Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
When Theo’s stomach rumbled, I’d offered to make an omelet in the hopes of staving off a new round of questions. There was nothing worse than standing around with your thumbs in your pockets while being interviewed by a hookup about European versus American brands of blenders. And I hated the idea of sending him home hungry.
Everything went sideways again ’cause he insisted on helping me. As in refused to take no for an answer.
“This is my kitchen,” I’d grumbled.
“But we’re talking about eggs. Not a soufflé. And I’m an excellent scrambler!”
I supposed that was how he got me. Who said shit like that? It was…cute but in a no-nonsense, confident way that turned me on. So I’d tied an apron around his waist and put him to work scrambling eggs and manning the toaster while I chopped veggies.
Theo had thrown himself into the task, firing off random questions as we’d made our impromptu feast.
“Do you bake specialty items for holidays? What sells best all year? When do start baking every day and when do you finish?”
Yes, red velvet cake, three a.m., and ten if I was lucky, but realistically noon.
Each query had sparked mini discussions about anything from the texture of frosting to jobs that required you to work the graveyard shift. And then we were talking about graveyards and churches, and the Jack the Ripper tour in London…as one does. Of course, that had led to a conversation about the city and my thoughts on must-see attractions.
Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, the British Museum…
In my world, sharing kitchen space was a choreographed dance amongst professionals. It took time and patience to get into a real groove. Inviting a novice to touch my things and infiltrate my space was…unfathomable. Some might suggest I was under some kind of spell, letting my dick do the thinking. Maybe so. But it felt right somehow.
We’d pulled two stools to the island, opened a bottle of white wine, and talked like old friends. I was reminded of being on the plane with him and how easy it had been to stay in the moment. I forgot to beat myself up about the things I hadn’t done, the goals I probably wouldn’t achieve, or the skeleton I couldn’t seem to kick out of my closet. Honestly, I forgot to worry about anything at all.
Theo lulled me into a curious state where time stood still. I wasn’t in a hurry.
It felt perfectly natural to clear plates, wash dishes, lock up, and head for the stairs together. It was too late to walk him to the train station, so we stood in my living room kissing till we were burning up.
We’d crashed into walls in our haste to get naked and horizontal again. I’d carried him part of the distance, tossed him onto the bed, and prepared him with the finesse of a teenager on his first sexy rodeo before fucking him into the mattress.
And now here we were.
At three a.m.
Shit.
Okay, this wasn’t a big deal. I could sneak out of the room…no problem. Pulling clothes on over my cum-crusty parts was a little gross, but I could wash up in the restroom downstairs, make coffee, and turn on the ovens. Theo’d had a tour last night, so I was pretty confident he could find his way to the bakery. Or to the train station.
I held my breath and oh, so slowly set my right foot onto the rug, careful not to pull the duvet away from him.
He didn’t move a muscle. Thank fuck.
I eased my left leg out and inched to the edge of the mattress.
One centimeter, two centimeters, three…
I rolled my hips ever so slightly and—
“What time is it?”
I fell on my ass, naked as a jaybird with my morning wood saluting the ceiling.
“Fuck me,” I grumbled, gingerly rubbing my butt as I straightened.
Theo chuckled lightly, his eyes still closed. “I know how you feel.”
I frowned as I perched on the bed. “Did I hurt you?”
He blinked awake. “Last night? No, of course not.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“I was just wondering how you like your coffee,” I lied.
He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, casting an amused look my way. “Mmm. What time is it?”
“Almost three.”
“In the morning?” He pulled the covers over his head and burrowed under them like a mole. “That’s not a real hour. It’s a fairy-tale time.”
I chuckled in spite of myself and gave in to temptation, stroking his hair before kissing his forehead. God, he smelled so damn good. Like my soap and my shampoo…pleasing and familiar, yet better on him. Better than peppermint.
I frowned as I shifted off the bed.
What the fuck was I doing? I didn’t do lovey-dovey shit. That wasn’t me. I had sex I walked away from…period. I had to watch my step and forget about sliding into my warm bed to rock my hips against Theo’s ass till he purred like a cat and begged for my dick.