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He bites his lip as I walk over to the counter-height chair and take a seat. The pancake is perfectly golden, and he even added a sprinkle of powdered sugar. When he slides two pieces of bacon on my plate, I moan.
“You know how to woo a woman. If you hadn’t already gotten into my pants, this would be the way.”
“All this time, I was wasting my energy on hair salons and magic shows,” he teases.
“Are you ever going to show me how to levitate?”
“A master never reveals his secrets.”
I narrow my eyes at him and take a bite of the pancake. “Damn, that’s good. You’re lucky you’re a good cook, or I’d kick you out for not teaching me how to get my ass off the ground.” He laughs deeply, and I point my fork at him. “No jokes.”
He takes the pan off the burner and walks it to the sink. “I definitely have some ways to get your ass off the ground.”
I take another bite and then lift the bacon, examining how thick and delicious it looks. “If you’re just using me for the sex, you’d better think twice. I’m not that kind of girl. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m totally using you for your body. Although your ability to cook is quickly becoming my favorite thing about you.” With a bite of the bacon, I close my eyes and savor it. Man, I love me some bacon.
As I’m chewing and loving on my food, I realize he’s still standing by the sink. The pan is now clean, and he’s just standing there, staring at me.
I lift a napkin and wipe my mouth. Then, I realize I still have the damn mask on my head. I slide it off, but he’s looking me with this crinkle around his eyes and a soft haze, like he’s looking at me for the first time.
“What?” I finally ask.
“You’re beautiful.”
The blood rushes into my cheeks. A river of shivers swooshes across my body, and I let out a shaky breath. How two simple words can cause me to clench and shake at the same time is beyond me.
My hand is in my messy hair, and I want to make a comment about how ridiculous I look—the mascara that I’m sure is still on my face despite washing it last night, paired with my blotchy skin, and poor choice of sleepwear. I’m about to point out all of it, but I don’t.
There’s this magnetic way he’s staring at me, like his eyes are glued to my every feature, enraptured. If I think the man can’t clearly see what’s in front of him, then I’m more insane than my attire.
“You mean that,” I state.
His piercing eyes are magnified, as if longing for me. “I do.”
My body temperature rises, the sweatshirt I’m wearing feeling too warm. I need to shower.
Taking my plate, I walk around the island and bring it to the sink. Will steps to the side. I run the water over the plate and leave it there, then turn around.
My chest rises as my breasts push against the cotton, suddenly feeling very sensitive. Everything about me is sensitive. Even my feelings. His honesty makes it easy for me to be vulnerable.
“Your words disarm me, Will. I’m not prepared for it. I’m crazy about you. It’s exciting and frightening. So very, very frightening to my vulnerable heart.”
He places a hand on my head and rubs a tender circle over my cheek. “There’re only two things you don’t use your sarcasm as a defense for. When you’re being a mom and when you’re designing.”
“It’s a control thing.”
“When you’re at work, you have this confidence about you. Even if you’re unsure, you just go with it. With your kids, there’s so much love there that you know what to do. Now, for the first time, I see it with us. Is it possible Melissa Jones has decided to give in and just … be?”
I lean back to look into his face, which is virile, full of vigor and sexual potency.
“That would mean I’d have to surrender my complete control to you.”
His thumb runs over my lips. “I’d settle for an ounce because when it comes to you, I have zero.”
This gorgeous, sexy, talented man has me completely disarmed. If he hasn’t noticed that, it’s because I’ve done a terrible job of showing him. My hand rises to his chest, and I feel the pulse beneath it. I move my fingers over where I know his scar is. One that made him a hero and a victim. One that had him feeling like he didn’t have a choice before he took his choices back.
William Bronson is my shot in the chest. The one that has the chance to harm me. To heal me. To love me.
“Take it,” I breathe.
