“What the hell are you doing?”
I turn around to the sound of Slade’s deep, raspy voice. He’s standing there shirtless in a pair of low hanging jeans, showing off the muscles right above his . . . penis. His body is slightly damp as if he’s just taken a shower, but I know he hasn’t. I would’ve heard the water . . . I think. What is it about a wet man that is so sexy?
His eyes are dark and intense; looking at me as if he wants to either strangle me or just fuck me really hard. I can’t really tell. I get a rush of excitement from both. That’s really fucking messed up.
Clearing my throat, I turn back around and start scraping the sausage off the bottom of the pan as if it’s not a big deal. I just pretend I didn’t mess breakfast all up. The last thing I want to do is see him standing there half naked, looking disturbingly delicious while judging my cooking skills. He looks tastier than this damn food. That’s not what I need right now. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
When he speaks again his voice is right behind me, sending chills up my spine. His body is now pressed against mine, but not in a sexual way; in a way that makes my heart jump a little. Just a little. “Burning down the damn house. I hate to tell you this, but I left my fireman suit at work. I’m not prepared for this shit this early in the morning.” He reaches for the spatula and hisses in my ear. “Now move out of the way.”
Not budging, I reach for the spatula but he pulls it out of my reach. “I can handle it. Shouldn’t you be sleeping or I don’t know . . . kicking some skank out of your bed. I’m pretty sure you had a late night.”
Giving me a stern look, he grabs me by the hips, picks me up and sets me on the counter. His lips are brushing my ear when he says, “I kicked her out last night. No girl sleeps in my bed. Ever.” My heart sinks from his harsh words. He turns around and turns off the stove before throwing the spatula down. “If you needed my help then you should have asked. Is there anything you can do on your own?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I get ready to jump down from the counter, but he steps right in front of me and stands between my legs blocking me. “What kind of a question is that? Is there something else you assume I can’t do on my own?”
Running his hands up my thighs, he looks me dead in the eyes and smirks. “Yeah. Get off. I do believe you needed my help there as well.”
“Fuck off, Slade. I don’t need you to get off. Trust me.” I place my hands on his chest and give him a little shove. Damn him; his body is pure muscle. “I can do it fine by myself. Now move.”
He slides his hands up my shirt, lifts my body up and grips my ass in his hands. The skin on skin contact causes my breathing to slightly pick up. “Is that right?” Pulling me closer to him, he squeezes my ass and runs his lips up my neck. “Not from the frustrated sounds I heard coming from Cale’s bedroom this morning. Those were definitely moans of frustration and not pleasure. Trust me. I know the difference.” He slides his finger under the fabric of my panties and instantly I can feel the need for him to be inside me. He isn’t even touching anything but the crevice between my leg and vagina.
What the fuck?
Gaining my composure, I pull my neck away from him and shove him until he’s out of my way. “You are so infuriating. Why are you such an ass?” I hop down from the counter and start walking away. “I’ll clean this mess up later. I’m not in the mood to eat-”
“Get dressed and meet me outside in ten minutes,” he says trampling over my words.
I stop when I get to the doorway and turn around to face him. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“So we can eat breakfast.” He pushes the pan across the stove and picks up the spatula, tossing it in the sink. “Be ready by the time I’m dressed.”
“Yeah. You’re funny,” I huff. “I’m good. I’m going back to bed.”
“Suit yourself, but I can hear your stomach growling from over here. Stay if you want. I just want to satisfy your . . . hunger.”
He walks past me and then jogs up the stairs. The muscles in his back flex and the deep scratches in his skin stand out, making me hate my damn body again for the reaction it gets from him.
Son of a bitch . . .
* * *
Against my better judgment, I’m sitting across a booth from Slade with a piece of bacon hanging from my mouth. We both just sit here in silence eating breakfast and I’m thankful for that. I really don’t feel like chatting with him. Not that he seems like the chatty type person. Actually, he’s pretty far from it.