Shane looked down at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I love waffles, and I’m quite skilled at making them, so it will be me doing the cooking this morning. This sofa is actually pretty comfortable, though I must say I’m enjoying it much more with you here than I did alone. And I was not babysitting, I was caring for someone I seem to have become especially fond of in a very short amount of time.”
His blue eyes sparkled with intensity, the corners of his lips turned up in a challenging grin. A dark shadow crept over his jawline, that, when matched with his slightly mussed hair, gave him a roguish, bad boy look that had her core temperature shooting up at a record pace. All of her eloquence left her at that moment. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He was staring at her lips, which made her gaze drop to his. So full. So firm. So male. So close...
As if reading her mind, Shane leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. A hint of cinnamon and mint teased her senses, mixed with something decadently rich and uniquely Shane. She’d never tasted anything like it, but found herself instantly addicted.
Her initial shock quickly gave way to something much better. She softened beneath him in surrender, parting her lips at his tender insistence. He was a superb kisser; he knew exactly how much pressure to apply, where and when to use his wicked tongue, and how to make her forget everything else until her entire universe was reduced to the area within his arms.
Minutes, hours, days later, Shane finally pulled away, breathing almost as heavily as she was. He rested his forehead upon hers. “What were we talking about?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
Lacie blinked. Once. Twice. Her mind was a jumble of images, scents, and sensations. “I have no idea.”
Eventually the rumbling in Lacie’s belly reminded them about breakfast. Shane was stubbornly adamant about making waffles, but was willing to allow Lacie to help. Lifting her easily, he placed her on the counter next to where he’d be. Her job, he informed her, was to tell him where everything was. She could, he told her, assist with those tasks requiring only one hand, but under his strict supervision.
“Are you always this bossy?” she asked, amusement lacing her voice. She would allow him this moment of male dominance in her kitchen, but only because her lips were still tingling from his earlier possession. And because by taking the commanding role in making breakfast, he was freeing her to ogle him to her heart’s content.
He did look good enough to eat, mouthwateringly tasty in his snug-fitting jeans and the untucked button-down in a shade of blue that accentuated his beautiful eyes. From the top of his glossy black hair to the bottoms of his - she stifled a moan - bare feet, the man looked confident and comfortable and positively lickable.
Forget the waffles. She wanted to devour him.
He smiled, an arrogant tilt to his lips that sent bolts of lust through her nether regions. He leaned in close enough for her to get hit with a fresh wave of that warm male scent that only inflamed her further, teasing her into a near frenzy. “Bossy? And here I thought I was the one making you breakfast. I am truly injured, Lacie.”
She laughed, realizing just how lucky she was. How many women would give their right arm to have this sexy, caring, intelligent man in their kitchen making them breakfast? Lacie was just about to apologize when Shane grinned wider and added, “Now stop badgering me, woman, and tell me where your waffle iron is.”
They just... clicked. Sipping coffee, making breakfast together, sharing little things – it was all done with an ease and comfort that belied their short time together, as if they had spent years learning each other instead of merely days. Being with Shane was so easy.
“Mad waffle skills, huh?” Lacie said doubtfully as the misshapen item was presented to her with a flourish. Throughout the process she had managed to refrain from questioning his culinary skills, skirting the edge of what was acceptable teasing, afraid to injure his fragile male pride, but too tempting to resist entirely. It was playful banter, and he seemed to be enjoying it every bit as much as she was.
“It may not look pretty, but it’ll be the best damn waffle you’ve ever had,” he said confidently. And the only reason it was not created in geometric perfection, he informed her, was because she had distracted him while he was pouring the batter. That part was true enough, and she refused to apologize for it.
“Hmmmm.” She used her fork to break off a piece, swirled it around in a pool of locally produced maple syrup, and brought it to her lips slowly. It was hard to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head, it was that good. It melted in her mouth. Shane’s eyes followed her every movement intently, watching as she chewed and subsequently swallowed.
“Well?” he asked, that smug grin tugging at his lips.