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When her brain function returned, she began to worry about his chest. She’d hate to see bacon grease mar that perfection. And then an image exploded in her brain, one of the man’s abs, but perhaps with... some whipped cream, or maybe some sticky chocolate syrup. She could li—
“Rox, baby, you keep looking at me like that, and we’re going to have something else entirely for breakfast.”
Her gaze flew up. The cocky smirk on his face had her flushing. She slammed her eyes shut.
Oh. My. God. I’m lusting after Joe freaking Buchanan. Right in front of him. And he knows it. Please. Kill me now. Amen.
Grimacing, she peeked one eye open. He was practically vibrating with bottled-up laughter.
She was tempted to say she’d been staring at the bacon, but she’d always been a shitty liar. Especially with Joe. Having him call her out on it would just add to her present mortification. So... screw it. Might as well lean into the situation.
Roxie reached for the plate of cooked bacon. Chomping down on a crispy piece, she gave a tiny groan as the salty, fatty goodness had her taste buds singing. “Don’t let it get to your head, buddy. You caught me off guard. That’s all. Besides”—she waved her second bacon strip in his direction—“who the hell cooks bacon without a shirt?”
“Me.” He pushed a mug her way. “Do you want me to make you some eggs too?”
Taking a sip of the sweet and creamy, perfectly doctored coffee, she closed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head. “Nope. Coffee and bacon. I can’t think of a more perfect way to wake up.”
“I can think of a couple,” he said with a chuckle.
She scrunched her nose at him. “You should get your mind out of the gutter.”
“You’re one to talk.” He laughed. “You started it.”
She gaped. “I did not.Youstarted it.”
Yes, she could hear the regression of their maturity.
Joe stared at her for a long moment with that half-smirk still playing on his lips. Calling bullshit on her without saying a word.
Fine. Sue her. She’d totally started it. But she’d been unable to help herself. The man was half naked and cooking breakfast. At least she hadn’t said anything. Then again, she hadn’t needed to. Her eyes had done all the talking for her.
“Well, maybe you should wear more clothes around the house,” she said.
He grabbed his mug and rounded the island to the barstool beside hers. “I’m wearing plenty of clothes.”
Roxie begged to differ. His plaid pajama pants, which rode low on his hips, were the only fabric on his chiseled body.
She had to remind herself to breathe. Dammit, this wasJoe.
She had officially gone mad.
Sipping his coffee, he asked, “So, you’ve been forced to take the day off, right?” She glared at him, and he wisely coughed around a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you still planning to go to the mayor’s wife’s annual dinner thing tonight?”
Are you kidding me? I’m having a hard time getting enough oxygen to my brain, and he wants to talk about agendas?
She focused on his face. Like that was somehow easier. The man’s early morning scruff was delicious. But the last thing she needed was for her eyes to wander down again... His flannel pants left nothing to the imagination.
Gah! Pull it together, Roxie!
“Yes,” she croaked.
Croaked. Not good.
Roxie downed a large gulp of coffee, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Yes, I’m going. Mrs. Green holds her annual Winter Chamber Dinner on Sundays because she knows that’s when most of the local business owners either have shorter hours or are closed.”Stop rambling, stop rambling, stop rambling!“Wait, how did you hear about the party?”
“I ran into Mrs. Green yesterday. She said Ihadto go.”
Her lips twitched. “Did she now?”
