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My name left my dark cowboy’s lips, and I thanked the heavens that I was leaning against the counter, or I would have fallen to my knees in a puddle.
My eyes shot to Denver to find his smoke-filled ones descending the length of me. His smoke stretched across the kitchen, over the butcher block island, wrapping around my ankles and rising between my legs, over the hem of my blue dress, up to the swell of my breasts, and finally surrounding my face. I breathed it in, inhaling deeply so it could settle in my lungs, drugging me.
“Yes,” I rasped, not meaning to sound so damn…bothered.
His jaw tightened under that short-trimmed beard. My eyes drifted from his jaw, down to his strong, thick, tanned neck and further down to his black shirt stretching across his strong chest. The view of his chest was cut off when he turned around.
I blinked and took a sip, watching as he took off his flannel and hung it on the hook by the phone. He took off his black cowboy hat next, hanging it over the shirt.
A full head of thick, black hair. Wavy. My fingers itched to touch it.
Yes, the universe was a cruel bitch.
He turned back to us, looking at his boy. “Eggs today. Waffles tomorrow, yeah?”
Caleb had gone back to reading in the middle of my lustful episode, thank God. He looked up from his book and nodded. Denver made his way deeper into his kitchen, walking right up to me. I tipped my head back to look at him, ignoring the way my heart was racing and how close his body was to mine.
“Gotta move out of my way, Val, so I can make you and my boy breakfast.”
Val.
Each one of his words sent a shot of warmth through my body, leaving me dumbfounded. Wordlessly, I slipped out and rounded the island. Denver set to work, pulling out a skillet and walking to the fridge.
I felt awkward. I felt like I was in the way. Usually, I was the one doing the work.
“You don’t have make me any—”
“Sit down,” he ordered, back to me. I looked down to Caleb—he wasn’t a muggle right now—who could care less.
“Denver,” I said, ready to protest.
“Valerie.”
My body zinged and my nipples hardened in my bralette.Fine.I took a seat next to his son and watched him cook for me. When he started cracking the eggs, I asked if he needed any help.
He grunted and I took that as firm no.
Finally, he sat a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me with a fork on top. Caleb dug in, mumbling a thank you to his father as he inhaled the food. I watched with fascination at the speed he was eating.
“You’ll get a tummy ache if you eat too fast,” I found myself saying. Caleb stopped mid-bite, fork full of eggs hanging in the air.
“Gotta eat fast so I can get to work,” he answered.
He was the son of a rancher, and a future cowboy, so no doubt there was work to be done. I watched as he looked from me to his fork and then back to me. “You are probably right. My tummy does hurt when I get down to the barn.”
“Should take her advice then, son,” Denver noted from his place in the kitchen. He was leaning against the opposite counter, ankles crossed, holding his plate with one hand and fork in the other.
A man shouldn’t lookthat goodeating breakfast—let alone a murderer.
A murderer who’s a father and you seem to not have a problem with it.
I kept my mouth shut and continued the meal. Of course, the handsome, murdering, cowboy knew how to cook, too. That’s justgreat.
Caleb finished before me, and he hopped off the stool, taking his dishes with him. I watched him as he took them to the sink, ran the water for a moment, and then went to the foyer.
“I’ll be down with Beau!” he called, slamming the door behind him.
“That boy,” Denver muttered softly.
