She opened the door of one of the cabinets and pointed out the precise organization of the shelves. “This is not normal. It’s kind of Sleeping-With-the-Enemy-ish.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve mentioned it before. And by the way, the man in that movie was a crazy wife abuser,” he pointed out.
As difficult as he was, Cyrus had not been like the man in the movie, whose physical and emotional abuse sent his wife running. “True.” Daniella shoved a jar of olives behind a jar of artichokes and turned several of the bottles backward.
“Don’t do that.” Cyrus reached up to the shelf.
Daniella knocked away his hand. “Look at you. You can’t handle it, can you?” She shouldn’t tease him. She knew how much it drove him crazy, but she couldn’t help it. After living together for a couple of weeks and the intimacy they’d shared last night, she was starting to feel relaxed around him, and her playfulness was a direct result.
Cyrus straightened the jars so they all lined up again. “There’s a reason for this order.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know I don’t like chaos.”
“And you like to control everything,” she supplied.
“If things go the way they should, it saves time,” he said, ignoring her remark. “It’s called efficiency.”
“It’s called OCD,” Daniella corrected. She started whisking the eggs but paused when he started tidying up. “What are you doing?”
“Just cleaning up a bit.”
“I bet you don’t tidy up when Ms. Ernestine is in the kitchen.” She smacked his hand with the spatula. “Out.”
“That’s assault.”
“I said out. Don’t come back until I call you for breakfast.” She held up the spatula, silently threatening to hit him again.
Cyrus put his hands up, lines of amusement crossing his face. “All right, I’m going up to take a shower.”
But instead of leaving, he caught her wrist with the spatula and pulled her close. Goodness, he was fast.
“You stink,” she murmured, making no move to get away.
“I thought women liked it when their man was sweaty from working out or playing sports,” he said, looking down at her from lowered lids.
“Lies,” Daniella said.
That didn’t stop him from pulling her in and sucking on her neck. Her knees weakened and she turned her head to rub her cheek against the rough stubble on his jaw. He kissed her ear and chin, and finally her mouth. She sighed with pleasure. She loved his kisses. She’d been deprived of them for so long she’d actually forgotten how good they were, how delicious he tasted, and how enjoyable the fit of his mouth over hers.
He tugged on her lower lip with his teeth. She moaned. He could give lessons on how to kiss right.
When he withdrew, she felt a pang of disappointment. He tilted up her chin, searching her eyes. For what she didn’t know.
“What?” she said uneasily, unable to remain quiet under such intense scrutiny.
“Nothing.” He dropped a final kiss on her nose before walking out, and she watched him leave with a strange hitch in her chest.
Daniella started setting breakfast on the table in front of the bay window instead of the formal dining room. The plates rattled in her unsteady hands. What was happening to her? She stopped moving and placed her hands on the table to steady her nerves and the shortness of breath.
“I’d do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”
The last thing she needed to do was fall in love with Cyrus again, but when he said things like that, when he looked at her the way he did, it was so easy and so tempting to believe in him and forget his reprehensible behavior.