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Unfolding her arms, Larkin rubbed at her thighs. “Okay, we just take it day by day and enjoy the simplicity of it.” She’d let him think her intention was for them to simply test the endurance of the bedsprings some more.
His mouth curved. “That’s my girl.”
Yes, yes, she was. He just didn’t know it yet. Ha.
He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and then straightened. “I’m staying here tonight.”
“Are you? Thanks for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“Like I said earlier, you’ll get used to it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chewing on a chunk of fluffy pancake the next morning, Teague eyed Larkin from where she sat opposite him at the kitchen island. “You keep looking at me weird.”
Coffee mug in hand, she arched a brow. “I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Weird how?”
“Like a predator watches another predator, looking for weaknesses and blind spots.” And she was very much aware that she was doing it.
His demon squinted, unsure how it felt about this. Being the center of her focus pleased the entity. But this feeling of being studied and hunted? Not so much.
It also made no sense.
He was certain of one thing. “You’re plotting something.”
A smile shaped her luscious mouth. “I am,” she readily admitted.
He leaned forward slightly, intrigued. His demon pricked up its ears, equally interested. Joining forces with her could be fun. “Let me in on it.”
“No.”
He felt his forehead crease. “Why not? My input would be invaluable.”
“Probably. You are, after all, a devious little shit.”
Seriously, she came out with the best compliments. “So clue me in. Take advantage of my expertise in this area.”
His harpy pursed her lips. “Nah.”
“Ah, come on.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll eventually learn what I’m plotting.”
Straightening, he sliced into his half-eaten pancake, asking, “When will ‘eventually’ come rolling around?”
“I don’t have an estimated date for you, unfortunately.”
That wasn’t vague at all. “I’m not a fan of suspense. Just tell me.”
“How about you tell me why there’s no record of your past?”
“But I like being mysterious.”
She snorted, throwing him a derisive look. “You like keeping secrets.”
He didn’t really have much choice but to keep things hidden. But, obviously, he couldn’t explain that to her. He wouldn’t have done anyway, because he saw what she was doing. “You’re just trying to distract me from questioning you about whatever it is that you’re planning.”
Pausing, he forked a piece of pancake and dipped it in the sweet maple syrup that had trickled onto the plate. “It won’t work. I use this trick all the time. I’m immune to—Jesus, Lark.”
The little minx had whipped off her camisole, revealing her gorgeous breasts perfectly cupped in a neon pink lacy bra that gave her some wicked cleavage—his harpy had a whole drawer full of colorful, sexy underwear. And then she took a casual sip of her coffee, like she did this all the time.
He smiled. “Bravo. I’m officially distracted.”
One corner of her lips tilted upward. “Typical boy.”
A phone chimed from somewhere within the apartment.
She set down her cup. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Her stool legs scraped the tiled floor as she pushed out of her seat.
“Be braless when you get back.”
She only rolled her eyes and strode out of the room.
Raising his fork to his mouth, he bit into the large chunk of pancake. Damn, the woman could cook. Really cook.
When they’d taken a break from their sexual marathon halfway through the night, she’d whipped up the most amazing stir fry. His stomach was in love with her.
She was stacking up points fast. She cooked like a pro, stocked his favorite beer, liked watching sports, knew her way around a spectacular blowjob, and made him come harder than any woman ever had.
Yeah, he needed to wangle himself some future invites. It might not be easy, despite the agreement they’d made last night. Because Larkin was skittish at the best of times and liked to have her space. But then, he was good at pushing himself into it. He’d been doing it for years.
As he chewed on yet another piece of pancake, he wondered what exactly she could be plotting. Maybe it was related to Holt. Maybe she wanted Teague to agree to something that would further agitate her idiot of a psi-mate.
If so, Teague would be up for it. The sooner the cambion did something stupid, the sooner Teague could watch her demon obliterate him. He had the feeling that it would be one hell of a show. His beast was looking forward to it.
He used the last chunk of his pancake to sweep up what was left of the syrup. Wolfing it down, he glanced around the kitchen. It was spacious, not to mention contemporary with stainless steel appliances, dove-gray cupboards, and bright white wall tiles. It was also immaculately clean like the rest of her apartment.
There were no crumbs or spilled sugar on the countertop. No old sauce splatter on the tiles above the stove. No overflowing trashcan or cup rings on the wooden surface of the island.
