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She tries her best to hide a grin but she’s a few seconds too late.
Heat washes over my face, embarrassment eating away at me.
“This feels like a setup,” I say as I let him lead me toward the hallway.
We don’t make it to our room. He presses me against the wall in the hallway, his lips hovering over mine. I feel like he has read me like a book when I lift my mouth up to his, making him smile.
“Thank you for breakfast,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine for the briefest of seconds.
I whimper with need and irritation when he pulls back before I can solidify the kiss.
“It was only eggs, toast, and sausage.”
“It was delicious,” he says. “I like having someone cook for me.”
“Someone cooks for you every day,” I remind him.
“Then I like it when you cook for me. It makes me feel loved and taken care of.”
Loved.
I clear my throat.
“I like cooking for you,” I assure him, wishing I had the courage to say so many more things.
He presses his lips to mine, kissing me earnestly this time.
His tongue is warm, covered in hints of citrus from the juice he drank with his breakfast.
He doesn’t hesitate to press his hips against mine, and it makes me wonder if this is going to be one of those fifteen-minute segments we’re going to be able to steal from the day, but the kiss ends too soon.
He laughs when I refuse to let him back away.
“I didn’t bring you down here to get you naked,” he says, his fingers brushing hair off my cheek.
“Just roll with it,” I urge, my hand skating over the front of his jeans.
He’s as ready for me as I am for him, but he has better control over his body than I do mine.
“Keep that thought,” he urges as he pulls back. “I promised the boys we’d learn brakes today.”
“You seem like an expert with the way you’re pumping them right now.”
His laughter fills the hallway.
“It makes me insanely happy with how much you want me,” he says, leaning forward enough to press a quick kiss to my forehead. “Have fun putting your shop together, and don’t fall for Oracle’s flirtiness.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “Come find me if you have a hard time getting that under control.”
I point to the front of his jeans before walking past him toward the mouth of the hallway. Our bedrooms are in what Cerberus members call the older part of the clubhouse, whereas the salon is in one of the newer rooms. Kincaid insisted on it being over there because of the separate septic system and something about it being able to handle the things I’ll have to rinse down the drain better. It wasn’t until a few days ago that I realized that in order for Vincent to have a room close to mine and the boys, he had to relinquish his room in the newer section. He claims it wasn’t such a hardship because all the rooms are pretty great.
“Oh,” Misty says when I walk into the room designated as my salon. “I thought you’d take a little longer.”
“He just wanted to thank me for breakfast,” I rush to say, not wanting them to think Vincent is a two-pump chump.
“Oh, I know, dear,” she says.
“I mean, we didn’t—”
