Rafe’s fingers trailed up and down the smooth skin of Fallon’s back, gently pressing against the ridges of her spine, enjoying the way her body seemed to soften into him from his touch. She remained still, her head tucked beneath his chin, silent. He was afraid he’d crossed some line. Rafe was, for the most part, an open book. But Fallon, she was like a journal, full of stories that only she could tell, stories only she knew.
The light seeping in through the window was transforming into the pale blue hues of dawn. He’d spent many mornings of late waking up in bed with different women, but never once had he woken up wanting to fall back asleep just so he’d have the privilege of opening his eyes to her again. “Do you want to curl back up and sleep in?” he asked, kissing the top of her head. “Or breakfast?”
She rested her chin on his chest. “If it’s chocolate cake and coffee, yes.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Come on, gorgeous. I need food. You’ve managed to deplete all my energy,” Rafe accused as he stretched out on the bed a few hours later, Fallon’s lean, naked body curled up next to him.
“Food—yes, please,” she muttered in response, and he laughed at her exaggerated exhaustion.
His feet hit the floor and he stood up, lifting his arms above his head. He stepped into his jeans and pulled them up over his ass with one hand while he threw his button-down shirt at Fallon.
She pulled it on and padded across her room to the door. “Come on. You can show me your cooking skills.”
After spending the good portion of the morning in bed with Fallon, he was fully prepared to spend the day, and if he was lucky the evening, there again. Three fucking days. Three days. That’s all the time he’d spent with her and that was all the time she apparently needed to make him addicted. But addicted to what? Dammit, everything. She was a distraction, and a good one too. Because since the moment he’d sampled her skin, he wasn’t thinking about anything other than tasting her again. But there was more. No fucking question about it. Touching her, the sound of her laugh, the scent of her hair—he just needed to be near her. It was as if he was feening—for her.
Following her down the stairs, he marveled at the way his shirt just barely covered her ass, showing off her long legs. Legs that just moments ago were wrapped around him while he was buried inside her.
When Rafe stepped off the enclosed staircase, he stepped into a large, open foyer. He expected elegance and sophistication from Fallon, but he’d quickly learned that she was full of surprises.
Her home was large to say the least. She led him through a formal living room to a formal dining room. But when he crossed the space into the kitchen, he saw an entirely different atmosphere. It went from open and white and almost sterile to warm and inviting. The great room included an immaculate open kitchen that looked into a living room. A large TV hung on the wall in front of an overstuffed couch. A kitchen table littered with mail and a laptop sat in the center of the dining room, and the kitchen was clean but looked used. Pasta containers on the counter, canisters of sugar and flour and tea bags. There were a few glasses in her sink, and an empty coffee mug on the island. It felt like a home. He wasn’t quite sure why, but that surprised him. Fallon was all those things, warm and inviting. He was just so used to seeing her through the lens of the confidence and sophistication she exuded at the club, and he assumed her place would be much the same. But instead, it was understated—devoid of elegance and sophistication—displaying simple comfort.
He quickly made himself at home in her kitchen, shifting through her near empty refrigerator looking for something to make. “What sounds good?”
Ducking under his arm resting on the open fridge door, she reached around him and grabbed a can of Diet Coke. “Hmm, I think I’ll make a jalapeño grilled cheese sandwich.”
He turned his head over his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s nine in the morning,” he pointed out.
“I know.”
“And you want a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“With jalapeños,” she stated, pulling a pan out of the cabinet beneath the island.
He raised his brows. “With jalapeños?”
That sweet laugh of hers, which he now realized was a rare occurrence, seeped into the space between them. “Have you tried it?”
“Can’t say that I have. That’s just strange, woman.”
“No, it’s delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She strutted around the kitchen, making herself brush against him as she got the butter out of the fridge. “What about you?” she asked, turning the stove on and buttering a slice of bread. “I can make you some eggs or pancakes or something.”