I rolled us to the side and worked on dealing with the condom. The fuckin’ things were a pain, and I suddenly had an intense distaste for using them with Brooke. Another first for me. I wondered if I should be keeping a tally of my new philosophy on life where she was concerned. We could talk about it later I decided. Right now I wanted her breathing against me as I held her.
She’d already fallen asleep, her head on my pillow, my heart in her hands. I kissed her forehead and stilled as I thought about how right this actually felt. Hadn’t known I was missing anything. Hadn’t known it was possible for someone to steal your heart without even knowing they’d done it. Hadn’t known I needed her. I whispered the words I’d never said before to a woman who wasn’t related to me.
“I love you.”
THE daylight streaming through the windows woke me when I reached for her, but she’d gone. I hoped she was still in the house, though, or I was going to go full-on panic attack mode. I inhaled deeply. Something smelled very good. Bacon? Was that frying bacon coming from the kitchen? Impossible—but maybe not? I made a quick stop to take a piss and brush my teeth. And drank a glass of water because I was insanely thirsty. I pulled on the sweats from last night and didn’t waste another second fucking around before searching out my Brooke and the delicious smells.
She was cooking breakfast.
In my kitchen.
For us to share.
I just watched her silently, hoping she wouldn’t see me for a moment or two, so I could enjoy the vision of the woman I loved cooking for me the morning after giving me the most amazing night I’d ever experienced in my life.
The flannel pajamas and the socks were back. She’d braided her hair again, too. Brooke was a busy girl as she divided her attention between scrambling eggs, turning bacon, and toasting bread. I could have watched her for an hour and been content.
The curves of her perfect ass were shaped by the fabric of her pajamas as she moved side to side, working between the food prep. I remembered how it felt to have that sweet ass cradled in my hands as we fucked in the bathroom last night. I really hadn’t intended to start us there, so that’s why I moved us to the bed as soon as I physically could. I’d lost control is all. Just desperately, fucking crazy-out-of-my-mind to have her, to know what I was doing.
She hadn’t complained or seemed to mind. She had been one hundred percent on board with everything.
She’d also shared a lot of information about her past last night, from which my head was still reeling.
I would have James find out the details on her husband. She’d mentioned his criminal family and I needed to know the story there. Marcus—the insane sociopath who’d hurt her—was hopefully roasting nicely in hell right about now. It was good he was dead—that way I didn’t have to kill him and spend the rest of my life in prison.
I switched out that thought to something much better—and that was the number four.
Four times last night. My personal record for an eight-hour span of time. I was goddamn proud of myself, too. I was probably on the verge of severe dehydration, though. I should drink some more water.
“Good morning, Caleb.” Oh, that fucking gorgeous voice. It was as if it sang to me every time she spoke.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I came up behind her and carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. “How did you know I was here?”
“I could feel your presence. It’s quite powerful, you know.”
“Hmm . . . is that a good thing?” I asked with my lips at the shell of her ear.
“Yes indeed, with you it is,” she said as she reached a hand up to my face. “I hope it’s okay I’m cooking in your kitchen. I figured it was a good idea to familiarize myself since I have to design a new one.”
I frowned at the thought, realizing I didn’t like her reference to the job. I didn’t want her in here just because I’d hired her to do a job; I wanted her cooking because she sought it out—after a smoking hot night with her man. I had changed roles on her without ever asking, though. I now wanted to be her man, not her boss. For the first time, it dawned on me I might have made a mistake in hiring her.
“It’s more than okay, Brooke. You can cook breakfast any time you get the urge. I fucking love it,” I told her, taking in a deep inhale of the scent of her hair. “How can I help you?”
“You can transfer these plates to the table while I pour coffee,” she said slowly.
“On one condition,” I said.
“And that is?”
“I give you a proper kiss good morning first.”
She froze beneath my hands as if she was trying to hold back. Then I heard it—the softest sob, and then another. She was crying.
“No.” I turned her and got a look: eyes closed, tear streaked, shoulders shaking. “What is it, baby? What did I do?”