he greeted. He folded the newspaper and smiled. Friendly enough, but Alexia suddenly felt as if she was under the icy-cold shower again. “I figured on letting you sleep awhile. You must be pretty worn-out.”
“That’s sweet,” she decided, belting her robe tighter and moving into the center of the room. Did she give him a kiss? Just act casual? She wasn’t sure. “But you haven’t had much sleep, either. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m used to going without.”
For his job? Because he didn’t like to sleep?
“Why?”
He got to his feet, offered a half shrug and a smile, then reached out to pull her into his arms.
“Good morning,” he murmured just before his lips covered hers.
Alexia forgot her question—hell, she forgot her name—as his mouth took hers in a slow, decadent morning dance of delight.
“You hungry?” he asked against her lips.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. I’m starving. I figured I’d wait to make us both something. You ready to eat?”
“Um, sure.” She stood there, a little confused, as he pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, then released her to head into the kitchen.
Food was good. It was a nice, nonsexual way to spend time together, she told herself, wandering after him into the kitchen.
Her toes barely touched the linoleum when he turned and waved her back.
“Have a seat, relax. Read the paper. I’ve got this.”
A guy who cooked and didn’t expect—or want—help? Well, well. Too surprised to protest, Alexia turned right back around and made her way to the couch. Once there, she still didn’t know what to say. He’d booted her out of her own kitchen. To cook for her. Should she be irritated or thrilled?
For a woman who prided herself on her communication skills, she was having some definite issues figuring out how to converse with Blake. Of course, the fact that she couldn’t figure out how she felt about any single thing probably didn’t help.
Might as well quit worrying and just enjoy the experience, she finally decided.
As delicious as two days of naked romping, rolling and rocking were, even rabbits had to take a break from time to time. Knees a little weak as she recalled their last naked, rolling romp, Alexia snuggled deeper into her silk robe and watched Blake scramble eggs.
What was sexier? A man in the kitchen whipping up something delicious and nutritious? Or the sight of him, jeans unsnapped and slung low on his slim, tanned hips. Oh, baby. Alexia sighed, propping her chin on her fist. The man’s body was a thing of beauty. Pure muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His shoulders were wide, his skin golden in the morning sunlight that streamed through her kitchen window.
“I didn’t even realize I had eggs in the refrigerator,” she said, her brain starting to awaken from its sexual stupor. She tore her gaze off his body to look at the counter between the condo’s living room and kitchen. Orange juice, toast, a bowl of grapes. “Did you go to the grocery store?”
“Just next door,” he said. “I borrowed some food from your neighbor.”
Then he turned, frying pan in hand, to face her. Alexia actually felt her brain sputter as it sank under the waves of sexual heat again.
“I’m sorry. I should have had something here to feed you. A guest having to forage for his own breakfast fixings? That’s a loss of major hostess points.” She felt guilty as she slid to her feet. His eyes narrowed, locked on her body, then heated. Suddenly aware that her robe was gaping open, Alexia adjusted it with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched. Her pulse raced.
She’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d shared, the multitude of ways they’d pleasured each other’s bodies. She shouldn’t be reacting like this. So hot, so easy. Shouldn’t she know more about him before feeling so much more than desire? Shouldn’t they have spent a lot more time together, clothed, before she started wishing he’d be giving her Halloween orgasms and Christmas orgasms and oh, please, Valentine’s orgasms?
“I like cooking. Besides, you fed me dinner last night,” he said with a shrug, dismissing the guilty apology she’d almost forgot she’d issued before diving down the emotional rabbit hole of worry.
He divvied eggs onto two plates, added toast and pushed them across the counter. Alexia frowned at the unspoken command—the guy was good at that—but picked them up and placed them on the table anyway. She came around the counter to get silverware while he carried juice and fruit to the table and sat.
“I fed you leftover fettuccine and steamed vegetables out of a freezer bag,” she said with a laugh as she added forks to their plates. She pulled out a chair, but before she could sit, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto his lap.
Giggling, delighted, Alexia wrapped her hands behind his neck and tilted her head to the side. Her still-damp hair was chilly against her bare skin where the robe gaped yet again.
His eyes darkened to a midnight hue, narrowed with desire. She knew that look now. Knew the promise of it. Blake was demanding in bed. And in the shower. And on the balcony at two in the morning. Wherever their lovemaking took place, it was as if he grabbed inside her, took every bit of pleasure she could offer and then found a way to give her even more.
“I’ll bet eggs would taste good eaten off your belly, too,” he said, his voice low and husky against the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her throat. “Those noodles were pretty tasty that way.”
That’s what a woman got for not having a supply of chocolate and whipped cream on hand, Alexia thought ruefully. Cold noodles in gooey cheese and butter slurped off her skin.
She wrinkled her nose, ready to remind him what a failure that had been, tastewise, when he kissed her.
Deep, intense. Mind-blowing.
Alexia melted.
Slowly, her lips still clinging to his, he pulled back and arched one brow at his plate.
She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to. She had no idea where the strength to resist came from, but suddenly it seemed like the most important thing in the world. She needed a little distance, she realized. Some space to get a grip on this...what? It wasn’t a relationship, was it? She didn’t even know his last name. Had no idea what he did for a living. It wasn’t as if the last two days had been silent. They’d shared plenty of words. It was just that most of them were in the form of directions, dirty talk or cries of ecstasy.
“I’d hate to ruin the taste of the eggs with the flavor of my body wash,” she said, giving a little laugh as if it was a joke instead of a blatant excuse.
Blake didn’t complain, though. Nor did he push the issue. He simply smiled, let her go and picked up his fork. He waited until she was seated before digging into the eggs on his plate.
The man was perfect. How was that possible?
It wasn’t.
