What’s New Pussycat(19)

He eyed her from the bed. No recriminations? No angry words? No “You only used me for my body” melodrama?

And eggs Benedict, too? What woman made anything but a voodoo doll she could stick pins in for a man who had every intention of their interaction being nothing more than a one-night stand?

Okay, they obviously needed to clear the air. If she wasn’t going to touch it, he would because he needed to clear the air. “About last night—”

Martine flapped a hand at him, effectively cutting him off, and gave him a lopsided smile. “You mean all my carrying on about my hating being paranormal? I’m sorry. It was really morose and gloomy, huh? It was insulting to you because you don’t seem to mind—even with a curse hanging over your head, and I regret sharing that. Promise, from now on, I’ll be warm sunshine and cream-filled cakes. So let’s forget it, and let me make it up to you with breakfast. I won’t speak another word about how I feel on that particular subject. Now, hurry up and get dressed before it gets cold.”

With that, she turned on her heel and wandered back toward the kitchen like they hadn’t made wild, incredible love.

Well, now, hold on a second. Was he that forgettable that she could just dismiss what had happened between them as though it were nothing?

No, his brain said. You hold on a second. Why do you care if you’re forgettable?

He threw the blankets off and rolled out of bed, pulling on his jeans.

He didn’t.

Then where are you going in such a rush, buddy?

He was going to figure this out before it came back to bite him in the ass, that’s where he was going. But he skidded to a halt when he got to the kitchen, his breath somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

Martine had her back to him, her curvy ass just peeking out beneath his shirt, when, spatula in hand, she turned sideways and lifted her arms to stretch. The sunlight streamed over her glossy black hair, her breast silhouetted in the flimsy shirt, plump and full.

And his mouth watered again.

Not typical for him. He was never much enamored the day after, no matter how good-looking a woman was.

Never.

When she gave one of the frying pans on the stove a shake, he had to close his eyes to block out her image.

It wasn’t just that she was sexy. It was that she, in the middle of his kitchen, left him warm, and that concept rather irritated him. She was using all his kitchen gadgets like they were her own and he didn’t mind a bit.

He was usually protective of his gadgets—especially his food processor. Yet, seeing her with his twenty-dollar spatula didn’t piss him off at all.

Huh.

“There you are,” she said when she turned around, waving at the place she’d set for him at the breakfast bar. “Sit.”

He slid onto the stool, clamping his mouth shut when she put the plate in front of him and brought her own to place next to his.

She took a forkful of egg and held it up with a smile, her eyes happy. “I hope I didn’t keep you up last night. I was a little restless.”

Derrick’s mouth fell open then snapped shut. A little restless? Is that what she was calling it? Was that code for “making amazing love”? “Restless?”

Martine cut another forkful of egg and held her hand under it, pressing it to his lips and shrugging her shoulders. “New surroundings always make for some insomnia with me.” Martine coaxed his mouth open, dropping the piece of food into it with a grin.

Insomnia? Was she for real?

And hell. Best damn eggs Benedict he’d ever had.

“I heard you in there moaning and bouncing around. I hope that wasn’t because of me. I tried to be quiet.”

It damn well was because of her. What the hell was going on?

Leaning on her hand, she looked up at him. “Clearly, you’re not a morning person. So I’m going to leave you to your breakfast and grab a shower if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for an answer, she slipped from the stool, dropped her plate in the sink, and sauntered her delicious ass right out of his kitchen. “Oh, and leave the dishes. I’ll get them after I shower,” she called.

His eyes narrowed, but he picked up his fork and scooped up some more of the eggs. Because if she didn’t want to hash out what had happened between them last night, who was he to press her when there was an amazing breakfast to be had?

Restless.

Hah.

* * *

Max slapped him on the back as he entered Hector’s barn. His smile was that of a contented man, one who was enjoying the fruition of his life mate journey far more than Derrick was capable of stomaching, and it only made him grumpier.

“How goes it, brother? Is your cat settling in?”

Pulling his knit cap over his head, Derrick strolled toward the bunny hutch, alongside Max, where Hector was busy fussing with the position of a heat lamp. The days were getting colder now, and the bunnies always came first with Hector.