined with hers as he’d slid into her last night…several times…
The sound of his low, harried voice brought her back to the present and she took a step toward the doorway as he spoke.
“I don’t know what my plans are at this stage.”
She halted in her tracks, knowing she should make her presence known but holding back, surprised by his exasperated tone.
“Look, when I know what I’m doing I’ll let you know. But for now, don’t worry, I’m staying in Melbourne. I’ve met someone and she’s a keeper.”
Her blood chilled and she gripped the doorjamb for support as her knees threatened to buckle.
She wasn’t a keeper.
How could she be, when she couldn’t give a guy like Aidan what he wanted—a real relationship?
“You just take it easy, I’ve got a handle on things down here. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She tried to back away from the doorway before he caught sight of her but she was a fraction late as he turned to grab a plate from the island bench.
“Hey, there you are. Hungry?”
The tenderness in his eyes reached out and beckoned, warm and secure, openly accepting of her.
But she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do it to herself or to him.
Faking a smile, she bounced into the room rather than slinking out the front door and never returning as she wanted to do. “Starving. Hope the bacon’s crispy.”
“I remember how you liked it from yesterday morning.”
He slid a plate piled high with poached eggs—yokes runny, just perfect—crispy bacon, and hash browns toward her, accompanied by a lingering kiss that made her stiffen.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, far too quickly as she concentrated on dissecting her food with a knife and fork, wishing they didn’t have to have this conversation, knowing it was inevitable.
“Beth, look at me.”
Sighing, she placed the cutlery neatly together in the center of her plate, her appetite vanishing when she raised her gaze to meet his.
“Was it something about last night? Because if it was—”
“This isn’t about something you did.” She dashed a hand across her eyes, shocked by the sudden sting. She never cried, just like she never fell for any of the guys she dated.
Well, well, looked like today was a day for firsts.
“Then what? I don’t get it.” He wiped his hands on the dishcloth before flinging it on the island bench and stepping around it, coming to an abrupt halt when she shrank away from him, hands held up to ward him off. “What the hell is going on here?”
She lowered her arms nd she shook her head, wishing there was an easy way to say this, all too aware there wasn’t.
“This isn’t what I want.”
A frown creased his brow, confusion clouding his face. “What, breakfast?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” She slid off the stool and headed toward the door, needing some distance between them to deliver her walk-out speech. “This fling we have going on is getting a bit serious.”
