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Aubrey smiled and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Hmm, coffee and maybe the fruit cup.”
“Fruit?” Gray scoffed. “No, you need to eat. And don’t tell me you aren’t hungry, because we exerted a lot of energy last night. You need to replenish.”
Her cheeks turned rosy. “Someone is bossy this morning.”
Gray arched a dark brow as the waitress arrived to take their order. “How about I order and we share? Because I’m going to get you a real breakfast. Not this fruit cup crap.”
“Go ahead.”
Gray then proceeded to order one of almost everything off the menu, pretending not to notice Aubrey’s jaw drop. As he finished and handed the menus back to the server, he looked Aubrey in the eye and said, “My woman is going to be well-fed and eat whatever and whenever she wants. No guilt. And no fucking fruit.”
“Your woman?” she echoed, the edge of her mouth lifting.
Maybe he was being too demanding, but he didn’t care. “That’s right.” His voice dropped, tone softening, and he laid a big hand over hers. “I’m planning to pick up where we left off last night. Is that okay with you, Sparkle?”
Heat flared in her indigo eyes. “It’s more than okay.”
“Good. Because there are still so many things I want to do to you.” His voice dropped, turning to gravel. “That I’m going to do to you.”
Gray watched the way she pulled her lower lip into her mouth and lightly chewed it, and the temptation to yank her onto his lap was nearly his undoing. Luckily, the waitress returned with coffee and mimosas, and he took a long, cooling sip of his mimosa.
He had the urge to celebrate. Maybe it was silly, but, for the first time in a year, he felt a fraction lighter. And even though it was just a little, it felt so damn good. He chalked it up to the gorgeous woman sitting across from him. The woman who’d kept the nightmares away.
Aubrey reached for her mimosa, took a sip through the striped straw and sighed. “Oh, my God, this is so good.”
Gray felt that sigh all the way down to his dick. After what she’d revealed the night before, he had a feeling she didn’t let herself enjoy food anymore. Maybe she was scared she’d gain weight and he would lose interest in her. Or, maybe she’d developed some kind of body dysmorphia and couldn’t see herself the way he saw her. As the stunning, brilliant light she was with beautiful, mouthwatering curves. Whatever the issue, he didn’t want her to doubt or punish herself. Fuck that. His woman would enjoy whatever she wanted and, as far as he was concerned, the more curves she had, the better.
Her fingers began to tap along with the drums again as she watched several couples on the dance floor. A part of him wanted to ask her to dance, but Gray didn’t dance. He had two left feet and hadn’t been on a dance floor since his high school Homecoming. He’d spent that night stepping all over his date’s feet and she’d spent the evening yelling at him for being clumsy. After that, he’d accepted the fact that he was just too big to be graceful on the dance floor, and it would be in everyone’s best interest if he kept his moves on the battlefield.
Apparently, Aubrey didn’t get that memo because she looked over at him, extended her small hand and said, “Dance with me?”
And, for the life of him, he couldn’t say no. Not to her. Not to the woman who made him smile again.
Swallowing back his silly nerves, Gray pushed up from his chair. “Fair warning, I suck at dancing.”
“That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
As they walked around the other tables, Gray raked a self-conscious hand through his hair. He felt so much taller than everyone else, like a big buffoon, and like he stood out. But Aubrey didn’t seem to care and when they reached the smooth wooden floor, she took his hands, placing one on her hip and the other in her hand.
“Now just relax and sway with the rhythm,” she encouraged.
“Relax? Yeah, right.” He felt like everyone was watching him and his feet were about to get tangled up.
“Gray?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.” Gray immediately met her indigo eyes. “Focus on me and don’t worry about the steps.”
He did as she said, losing himself in the entrancing bluish-violet depths of her irises. “I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours,” he murmured. “Sometimes they look almost purple.”
“I’ve been told they look like Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes.” He soaked in her blush at the comparison. Like she knew it was accurate but, at the same time, couldn’t accept the parallel to the beautiful actress. “Your eyes are pretty unique, too. Like liquid gold.”
He didn’t miss her sudden desire to turn the subject away from herself either. “They don’t scare you?”
“Scare me? No. They’re beautiful. Like topaz.”
“They’re the reason my nickname is Demon. Well, one of the reasons.”
