But that wasn't reality. The moment he would have touched her skin, she leapt away. "All righty then. I'll just leave you alone."
Ash wanted to whimper as she shot out of the room so fast she left a vapor trail. How could she not want him? All his life he'd been fighting people off. Fending away unwanted gropes and touches. Now he finally found someone he wanted to touch him and she treated him like a leper.
What the hell was this?
Aggravated, he raked his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. It was going to be a long night with her sleeping so close to him and yet so far away.
Too early the next morning, Tory was awake and still bleary-eyed as she staggered downstairs to her kitchen. The moment she entered the room, she froze in her tracks.
Ash was there. Dressed only in jeans, he stood with his back to her.
Holy saints! The expanse of flawless tawny skin was more than a mere mortal woman could see and not salivate over. Wide muscled shoulders tapered down to narrow hips and a perfectly formed butt. His hair still mussed from sleep, he popped the top off a beer.
Tory made a sound of disgust over his actions. "You have got to be kidding me."
He turned and what little sanity she had fled. Yes, he still had those annoying sunglasses on, but the top button of his jeans hadn't been fastened. They rode low on his hips, and the dark trail of hair that ran south of his navel was slightly thicker at the opening.
He was commando . . .
And that long, hard body was made for sin. Really, no man should look like that and definitely not one who was standing in her kitchen . . . In her bed was another story. Man, how she wanted to take a bite out of him.
"Is something wrong?" he asked innocently.
It took her three heartbeats before she could remember her objection to his near naked state. "You're drinking a beer first thing in the morning. What kind of alcoholic are you?"
He flashed a taunting grin at her before he took a deep swig. "I'm not an alcoholic."
Yeah, right. "That's what they all say. At least put something on your stomach before you drink that."
His features hardened. "I don't need a mother, Tory."
She didn't believe that for one minute. Angry at what he was doing, she tried to take the bottle from him, but he refused to let her.
She glared at him. "You need someone to take care of you. Jeez! How can you do this to yourself?"
"It's just a beer."
"And hell is just a sauna." She went to the fridge and grabbed eggs and some cheese. "Sit down and I'll make you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"And I'm about to be wielding a frying pan and a knife so if you know what's good for you, you'll stop arguing with me and sit down."
"I don't eat breakfast," he mumbled under his breath as he moved out of her way.
"I really don't care," she mocked in a sing-song voice that was as close to his thick accent as she could manage.
He moved to the other side of her breakfast counter. "You are so bossy."
"Yes I am. Now sit."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Put a shirt on like a civilized human. Do you know how unsanitary it is to be in a kitchen with no shirt?"
Ash laughed even though he wanted to strangle her. She had to be the only person he'd ever met who wanted him to wear more clothing. He started to get up, but she made a squeal of disapproval.
"What now?" he asked, truly baffled by her mood swings.
She pointed threateningly at him with her knife. "Don't you dare move until after I see you eat something."
He let out a frustrated breath. "You told me to go put on a shirt."
"Since when do you listen to a single thing I say? Never. I know what you're planning to do. You'll go upstairs and not come back. So sit."
He held his hands up in surrender while he watched her crack open two eggs and put them in a bowl so that she could beat them with a fervor that would have scared him if he wasn't a god with protective powers. "You're not a morning person, are you?"
She put a handful of cheese on top of them. "No and I haven't had my caffeine IV either which means it would be wise of you to humor me."
Ash hid his smile. Why did she amuse him so? He didn't understand it and unless he wanted to tell her the truth about what he really fed on, he had no choice except to sit here while she made him an omelette, bacon and toast.
She plopped the plate down in front of him. "Fie!"—Eat in Greek.
He stared at the delicious smelling food as buried emotions surged. You want to eat, whore? Please me . . .