Stars of Fortune(33)
“Thanks. There’s juice in the fridge if you’d rather.” At Annika’s blank smile, Sasha walked over, got out the pitcher. Then, as the woman seemed so pleasantly helpless, a glass.
Annika took a testing sip. “Oh! This is very nice. I like it much more than the coffee. I’m apology, Bran.”
“Sorry. You’re sorry,” he corrected. “And no need to be.”
“When did you learn English?” Keeping it casual, Sasha leaned back against the counter.
“English?”
“The language.”
“Oh. I know this one and some others. But sometimes the words are wrong. You can tell me when they are, and I can learn. Can you cook, like Bran?”
“I can cook.”
“You can teach me. It looks fun and smells nice.”
“Sure, I guess. But for now, maybe you could set the table.”
Annika pointed. “The table.”
“The one outside. We could have breakfast outside, on the patio. So you could set that table.”
“Where should I set it?”
With a laugh, Sasha put her coffee aside. “You could put the plates, the flatware, the napkins out. We’re five,” she said and chose five plates from the cabinet. “So five plates, five sets of flatware.” She opened a drawer. “And the napkins are in the top drawer of that breakfront.”
“I can set the table.” Annika rattled around in the silverware drawer, counting under her breath. When she had her supplies, carried them out, Sasha turned to Bran.
“She never answered the question.”
“Evaded it, charmingly.” He scooped potatoes he’d chipped and boiled out of the pot with a slotted spoon, dumped them in the frying pan. Grease snapped and sizzled. “She’s clever.”
“Part of me wants to pin her down, and the other part wants to watch it all evolve. I know there’s no harm in her.”
“Then the evolution might be more interesting. How did you sleep?”
“Fine. In fact, great. You?”
“The same.”
To keep busy, Sasha unwrapped the second—and last—round of bread, began to slice some for toast. “It looks like it’ll be a good day for hiking, though if we’re going to be exploring caves I guess it doesn’t matter much. I didn’t pack a flashlight—never thought of it, but—”
The knife clattered on the table as Bran spun her around.
“What—”
“Last night wasn’t enough.”
His mouth took hers. Then came the whirlwind.
Not the almost brotherly brush of lips, but a long, deep possession that spun everything she was into greed and need. For an instant, the storm blew in, all whipping wind, roaring thunder, and that bold, bright flash of lightning.
She wanted to leap into it, ride it, no matter where it took her.
But the risk, and the pain. She already knew the pain, knew it could shatter her beyond repair.
She pressed a hand to his chest, and he gave her a breath. His eyes—and she swore she saw worlds, wild worlds, swirling behind them—locked on hers.
“We’re a team,” she managed, and the hot, dangerous glint shifted into what might have been humor.
“That we are, fáidh, but you’re the only one I want for this.”
He lifted her to her toes and took her again.
He hadn’t been able to pry her out of his mind, to drain this singular desire out of his blood. There were countless reasons he should resist, to keep her as friend and teammate only. And only one reason to ignore all the rest.
That simple touch of lips the night before had lit something in him. He wanted to see how hot it might burn.
And she called to him, her wounded and courageous heart. Surely there was purpose there.
But beyond purpose, beyond reason, the fire burned.
“Oh, hell.”
He eased back at Riley’s voice, but kept his eyes on Sasha’s as Riley wandered in, Apollo happily at her heels.
“I figured you’d circle around that for at least another day or two.” She went straight to the coffee, grabbed a mug. “If you want privacy, try one of the bedrooms.” She poured her coffee, all but inhaled the first sip. “I’ll take the dog—the care and feeding thereof. And I nominate the new girl for chicken duty. Beginning after coffee. When’s breakfast?”
“Shortly.” Bran ran his hands down from Sasha’s shoulders, along her arms, then stepped back to the stove to put the pan he’d had the wit to take off the flame back again.
“Good. Starved.”
“I . . . need a watering can.”
Sasha turned quickly, aimed for the doors.
Riley shook her head at Bran, then a long glance at the dog sent Apollo trotting outside. “Office romances, Irish, sticky business and usually get somebody fired.”