He loved the sight of a woman in a kitchen. It wasn’t a chauvinistic thing. Not at all. It just reminded him of good. It reminded him of love. Everyone had stupid shit that reminded them of a way they felt at a particular time, and a woman in a kitchen reminded him of early mornings as a kid. Waking up for school and moping down the hallway into the kitchen and seeing his dad drinking his coffee as he hovered behind his mom, helping her make breakfast. It was one of the sappy memories that portrayed what should be. The small, everyday kind of love.
It would probably void his man card and make him a pussy for admitting this, but he wanted that love. The kind that had a man wrapped around a woman’s finger at the sight of her messy hair and the red sleep marks indented into her cheek when she woke up. The kind of love that made a man call in sick to work so he could throw her back in his bed. The kind of love that could turn a man on just by watching her walk around in his shirt. The kind of love that could make a man drop to his knees.
He’d thought he had it. He’d thought he’d felt it with Bridgette. But it was a damn lie. He’d never watched her cooking in his shirt. He’d never seen her messy morning hair or called into work to get her back in his bed. He didn’t have her mornings. He’d had her in-betweens—and even those weren’t his to have.
Brushing Fallon’s disheveled hair to the side of her neck, Rafe ran his nose along the short fine hairs that curled at her nape. His lips pursed and he tapped them to her skin. Her soft sigh that creased along the line of a giggle wafted to his ears and he smiled at her sweet reaction. This was what it was supposed to be like—what it was supposed to feel like. Mornings, with a beautiful woman.
“Got cereal?” he asked, pressing another kiss to the back of her head as he linked his arms around her stomach.
“Yes. In the pantry. But I have the eating habits of a twelve-year-old, so you’re going to have to make do with Cap’n Crunch or Cocoa Pebbles.”
Crossing the cold marbled tile, he opened the pantry and pulled the box of Cocoa Pebbles from the shelf.
He sat on one of the barstools at the island and watched as she finished preparing her sandwich.
“Can I make you some coffee?” she asked, setting her plate down on the island next to him.
Looking at her, he took in her messy hair and sex-induced glow. Goddamn. Three fucking days.
“No, gorgeous. I’m good.”
• • •
Walking around the island, she hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling over the edge. “What?” she asked as he looked at her, amused.
“Nothing.”
She grinned at him and took a bite of her sandwich, watching as he sloppily filled his mouth with chocolate cereal. It was adorable.
A few thoughts were running on repeat inside Fallon’s mind and she would’ve done anything at that moment to shut them off. She wanted to enjoy the company Rafe was offering her. She’d never cooked in her kitchen or had breakfast with anyone in her home before. It was strangely comforting. But the same thought kept rearing its ugly head. Arm’s length.
Rafe took another bite, then, holding his bowl in one hand, he grabbed the top of her thigh, pulling her to him until her butt was on the edge of the counter. He settled between her legs, her knees pressing against his bare sides. “There are definite advantages to this counter-sitting thing,” he said, the amusement in his voice making her smile before that pesky thought swung back around full circle one last time.
She squirmed under his touch, his fingers steadily applying pressure to her thighs. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make her tighten her legs around him. His eyes lifted, looking at her as he skillfully parted his mouth in what she was sure was some sort of swooning mechanism. Because that’s exactly what happened. She had that little “ahhh” moment where she wanted to tilt her head and sigh at the sight of him. His wry, arrogant grin had just enough pull on the corners that made it irresistibly sexy, but annoyingly adorable at the same time.
She jerked when he rested the cold cereal bowl on her thigh. “Are one of these advantages using me as a table?” she teased, taking another bite of delicious, cheesy jalapeño goodness.
“That, among others . . .” he suggested, and it didn’t take a genius to know where he was going with that.
Setting her half-eaten sandwich on the counter, she took a few sips of her Diet Coke. Rafe lifted the bowl from her leg and brought it to his lips as he spooned another large bite into his mouth. Resting her palms on the edge of the counter, she slinked her body down on top of him.
He smirked around a mouthful of cereal when her legs wrapped around him, and although a surprised chuckle curled over his lips, his eyes darkened. The glints of light that were creating a velvety texture to his eyes seemed to vanish . . . and then smolder.