I found his hairbrush on the expansive sink counter, along with a hair dryer. After combing out my hair, I blew it out, threw the used towel in the hamper, and made up his bed. I also folded my clothes neatly, placing them on the chair in the corner, and scanned the room to make sure everything was in its place.
Or in its place as well as I could tell.
Stepping out of the room and into the hallway – if you could call it that – I slowly turned my head, taking in the surroundings that I had failed to notice last night as Tyler practically hauled me upstairs.
The landing was circular with a railing, so you could lean over and peer downstairs. Bedroom doors – or I assumed that’s what they were – lined the edges, and there was another staircase, leading to a third floor. The dark teak floors glimmered in the gentle lighting from the chandelier hanging above, and all of the wooden furniture surfaces shined. The lemon scent of wood polish, leather, and cologne filled my lungs, and it brought a smile to my face.
Men lived here, and those scents brought back memories of growing up with Jack and my father.
Trailing down the stairs, I stepped hesitantly, poking out my head with a watchful eye. I was still afraid Christian or someone else might appear and I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to explain myself.
Peering to the right, I spied the foyer, so I turned left, heading toward the back of the house, figuring I’d find the kitchen. At the sound of Tyler’s voice, I stopped at the entrance to another hallway and caught a glimpse of a light coming through another door.
I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he had that deep, frigid tone that he’d tried using on me in his office last Saturday, so I deduced he was probably on a business call.
I continued looking for the kitchen, my stomach swimming with butterflies at the image of him conducting business and issuing orders with his scary arched eyebrow while wearing nothing but those jeans.
When I found it, I rummaged through the refrigerator, craving carbs and protein.
I’d want him again when he was done with his big, bad call, so I needed energy.
When I switched on the radio, Rihanna’s “Only Girl” filled the room, and I started bobbing my head as I padded around the kitchen in my bare feet. I chopped up some leftover potatoes I’d found in the refrigerator and fried up some bacon. After mixing up some eggs, chives, salt, and pepper, I poured the mixture into a pan, scooped the bacon pieces and potatoes on top, and then placed the dish in the oven to bake for a country French omelet.
Before I knew it, I was happily lost in fixing place settings at the granite island with coffee and orange juice and chopping up fresh pineapple, strawberries, and blueberries for a salad, as well as drawing hot biscuits from the oven. I figured they were homemade, since I’d found them in a plastic container in the refrigerator, so all I’d needed to do was heat them up.
I wasn’t sure who kept the kitchen so well stocked or who’d originally cooked the biscuits I was reheating, but I guessed it wasn’t Tyler. I couldn’t picture that.
I grabbed the pot holders and switched off the oven, leaning down to retrieve the pan.
“Goddamn,” I heard behind me. “You’re never allowed to wear underwear again.”
I peeked over my shoulder, still leaning down to the stove, and saw Tyler standing on the other side of the counter with his eyes nowhere near mine. His forearms rested on the island, and his head was cocked to the side as his gaze swept over my bottom and down my legs. And since he’d torn away my underwear last night, I wore nothing underneath.
I grabbed the pan and straightened, smiling as I placed it on top of the oven.
“How’s business?” I asked, using a knife to cut the large omelet in half.
“I’ve still got a bit to do,” he answered, and I heard him pouring coffee, “but I’m not allowed to touch you until it’s finished, so I’ll get it done quickly.”
I twisted my head around to narrow my eyes on him.
He must’ve seen the question in my eyes, because he laughed to himself. “On the rare occasion I have something I’d rather be doing instead of work, I have to bargain with myself,” he explained, and locked his gaze on mine. “And I can’t put my hands on you until I’m done with my work. That’s the bargain today.”
I smirked. “We’ll see,” I taunted.
He arched his damn eyebrows at me and set the coffeepot down.
I slid half an omelet onto a spatula. “You like omelets, I hope?”
“Yes,” he rushed out, sounding relieved as he slid onto the stool. “I’m starving. You didn’t have to do this, but thank you. It looks great.”
He immediately started digging into the omelet, and I had a hard time not watching him as he ate everything on his plate and downed his glass of orange juice, quickly pouring himself another. The fruit and biscuits in front of him disappeared just as fast, but I, on the other hand, had to force myself to take bites, because I was having more fun watching him wolf down his breakfast.